The Next Level

There is this post shared on facebook about why there are math achievers, and how others do not excell in math because of their firm  belief that these whiz kids were genetically gifted with a scientific calculator wired in their brains. Sadly, I am one of them. I believed with a passion that these math geniuses were simply gifted because they make math seem effortless. In fact, I believe still that succesful singers, musicians, and writers get to where they are now because they have talent – something that I wish I have. Large, juicy chunks of it.
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Emotionally Frozen??

I haven’t written much since my grandmother’s death. I could not write anything that is free-flowing and natural like I naturally do in this blog when I started writing again. I can take care of my gardening blog every once in a while, but the thing is, that blog is easy for me. It’s technical and does not warrant much personal and professional sharing of experiences that put me out there just like this blog does.

Have I become frozen for a while because of grief? Or is it because I’m doing part-time writing again with my boss that I am running out of ideas and insights to write for myself? Or is it having two professionals looking into my blog that gets me all frozen? Performance anxiety? Burn out? I have no idea.

The only consolation that I have is that I am still writing, even though it is not for me. But even I can sense the emotional barrier, and the preference to go on like a robot or a text book.

Ironically, the Oscar Winning musical score Let It Go won’t do on my frigid state. I want to let go, but then… what should I let go of?

I Wish I Have An Oak


[transcription]
I used to love writing on my tablet when I got my WordPress App. But after 2 gardening posts and getting half the thought of my blog for this site trashed (app did not opt to save when I tapped “back”), I discovered that my finger tapping cannot keep up with my thoughts. And since my husband is using the computer, my next recourse is to use my sketchpad and a pencil. I like the pencil better because I can erase my mistakes. I use my sketchpad to serve as a visual.

I long to have a tree as ancient as this one as a companion for writing. I am so full of nerves, pressured over my work, my responsibilities to my family, and my obligation to help my mother, as well as my sense of self-preservation. I know I can push myself to do all of these things. I know I am capable; what I am fearing is the aftermath. I once took on this superwoman role, only to find myself bedridden because of vertigo, headache, nausea, and overall body weakness.

I wish to gain back such strength, such stamina. My boss needs me for work, my daughter needs me to take care of her, and my mom only has me to watch out for her apartment.

I wish I can do more, people want me to do more.

Should I?

I wish I have an oak….

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