Papa's Hot Air Balloon

Get it? Because I'm just airing things out...

[mcstinkertron]

Today my dog got a haircut and I was once again reminded that there is always something more beautiful that I haven’t yet seen.

[mcstinkertron]

A while ago, my ajoba, after coming back from India, gifted me this lovely notebook, with handmade paper and everything, and I thought, yeah, this is the one. I’m going to fill this notebook with the most beautiful, polished poetry and it’s going to be something I’m finally proud of. I cradled it in my hands so gently, as if afraid to spoil its pages. Despite it being blank, it felt laden with wisps of words waiting to ripen, dangling precariously on the tip of my tongue.

And so, I waited. I waited for inspiration to strike me with something so profound that it would finally be worth keeping. I waited for my thoughts to organise into something flowery and palatable, so that I may be okay with them being immortalised to read. Now, almost a year later, I still haven’t opened that notebook, and its empty pages remain heavy— heavy with the weight of an expectation to perform. But perform… for whom? For myself? Am I afraid that the ink from my pen will yield my reflection, and am I so disconcerted with myself that I will find it ugly?

No matter; today, I will be opening that book, just as I am creating my first Tumblr post despite having told myself for months that I’d start a blog “one day.” If I am going to write anything with any meaning, It needs to be, and be raw, first— and the fact that it’s mine is the only justification it needs. I cannot hope to write poetry if I do not write. My notebook will be of no use beyond a pretty display item if I don’t actually fill it.

And for any of you who are in the same boat as I am, just know that your ideas do not have to be “refined” to be worthy of existing. What a mean thing to say, that the things you think and feel will sully the medium you pour them into. So just write the thing. You are literally turning yourself inside out. It’s going to be grisly. It’s going to be okay.