I’ve always wondered (especially after finishing writing something) why my writing it’s always so dark and disturbing. I’ve tried being more romantic, and I think I did a decent job, but it’s not my thing and it doesn’t come to me naturally very often.
Yesterday, I was having a session of Late Night Thoughts and I found the reason behind it.
Ever since I can remember I’ve been told to be quiet and shut my mouth. I’ve always had the bad habit of talking on the inconvenience of others, sharing things that would put the ones around me in uncomfortable situations and difficult conversations. I got in trouble very often for it, to the point that I would start to panic every time I knew I have crossed the line. I really wanted to talk to someone, to get the answers to the questions that were burning in my mind, but no one really had the time or patience to help me out.
So I started writing.
I started writing all of that in a tiny planner my mom bought me. It wasn’t really a journal, but I have never shared with anyone. I created my own exile with paper and purple and red colored pencils. and it did me good to have an outlet for all those ideas and thoughts I couldn’t share with anyone because I didn’t know how. I noticed through the years as soon as I wrote something (especially a problem or a situation I might have) it would make me forget about it easily.
And of course, reading was also part of it. I was tired of all the romance and stupid stories of soap operas my nanas used to see, so getting into actually interesting stories was very refreshing. Authors like Carlos Cuauhtémoc Sanchez, J.K. Rowling, Juan Bosch, Isabel Allende were all part of that journey I sued to take to escape from my stressful feeling and unforgiving reality. There was no happy place for me in the real world, so I created my own within me.
As I grew up and internet started to be more accessible my world grew bigger and stronger. The addition of anime influenced greatly the content of my writing, getting characters and story lines into my pages.
Something that has also been a big part of my writing is dreams. I used to dream very often, and they would be on my mind all day, giving me the chance and space to modify add and take away from it until I made something interesting in my opinion. And my dreams at that time were never nice sweet dreams, they were always disturbing in some way.
And that has persisted through the years. Those stories that drive me to spend days and nights without sleep to put it all on a paper are always psychological and with a deep meaning behind it, leaving the actual message to personal interpretation.
I ask myself if it’s bad, or if I should change it in any way. But one of my big goals this year is to accept what I am and my thoughts, because reality is never right or wrong.
Is just real.