I keep still staring at this blank page as if awaiting the words to magically appear and maybe this time I will write something true, something noble, something inspiring, just something to be proud of. The blinking cursor is a constant reminder of the race of words about to begin as my fingers are set on the keyboard. I count the blinks. One. On your marks. Two. Get set. Three. Go.
I press enter and there it is again. The blinking cursor. It can really be confusing at times, this trail of thoughts mixed up in my head. Am stuck in the matrix, part of the system. I close my eyes hard and hope these stars will tell me something, guide me somewhere. It’s 5 in the morning and my ears are open expecting to hear a cockerel crow or something, anything but the silence of this night. Something that might just inspire me to write that piece that everyone relates to. Being a writer is partly a people pleasing job. As much as you expose yourself in prose or verse, you want somebody to relate. Tell you that they feel where you’re coming from. Justification.
I press enter. Third paragraph and I feel like I haven’t said anything yet. Not feel, I haven’t said anything yet. It seems so much like my life. Blank pages and blinking cursors. You know. No you don’t. That feeling that you’ve spent part of your life but the story is yet to be written. You ought to have accomplished something by now. Anything to write home about. You wish you could stall some time and count the number of cursor blinks, but unlike this post, time waits for no man and if you can’t write your story someone else will write it for you. And what is worse. Living a life written for you. A life where the cast may change but the script always remains the same. You know that feeling. When every relationship leads to heartbreak and every venture succumbs to failure.
I press enter again. But this time I feel I have something to write about. My new story you could say. I want to write about love, success and failure. I do not want kisses in the rain; my story will have me dancing. Dancing to a tune not played before because I wrote it. I want that sense of purpose. I want faith. Belief in a bigger picture. That this chapter in the book is ending and I have the freedom to write the next few. And so I press enter again, but this time as I stare at the blank page and blinking cursor I will write my own story.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
African plato is a movement of writers aimed at transforming Africa and the world’s perception towards Africa and her people through sharing their views & experiences on matter of politics, religion, culture, development, art and tourism in Africa. We aim to be the leading African site for sourcing African opinions and perspectives on matters both affecting the continent and the world | Founded by @azizmola, @edwardoedwin & @rockstarwakafs. Follow @africanplatoon Twitter and Like on Facebook