Four months frozen

I had a mental block for 4 months.

Every time I sat down, took the pen and open the notebook — I froze.

The thoughts never stop flowing, my creativity was sharper than ever….but I just couldn’t.

So many times I sat on that train in Amsterdam, wishing to be here.

Not exactly in this house, country or trip. But in this moment of life.

A moment I pictured as the ultimate moment of freedom.

The freedom to allow myself to stop, observe, absorb and write down the words that I have been keeping to myself…

It’s 12 o’clock in the evening, I’m sitting in the garden, the warm breeze is blowing and I feel emotional by facing this moment.

I am finally doing it.

I’m writing.

To write is my place of love.

I’m not sure whether is good or not, but when I do it, when I write, It comes natural. It comes with no effort and a tranquility attached.

But not this time.

Not the past 4 months.

These 4 months avoiding it, It was like a 9 months pregnancy.

And today, It’s the delivery.

Just like a birth, I feel emotional, happy and slightly nervous.

Today I’m not being my lyrical side. I’m not hiding myself in the beauty of poetry.

I’m writing frankly and clear. To myself.

I’m like a river.

Thoughts, emotions, understandings flow all the time.

I write them down, usually, to not forget.

I write because it seems more serious and long-lasting.

But this time I was afraid.

I was afraid to see the outcome. I was afraid to be shocked by my own feelings. By the way I feel things.

I was afraid to face my real me — sensitive, lyrical, deep, poetic and connected with my inner world.

My father told me (you’ll hear about him often) to look for my place of creativity.

“Return to what inspires you. Sit onthat chair. Talk with that person. Be alone. Read poetry. Listen music. And the words will come, because you have them”

I sat on that chair. Oh the chair of the bus, of countless buses, for more than 100 hours. I listen to the song and I thought about the poetry I learnt. And I cried because my soul was expressing.

I know, I just know, when I sit on the bus, for 15 hours drive, wonderful things will happen inside me. I always look forward for those never ending buses rides.

I catch up with my feelings, thoughts and ideas.

And I can write them. All of them.

But not this time.

In all these trips I had the words bursting from my throat…but when I was taking the pen, the notebook — I froze. Over and over again.

Just because I was afraid to face who I am and what I feel.

But now I am here. It finally happened.

I’m still a little scared.

But I know this is my real place of love.

Patricia Assis

In The universe inside of you.

Written from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

*Traveling experience is a unique combination of places, people and state of mind. This post, the first one, I need to thank to Alex Winterson, someone I met while traveling, that a few weeks back helped me to see a bit better who I am and encourage me to start writing…again.