A Writer’s Papyrus

On Wednesday past, I found out from the doctor that I’m carrying a baby boy… I don’t think I realised my secret bias for a girl until I heard the news from the doctor. There is a possibility of a mistake, however, I’ve heard that generally a mistake goes the other way around. For instance, a boy is usually a boy because there’s no mistaking a penis, whereas a girl might still turn out to be a boy because the penis was hidden.

In my head I’d always thought I was having a girl. Don’t get me wrong - I am happy that I’m having a son. Delighted. Even if this baby had been a girl, I would have wanted my second child to be a boy. I guess a girl was on the brain because the story in my head is about a very special little girl and now it feels a little weird to write a story about a girl.

I suppose I could change the story, but it wouldn’t be the same. I could think of another storyline and save this for my daughter in future, but the ideas are so entrenched, I’m having difficulties creating a new storyline.

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Looking back on my past successes and failures, I have noted that I tend to do well when faced with great opposition. Challenge me and question my worthiness and my capabilities and I will rise up to prove you wrong. It is resistance that makes me strong. Without it, I tend to flow with the course of the river, never selecting a path but merely following where the water takes me.

I have realised that perhaps it is my own apathy towards life that creates the perception that I am incapable of surviving when in reality I have done more than survive during the times when I faced my greatest adversaries. I carry a complacence and nonchalance that is often mistaken as fragility, weakness and incompetence.

I am the one responsible for creating my reputation and I lulled others into this false belief. It matters not whether they believe me to be capable. What matters is my own faith that I am capable of anything I choose to set my mind to.

Do not be weak and cry for help, neither allow others to set the limits of my abilities for I am only as limited as I believe myself to be.

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I started this blog as a site to cultivate my dreams of being a writer and to date, I’ve not really done much except make a few commitments I’ve failed to keep - not inspiring at all…

It’s not that I don’t know what to write about because the stories are all there in my head - I see them all before I go to sleep at night and sometimes I have the most fantastic dreams. The difficulty I’ve had is putting the images I’ve seen onto paper - somehow it feels as though what I write lacks the magic of what I’ve seen.

I spoke to a friend the other day and he told me to just write. Forget about whether it’s publishable or whether I feel I’ve succeeded in capturing the events I see in my head. So perhaps that is what I ought to do…

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