Life is a circle
Shakespeare's Hamlet sighs "Words words words..."
It seems simple enough. Words can heal. Words can kill. Words can help. Words can hurt. Words can lie. Words can be silent. I love words. I love crafting them. Putting them on a white screen. Or on a piece of paper. Thinking about them. Making them real. Savouring them. Tasting them in my mouth. Writing a perfect sentence is a truly orgastic pleasure. Every sound contributes to the poetry.
I used to write poetry. A long time ago. It started when I was only a child. Seven, maybe eight years old. Poetry was music for me. So as I grew older I continued to write poems.
We used to sing. I used to write. It was everything I lived for. My refuge. We entered the Free Podium when I was 17. We sang blues. we sang rock. We sang soul.
We sang from our souls.
The deepest caves of my imagination found their expression in every letter I scribbled onto a piece of paper. Every emotion found its way out. At night I crafted poems in my head.
One day I stopped writing.
Not consciously, it just happened, like a baby who learns how to speak, I lost my voice. Last year I decided that I needed to write again. I entered a creative writing course. I had assignments. and I wrote. But I was still looking for my voice.
I started a blog. Out of boredom, and as a preparation for my Erasmus. I wrote college papers on literature. In these small non-fictional outings I was able to put more of myself than in my fiction or my poetry. Blogging became an addiction.
Barcelona.
What a turning point! My blog became a means of communication, of keeping contact with the outside world. It became something functional.
In Barcelona I rediscovered music. All these years I continued listening to music and I'd already invested in an iPod before leaving. But I started singing again. The city gave me the signs.
Christmas.
Happy times.
At night, my mama gives me a small package.
I open the wrapping paper and find a small Moleskine-notebook. I always wanted to buy one. But I was very afraid of writing something stupid on the first page and thus ruining it. My mom gave it at exactly the right moment. On the plane back to BCN I wrote a first alinea. About things I hadn't said and wished I had. Slowly but steadily the Moleskine notebook starts to contain thoughts, anecdotes, loose frases and facts.
I've found my voice again, my own personal philosophy...
Life is a circle. Words - music - music - words...The end is always the beginning, and the beginning is always, unfortunately, the end.