Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

This opportunity could not have come at a better time. Just when I was experiencing an unfortunate and frustrating case of creative burnout, I happened to chance upon an advertisement that led me to this site to write an essay.

Not going to lie, it is a little annoying and even ironic considering I’m going through a slightly exhausting time in my life right now, with schools just starting to resume offline mode which means all the more hustle. Sometimes I look back at that version of myself, who two years ago used to hustle school, tuition, extracurricular activities, weekly tests, and homework, all while being at school for seven-and-a-half long hours every day for five days a week. Sounds hectic, doesn’t it? Well, it is considering I was fourteen, at the age to supposedly “experience life at its fullest and discover my dreams and passions”. We are supposed to be roaming around the city, painting the town red all with our hearts beaming with passion and minds full of determination. At times I find myself losing the only interesting thing about me, that at one point which seems like ages ago, was writing. Ironically, the creative bird in me felt freer during the more hectic periods of my life as opposed to a more calm and relaxed time, which if you haven’t cracked, is none other than this pandemic or lockdown period.

I remember during the early stages of the pandemic when the lockdown was fresh and everyone was in a panic mode to stock up on as much toilet paper as they can. It was during this period in my life that I found my creativity at an all-time high. Writing became my haven, my emotional outlet where I could channel all my emotions into a Classmate notebook or on the Notes app on my phone and no one would get hurt. At times I found myself picking up my notebook which I cutely named “My Chamber of Creativity”, right after a good cry or an emotional outburst on my parents and just pouring out all my emotions into it. You can compare this to how when you spill some water from a height and all of it comes pouring down like a waterfall, similar to that. Strangely, right after a frantic episode, I would look forward to what creative piece came out of me in midst of me drowning in my feelings. I made sure to feel every single emotion thoroughly, trying to associate it with whatever metaphor or comparison that seemed to suit the cause using the right literary devices.

To give you a background of my writing, I mainly wrote poems in the last few years. Nothing too deep or sophisticated, just enough to convey whatever I was feeling at a particular moment. That was often the aim of my pieces, not to make you feel superficial or ten levels classier than your peers but just for an average person to hopefully be able to relate. Some of my proudest works are: “Life in a Nutshell”, “The Poem for the Lazy”, “The Belief-The Rageful Writing”, “Lullaby” and “Regret”.

There was a short moment there, while I was pondering on what to write my college essay about because apparently, my life is not interesting or impressive enough to be worth a college admissions officer’s time. I went through a mini reflection period then and realized that I was by no means as untalented as I thought myself to be. As I picked up “My Chamber of Creativity”, I realized that behind this underconfident and self-doubting teenager lay a creatively enlightened and emotionally liberal young woman who used the weakest moments of her life and turned them into original literary pieces. As I flipped through the pages of what seemed like uncountable personal projections on paper, I remembered that this was just the tip of the iceberg and that I had a whole other set of poems and pieces in the Notes app on my phone, from days I was unbothered to even pick up a pen. All of this seemed to add up really quick. This was when I realized that I was not the shallow or holistically hollow person I feared I was.

Months later, it now pains me to tell you that I, as every creatively inclined person experiences, am going through a phase of creative burnout. Perhaps life got in between and shifted my focus on ten other anxieties and uncertainties which I suspect ultimately led me to this state of literary exhaustion. It feels like parting with that childhood friend after the 12th grade, unsure of when you will be able to meet next if that even is a possibility. However, something deep inside my heart tells me or rather signals me that the door is kept ajar. And this door kept ajar will not be keeping me waiting this far.

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