March 2, 2025. Third month to My Happiness Project, a self-designed gratitude journal inspired by Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project, and I stare at my blank page with mixed emotions. There, glaring at me, read: "Launch a blog." But all I could write was: Yay! This is it! (with several emojis -- a weak attempt to cover my disquiet 😀 -- then there's this -- another emoji).
March 4, 2025. For the nth time in three days, I opened my Blogspot account, trying to muster all the words I haven't written for more than a decade but ended up with nothing.
March 5, 2025. Ash Wednesday. Pep-talked myself. I could write about my faith. Or I could make a reflection of Fr. Edwin's homily. Or just post a shot of my forehead with a few words about Lent. More staring. Words did not come.
March 6, 2025. Sitting in silence, with just the aircon's hum and the clock ticking, I once again stare at my blank page. Then on my screen. Jumbled letters seem to tumble one at a time like Scrabble tiles squeezing in to form a word. My fingers start typing. Then I finish a sentence. Then a paragraph.
I re-read my first few lines. Did I make sense? The words seemed familiar but it didn't seem like me. I highlighted the whole lot, then pressed 'delete'. My mind in stupor. Is writing still for me? Doubt began to creep in. I blinked at the screen once again. Then another. I tapped 'undo'. Then typed a few.
The silence in my mind envelops me, almost like a challenge to break it, to fill the gaps with something. Just with anything. I closed my laptop. Picked up my pen. I started to scribble on that blank page, and words began to flow. I could feel my pulse accelerating like I have run a marathon. I have filled in half the page so I decided to go back to typing. I encoded what I had written. Words came racing in. They didn't just tumble anymore. They flooded my thoughts like some rainstorm pouring in heavily. The words that had been locked inside for so long were finally finding their way out. I had to keep up, or I will lose them again.
Each keystroke screamed of my personal victory. I re-read everything. My prose now resembled the thoughts I had been struggling to shape. My fingers continued to tap. Their rhythm was music to my ears. Tap-tap-tap-tap! It was exhilarating. Tap-tap-tap-tap! I didn't stop to edit, not yet. I just let all these words spill. The page was filling up. My sentences grew longer, and with each line, the weight in my chest lightened. The jarred silence had found its voice.
And in the rush of emotions, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief. Did I really doubt myself? Why had I been so afraid to start?
I looked at my laptop. Hit preview. Hesitated for a moment. Then publish. And there on my screen staring back at me -- Blank Page No More!