My thing

I can't write. Well, writing isn't really my thing. Actually,nothing is my thing. Akram is a painter. He works as an art teacher in a school five days a week, I'm guessing to just make a living,but he's a painter. When we had our first argument he said he doesn't need anyone or anything. The underlying statement was that he had everything he needed. He said it's something sophisticated; he's above all desires,at least permanent ones. He has what gives him satisfaction,what makes him complete , what he can turn to when he wants to vent, cry or be happy. He has a thing.

I don't write. I remember I was in my Essay lecture back in college and the professor had us think of the first line in the introduction of an essay about transportation. She said it doesn't have to be straight forward. This was probably 4 or 5 years ago,yet I still remember exactly what I wrote. Sa'ad, one of the nerds of our class was the first to read his line, I recall it was something like “ Transportation in Egypt is....” and then a whole lot of adjectives which I barely knew the meanings of. It was then someone else's turn and then it was mine. “ It is the rush hour that puts our transportation system through the test.” My professor then said that they have a writer in the house!

I'm not a good writer. It was surely an uplifting opinion, yet it wasn't entirely new. I had heard it before, that I write well. Or that I have the potential of being one. It's been two years now since I've graduated and the first time I wrote an actual essay was on the IELTS just a few weeks ago. Why haven't I written anything before that?

I don't have a thing. This idea had crossed my mind many times before, but there was something in Akram's attitude that really got me thinking. The way the world doesn't matter to him made me really jealous. The world matters to me so much so many times I feel like I'm nothing without the people around me. And It's a horrible feeling.

Akram paints, this girl at work makes accessories and a guy I used to know makes his own music and ummm and what do I do ? Absolutely nothing. For as long as I can remember, writing is the only talent I've had or might have. But for some reason, I've just always denied myself the pleasure of being creative,loving to be-not alone-with myself,and having a thing.

Lonely. I'm never alone except when I'm sad. Correction! I'm alone when I'm utterly depressed,yet not for long : I eventually look for someone to talk to/be with. I'm starting to notice or think that I don't like myself. I don't like to spend time alone, I don't think I'm interesting. Then another idea kicks in. I like myself but I don't like it when it's not doing anything.It's just that I get really lonely, all the time.I start scrolling down my contact list and choosing the fun people I want to hang out with.I can't stand being alone.I'm tired of relying on people so I can have fun,or enjoy myself or even feel happy. I want to be enough,for me. Just me.

I'm scared to write. There were so many times when I thought of writing,but something always stopped me. I know this about myself: I'm always scared to start something new. Despite of being a risk-taker, I am very good at postponing or bailing on something just because it needs a little effort or because I haven't done it before. It's a crippling feeling, and I am finally trying to break loose from it.