Why am I me with this conscience that doesn’t want to be? At least, I think it doesn’t want to be, as it needs a constant reminder that it’s there. It’s similar to having your head in the clouds (because reality is draining). You don’t want to think or do anything, speak or react to anything. Creative introverts can’t handle the ordinary life cycle, and yet they are caught in it. Everything and everyone has expectations of them.
Yesterday your conscience was that of a child’s. Today you’re wondering whatever happened to it? It used to be more creative, angrier and more honest. It’s when you didn’t have control over your feelings. Now that you have control, it’s like you’re letting your creativity grow up by paying rent and bills. That constitutes responsibility. Isn’t responsibility a part of independence?
Yes, all’s good, except that one morning you will look at yourself in the mirror and wonder whether you’ve ever contributed to anything that mattered to people. What do you do? You spend ten years writing something that turns out to be a fiction novel. You rack your brains over a short story that you named Silicon Dreams. It’s the best you can come up with for now while the story isn’t coming along. The idea is there; the setup is there, but what else? You can’t play God anymore? Well, of course not; there is no God in fiction writing. The story is already there – you’re just figuring it out. It’s almost like a game of chess or a puzzle. There are endless ways, moves and pieces – more than you can ever take.
I’m not saying that what I create should matter to anyone unless they choose to. You don’t impose. That’d be selfish. Presenting your art is necessary, though. My tutor used to say that writing (or art in general) is about exposure, and that’s what you want. Unlike others, I am not scared to expose anything. I’m only scared of not being able to express myself – especially before the sun goes down. It’s like there is never enough time to let everything out.
How do people become wise in the course of their life? Do you have to grow old for that? What phase of adulthood am I in when I’m trying to find out when my life actually began? (I.e., the day I first made friends? The day I first left home? The day I started at university?) Life, in fact, begins every day. I’m probably at a stage where I am settling down and working to become my own boss. There is still a lot to do, but I don’t think it’s a midlife crisis just yet.
My conscience wants to escape me because I’m not paying attention to its creative abilities. It will eventually die if I don’t let them turn into stories. Talented people don’t lose their abilities. But I am not talented. If I stop, I’ll lose everything. I have to do something before the sun goes down…