The years of adventures, immigrations, and corruptions;
The years of falling in and out of love;
The years of insomnia and of the crying nights;
The years of heartbreaks and of boiling inside;
The years of reading Sylvia – the greatest – Plath;
and constantly relating
to her magnificent poems
and despaired life.
To her “Mirror”, where she is silver and exact;
Her “Candles”, “how shall I tell anything at all”;
The “Morning Song” in which “our voices echo, magnifying your arrival”;
And last but not least, her Bell Jar,
where she talks of Esther
and her life.
On June twenty third of the year two thousand and ten, I am going to present my favorite author and poet, the one and only Sylvia Plath, to the lady who helps me immensely in putting down my thoughts and to those, who are in the same boat as mine.
This is one of those days when I can totally relate to the world of the writer’s block… I want to write not for the sake of practicing, but mainly for distraction… I need a major distraction to rescue me from all the judgmental and the lying eyes… Those staring eyes that make my heart beat faster and feel sick inside…
What should I write about? This is perhaps the most misleading question one should ask before the first attempt of writing… My mind is dictating me to write on my arduous plans and self ambitions… on certain things that are floating out of my life… on the wrong decisions I sometimes make, which remind me that life is not a contest but a learning journey… on faraway places and the other side of the horizon… on his big lies and all the favours he gets in return… on being desirably or undesirably selfish… on negative outlooks or on Sylvia’s* Bell Jar…
This is when my heart shuts up my knackered mind… This is when I can sense the block is gone and I’m almost done…
This is the end of the blue era…
* Sylvia here refers to “Sylvia Palth“
“Is there no way out of the mind?”
— Sylvia Plath