Flash Fiction #180
I’ve always had this feeling that anything I write doesn’t come out as I would like it to come out. I don’t know why I feel this way, but I do. I can’t even articulate why this is the case. What is the problem? What is the gap between what’s in my mind and what is typed? It is something very vague that cannot be expressed in a comprehensible way. I thought this feeling would eventually go away as my writing kept improving, however slowly, but it hasn’t. Actually it continues to nag and gnaw and pull somewhere in my mind, but it is something shapeless, something that cannot be described or comprehended.
I am probably too critical and too negative. I am a pessimistic person to start with. I can criticize myself into a depression for no reason whatsoever. I often try to invent excuses and reasons not to do something. I understand that I came from a very narcissistic family with narcissistic figures among relatives from both my mother and my father side. And certainly the minority and immigrant communities here tend to be narcissistic too. Such narcissistic bubbles can only help to fuel negativity, criticism, unhealthy obsession, and general dissatisfaction. There are so many things to be negative about in writing—the messiness, the constant block, the feeling of inadequacy, the mundane words and phrases that keep popping up and refusing to go away.
Recently the dissatisfaction has only grown more severe. I think I probably will give up writing once for all since what’s the point of doing something, only to feel disappointed later on?
What is the real reason for the dissatisfaction despite its being vague, formless, and hard to describe.
The most obvious reason that I can think of is that English is my second language. Whenever something happens, I can always jump to this conclusion since it is the easiest and most expedient excuse. And a lot of evidence just comes out effortlessly to support this finger pointing. English just doesn’t stick to my brain, which is not wired for English to begin with. The readings I’ve done is an effort to make English more acceptable to my brain cells, but it is a cup of water against the tide of unwillingness and foreignness felt by my mind. However I really don’t like this explanation. For one thing, it is too obvious. For another, it seems to say there is no help for it and it’s hopeless.
The second reason is that probably I am not good at connect my feelings with my writing. I read somewhere that the language itself is not the problem, but rather the yearning or longing behind it. I think I have enough longing for this life and the next life, if I ever have one. However I am probably unable to connect this longing with writing. I have always had problems connecting. Being the victims of narcissistic parents, I have problems in communication, connection, expression, relationship etc. Not only with other people, but with myself too. I don’t even connect with myself. Only recently, I started to pay more attention to my own impulses, excitement, fleeting thoughts and emotions, sadness etc. I also start to record it, which is a way of practicing how to get in touch with myself. I don’t know if it will work, but I try.
(To Be Continued)
Haoyan Do 