Trapped In The Margins

I was in a creative slump for the last few months of 2021. I was not able to write anything of merit, except for one poem. I cherish that poem the most because I wrote it for the person that I am in love with. I do not say that lightly. I guess my creative slump stemmed from the fact that I emerged from the lowest point I have ever reached in my life. It’s been years of setbacks and failures in work and relationships that put me where I was. It was a middle ground where I saw everything that I accomplished and the future that looked like a hazy cloud.

The future looked bleak. I could not see myself accomplishing any goals. My grand life to-do list was empty, yet I was stuck in the worst space I had ever been. But I began to have several breakthroughs in therapy. I am currently in the best headspace I’ve ever been in but it leads to a distressing thought. If I’m not in pain, what happens to my art? I’m so accustomed to mining my pain for content that I do not know how to create happy content.

I recall a random interview with Adele where she said that she was too busy enjoying happy moments to write about them. That’s how I feel. I’m too busy enjoying this unprecedented time in my life where I actually like myself. This is the first time in my life where I don’t completely despise my own existence. Living is more than bearable. It’s actually enjoyable. I just want to enjoy my life and not worry about the end of my life. I dreamt about my death almost every night since I was four years old. How fucking morbid is that?

This shift comes as I shake the vestiges of decades of Catholic indoctrination and good old shame. I’m also shaking off the guilt that comes with being a first generation American for Indo-Caribbean parents. I’m going to live my life on my terms and I hope that when my time does finally come, I will have lived a good life.

I just want to have fun.