By: Valerie Ann E. Dismaya & Almira Mia P. Marasigan
No connections can be of physical touch and can be found through personal interaction. Sometimes, these bonds are interlinked to those friends that we met virtually, to our favorite thing or food, or also our hobby.
Ever since the pandemic has begun, I feel isolated. I feel I was left out by the outside world, not even good news could reach me. I feel hopeless, hopeless that I wouldn’t be able to shed light on those I know who suffer more than isolation.
What kept me going???
As the happy me slowly got tired of the world, feeling isolated and left out, there were these things that ignited the light in me, the burning passion for weaving my own world and story.
Pen and papers…
Scribbles of notebook pages…
Droplets of ink marked my hands…
I was just a hopeless soul wandering through darkness, feeling a little bit lost in reality. Seeing how my classmates enjoy every activity related to their skills and talents makes me feel belittled and question myself, especially my choices, do I belong here? In the same phase as them, I lost track. But then, a realization hit me, I can write. I have my paper and pen. I can freely write my fantasies and the environment I wanted to be in.
My safe spot, my haven…
At first, I was just writing for myself, keeping my masterpiece away from the world because I always think that maybe, no one will appreciate all these trashes and it is better to just hide it all. The conversations and stories just stick to me and my notebook. But, I realize, that a lot of people today experience anxiety, and I believe that sharing my stories with some people would somehow make them feel at ease.
Writing, every word is crafted beautifully to make me, a writer, and readers think and believe that we belong in such realities. It is like everything is timeless, everyone can feel a sense of belongingness.
Writing is a compilation of emotions that makes us laugh, smile, and even cry. It is like we are interlinked with the story, in between the words, beneath every line, we ended up thinking about it nonstop. Writing, helped me widen my horizon, and broaden my imagination. It guided me in painting pictures, perceiving the world, and capturing moments. My love for writing guided me through a whole new completely different world.
And writing is what inspires me, it is the thing that kept me going, it is the way that guided me and made me realize that I still have self-worth and purpose.
Indeed, I was hopeless not until I woke up to the reality that I can write, I can transform words and letters into a masterpiece, that can inspire others who also feel so lost.
Writing will always have a place in my heart, it keeps me sane, and it makes me feel valuable. My light of hope to the never-ending isolation from the pandemic.