Tick-tock, tick-tock. I stared at the blank piece of paper in front of me. I quickly took a glance at the clock. It was 5:30 in the afternoon. I sighed, laying my head softly onto my wooden desk. 2 hours had already ticked by, and I still haven’t gained any inspiration to write. Not even a single word. And that has been stressing me out. Writing has been a part of my life ever since I wrote my first short story during elementary school. Though ever since I started high school, all my motivation to write suddenly disappeared into thin air. It wasn’t exactly that I didn’t have the motivation to write, but rather I didn’t have anything to write about. 

Recreating ideas and plots in your head wasn’t hard. After all, whenever I had nothing to do, I always sat there and thought about good ideas to write about. Though putting those things on paper, well that wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to do. I always have a plan on what to write, but when I try putting it down on paper, it just somehow doesn’t work out. And I don’t know why, which only frustrates me even more. I don’t even know what was holding me back from doing so. Was it because I just didn’t have any idea how to start with? Was it because it was just too hard to put thoughts into words? I just couldn’t figure it out. I sighed in frustration and decided to take a break to relax my mind a bit. After all, it wasn’t like I could get any ideas by staring into space for another few hours.

Turning around my swivel chair to face, I stood up and walked towards my bed, sitting on it. I stared at the wooden bookshelf that was on the right of my bed. The books were neatly organized: all the series input together, in the right order. Not one book was out of place since I have OCD. Reading had always been part of my life. Ever since I learned how to read, I had never, ever parted ways with it, sticking to each other like glue. After reading for several years, those authors had inspired me to follow their footsteps: to become an author myself. When I first started to write, it went out smoothly. I would have easily come up with an idea, and I would just spit it out onto the paper. I’d spend hours scribbling anything that came to mind onto the blank paper. It was like artwork: a once empty canvas that was transformed into a masterpiece, except just painted through words. 

Though lately, things have started to crumble around my world. Not knowing exactly what had happened, but I couldn’t think of anything to write. My thoughts seemed to be sucked out of my brain and into a vast space. Just thinking about writing now seems like a stressful thing. Sighing in defeat, I laid down on my bed and closed my eyes, thinking about what I could even write about. “I just didn’t, and couldn't find the motivation to write,” I thought to myself. I quickly sat up on my bed, my eyes as wide as they could ever be. That was what I needed. I quickly scrambled out of my bed and crashed back into my seat, Just like that, I started to scribble things onto the lined piece of paper. 

Now, you might be wondering about what just had happened. Well, this was what happened: I found my motivation to write. How? It was quite simple, to be honest. For months, I couldn’t put anything onto paper because I’ve been overthinking. All this time I just wanted to write something huge or influential to the people around me. That was what had stopped me. Writing isn’t something made for you and me to be famous. It’s something that we can use to portray our feelings and emotions onto paper in which we can share with other people. And now this piece of writing you are reading, or if anyone even reads, is the aftermath of me clearing my mind onto this paper. This is my story of finding and learning the truth about writing: a place for you to express your own emotions on paper for other people to read and learn from.