For someone who writes and speaks english as a secondary language, it’s not a snappy act to come up with a paragraph and eventually get stuck with a meager one or two sentences for self expression. The native writers in this country tend to use idioms and jargons like drinking water from a fountain. Here I am, a non native with an inherent human tendency to compare and equate work with other writers, am forever confronted with uncertainty and intimidated if I am in the right path pursuing this art.
Yes, I get envious for not writing and speaking exceptional english language and I am running out of endurance for learning too slow would be glad to even classifying my efforts mediocre.
Which leads me to two possible opposing direction,
be consumably reluctant, discouraged, cowed in the corner to finally withdraw in defeat. Allowing myself to do that, lets me justify that fortune didn’t smile in my direction, that this world was never fair, reserved only to the few who are chosen and powerful. Except me. I am not one of them. This is the easiest choice in life, relegating oneself to the sideline.
No more striving to express or write or seeking my own creativity. I could go on living my life aimlessly, let nature takes its own course.
The other possible reaction is to resist this fear of intimidation and stop looking at the impossible. It is a rough ride, as I begin my journey, both power of persuading and dissuading comes from the same voice and the same heart. The pushing and the holding lies on the same hands. It is lonely and daunting.