a message and sketches jotted on a piece of paper that’s been put down on a cluster of wild plants, shot during light shower of rain.

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A message and sketches on a piece of paper laying on green leaves — shot during light shower of rain.

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I won’t lower down my expectations

“Garner your strength writer, stifle the ache, for your words need to flutter.”


I know that the world is shaking right now, where most of us are sad, angry, aching, mourning; and that amidst this strange and wretched time, everything appears grim, morose, and without hope — but should our heart be alike the gloomy ambiance that’s surrounding us? That’s the question that I’ve been trying to work on since my plans changed completely during that lockdown period… since the pandemic took over our world.

And since then, I’m trying to work my way through this new shift in reality, trying to adjust the sail of my ship on that new ocean vibe, reorganizing everything in my life, trying at all cost to stick with a difficult schedule as to find time to write.

Since then — after I came out of a whirlwind of incomprehensible deception, demotivation, and gloomy emotions — I have shaken myself up, purged my poisonous thoughts, kicked my blues away, shifted my intent, modified my plans, and after many hours of self-introspection, I have finally been able to identify the root cause of this uncontrollable deception, which clearly made no sense at all. I then knew why earth had shaken underneath my feet, causing tidal waves in my heart.

I didn’t come this far to only come this far”

It was such a strange moment, that point in time when fear, doubts, what’s inconceivable, and the strangeness of my uncertainties merged to give birth to my distress. It was a situation forced on me, at least that’s how I felt… and I just couldn’t let those negative emotions poison my heart anymore, I couldn’t let distress overwhelm my senses and stop me from thinking, I couldn’t let distress freeze my movements, for I didn’t come this far to only come this far.

The future is not written yet, tables might turn at any point in time, and tomorrow, everything is possible, the better as the worst.

Then I decided that I shall think of that tomorrow with pessimism, for I want the better tomorrows, the most exciting of all tomorrows, I want to be that glint amidst the chaos.

Thus, I decided to not lower down my expectations concerning my writing ambition — that of selling my own books, books that I like, crafted things with imprints of my own sentences, and of course, to feed this blog with my thoughts and wordcrafts. I decided to continue circling my thoughts around creativity, just because I feel happy when I use writing as my main medium of expression, just because I don’t force myself to write stories nor poems, or even force myself to think about what to blog next. On the contrary, I miss creating more, I miss imagining the next story I’ll write or photos I’ll take for this blogsite and social-media feeds, or even to sit down as to craft more poems.

In the blog post harpooning the next day I wrote about how I overcame my doubts and my fears, and of all the dramatic situation occurring … but I didn’t expressed myself on what triggered that profound and uncontrollable distress that made no sense… which I happened to understand only after I went through a series of self-introspection.

Found I’ve missed the opportunity to market Darcocyte and this blog during that period where everyone was locked up at home, with only the internet as means to butterfly and socialise. Found that my doubts and thoughts about the errors I’ve committed were stopping me from thinking clearly about what to do next. Found that I was panicking over the fact that I was making the same mistakes over and over again, with intrusive thoughts and constant feelings that I ignored my intuition once more…

But wait! You know what? In the end I’ve understood that my overwhelming negative feelings were not even about my trials and errors concerning the business of writing… It was more about me, something more profound, something more sensitive. An opened scar. The feeling that I had lost my wings, again.

How much of intense emotions I felt during such a little period of time is unbelievable. Everything shifted, mingled, and then, raptured. All that I can say here, is that it was intense, very intense indeed.

But fortunately, after that I’ve shaken myself out of these ill-feelings and took myself in hand, I’m now back on track, I’ve regained my sense of logic, which as you all know is necessary to live in this reality.

And after I’ve spotted my errors and identified the steps that I might have skipped, or even the bridges that I might have burned, I came to accept the fact that I was bound to fail, simply because I was not prepared, for I still lacked the needed writing skills and experience; and though my steel like determination was there, I still lacked the needed patience, and as well as the needed maturity to understand once and for all that when you’re starting something from scratch, especially when you’re self-learning on your own to become an independent creative writer, you had to do a bigger work, and as well learn and practice more.

… Thus there were lacunas, thus it didn’t flow, it didn’t set, for there were too many missing pieces, there was no alignment.

Thus my expectations and dreams remain intact, for I now know, understand, and accept that it will take time and efforts to realise what I want.

I don’t think that one remains eternally an amateur in a chosen domain, and I do think that what I am learning now will surely help me in one way or another in the future.

… be patient, I say to my heart, a little bit more of patience, I tell to myself.

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