I’ve always wanted to write a story: a novel; but never had the chance to do so. No, I had it, plenty of chances in fact. I think what I don’t have is the courage to write. I’m scared. I’m scared of getting it all wrong. I’m scared because English is not my first language and my first language, Indonesian, is not good enough. I’m scared of my limited vocabulary of words; I won’t be able to produce the effect that I want, the beautiful and lyrical prose. I’m scared of my weakness in grammar will weaken my writing. I am suppressed by my own fear.
As I am still shackled by my fear, I realized that the stories, the fantasies, the thoughts, dreams, imaginations that I had are slowly, gradually slipping away from my mind. I am not as imaginative as I used to be. I am growing up and along the way I lose my childishness, the innocence to dream and to imagine beyond the reality.
I am sad. I don’t want to grow up, I want to be able to live in my own dreamland like I used to every single nights before I sleep. I would always travel there, to the world of romance and fantasy. I would have all sorts of exciting things surrounding me: magic, weapons, great men and women, creatures, dragons, unicorns, and so many more.
Will I be able to hold on to this imagination? I don’t think I can. I need to capture them before it’s too late. I want to overcome my fear and start writing. To hell with perfection! Let’s leave those tiny weenie things to the editing process. I’m not a perfect writer, I’m not a good one, but perhaps I might be good in re-write and editing. I must convince myself. Set aside one or two hours a day to write. Please! I’m begging myself. I need to write! I don’t want to lose my imagination..