As a child, my mum would often give me pieces of used paper, with the intention of giving me something to occupy myself with. On one side, it was a printed sheet of gibberish containing words and symbols that I often pay no attention to. The other side, however, stood out to me. I loved how empty it was. So much possibilities!
Almost 3 decades later and here I am staring at a blank sheet of paper. Experience has changed me. When I was a child, I never filtered, nor worried about grammar or how the end result would appear. I was never afraid that I would never be able to complete it. Playtime meant that pieces of paper could be left unfinished forever. Maybe I would come back to it, most often not. It's so different now, and yet my heart skips a bit to think about this blank piece of digital paper that I'm going to fill.
I would love to approach writing as a child again. Where I write for no audience but myself. Or perhaps, not even myself, but for the fun of it. It's probably going to be one of the hardest things to do in the world for an adult, but let us try again.
Something was lost in the midst of growing up - and I would very much like to find the beauty of it once again.