Family Ghost

Warning! If you are a non spiritual person, you will find the context of this text annoying as hell. Continue at your own risk!

It has been a long and tiring week for me. I could not work on my essay for the whole week. My brain is constantly shutting off whenever I felt the crack of the idea in it. That idea turned to be an unfinished one, hanging alone and rotting. As days went by, more cracks appear, but they closed in a amazing pace. Leaving the rest of the idea untouchable and decaying. Slowly but sure, the decay spread through the whole mind, corrupting my sanity, just like a cancer cell multiplying and consuming the healthy part of the body.

Writer's block! That's the common term for my disease. It is not deadly, but can be really offensive for a writer. Yet, I am in the middle of writing my essay for the course. I invested myself so much in the essay and let my life hung on the thin thread. People started noticing that I lost my weight even more, just because I forgot to eat. This tumor made it worse.

Nope, it was not the worst. I had a huge trouble with my interview. Something silly happened and I did not get the expected data. My corroding mind suddenly went berserk outrageously. The cancer had exploded and consuming every piece of my soul and sanity. A dear friend over messenger noticed this and asked me what happened?

I didn't know. I really didn't know. He and my mother knew that there must be a trivial thing stuck in my very soul to cause this humongous rage.

"Maybe your date?" suggested my mother. Date? Seriously? I did not have someone I am seeing right now. I totally invested my life to my essay.

"You need a fresh air. Just stroll around the town!" a dear friend advised me. I'd just strolled my bike till the neighboring village. It's not about the fresh air!

And I realized something. I miss having "crowd" in my room. It felt so lonely, with me as the only soul there. I miss having my late brother beside me. All these months, my room was just a complete solace. Back home, there were many "people" accompanied me. Sometimes, a strayed one came and yield for help or warmth. Sometimes they appeared in my dream. Sometimes, they appeared before me. In short, my old room was a spiritual crossroad.

Living alone in my old house did not give me the chill of loneliness. I got my companion. My late brother sometimes came. There was this old man guarding next to my sleep. Sometimes he even gave me a soft massage when I felt exhausted. But none in my recent room. I guess, I really need to give myself a moment of silence.