Aziza is one of my brightest students. Every session with her is almost like a therapy for me. We do Art of Creative Writing Sessions together with her. In one of her sessions she got anxious about the essay challenge. Later, Aziza confessed that she feels blocked after 135 words. Half joke, half reality turned into a challenge for both of us. I challenged her to write her next essay with me. The topic of this essay would be “Beyond 135 words”. She hesitated but accepted the challenge. We both started typing our words. I did this for her I thought but it was not true. This topic captivated me into a different dimension. I started typing with what there is inside of me.
Here is the piece itself:
What is there beyond 135 words?
It is never enough. We always look at the horizon with hopes. Big hopes and expectations. There must be something beyond the point that we have reached. We are so obsessed about this beyond that we forget about the actual place itself.
Years ago, there was only fun and discoveries. Nothing could stop me. I was into games and playfulness. They said that you learn life by playing. Years later I understood that playing games was just a way to delay real life. It is harsh out there and it is cloudy all the time. When you play it feels like you are trying to hide under the special umbrella. But you know those merciless winds and cold. You know what they can do when they come together.
I was all about discovering new places and people. I enjoyed it so much. There was not more captivating than an opportunity of seeing new personalities. Then it started happening. I started discovering real faces behind the masks. I saw real intentions behind the favors. I started to feel the betrayals lurking behind my back. This period in time is called maturing up. I still do not get what is up with that? Is it the fact that when you are mature it is easier to digest what happens and let go? Is it easy to let go or to forge forgetfulness? We the people never forget. We live with all that pain.
So what is there beyond those 135 words? There is always more of the same. Same words. Same cycles. Same game. Now you may find me a bit cynical about life and less shiny in my understanding of this world. But am I the only one who thinks this way. Not that I need a supporting company but if you open the pages of any prominent writer, philosopher and human being you will hear the same thing. Life is a suffering they say. But here comes the extra point. They say that we all should find something worthy to suffer about.
I found my way in a strange way I might add. I noticed that writing was always there in my life like a guarding angel or a patient guide. Writing would come when invited or when it was not. I would type my feelings out. I would find refuge in words. I would use them as a healing. In some cases, these words would be castles and protectors from reckless winds and spins of life.
So here I am. Writing beyond the 135 words. There is so much to say and so little of a time. I am speechless and yet full with boiling phrases ready to spill out in any moment.
So here I am. Beyond the point I could ever imaginably reach. When I was a child I used to walk around the house and try to reach for the books that my dad used to read. Today, kids around the thousand households do so to reach out for Kvan. KVAN is a feeling that everyone desires. A feeling that is not easy to describe but has to be experienced. A feeling that I had when typing beyond the 135 pages of my first ever book and pressing the button which is inevitably strong. This button says enter.