Bring back the Zeek.

Hello blog. Hello world. It has been some time, long time actually. I have missed this space; seriously, I have terribly missed this place. I have tried to know what's wrong - with me - but I am not sure what is it. I've always heard of people getting a certain phobia of doing what they love and continuously do, i.e. swimmers developing a fear of water, runners not able to run and writers scared of putting ink on paper.

I don't know what it is, or why is it happening. Am I afraid of failure? Or am I running away from success? Since when have I cared about what others think, when it comes to my writing that is? I keep asking myself the following questions every day, hoping that I would find an answer, but it's not easy:

Do I want to write? Yes.

Do I want to be a published author/novelist? Yes

Do I want to be a screenwriter? Yes.

Do I want to quit my corporate job and do the above full time? Yes Yes Yes.

I am afraid of failure. But would I ever know without trying? And even if I fail, I should try again until I succeed, or at least, to be sure that this is not for me. I am good at talking. I can motivate my friends - and co-workers - alike, but I can't motivate myself, even if I do it for a day or a month, I am human - I will cave back to my comfort zone, I will snooze the alarm and not wake up to write or I will procrastinate to justify my shortcomings. My colleague recently passed his CFA exam, level 1. It was his 3rd attempt. I was encouraging him every day for the past two and a half years not to give up on his dream of becoming a certified accountant. He failed twice. He spent a lot of money, countless hours, days and even months on studying; neglecting his family and social life, and still failed. Yet, I kept telling him not to quit. He now passed and is more fired up than ever before at work and has already started studying for Level 2 which is taking place next summer!

I want to be that person. I want to be that person that commits to something and see it through till the end. We all do what is easy, or in other words; what is comforting in our eyes. It's been a year now that I've been working out religiously; I am probably in the best shape I've been in since I moved to Dubai. I love eating right and working out, every day. Lately, I've started hating rest days, that's why I now no longer give myself a day off. I just came back from a one-month vacation in Egypt, and in those 30 days, I worked out every single day. Going to the gym and spending two hours every day lifting weights became a sweet addiction. I wish I could do the same with my writing. I wish I could finish my screenplay, the one I started in August 2015. I was so pumped up, writing before I go to work, writing on the metro, writing on weekends, ditching outings to write, travelling to another continent just to learn more, all this happened in one year. I put so much effort and energy in one year, that after I returned back from Sweden in December 2016, and started fantasising about a career in writing, I faltered. I turned to a coward. I am afraid. I don't know what is it that I am afraid of, but I am afraid. 

The last blog I wrote was over two years ago. I was hoping that Amr Salama will get a chance to read it and reach out to me. Maybe he would encourage me, I thought. Last October, in a desperate attempt, I emailed him one morning asking for help and politely begging him to read what I wrote about him. To my amazement and surprise he replied back one week after. It was a genuine reply, I could feel it. He asked me how would it be possible for him to help? I replied back, thanking him of course, and sent him my screenplay draft to read, just wanting to know his thoughts. If I have it in me, the talent that is...I wanted his honest opinion. A direction. Any hope that would make me sit and write, or any advice that this job is not for me.

He never replied since. Maybe he is busy. Maybe he never read the reply. Maybe he hated it. Maybe he loved it and didn't want to motivate me out of fear that I would be more famous than him (yes, if you're laughing out loud, it's a joke - pun intended).

Last year has been bittersweet, a rollercoaster ride, to say the least. New baby, first baby, staying alone for months, moving houses, clients leaving, people getting fired, moving offices, sister giving birth, sister getting a divorce, taking care of my son, trying to be there, for both my wife and son, and other stuff that happen every day to everyone. Those 12 months made me realise how precious time is. How every minute counts, and how is it so true that you make your own luck.

Cliche as it sounds, but I would rather try and fail than live in fear of not knowing. Because even if I fail, it will still be a funny bedtime story to tell my little boy.