Of Writing And Originality

Of late, I've been feeling like I've run out of things to write about. Or, more specifically, I feel like I've already written everything that's on my mind in one way or another in some post that I've written in the past. I feel like if I were to write anything else now, it'll either be some form of plagiarism of something I've read elsewhere, or it'll be me repeating something I've said already on the blog. 

Of course, this is in some way both absolutely true and not true at all. Everything I have to say or have said in the past has been in some shape or form a regurgitation of what I've consumed in the past. Nothing about me has been completely original, and nothing I produce in the future shall be completely original, since I can't isolate myself - and consequently, my writing - from my environment, no matter how hard I tried. I am a product of the amalgamation of my environment and my influences. Me and what I have consumed up until now are inseperable.

The only thing original I have to offer is what it looks like from my eyes. If anyone else in the world were to take my place and grow up as me and go through exactly the same things I've been through, I'd like to think that they'd have the exact same points of view as me right now.

But the fact of the matter is, no one is capable of living as someone else so completely, so everyone has a unique window from which to see the world from, and that's the only bit of originality one can offer. When one tries to convey how the world looks like from someone else's window, now that's the only truly unoriginal thing one can do. 

But when one uses other peoples' view of the world to inform them of the world to enable them to have a clearer (or at least, more colourful) picture of the world and relay to everyone else what it looks like from their perspective, then it should be alright, no?

Quite the detour I seem to have taken from my opening sentences to this post. Which just proves (to myself, more than anyone else, really) that I haven't run out of things to write about. I can't possibly run out of things to write about, no matter how much I tried. If I ended up believing that, then it'd just be a signal for me to read more things and interact with more people, and think about more stuff because seriously, if I were to combine all of those topics in a list, it'd be limitless. Or rather, more realistically, I'd die before I'd have a chance to exhaust that list of possibilities in the form of the written word. It's just a matter of me wanting to do it enough or not. If I'm anywhere serious about being a writer, then I'd better start writing, yeah?