Je réfléchis à une idée. Une rime. Une histoire. Je suis très heureuse de le partager. Je suis l’auteur avec une machine à écrire. J’écris les mots. C’est le bordel. Je l’écris à nouveau, encore et encore. Je l’améliore.

Je regarde la poubelle au loin. Que vont penser mes amis de moi ? Et mes collègues ? Mes cousins ? J’ai lu mon texte pour la millionième fois. Je vais déjeuner, mais je pense toujours à mes paroles. Quelle est la meilleure façon de dire ceci ? Quelle est la meilleure façon de dire cela ? Est-ce bon pour les oreilles ? Je sais pas ce que je fais.

Je regarde l’horloge et cela fait treize jours, mais mon texte est toujours le pire.

J’entends une voix du public. « S’il te plaît, viens dehors avec tout ce que tu as. »

Attends, tu es sérieux ? Je prends mes papiers et je cours au front. Mais je m’arrête et je regarde à nouveau tous mes textes. Je m’assure que tout va bien.

Mais la porte s’ouvre et je vois mon Dieu. « Pourquoi es-tu si inquiet ? il dit. Il n’y a personne d’autre que moi ici. »

Il a raison. Il y a beaucoup de sièges rouges vides.

« Mais quelqu’un pourrait venir, je dis. Je veux parler aux gens de ce spectacle de toute façon.

— Oui, dit-il avec un sourire. Mais je suis le Créateur de ce théâtre. Je te donne les mots à écrire et je t’amène les gens. Ainsi, je suis ton auditeur le plus important, plus grand que tout le monde. Toutes les autres bonnes choses suivront bientôt. Je veux que tu saches que j’ai de grands projets pour toi et ce théâtre. »

Je dis oui, et je lui donne les papiers. Je suis toujours réticente, mais je résiste. Certaines personnes pourraient pas l’aimer et d’autres pourraient pas être intéressées. Cependant, mon Dieu est plus grand que toute autre personne. Et je suis d’accord avec ça, parce qu’il est tout ce dont j’ai besoin.

English Version

An idea comes into my head. A rhyme, a story, a journey. The excitement of bringing it on stage. I become the screenwriter behind the typewriter, laying out the script, line by line. Chaotic. I take out my ink and quill and rewrite it all again, orchestrating my words, then I repeat.

Midway through it all, I stare at the trash can at the other side of the room. I wonder what my friends will think of this. And my classmates, my relatives. I look over my script for the millionth time, weeding out all my imperfections. I get up to eat lunch, but then I’m still going over the script in the back of my head. I think of what’s the best way to say this. What’s the best way to say that. How does all this sound? What am I even doing?

I look up at the analog clock and thirteen days has already passed, but my rough draft’s sadly still the worst draft that’s ever written.

A voice calls out from the audience outside the curtains. “Please, come out with whatever you have.”

Wait, are you kidding me right now? I gather up all my papers and hurry towards the front. But right before I reveal myself, I stop and quickly try to go over all the papers in my hands, making sure none of the pages are missing and that everything’s in order.

However, the door opens up and He’s standing right there in front of me. “What are you so worried about?” He says. “There’s nobody else in here but me.”

I look over His shoulder and He’s right. There’s hundreds of rows of empty red seats that seem to stretch out for miles.

“But what if somebody might come?” I say. “I’m gonna have to tell people about this show anyways.”

“Yes,” He says with a warm smile. “But I’m the Owner and Creator of this theater. I’m the One who gives you the words to write, and I’m the One who fills up these seats with people. I am, therefore, your most important audience—exceedingly greater than anyone else in this world could ever be. And all the awards and blessings will soon follow. Just know that you can put your trust in me, and that I have many great plans for you and this theater.”

I nod, and then I hand Him the papers. A part of me is still reluctant, but then I avoid listening to it. Because while some people might be uninterested, some others might be critical, and some might be too busy. Despite of all else, only God’s opinions matter most—far greater than anyone else’s. And I can be at peace with that, because He’s truly all that I need.

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Author’s Note

Personally, I like the French version better than the English version, even though I honestly wrote the English version first before I translated it. I just think the French version sounds a whole lot nicer and less awkward, you know? Okay maybe you don’t.

But oh my goodness, translating this was insanely more difficult than I thought it would be. And no, I cannot simply just copy and paste everything into Google Translate, because the translator often says one thing while I actually mean another.

Now I realize that the majority of my readers most likely just skipped over the entire French version because of course, not everyone knows French. But I wrote it anyways because I wanted to have something on my blog written in French while also practicing the language at the same time. Also by the way, this marks my first official French post on this blog (like FINALLY, AT LAST.)

But I admit I used a lot of Google Translate to help me write the French version, because my French level isn’t quite that high yet. I simplified a lot of the language, so the translations aren’t really word for word. I just aimed for the kind of French level that I understand, and I have the feeling there’s still a ton of errors, except I’m not motivated enough to fix them anymore. But oh well, I’m keeping the whole thing so that one day I can look back at it and see how much improvement I’ve made.

I wrote both the French and English versions in only a matter of a few hours, and that is quite an accomplishment for me. Usually I’d take several days or weeks to work on a single post, and I’d be constantly thinking about it even when I’m doing other things like getting ready, eating dinner, trying to go to sleep—just like how I described in the poem above.

Okay let me take a moment to explain why I call this piece a poem. It’s because I’ve loaded it with metaphors, and I wanted to explore the beauty of all that. Lately I’ve been searching all over the internet about what I should call it whenever I write like this. I mean, it doesn’t rhyme like you’d typically expect out of a poem, and neither is it a story with a whole plot and everything. It’s also hard to call this a prose poem, because it seems to be written more like a story.

However, when it all comes down to it, I wrote this as a piece of art. Like a painting in a museum. So that’s why I’m like, whatever—I’ll just call this a piece of poetry.

ANyways, about this poem… It basically describes my biggest insecurities during my blog-writing process, and about what’s Christ’s perspective on it. And the rest of the poem speaks for itself.

Last night, I literally wrote this poem as I went, with no idea what the next line was going to be about. I’d say this was a miracle. It still has its flaws and everything, but for once, I’m not very stressed out about perfecting it. WHICH IS GREAT.

This is also the first poem on this blog that actually talks about God. To be honest, I’ve tried many times to write poems about God in the past, but for some reason it’s always so unnecessarily hard to describe Him???

Anyways, I’m incredibly glad for this poem, and I feel like this one is super important. This past year—ever since I picked this blog back up again—I have learned a whole lot, but I have messed up a whole lot too. But one thing I realized is that I have this tendency to become obsessed with trying to make my blog posts perfect. Man, it’s such a deep rabbit hole to get stuck in.

But now I’m learning how to die to my old self everyday—because with each day, I am improving, and I’m no longer the same person that I was yesterday. And I know blogging makes that difficult because all of my old posts are permanently out there on the internet, so my old selves aren’t exactly destroyed. It’s just like having all my past imperfections hung up on a wall for everyone to see.

Nevertheless, I have future blog posts that need more of my attention. And instead of weighing myself down with trying to please as many people as I can, I should first and foremost focus on writing for God. So even if the world looks down on me and calls me weird and crazy, and even if all the seats in the theater are empty, it all doesn’t matter as long as Christ approves of me. And then He will bless me with the right audience. With the right people. (Which includes you, by the way, if you’re actually reading this post.)

OKAY THAT’S IT FOR NOW, SO THANK YOU FOR READING THIS POST. Merci et à bientôt, I hope you enjoyed. Pls feel free to like, share, comment, and subscribe. Au revoir my dudes, I hope I didn’t weird anyone out. Also pls let me know if there’s a typo in this post, or even better: if there’s a mistake in my French. Ok BYEE

Featured image by Liam McGarry on Unsplash