Build a Bridge - By Falak

Written By: falak

Category: reflection

Competition: Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In a compelling entry for the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Falak presents "Build a Bridge," a reflection that delves deeply into the intricacies of the writing process and the personal journey towards self-discovery. Submitted in the Creative Writing category, this piece captures the essence of grappling with uncertainty and the quest for meaning. Through an introspective lens, Falak invites readers to ponder the connections between creativity and personal narratives.

About the Work

"Build a Bridge" by Falak explores the tension between certainty and uncertainty in the creative process. The work reflects a poignant inner dialogue, marked by a struggle to move past personal memories and towards genuine self-expression. Falak's narrative style is contemplative and candid, employing vivid imagery to depict the mental landscape of a writer confronting their own limitations and desires. This reflection serves as a reminder of the fluid nature of storytelling and the courage required to embrace the unknown.

falak

Original Submission by falak

The blinking cursor stared right back at me.

I hadn't written anything in seven minutes. I knew this because I had checked the clock twice and counted the seconds once out of boredom. The competition prompt sat at the top of the page in bold letters: Build a Bridge. Beneath it was absolutely nothing. No brilliant opening sentence, no sudden inspiration. Just a blank document and me staring at it as though the words would eventually feel guilty and appear on their own.

"Just write something," my friend texted.

I looked at the message, locked my phone, and tossed it onto the other side of my bed.

If it were that easy, I would've been done hours ago.

Usually writing came naturally to me. Not because I was exceptionally talented or because every story I wrote was good, most of them weren't. But writing was the one place where everything made sense. When I was confused, I wrote. When I was angry, I wrote. When I couldn't explain something out loud, I wrote it down and somehow the words figured it out before I did.

Writing had always belonged to me.

So why was I staring at a blank page? I typed a sentence then deleted it, typed two more and deleted them too.

The problem wasn't that I had nothing to write about anymore. The problem was that every story somehow led back to the same place.

A funny memory became his joke.

A lesson became something he taught me.

A story became a story about us.

Once, I tried writing about a chemistry test, halfway through, I found myself writing about a conversation we'd had the night before.

I deleted the entire thing.

Then I tried writing about friendship. That lasted three paragraphs. Delete.

By the third attempt, I wasn't even frustrated anymore. I was impressed. That was the frustrating part- not that every story was about him but every story somehow found its way back to him, even when it wasn't supposed to. The easiest version of this essay would probably be to tell you about him. To tell you about the relationship, the ending, the conversations, the reasons. But that's not actually what this story is about.

At least, I don't think it is.

This story starts with him, but hopefully it ends somewhere else entirely.

Maybe part of the reason this bothered me so much is that I've never been particularly good at leaving pieces of myself behind.

I still have notebooks from years ago. Screenshots I should have deleted months ago. Google Docs I swear I'll never open again and somehow always do. I've always treated memories like receipts, as if keeping them long enough would eventually explain something.

Maybe that's why every sentence felt so heavy. It wasn't just another story. It felt like another piece of me getting stuck somewhere I wasn't ready to revisit. I shut my laptop. Then immediately opened it again, as if the answer had magically appeared during the three seconds it had been closed.

It hadn't.

Outside my window, the city carried on as usual. Cars passed beneath streetlights. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. The world was moving forward at its normal pace while I sat frozen in front of a blinking cursor.

And for the first time in a very long time, writing felt crowded.

A year ago, this would've been impossible to imagine. I was the kind of person who carried notebooks everywhere and somehow managed to lose every single one of them. One notebook had a giant coffee stain across the cover. Another was filled with story ideas that made absolutely no sense. A detective who couldn't solve mysteries. A girl who accidentally became famous. A pigeon that narrated people's lives.

Looking back, none of them were particularly brilliant.

That wasn't the point.

They were mine.

Back then, stories appeared everywhere. A conversation in a hallway became a character. A random stranger became a plot. A teacher's comment became an entire chapter. The world felt full of possibilities because I was constantly looking for them. The funny thing is that I've always looked for meaning in everything. Not the big dramatic kind, the small kind.

The kind that convinces you the world follows rules.

If a pigeon pooped on my head before a bad day, I would probably start paying attention. The second time would be a coincidence. The third time would become a pattern. By the fourth, I'd be convinced the universe was trying to tell me something. It's ridiculous.

I know it is.

But I've always searched for certainty. I've always wanted things to make sense. I like knowing where stories are going. I like understanding why things happen. I like believing that if I pay enough attention, eventually I'll find the answer. Maybe that's why I struggle so much with uncertainty.

One thing about me is that I'm exceptionally talented at imagining futures. Give me ten minutes and I can tell you exactly how I think a story will end. I can picture conversations before they happen. I can picture friendships years from now. I can picture entire futures before I've even reached the middle of the story. The problem is that life has never been particularly interested in following my plans. Trust me, I've tried.

For most of my life, I believed "Everything happened for a reason." I heard it everywhere growing up. Teachers said it, movies said it, books repeated it so often that eventually I stopped questioning it. Every disappointment was supposed to teach me something, every ending came with a lesson and every difficult chapter was supposed to make sense eventually.

I loved that idea. I still want to.

But lately I've started wondering if maybe life is messier than that. Maybe some things happen because people make choices.

Maybe some stories don't arrive carrying a hidden lesson- maybe they simply happen and we happen to be standing close enough to be affected by them. Maybe sometimes we desperately search for meaning because accepting uncertainty is harder.

That thought terrified me for a long time.

Because if everything doesn't happen for a reason, then what are we supposed to do?

The answer came from the blank page sitting in front of me.

Maybe we decide for ourselves, maybe meaning isn't something we discover, maybe it's something we build.

For hours I had been staring at the competition prompt and thinking about bridges as things that connect people- friendships, families, relationships. But somewhere between deleting another paragraph and reopening my laptop for the fifth time, I realised that wasn't the bridge I needed.

The bridge wasn't between me and another person.

It wasn't between the past and the future.

It was between certainty and uncertainty.

Between the version of me who needed every story to have a clear ending and the version learning that some endings arrive without explanations.

Between the girl who thought she could predict her future and the girl slowly realising she can't.

For everyone else, I was still me. I was still messy. Still drank too much coffee. Still talked longer than necessary. Still turned five minute conversations into twenty minute conversations. Everyone seemed to know exactly who I was. The strange thing was that I wasn't entirely sure anymore.

Not because I had changed completely.

I hadn't.

But somewhere along the way, I had become so focused on understanding everything around me that I stopped paying attention to myself.

To the stories that were still mine.

To the parts of my life that existed independently of anyone else. The cursor blinked again, still waiting except this time it didn't feel accusing; rather it felt patient.

It felt like it was waiting for me to stop trying to write the perfect story and start writing an honest one.

If this was a movie, this would probably be the part where everything starts working out- the character learns the lesson, the music swells dramatically and the audience somehow knows they're going to be okay.

I used to love those endings because I always assumed my life would work that way too.

Now I'm not so sure.

I don't know what happens next.

I don't know which plans will stay and which ones will disappear. I don't know which stories will matter a year from now.

What I do know is that building a bridge has never required knowing exactly where it leads.

Sometimes it simply means taking the first step.

And for the first time in a long time, that feels like enough.

About the Competition

The Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar celebrates the power of words and creativity. Encouraging writers to explore new themes and push boundaries, the competition serves as a platform for emerging and established voices. Participants are invited to express their unique perspectives and creative prowess, contributing to a vibrant tapestry of poetic and narrative art.

Thank you, Falak, for sharing your insightful piece "Build a Bridge" with us in the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Your reflection on the writing process and personal growth resonates deeply, offering readers a chance to reflect on their own journeys. We appreciate your contribution and look forward to seeing more of your creative expressions in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.