Clearly, this entire time I’ve spent outside of writing has gone quite enough. It wasn’t just the pang of guilt that haunts me at times as I set my one true passion aside, it’s the reminiscence. How it can be truly liberating to just sit myself down in my room while listening to the pure bliss of downpour rain, with these clutters of thoughts on my mind waiting for my indecisive self to decipher them altogether. Ah, the joy of writing. How ever so beautiful it is to know that you have the ability to just paint anything through words- and keep them. Never gets old.
Now, what was that? Why haven’t I been writing all that much, you ask? Aha. Call me ridiculous- this definitely falls too lame for it to highlight the “because I’m human” excuse-
Perhaps too nervous to even call this an actual post, not just because it’s bound to be the simply most unorganized, non-sensical, queer, post you have yet to read here-
but to create a recollection of your blurred thoughts, putting them on a blank page in a form of words? I was not sure that I was up for unveiling that big of a part of my self-discovery journey just yet. What if I don’t end up liking the writings that end up being produced? Have I or have I not yet gotten the right amount of vocabularies for my post that would exceed my expectations? Will I like the outcome? Should I filter my thoughts, or should I just aim for the brutality of being honest in what I write?
Those were a hell load of questions-
-which, on the contrary, are ones that I’ve been dealing with most recently. Not to talk about journalism and conducting interviews or anything, (though truth be told, the skills have sharpened quite a bit ever since I started the account), but the way it slips on the back of my head once every two seconds: it’s like my mind has another inner mind of its own- sinking evermore deep into impromptu observations of people, situations, interests, productivity, concerns, problems circulating from all over the world without me not being able to be there to help fix them – it’s a maze in there, I can assure you that. And like all mazes: they can be fun to explore, but pretty dangerous to get lost into.
But by all means, I have been experiencing an immense amount of growth outside of writing- little by little, each and everyday, to the extent where I have also physically grown a centimeter tall over the last year (hey, that is A LOT of growing to do in a year for a girl who’s already at her legal age). Though to be fair, it never gets too long for smooth-sailing days to go away, making room for irritating ones to come by to supersede them. I mean, life would be boring if it was easy, no?
Did I also mention that I currently am in my last year of Senior High School? Where everything is another whole new idea of disarrayed mess, and where subject rankings are the last thing you’d want yourself to think about before going to bed at night- aha. It gets me. Though to be fairly honest, I learned a lot more of the International Relations subject by watching Netflix (“Madam Secretary”) than I do listening to my Civics teacher lecture about it in class. Topics about how our education system being idealistically flawed, unnecessary, obsolete, and absurd have been discussed within a circle of friends the other day, and I just couldn’t agree more to it.
Which reminds me – I’ve read a total of 3 books just recently:
- Gemina by Amie Kauffman & Jay Kristoff (a sequel to the widely-known sci-fi series “The Illuminae Files”)
- Just My Luck by Cammie McGovern (a standalone regarding a 4th grader boy who happens to have a father diagnosed with aneurysm and an elder brother born with autism)
- Beyond Clueless by Linas Alsenas (also a contemporary standalone following 14-year old Martha as she finds herself on a journey to her dumbfounded self-discovery)
These books were okay, I mean- they were good, but not that good to fit my upmost liking, I guess I kind of am trying to get myself back from my slump and devour just about anything to get a kick-start. I’ll read a couple of more and see if I can create a post of my latest wrap-up- but until then, it’s on to reading and making my most out of my library card while I still can!
Thus ends my… what, ramblings? Diary entry? Therapeutic writing session? A representation of jumbled thoughts by a writer who hasn’t been doing much of what she’s supposed to do lately?
Oh well. It is what it is, then:
I will get myself to do more of it soon (which in turn is what I’d ALWAYS say towards the end of each post, but what’s the harm in doing it anyways? I’ll write what I want, and that’s that.)