After almost seven months of feeling completely one-dimensional, I am back to writing again.
I guess that like with many writers, I sometimes find it difficult to get in touch with my deepest thoughts and my deepest emotions when I am not extremely miserable. I hear a lot of artists say that sadness and loneliness are their fuel to keep going with their art. But I wanna steer away from that direction. I do not want to be a sad artist. Yes, I have been happy. I have been mentally and emotionally stable. And it sucks that I have made that an excuse to not write for a fairly long time.
The truth is, I have grown.
I have grown in the sense that I no longer need chaos to make my heart feel like it can explode at any given moment. I am no longer that person who needs to hurt in order to write. Because right now, I am happy. And yet here I am.
… and I will always be here.
I was never good at staying in the same place for a long time. I always felt the need to go somewhere else, somewhere far from wherever I was. I always yearned for a kind of an escape. I don’t really know why or how, but this had always been me. It never meant I wasn’t happy, though. It’s just that, well, I guess like most people, I simply had a heart that needed a home.
Aren’t we all lost in this world in some ways? I’d like to believe so.
We recently moved to a different apartment. Moving is probably one of the most painful and brutal things in this world. This is what’s left in our apartment. The freaking packing tape used in boxing in all those stuff for the past week. This week has been such an exhausting week, and so I say to my family: If you guys ever decide to move again, I will MOVE OUT. Never again.
You say you wander your own land. But when I think about it, I don’t see how you can. You’re aching, you’re breaking, and I can see the pain in your eyes. Everybody’s changing, and I don’t know why…