My blogs are not meant to brag, I don’t need publicity or fame. But if anyone would happen to read it and appreciate it, then I’ll be delighted. Well, why do I love writing? It’s my form of expression.. it’s my deepest thoughts and emotions that remain cloaked, my untold wonderings, my concealed complains, my impossible dreams, my wishes upon a star under a dark and cloudy night, my fictional imaginings, my rumblings about my sea of failures as well as my letters to my soulmate and prince charming.
When I was in elementary, I started writing stories in a piece of paper, most of it are truly fictional, I don’t know, maybe I was addicted to fairy tales. Some of my classmates would read it, I thought then I’m going to become a writer. Well, that adds to my list of frustrations. I wish I have save some of those childhood scripts.
In high school, I tried doing poetry. And at the same time, I was the only reader as well but later on, I let my chosen and few friends read it. Now, I still have them. I just laugh at myself whenever I read funny and stupid thoughts I had written, well, nice try.. I know, I’m not good.
Then at college, I get tired of rhyming words. I had my journals, diaries if you’ll consider it. Eighty percent of my write ups are about frustrations and sad thoughts. I became morbid and vain a little.. I found topics at those sorts easy to write…that I want to change.
And at this very moment, I’m still doing such. Ain’t it obvious?
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