To me,

I have just realized that it's been a while since I last wrote about myself and what's really in my mind. I have been so caught up writing so many academic writings that I can submit somewhere to win prize or to get one of them featured on the website. Or maybe I have been too busy writing love poems about no one just so that I could send it somewhere.


Yes, I admit it, I have been going nuts trying to get everything published somewhere so that people will read it and compliment my writings. I have been desperate to get my writing recognized. I have been trying so hard to copy other famous writers' writing style and in the middle of trying to be like someone else, I guess I lose the meaning of writing itself; that writing is a way to transfer whatever it is in your mind through your fingers and into words, sentences, paragraph, and a story; writing is a way to relieve your stress and writing is never about getting a good publication or recognition. I should have known that.

Months ago I was so used to writing everything down everywhere, be it on this blog or my diary, even on a piece of paper that I know I will lose somewhere. Whatever it is in my mind, I write it down, messily. I have never tried to sugarcoat my thoughts nor have I tried to make my words fancier. It just is; no filter, naked as it is. And maybe that's why I have been feeling a little bit weird lately, like there is something different with me. And it turns out that I miss writing about myself and my feelings. I miss letting out everything that is haunting my brain, I miss hugging myself in glee while writing happy moments, I miss writing all my stupid questions and dreams, I miss writing cursing words and over exaggerating words and I miss making assumptions and I miss writing my excerpts of stories and I miss me rambling and complaining about something and I just miss writing so much.

And now I don't know where to start.