I lost the desire to write years ago, for reasons I am still not sure of. Probably by having someone to talk to daily, I begun to think that writing was such a hassle, since I already had a conduit to express myself.
Now, it is a different situation.
Why did I start to write a lot back then?
I remember my final year in secondary school: 2008. I wrote a composition for the quarter-year test, and my English teacher was impressed by it. She asked me to print the story out and to get it pasted on the noticeboard outside the teachers' office for others to see. After that, she encouraged me to participate in a writing competition for the South-East Asia region, to which I agreed. There was no entrance fee needed, so I thought, why not?
The topic given was just a simple one word, and we were asked to construct a 1,200-words-composition from it.
"Blue"
I didn't remember well on what I wrote for that, but I do recall that at that moment, I was quite obsessed with the sky. I think I wrote something about the sky will eventually clear out and return back to its blue state, even after the heaviest rain, or after the strongest storm
After that, I guess I was just addicted to writing stories. I create the world, give the characters personalities and names, and make them enact the scenes I write perfectly. It make me feel like I am someone important to them, and is the one that decides their fates and emotions.
I create the perfect world with just the movements of my fingertips.
There are a few authors that I really like, namely Anne Rice and Haruki Murakami. Recently I also have been reading some of Franz Kafka's works.
Right now, I don't feel like doing anything. It's one of those rainy days again, and I pray it will last longer this time around. Also, it's the weekend. On Sundays, I don't wind up my spring. It is a day where I would just love to spend time doing nothing productive, a day to take a break from everything. I am supposed to go meet up some people today, but I guess that can wait.
The sessions are getting lesser and lesser with every week that passed, but the duration of one is still the same. Maybe I am recovering already, but I have this fear that I will have a relapse once again. One way to solve this problem is, as said by one of the people who participated in the session, "to let out everything you still have to say to that person, no matter how it end up." He said I am still having this pain because I still haven't let go of the past, and still feel that I have a duty to fulfill some promises I made. However, I must not get in contact with that person due to this lingering feelings, as that can easily lead me back to the starting point again.
What I can do is to write a letter, in any form, to that someone, but the trick is to not send it over to that person. Just write everything out and after that, destroy it.
I can do this. I still have hopes for tomorrow, and I know I can still see it.
The question is, will I live to see through it until the end? Our time here is limited, and we can do nothing to postpone the inevitable cessation.
Resting here in the comfort of home makes me recall one part of a conversation I had months ago.
"You can stop running."
"Aren't you tired?"
"You're worth much more than that."
I can't say it out by then, but having someone telling me to stop whatever I was doing at that time, when it was evident that I was heading down the path of my own self-destruction, it felt really nice.
I am feeling like myself again. Once again, I feel like this body of mine is at my command. I do not know how much time has passed since I gave myself up to the mercy of self-guilt, but now I feel like the vice around my heart is starting to get a little loose.
Back then, it felt like taking care of myself is akin to kicking a cold, lifeless flower. It was something that I appreciated, but now is dull and unattractive. It has deteriorated so much that I have no qualms in hurting it.
These hands that once belong to someone else, they are mine again. It is sad, but I need to move forward by pushing the past away. With these two hands, I will try to create something new to replace one thing that is lost.
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