Tuesday, March 1, 2011


i am so worried. there are a hundred and one, no, a thousand and one things on my mind right now, pulling me apart, distracting me, causing my thoughts to be all a jumble.

first off, there's college. i know many people gripe and whine about this, and im afraid to say that i am no better. i'm only in my second semester but due to some silly inconsistencies, we're in the same classes as some of the more advanced semesters. for example, newswriting. we're supposed to take intro to journalism, and then newswriting, in that order.

but then we've been given newswriting in this semester, and will have to take the introductory subject in a future semester. doesnt bloody make any sense.

and also advertising. it would be more appropriate if we were to take advertising after learning image editing, as then we'd be able to design ads and stuff with a lot less trouble, plus the quality of our work would be much better.
but no. some people dont have the basic common sense to see things that way. someone out there wants to make us suffer. 

5 subjects, all serious, heavy, dense, no nonsense ones. so unlike my previous semester where i was just chirpily sailing along, whistling a gaily tune, and handled everything without any sweat.


second, which has been worrying me more, is my ability to write. which i feel is disappearing. i loved writing in high school ; matter of fact, i still do. it is so extremely liberating and calming, immortalising your thoughts with a mere piece of paper and some ink, getting people to listen, making an impact.

i used to pick up a pencil and just spill myself onto page after page with words, my thoughts, my emotions. and i used to be able to do it so fluidly, so naturally.

i was fascinated by the fact that through writing, one has the ability to conjure up this world of fantasy, your own wonderful cocoon of make believe and magic, a place where you can make the impossible happen, where you're able to ride in a charriot of lightning bolts pulled by silver winged pegasus which thunder through the heavens.

where you swim with the loch ness monster, sit by the fire warming your toes with the abominable snowman, picnic in the sleepy moonlit glade with fairies and brownies.

where you humble the proud mountains to dust with a flick of your wrist, where you embroider sparkling stars in your own dark cobalt blue sky to illuminate the inky black night.

i had this pride of myself as a decent creative writer, and treasured my capability of words and literacy. nothing compared to the likes of c.s. lewis, or roald dahl, but certainly able to carry myself well enough with my words. but now, i see that i probably had a big head, a silly inflated ego.

what happened to me? it scares me that my ability to do something which i enjoyed and was good at, is slipping away, and i dont know how to prevent it from happening. it's like watching a disastrous accident happen in slow motion, right before your eyes. you want to scream, to jump up and down, to pull the person away - anything to stop it from happening. but then time flashes by, the reality of the situation crashes down, and the next moment you're staring at this desolate wasteland of burning, useless, rubble with smoke swirling around you.

i want to live again, through my words.
i want to  breathe again, across the pages.
i want to release my soul, to spill my heart out, with the ink in my pen.

i want to write, again.

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