Hiatus

24/3/2016

After reading my last entry which was 5 months ago, I felt like I've grown out of that person. Perhaps because last semester has seriously toughen me up and it's not in the slightest moment that I've regretted going through it. Maybe just a warning the next time I want to take up PhD.

Nowadays, every night before I sleep, I can only think about when will I start my editing on that manuscript snuggled in my Publishing Project folder or how can I manage to finish 3 chapters of my dissertation by the end of this semester, along with publishing a book from editing to choosing the type of cover that I want for my book. It sounds impossible just by writing about it.

I know, with the bombings in Ankara and Brussels, my little stones can be overcome easily, they're not even explosives to begin with. But if your body is literally affected by all the stress you can't handle, I'm sure these aren't just little stones. I'm not saying I'm being terrorized (or maybe I am?), I'm just saying for a small ant, a little stone is like a hill. I'm that small ant right now.

It's best to focus on tasks on hand; easier to manage and stress are fairly distributed (Ha if that's even possible). One step at a time. But when your partner is already a member of the working society, you can't help but be involved in the plannings of your future together of buying a house, getting a new car or just investing in yourselves for a lifetime together. I'm not saying this is a burden, I'm saying it feels so grown up to be needed to juggle your studies, finance, family, relationship, faith, friendships, and health with only one body. I guess, I just don't want to be 24 and a grownup.

Sorry, if it sounds like the sole purpose of my writing is to ramble and seek sympathy, I'm not. I just feel better (sometimes) after writing it out.

When I think of my future, I see myself working in a publishing house running between floors and buildings on streets and cities to finish an assignment. At times, I see myself crawling between furniture in my house with an aimless mind and lethargic body. Such extremes, much worries. At least sometimes, I have this middle ground where everything has turned out alright and I'm always home before him and waiting for him to come home to me every night. Dreams and reality do fuck you up sometimes. 

Suffer what there is to suffer, enjoy what there is to enjoy. 

31/5/2016

I just remembered I had this post drafted and long forgotten until now. This is so me.

Writing about writing.

Lately I've been pondering on the reason why I've been so reluctant to blog again. I used to be able to do it on a daily basis during high school and even though I had nothing special to blog about, I still managed to ooze my feelings and happenings into tangible words.

Those were the days where a small girl in a small town has nothing interesting to do and nowhere nice to go, no smartphone and still using Friendster era, I was able to be myself and write every nook and cranny of my heart out.

Years passed by and that blog has long been forgotten. Until memories drew me back to the old blog and yes I still managed to log in.

As I was reading it, I was almost appalled and cringed more than I should. I was reading my own blog, why would I  grimaced while reading and not  remember what happened?

After days of obsessing over this cringe-worthy old blog, I decided to delete the whole thing, the entire blog. But I chose to retain the name - The Outcast.

I've come to realize that I'm afraid to write, not only because I always think I'm not good enough, but also because I know, once experiences and emotions written, they are immortalized into words.

I can't be deleting and creating a new blog whenever I have chills reading awkward situations or deep emo posts I've been through and written about. I have to commit to something, now that I think of it. Might as well be a blog?

Yes, besides my relationship, I need something else to keep my head occupied and exercised too.

Words to me, they are the primary form of communication, also for most people, what more with texting and IMs nowadays.

But when I can't speak, I write. When I can't sing, I write. When I can't cry, I write. When I can't laugh, I write. Tell me something I don't do without writing it out first.

I write in my own space, and I love it. It sort of liberates me, like a functioning human being who knows how to wonder and wander. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for the existence of letters and words. I find writing comforting and relaxing but also pressured at the same time to write better.

Writing has been a rough journey for me. In fact, it has just started again. Every single day is a new day for me to write. Some days I'm afraid of what I'm capable and incapable of writing, other days I spit out like farting right after exiting the elevator. Like now, duh.

I wanna be done writing about writing, I wanna start writing about expressing and inspiring personal feelings, inducing and creating emotions from those who read me.

I can't be caring now that I have no readers. Someone told me once, somewhere along this line, if I don't write, how's anyone gonna read?

Writing is fearful yet rewarding, be courageous to write. Nothing beats a smooth train of thoughts.

Cheers,