On writing


I’m afraid of losing little moments in time. I’m afraid of losing experiences, sights, sounds, places. I’m afraid of losing who I am.

My writing is all pieces of my life. Every one is born from inside myself and my need to express, to preserve. Fragments of who I am.

no matter how much I write I still feel no one will understand me.

how can anyone? it’s only writing, right? it’s only made up. it’s Fiction.

But then again. Understanding is perhaps not what I am looking for. What then? what do i want? what am i trying to achieve here? i don’t know.

Perhaps it helps pain. perhaps by sharing it with people who may not even read, or if they read, may not understand, maybe just by the act of sharing it, in itself, helps me. Maybe the loneliness is not so great if it’s also on the paper. Maybe the thoughts in my mind are calmer on the page. maybe writing is simply an addiction. but i want to remember.

remember who i am, who i have been, who i could become, who i have seen in myself. what will never happen and i wish it would.

so I don’t feel the need to laugh to shut off the thoughts that could make me cry. poetry for my eyes only that tells the world what i think of everything i can’t otherwise say. real people, unreal ones, ones who are real but not to me, anger and sadness and fear and rage, destroy the perfect white page that so happily conveys my message.

perhaps one day, that too i can share.

my years of life are speeding up too fast. at the same time as wanting for my childhood to be finished, i want to go back to how i was before, young, carefree, somehow lighter. sometimes i feel just as young inside as i was then.

sometimes i feel like the oldest person in my world. my world is not very big. it’s fragile too. the internet is a world i spend half my life in, i reside in a sort of half place, relying on the net for the things i think i need.

have you ever said the internet was your entire social life? is it completely true? i know it’s not for me. i see people, sure. but my friends are here. the ones who comment on my blog are my friends. the unseen readers are friends, though i have no interaction with them, and may never know them.

in fact i will never know any of them. the chances of us meeting in real life are so very small.

the nanowrimo forums. FRIENDS. that is something mostly lacking in my real life. i spend my time wondering if my life is normal, when i have time. I ask myself what in the world i am complaing about, and tell myself i am stupid and childish. i don’t know what to believe is true about me anymore.

for the most part i think i am normal. life is so full of uncertainties and frustrations, isn’t it? my stories portray that. they can give hope to me. i can give hope to my characters in my stories. or not. the hopelessness sometimes spills into my writing and there doesn’t indeed to be much hope – at least not in sight. i don’t ever block it out.

sometimes i’m so happy though! i live a normal life sometimes. sometimes, i don’t feel i have any reason to sigh, or dream. dreaming can be good. or not.

i’ll tell you something about me. i type well, i correct mistakes, i use proper grammar and all that, I capitalise my I’s. when i go all lowercase like thisi i am sad. there i said it. never before told anyone i’m sad. in the history of my memory of life there’s very few if any times i’ve said it. but today i need to talk.

there are some things i can’t say.

tomorrow, my life will most likely be normal again, i’ll be happy, and possibly regret this whole long rant! hehe so don’t worry any. but for now, i just felt like i need to talk, to anyone, to the internet, whatever, so thank you, reader, for listening to me.

writing is my escape.

writing is the alter world

unfortunately the alter world does not exist or is not right. sometimes, it does not feel good to control such a world. right now? i have a good little world to control. for now i am the ruler and i do like to be in control of things. this makes me a little happy even though my writing is sad.

loneliness made better through words, though at the same time, perhaps it becomes more intense with the unsaid realisations of this concept.

…. ah well.

thank you again. goodbye for now, until tomorrow (hopefully)


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3 Responses to On writing

  1. Reblogged this on ihaveaumpalumpaonmyhead and commented:
    It seems everyone’s going all existential at the moment. Life is so fragile, and we need those times when we can just break down the walls and say what needs to be said. This is life, and this is why we live it. Religion, friends, family – there’s always hope. So just for a second, destroy your barriers – let yourself see. This is life we are living. So open your heart, and start loving.

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