Day in and day out, all I do is write. A lot of people would ask me, “What is it with writing that you adore so much?” The truth is, I’ve tried and tried, but I could never come up with the perfect answer or explanation for that particular question because, really, it had me thinking, what is it with writing that I love so much?
When I am writing, the world seemed limitless and so were my words. Somehow, I feel like when I am in front of my laptop, my hands perfectly coordinates with my keyboard – as if the words flow naturally. It’s like inhaling life itself and penning them down to make every unexpected moment frozen in time.
Every composition is written with a trinket of my blood – siphoning every bit of my heart so I could come up with the perfect prose, the perfect article, the perfect letter – each article symbolizes a different battle scar. So when I write about love, I hope you know that each article took a lot of digging deep into the depths of my heart – every article took a piece of my heart to justify your presence in my midst.
Remember that pens are mightier than swords and each layer I peel out from myself to write about the magnificence of your existence in my life – how your scars are nothing but blemishes to a flawless exterior or how your stare felt like the sun touching my skin or how your smile can turn a stormy day into summer – I am slowly putting down my shield.
You see, every story I write is a moment of weakness; it’s as if I am letting you peek straight into my soul – as if I am slowly destroying the walls surrounding my heart – and slowly opening up to you and to the world before us.
There is another me in a different dimension where I do not feel like this. Another dimension where my heart fits perfectly into my chest and I am not afraid of the things that make me feel alive.
It sucks that I live in this world where everything feels like it’s going to tear me apart. It’s like I’m always waiting for something to snap — for the sky to fall, for the ground to break, for myself to keep falling into an infinite abyss — always waiting for something to crash.
Love taught me that at one point in time, everyone I’ve ever loved had taken a part of me and nothing will ever be left for myself but the bruises, scars, and burns. Continue reading
I’ve always been someone who wears her heart on her sleeve; someone who loves with all her heart. But growing up, I realized that the downfall of it all is that you let people see parts of you that you can’t get back, parts of you that only you know about; you let them see your fears, and think that they will share it with you, to lessen what you’re feeling, but in reality, you just let yourself be vulnerable to more pain.
It’s ironic that I get to write about all these things, yet I keep going in circles. I’ve always loved love and all the things that come with it — laughter, sadness, happiness, tears — but love isn’t supposed to be complicated, though love isn’t easy either. Love will throw challenges, obstacles, and trials that if you’re not strong enough to conquer, you’ll lose everything you’ve worked hard for.
I can say this over and over again, but most of the time, I go back in circles — I chicken out of being strong. Fear is eating me up, and I badly wanted to run from it and just get rid of this sinking feeling that I’ll eventually end up in tears but I don’t know how to fight it.
It sucks that deep inside, I know that the only reason I’m so sad and tired is because I keep letting fear take over me and I know what to do, yet why does it feel so hard to do so? Why does it feel so hard to just let things be?
Now, I am, by no means, the best writer in the world nor do I claim to be — I don’t think I am even half there. There are still so much room for improvement, learning, and more practice.
Writing, for me, is not only a hobby that I cannot let go of but my way of pouring out my thoughts and feelings. I find it therapeutic; the way it helps me clear my mind and make me feel like someone is listening even though I am only facing this blank, white page that will soon be filled with my words. Continue reading