Struggle to express

I’ve never been the type of person who can easily communicate my feelings. Sure I can be frank and straight forward but expressing my real feelings is a lot different. It’s always a struggle to bare my feelings and put myself in a vulnerable situation. There was a time when I took refuge in writing. I believed that writing is the safest way to pour out everything that I’ve been keeping inside of me. But even my way of writing had been sort of criticized. This is why I lost my passion to write. I just end up staring in a blank page. Yes, I don’t have a flawless grammar and I may not be a master of words but I’d like to believe that there is “magic” when I produce something in my blog. Even a handful of my friends told me so. Even before I gained my “fans club” (lol), I knew what that “magic” is in the things that I write. That magic comes from my heart to a blank page. Everything I write is real. It’s not a piece of my mind but a piece of my heart. There were few blog entries that I am truly proud of. It’s not because of my style of writing but because I wrote it without pretensions and free of any inhibitions.

 

My good friend  Steph reminds me from time to time that I have to go on writing because I have a lot of things to say. I’ll never forget that she told me that it would be such a waste if I stop writing. With that in mind, she ignited my passion to write again. I have to be honest that it wasn’t enough to make me go back to writing, not that I want her to encourage me more. She’s not obliged to do that given that she’s a “fan” of my blog. HAHA. Aside from the passion that’s needed to be revived, I also need to gain my confidence back. I do experience Steph’s hesitation to write. I want to say something but just when I am about to, the blank page scares the shit out of me. So I do what cowards do, I let fear paralyze me.

So why did I started writing again? Because I have no one else to turn to other than a blank page. I don’t think anyone would understand what I’m going through. Not even a smoke or overflowing beer can comfort me (I’m saying this not in an emo way, ok?). I choose to open up and be vulnerable to a blank page. This blank page wouldn’t judge me or try to pretend to understand what I’m really feeling. The blank page will just listen and absorb everything while I let my thoughts and emotions bleed.

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