Maybe it was never meant for me.
—
Dreams come
Dreams change
But at the end of the day
Dreams embrace me
Warmly.
Distant. Friendly. Surprising.
They are my quick escape
From the worries and troubles of existence
—
Questions crawl out of my mouth
Choking me whenever I resist
I can’t help it.
I have to stop.
No more promises
No more problems
—
Can’t remember my dreams from yesterday
What will come to me if they happen today?
Once I had a dream
I wish I could remember
Most of it withered
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Only some of the pieces came back…
I hope to catch them, one by one
Before everything gets lost and dies.
Relieving some great memories of my writing. It’s now part of my weekend project to unwind.
There are numerous opportunities for me to start bringing life to the unimaginable stories out of my head. But most of the time I slack off instead. Then getting annoyed at the end because of wasted hours.
Frustrations
Writing has always been one of my toughest frustrations (next to singing). I’m aware of how random I could be throughout the day, so I’ve got to make use of my productive hours well. However, the actual writing tends to come rarely these days. đŸ˜¥ This is due to my lack of a fixed writing habit. I try to be consistent with my schedule, but distractions greet me which I embrace so openly.
Bothersome distractions
Online sites are the worst!
Multiple raindrops can trigger a lasting sensation. There aren’t much to do on rainy days. How I wish I could go back to my younger years when I can dance in the rain without any worries to bother me. Now that I’m 22, I find other musings to keep me company. There are dozens of books waiting for me to finally pick them up. Different notebooks lay bare on my table (sometimes on the bookshelf, or possibly under my bed) because I hoped to write when I suddenly have some incredible ideas. Sad to say, those notebooks are gathering more dust than letters.
Adult worries come in different forms: work, responsibility, forgotten dreams. Aside from all of those concerns, the worst trouble I have now is getting distracted so easily. When I turn on my computer, online sites distract me. When I try to write some notes, other things on my table distract me. When I try to read a book, my thoughts distract me. There is an endless cycle of starting and getting distracted; going back but end up procrastinating. That’s why now, I wish to limit all of these distractions to one or two things (hopefully I have enough willpower to do so).
I haven’t written much for weeks. July is almost done, but I’m still floating across the flight of my mind. This is the phase I consider as my writing paralysis. A state of writing depression when nothing seems to “inspire” me to pick up my pen and start writing. Maybe it’s the weather or my personal predicaments right now, or worst my laziness.
I hate the days when I feel too lazy to write. Instead of working on a poem or a story, I would simply grab a book to kill the time. Even though I have dozens of reminders (notes) about different storylines that I want to work on, I still procrastinate. Escaping the responsibility of writing, and simply hoping for other distractions/chores/excuses to come by. This habit got me paralyzed for so long, that I couldn’t even finish writing a two stanza poem. đŸ˜¥
However, over the weekend, I was able to slowly go back on track with writing assignments and free writing in front the TV set. This new habit gradually made me grew familiar with the distractions around and work my way out of those.
For now, I am still writing Exploring Limbo. Luckily, I’m able to work until the second part of the collection.Â đŸ˜€
Then for the meantime, I’m continuously focusing my writing in my hub. There are multiple informative articles that I’ve done which helped in my steps to writing again. Hope these will be a good start to write more.
A lucky star for one night
Can brighten even the saddest child
Across the room at one corner there
A heart pounding, praying well
Though time flies by quickly
The dream made a fool of the innocent
Cruelty faced the lucky star
It’s a fake, cried the child
Wish and hope to a distant light
Won’t help an inch in my despair
Foolish thought shouldn’t linger long
I shall tell my own to grow fast as well
Do not believe a lucky star?
Stand and make your own path
Worries and dark corners collide
To someone playing at the light coming from the sky
The soul gets sucked out of everything
A skeleton stands with life-like moves
Walking, watching, wavering fools
Searching for air to set as one’s own
Circling the town day and night
Scratching the skull that hangs upright
Dents form as time passes by
Some more pressure and holes shall explode
The struggle is real even afar
Drifting the feelings far behind
Goals seem endless and unsatisfied
To maim each bone noted with lies
I’m a fool, but I feel sane
Denying pain and reckless space
Maybe it’s not me at all
Did you look within your own soul?
Isang hakbang pa lamang
Lumilipad na ang linya’t
Pinakikiramdaman ang mga salitang
Lumalampas sa kanilang gunita
Pinipilit na iwasang lumingon
Tingalang sa himpapawid ang abot
Madapa ay kamatayan
Lumingon sa kabiguan
Ngunit wala akong nagawa
Nangalay na ang aking leeg
Napatingin ako sa ibaba
Di makaya ang bigat ng batok
Pumasok lahat ng hangin
Kumalam ang aking sikmura
Dinala ang aking katawan
Sa daluyang kinatatayuan
Isn’t it funny that day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is different…” – C.S. Lewis
Being in my early twenties is difficult to imagine myself worrying much about the future. This stage in my life seems to be a carefree one. I guess, I never got to that level. Every day there’s more and more of the reflection that I have actually skipped some or jumped from being young to adulthood. There was no teenage life in between. It was a clear cut line from young to adult self. Many of life’s circumstances and challenges made me grow up a lot faster than my peers.
Now, it seems much clearer that it truly was a jump (or maybe the genes).
