thriving
I should write, told me to myself each day I feel inspired. But then
again, there’s no word appear in my pc screen. I’m that stuck. The words and
ideas are scrambling out everywhere inside my head, and I hate that I couldn’t
make them agreed to become paragraphs. Welp, I’m on the edge of nineteen and
thinking all the things that could perpetuate my last day being an adolescence.
So I’m ended up here.
Out
of all the fun things life could give us human I still can not choose stuff
that I could tell if people ask me to recap these nineteen years long. Nothing,
my dear. We experience emptiness and nothingness and then get left behind with
emotional stuff which is torturing ourselves.so.much. And I spent most days of my life by sitting on my couch wondering
lots of things, which are 1) Life gave me thought to think about—and
not experiencing the atmosphere of music
festival instead. No wonder why I’m so curious how the air felt like, isn’t it tasted
as i felt here inside my house? Anyone care to give me an understanding?
By that I hope you
could make some conclusion that I haven’t been really out at 10 PM and afterward. The strict curfew I
lived with since I decided to be born, got me very very very not comfortable if
by any chance I’m not at home yet at
night. And to be a literal frank, I’ve passed years to finally accepting the
rules that restrained me for a long time. I had passed time with the sadness of why
I can’t be like the other kids. This anxiety is not really cool until I,
eventually, decided to acknowledge myself completely.
Due to my personal
goals to give birth a book by twenty, I’m nowhere near finish them. So dear inspiration, impregnate me. I’m
patient enough to postpone the delivery day so, yeah, do it. And then arts, in my experience my arts born from heartbreaks or
at least an emptiness. But lately there’s no such a thing messing with me,
which is I didn’t feel anything at all, and it inhibits me to make any art. Nonetheless,
I didn’t know if I’m competence enough to give birth whether its art or book,
but just let this music-festival-virgin to be happy and eventually be able to
achieves her goals.
Oh I love life. This
noun also 2) Gave me feeling to be felt. Why the hell
I should feel in love with another human and why the hell I should spend my lot
of my precious time to felt the sadness of the young heartbreaks. Why the hell
I should have some emotional moments that made my mind and heart collided it’s
each self every time I feel so emotional about life, even though life is the one
that gave me those turmoil. I once read a statement: Relationship is easy until there's an emotional turmoil. Why the
hell I’m not confident enough to believe that I’m fine, I’m good at
relationship with people instead of overthinking the nonsense thoughts and
feelings. And Why the hell there are no other people enlighten me with some words
like Hey dude, they both are not facts.
I have to admit that
without both of it, life tastes less
funny. The entire riots going on in my head and heart, shaped me while I’m
growing up. Adulting, oh adulting, here we come. I wonder if I will see myself ten years from
now as a kid trapped inside an adult body, which is very weird, so sometimes
adulting scares me enough. I’m scared that I will be stuck in this endless
spiral and never get a chance to explore more. I’m scared that I couldn’t be
expressing myself. And I’m scared to death that I couldn’t be determined.
Calm down, they’re not facts.
Instead, the fact is
that within three days. My dad passed away exactly six years ago. I haven’t
been talked about him in public for a long time, because to be honest, it does not feel really good to invite the sadness to be around. And within six years,
there are so many things I have encountered without his presence, which I always
think, It will be so much easier with him. It definitely always be. The good
times will be better with him. The jokes will be funnier with him. Flashback to
the day I wore cute tank-top and strolling around near my house when I was
nine, He came back with an utterly wonder look. Now I wonder what would he think
about my recent appearance since we haven’t met for six years. And for that,
I’m sorry if I disappoint you, I love you. I miss you.
By the time I write
this, I play the Wishful Thinking by Earl Klugh, as you used to play it every Sunday
morning.
I hope this nonsense
talks of mine could perpetuate something that camera couldn’t. All memories
that remain. All thoughts that maturate. All feelings that bloom. Change is
inevitable, but I, choose to thrive.
Cheers for the good
life ahead.
