I’m lost again,just like everytime I would tell my self to write. I’m waiting for my muse to visit me and whisper the words I need. I force myself to
write just about anything just to get rid of procrastination.

I know and I’m sure I want to be a writer no matter what it takes. I remember when I was only ten, I have written silly romantic script. Although not what you could call proper script with all its elements,but it was the only way I could express the flame that was burning me up inside. Romantic,really? Yes ,romantic. See ,this is what I mean, at a very young age, not even old enough to use the hob without supervision by an adult, I had these characters aching to come out to life. They were very real,and so full of emotions. So with my pen and paper, i let them evolved. I gave them names, assigned their personalities, allowed them to feel all the emotions any human being can feel at a given situation. The story was so real that after I exhausted my self and my hand felt numb and stiff, it was like waking up from a dream. It was like coming out from my imaginary world. I could feel right down my bones the emotions that my imaginary characters feels. It felt as if I am my characters in that story. Sometimes I prefer to stay in that world, my own world. I still see vividly all the details I had put in the story. I feel happy and safe. I would write for countless hours until my body surrenders.

But I was  young then, no other things to do but school and play. I wouldn’t not trade my time to write for playing. I didn’t miss going out with playmates and there wasn’t much,anyway. My parents would go out in the early mornings to run the store. I would be left in the care of our house help. While she was busy with all the house work, I would stay in my room or in the receiving room. Looney tunes on the telly would be my background noise. I said background because I wasn’t watching, I just didn’t want it dead quiet. Then for hours, I would be in another  place, playing the hero of my story.

Time passed, I went to secondary school,then to university. I have lost track of writing. I got engrossed in other things like  school reports, school trips, and so on.
I didn’t lose interest in writing, it’s just that I couldn’t squeeze it in my schedule. I haven’t forgotten writing that time yet. Not just yet,until I finished university and started to work for the family business.

The rigors of attending the family business snatched away my attention from writing. Totally snatched and stripped it off my system,unconsciously. For years I had forgotten about it. But the love for reading remains. Those two things are what I can call ” love of my life”. Reading stayed loyal to me until now. But writing had totally ran away from me.  Just recently, about a  couple of weeks ago, it  decided to come back and wooed  me again. I was working and the passion flared up,rekindled out of the blue. This time more aggressive. It teams up with my reading and my work. Yes, it pops in here and there while I’m working. It seems to me that it came with revenge. So like a true love lost and found, I am not going to give up on it this time. I will make up for the lost time. But this time, I will make sure that I will give myself time to hone my skill. What made me decide? The inner satisfaction. The way I felt when it came back, it brought me back to that forgotten time, when I only have my time and attention for writing and nothing else, it was divine. Categorically, I cant say I’m a good writer, but I’m sure of one thing only, I want to write.

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