I’m longing to seize a bit of inspiration to write. But I just don’t know why. I’m quite clueless. Perhaps it’s the tediousness controlling my system. The saddest part of becoming a writer is not knowing what exactly to write. I’ve heard some compliments for my works, it made me happy. Of course, it uplifted my spirit. But the moment I’m alone, my fear would haunt me, would question my ability, and would question my strength.
My journey as a writer would not go smoothly and this is just the part of it.
P.S: I know this is not me. This is not the entire me. You’ve known me and this is not the kind of amae you wanted to hear. But sometimes, negativity seems to help me ponder about life.