i am but a chicken
I used to like creative writing.Remember Paper 3, English Literature, essay writing? The open/ending. That was my forte.Back in my SPM days, I looked forward to English lessons a lot.Because that was probably the only time I could relax this nearly exploding brain.Ah, Add Maths was so sweet back then.
Many of my friends hate it.But I, on the other hand, like it.Likes it a lot. I can begin writing without a clue about how I wanted the story to end or what it should evolved to.Simply writing and letting the creative juice to flow.Just like magic.No laws, no rules to obey. Surprisingly, my stories always end tragically.Maybe i have the taste of the hamartian Greek God back then.With the exception of a few.There must be some twists in the stories i wrote.some tragic tales spun in the web of lies.This innocent mind of mine has been tainted by all those fictions i read and the cruel world I have been living in.
I was an introvert in school.All the way to college, I only speak when spoken to.Victorian.Deeply ingrained.i was an awkward girl.I was always afraid of saying the wrong things.But in time, i started to loose up.I speak up more, more carefree, especially among close friends.Friends that made me feel comfortable to hang out with.With whom i wouldnt fear to accidentally pat too hard with the sudden outbursts of laughs.Pats? More like a good slap on the shoulder or the thigh.Sorry.I was quite violent and uncontrollable when i do laugh.
yeah.Back to the main point, writing.Yeah, i can easily write three whole pages for a story.Sometimes four.I love them.My characters.I fall in love with them.I was always the protagonist.Always the naive lady.The innocent one, cheated on my a dashing, young, unimaginably handsome guy.heh.Young as i was back then.with nothing but themes of love, betrayal of trust, and heart rending endings of the story of her life.
Yes,up until now, i still write.But i have lost all the candor and adore for writings.Simply because academic writing is really tiring me out.Maybe i am not suited in this field.Lies and more lies to oneself.Who am i kidding but myself? To do them justice, they are not all that mundane.If the mood, and the setting are right, i could lose myself in that world.Of facts.No myths, no fictions.But hard science.
Now, wouldnt the world of my own be more colorful if i force myself not to be judgemental, not to be stubborn and say it out loud that I do like them after all.They are the blood that flows in my veins.That keeps me going through the toughest of the days to come.Them.Knowledge.
And no.My time is up.That hour sandglass.The last grains of sand trickling painstakingly down to the bottom.I hate to say goodbye.Goodbye.
Many of my friends hate it.But I, on the other hand, like it.Likes it a lot. I can begin writing without a clue about how I wanted the story to end or what it should evolved to.Simply writing and letting the creative juice to flow.Just like magic.No laws, no rules to obey. Surprisingly, my stories always end tragically.Maybe i have the taste of the hamartian Greek God back then.With the exception of a few.There must be some twists in the stories i wrote.some tragic tales spun in the web of lies.This innocent mind of mine has been tainted by all those fictions i read and the cruel world I have been living in.
I was an introvert in school.All the way to college, I only speak when spoken to.Victorian.Deeply ingrained.i was an awkward girl.I was always afraid of saying the wrong things.But in time, i started to loose up.I speak up more, more carefree, especially among close friends.Friends that made me feel comfortable to hang out with.With whom i wouldnt fear to accidentally pat too hard with the sudden outbursts of laughs.Pats? More like a good slap on the shoulder or the thigh.Sorry.I was quite violent and uncontrollable when i do laugh.
yeah.Back to the main point, writing.Yeah, i can easily write three whole pages for a story.Sometimes four.I love them.My characters.I fall in love with them.I was always the protagonist.Always the naive lady.The innocent one, cheated on my a dashing, young, unimaginably handsome guy.heh.Young as i was back then.with nothing but themes of love, betrayal of trust, and heart rending endings of the story of her life.
Yes,up until now, i still write.But i have lost all the candor and adore for writings.Simply because academic writing is really tiring me out.Maybe i am not suited in this field.Lies and more lies to oneself.Who am i kidding but myself? To do them justice, they are not all that mundane.If the mood, and the setting are right, i could lose myself in that world.Of facts.No myths, no fictions.But hard science.
Now, wouldnt the world of my own be more colorful if i force myself not to be judgemental, not to be stubborn and say it out loud that I do like them after all.They are the blood that flows in my veins.That keeps me going through the toughest of the days to come.Them.Knowledge.
And no.My time is up.That hour sandglass.The last grains of sand trickling painstakingly down to the bottom.I hate to say goodbye.Goodbye.