Now while I clearly am not a professional writer, I do think of myself as one… a writer I mean. And it is because I love writing and see it as the best way to express myself. I do believe that I am more honest in my writing and I don’t hold back (unless I absolutely have to).I still write but it is kept strictly between the pages of my diary and frankly, while I find that a diary is the best place for me to vent out my emotions I still do miss writing on this platform – and by that I mean my blog. On here, I feel that my writing evolves and get better with every post because I do feel the need to please a (perhaps nonexistent) audience and am being judged for the way I write, while the scribbles in my diary are drafted almost purely by my emotions thus grammar is the last thing I’m concerned about.
The lack of content on this blog isn’t for the lack of trying though. If you could peek into my Drafts then you’d know exactly how many posts I’ve written but stopped halfway because… I just couldn’t continue. I can’t pinpoint exactly why I haven’t been able to write, but is it crazy to assume that its because I’ve been largely ‘inactive’ and ‘unproductive’? Both words are put into quotations because it isn’t that I’ve not been doing anything with my days, just that it isn’t anything prominent. I find that I am most productive when I have so much on my hand, that I am almost forced to be productive. And I don’t mind it one bit. I love occupying myself with tasks, be it large ones or anything as little as picking up my mother’s dry cleaning or buying groceries.
This is exactly the reason why even though the thought of starting work soon terrifies me, it also excites me because not only does it give me a sense of purpose, but it also pushes me to make the most of what little time I have to have everything I want to be done, done.