It has come to the point where I am supposed to do my final year project and I thought it would be easy. I thought I would be able to just close my eyes and pick from a list somewhere. But for some reason, I decided to be stubborn. I wanted to pick a project for myself. And now I’m on a deadline and I am running out of time. I can’t seem to find what I want to do!
The more time she spent alone, just getting from one place to another, walking, sitting in a bus, driving... the more she felt like her life was surreal. And she'd look at the sky just to check. And there'd be the silent shine of the sun, the moon, and the sway of leafy branches entertwined with the corners of the buildings, roof and wall.
She can't believe there could be rooms without windows. How could anyone be sure of themselves without the sky?
carry on you gazer,
you grazers,
you thieves,
you spill prone,
you thrill prone,
and refusers to be fully grown.
-kenmore AD
Whenever I come back to this, I feel awkward again. I haven't written in a while and it's my fault. I have these dreams of being a writer, or so I say. But the truth is I don't know. I don't know if I am truly a writer. Not the way that some people feel it in their blood and bones. Not the same wy that people live it, with their thoughts and dreams concumed by it. They love it so much that in moments of rest, when they'de idle and waiting, their hands unconciously lift up and trace the lines of action.It's ingrined in their souls and they're sure of it.
I haven't found it yet.
What I truly know that I want to do is to be able to evoke a certain feeling. It's something that happens when I read or listen to stories. For a moment I am lost in their world. ANd in that moment, I find a rare sense of clarity and conciousness. I think, in that moment, I fall in love. It would be the same moment they realize this, it's the turning point of their fates. I can't seem to explain it very well. It's not always those moments. It's the parts of the storis where my mind tends to linger and yearn. And it makes me unbelieveably happy. I believe I'm inspired.
From there I believe, I want to write. I knwo words better than I know how to draw, wo make movies, to make anything else. So I think I want to write. I want other people to discover the magic like I did. But I am never sure of what to write.
I keep thinking, it has to be a story. It has to be a hero. It has to be a hourney. It has to be about love. But I can't be satisfied with anything I write along those lines. I wonder if I should be writing something else?
It would probably be easier if I just opened a bookstore. Or be a librarian. That way, I would never go wrong. I'd get to always be near the books I love and yet at the same time, guide people to the one stars, books are hidden jewels. You can't find it with just a first glance. You have to trust it and go within. And only once you reached its heart do you truly see its beauty.
I revere books. People might think me silly for reading so many stories, but I don't regret a single one at all. In every book, I grow. And I truly believe in finding the meaning of life through stories. I've barely hit the surface, but I can see the beauty within. I'm going to spend all my life reading.





