the thing that's bothering me now is that i cannot write when im happy. mostly, i pour myself to pen and paper when im lonely, angry, desperate or wants to organize my ideas and thoughts...
i went home quite early today. we finished a scale model, and while the husband is out bonding with old friends, i went home hoping that my kids would still be awake. true enough, my ayrton was waiting for me. we fooled around, took photos of each other and listened to ringtones... after a few mins, he dozed off. this left me all alone.
to entertain myself, i took my tin box and got my old journal. first entry was 12-25-1993
this was my sisters christmas gift and i think its the first journal i ever fell in love with. all the sheets were printed with halftoned floral illustration, the cover had a lock and key. the pages are all yellowed now, but the memories seems so fresh. one thing thats been going on from then till now, is that i always had a plan... or i have some kind of discontent in me, a bit of frustration and a bit of loneliness.
i think i seldom laughed when i was young. i was always thinking why things happen blah blah blah... maybe thats why i had so much to write before. i had questions , tons of them. i guess i was bored too. now, its either i dont care anymore. or that the answers dont really matter to anyone but me... so why bother? i stopped... or maybe im just not that lonely anymore to even have the urge to write... could it be that i am happy? (thus explaining the gaps in between blog entries?)
i went home quite early today. we finished a scale model, and while the husband is out bonding with old friends, i went home hoping that my kids would still be awake. true enough, my ayrton was waiting for me. we fooled around, took photos of each other and listened to ringtones... after a few mins, he dozed off. this left me all alone.
to entertain myself, i took my tin box and got my old journal. first entry was 12-25-1993
this was my sisters christmas gift and i think its the first journal i ever fell in love with. all the sheets were printed with halftoned floral illustration, the cover had a lock and key. the pages are all yellowed now, but the memories seems so fresh. one thing thats been going on from then till now, is that i always had a plan... or i have some kind of discontent in me, a bit of frustration and a bit of loneliness.
i think i seldom laughed when i was young. i was always thinking why things happen blah blah blah... maybe thats why i had so much to write before. i had questions , tons of them. i guess i was bored too. now, its either i dont care anymore. or that the answers dont really matter to anyone but me... so why bother? i stopped... or maybe im just not that lonely anymore to even have the urge to write... could it be that i am happy? (thus explaining the gaps in between blog entries?)
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