I started reading All The Bright Places yesterday and something that Violet said caught me:
“Writing was what I did best, better than being a daughter or girlfriend or sister. Writing was me. But now writing is one of the things I can’t do.”
Then I remembered the line Anthhony said in the movie That Thing Called Tadhana:
“Akala ko magaling na ako e, marunong lang pala. E yun lang alam kong gawin.” (Rought translation: I thought I was great, turned out I just can do it. Thing is, that’s the only thing I knew.)
Last August 20, after so many great things has happened in my life in the span of 20 days, I tried to write about it. I cannot write the same way I did before. I felt I was stuck. I felt I am a machine that is already rusted. I know I am not even good in writing but I take pride with my writing skills.
It’s just that it is so hard that I am pressuring myself with my adult responsibilities and I feel that the child in me is overwhelmed that she’s scared of all – so many things happening all at once, she just want to leave it all, run away, and never come back.
I feel like Theodore in All the Bright Places, sleeping, but not the same kind of sleep people usually do. How ironic that so many wonderful things is happening in my life right now but I am still not that happy, still searching for something.
They say that the only way to improve your writing skills is to just write and to read.
I miss my old self.