Wonders of the Mind

[Now Listening to: Just be Friends (rockleetist ver.)]
[Now Watching: None]
[Now Reading: The Sherlockian by Graham Moore]
[mood: Plain]


Hello, everybody! And to those who stayed in my dusty little blog. I'm bag and obviously I left this hometown again.

As always, things happened and yet...this was forgotten to its oblivion. But like always, I want to stand on my feet again. And probably do a bit better this time.

Why? Nothing really.

Okay fine. Well, as I posted in a social networking site, I had a discussion -- more like a lecture -- coming from my mom. She told me that my cousin (on her side, obviously) will be coming back from America. (Went there for a seminar or training or something). And by next week (I guess) he'll go to Germany. And to think that we both graduated on the same year. She told me I have to stop being immature and have goals to myself and perform it well. That I'm not getting any younger and I shouldn't waste time dilly-dallying about it. And she left me in my room with the feeling like I want to slit my wrist with a blade. Yep, that's what I feel most of the time these days, and I'm not going to lie about that. (this is my badass blog anyway *shrugs*)

Somehow, it made me ponder. Fuck, I'm tired of getting mad of her. Of everyone else. Myself is an exception due to I'll always be mad at me, no matter how I try not to. Anyways, yeah... seeing people in the said social networking site, and other people, I've thought about myself. I certainly cannot imagine myself working towards another path. However, the feeling of my first rejection was gnawing me. I've already forgotten my style of writing. Heck, I don't even know what's style is that or if I ever had one. I also couldn't rely on my thought bank inside my head. Coins were jaggling inside it. In short: it's empty. Although I have plots that comes into mind, yet they're all plain and were already done by other author's who's better than me. I know, I'm merely giving myself my own excuse not to continue. But...I want everything to be perfect. I don't know. Somehow, I became a perfectionist. A person who's outline should be done before writing everything on a pape. If not, I'm quite sure I'll mess it up.

I've seen some of my friends giving out lectures about photography, while others are starting to be an accomplished author by now. While I, yap about the world as to why I'm not like them: Talented, intelligent, brilliant like everyone else.

I'm certainly lost.

I've told myself that I'll quit writing. But whenever I do that and I found myself reading a book, a simple novel or even a fanfiction in my fandoms.  That want is driving me insane. Want to write a magnificent story like them. A story worth remembering. A character that not only people would love, but I would learn to hate so much. Because he breathe a life of his own, outside my pen and paper, just within a matter of seconds. Just like the immortal Sherlock Holmes and Arthur Conan Doyle.

Yes...that's my dream.

To hear people talking about my characters, my story, as if they're not one.
That's the legacy I want to create.
The power that I would be dying to rule.

So...here I am again.

Picking my feet up myself. Starting again. For how many times I have fallen, I still haven't learned my frickin' lesson. Bloody hell, eh?

Maybe because I'm a stubborn little authoress, who was trying to prove a point.

Not to others...but to myself.

That I can fucking do it.