Why did I stop writing?

2:00:00 AM Valencia Ng 0 Comments

Last night, I had a dream about funeral.
I woke up around two, I turned off the AC and tried to push away that image from my mind and went back to sleep.

Lately the death topic came to me quite often. Two days ago I was wondering, if one day I die, what will happen to the memories I've been keeping all my life? What will happen to all the pictures I have, to those dozens of my journal, my 'map hidup', my grateful jar, even the photo frame with the ones that became strangers to me once more. Just how long will they keep it before all those things become painful enough for them to see, or when will they donate my stuffs, or throw it, or even burn it? Hahaha I don't see this in a sense of melancholy, I'm just simply curious.

And sometimes I wonder, when a dreamer like me, dies, what will happen to the dreams?

The dreams I've kept inside of me, all these ideas, all of these random thoughts, the thought of changing the world, the hope to make the world a better place

Will they die with me?
Will they bury me with all of those things?

How long will it take for my story to be completely forgotten?

I realized a long time ago to leave a legacy using my words, for words will remain and it will speak what's inside my head, even though maybe I can't pour it all out, you may see a glimpse how I see this world, how I perceive this life, and how these ideas will remain even though I'm gone.

And because of that, now, I start writing again.....

Before that, earlier tonight I just spoke with my friends how different I really am than who I really was last year. I guess I've missed this weird side of me, my own sense of wonder, and such things. How do I know? By reading all those pieces I wrote last year, whether it's just a tweet, a blog post, or even a journal entry. I realized how different my life was. How different things were......

I began to realize how I don't write anymore.

I don't write on my journals anymore. Or even a blog post. Or even make a descent essay for the task my lecturer has given me. How I barely read right now. (and it's probably affecting me).

I simply stopped writing. I stopped splattering my words around.

Is it actually a big deal? Yes.... and no. Yes, because writing has been the only thing I know other than  drawing since my kindergarten days. No, because I don't think I'm a good writer. Yes, because if I don't write I can go mad and all these words will be jumbled up in my head. No, because even I can't write properly and my words will always be messily arranged and still jumbled on the page.

And if I ever trace back my life, I think the one of the reasons why I started writing again was because of him. I remember I bought a journal again the very first day he left. I think what they say is actually true, missing someone can actually be a great thing for a writer. I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote. Dozens of blog post, hundreds of day writing (with the day 1 - day 200ish), months that turned into years, and a lot of journals 'til I stopped counting, and stopped waiting, and then...... stopped writing.

Because, that was probably the last thing I needed, to dedicate anything for anyone who will never dedicate anything to me.

But the reason was actually really wrong, and I can actually prove it wrong...... How stupid it is to stop writing simply because of that? I know I will always write because that's just how I really am....

I'm a storyteller, and I will always be.

I will always pour out my life on the page, express my feelings using the combination of 26 letters, and fill this book of life with memories.

I'm going to invent the story and then write it, 'til I'm forever gone and all that remain......


are

words.