Just like an aspiring singer that know that he has a good voice but lack of a big platform to tell, this is what happen to me, an aspiring writer. I convinced my self to write a book, probably since I was college, but here I am, thirteen years later, still not writing a damn single book. What’s up with contemplation, procrastination, excuse myself with “I’m busy” with work and family, but sadly I’m trapped in this bubble of mind. Eventually, I keep doing enjoying myself jumping from series to another, I could tell you in every month there will be a new series or movie that captivates me and give me this zinc to live, but I never, never made an art written project well written at least for the last ten years.
Then I decided to make a blog, like everyone else does, with the hope that, if I’m not going to write anyway in my WHOLE life, at least I have a legacy to write in- right? some kind of auto-opinion-biography that was collected. Maybe somehow I would tell my closest people to open my blog that I was discreetly writing in for the last year, and finally they-the closest- find another layer from me- closet open, no secret, spill the tea.
Or maybe I’m just going to write the suckiest thing ever written in history, and let’s see how it goes. Maybe it’s not really sucks, maybe it is, who knows? These had been unpredictable years to live as human being in crack up society.
Ready to write ?