Writing

A friend is contemplating whether he should start writing a blog again.

The reason i started this blog(and the previous deleted ones) is because mainly I find writing therapeutic. I’m not a good writer to begin with. My grammar sucks and my vocabulary is limited(I learned a lot but those words just lost in between my neurons-maybe because I never used them in real life).

I choose to write in English instead of my mother tongue because it is easier for me to express my thoughts in English despite my limited vocabulary(it is less mushy too; sometimes I find Malay sentences can be too “romantic”). It helps improve my English too.

I’m quite a hot-tempered person. During my younger days, I vent and shout a lot due to anger and frustation. A few years ago, I started my own anger management program. It includes shutting up when I’m angry and writing down my feelings. Sometimes I did rant but those are mainly due to frustation and annoyance, not anger(it seems like my friends always misunderstand this as an anger, thus I was actually labeled as ‘pemarah’-if only they knew how much i bottled up compared to letting it go. Sigh). 

If I’m really angry, I will bite my lips and swallow my anger. If you see me shutting up, sitting quietly at the end of the bench, refusing to talk except a word or two, it means I am really angry. Quite a container I am. Haha I’m so funny.

The other reason I’m writing is because I used to suffer from depression. Talking about my feelings didn’t really help. People always try to give solutions instead of listening. I realized if I wrote many blogposts within short period of time, it is a sign that I’m more frustated than any other time. But jotting down my feeling, about how I felt at that time and my wishes to be different does helps me, a little if not all.

Nowadays, the reason I write is because I’m bored. I have quite a lot of free time these days. I don’t like exercising and aside from reading, I don’t have any specific hobbies. Reading is good but nowadays I can only read around 10 pages only before I put the book down. Losing interest really fast here.

The idea of lazing around, just watching online dramas or surfing the net without doing anything significant sounds appealing to my 2 months ago self. Sure, it is fun. But it is sad. It is sad to live such lifeless life. I know because I’m writing from experience.

So, I write. I realized I never achieved anything big in my life. My life is quite quiet. A plain, simple life. I want to make a mark in this world. To show that I lived, somehow, somewhere in the middle of the world, I’m here, living a life.

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