stealing the sparkle.

Yes, I am blogging again.

I'm not really a true blue writer. I don't have dreams of writing professionally or commercially. But I do enjoy writing from time to time. I get moments when the thoughts inside my head simply have to be translated into words, into phrases or stanzas, into sentences, paragraphs, chapters. Sometimes it seems that my brain wants to spit out something, and it knows that I am not a good talker (*cough* terrible actually *cough). So it finds another output channel, which is writing (really it's typing cause It's been a while since I last held a pen to write long paragraphs)  

And even though I write occasionally, I can't say I'm an exceptionally good writer. It's just, my mind translates its ideas into words. Sometimes the words don't even make sense. Like, there's no glue to hold the ideas together. But what the hey, it wasn't meant to be understood by those who can't. So for those who read, and understand what I mean, congratulations, and thanks for taking the time to read my words, for those who cant, it's perfectly all right, even I don't understand what I'm writing from time to time.

All that shit i just typed? It was all meant to lead to the fact that I haven't written in such a long time. Bleh, okay fine, I update this journal sometimes about stuff that goes on in my life. What I meant was that I haven't had an interesting idea for a storyline or even an article in sooo long. The last interesting one I can remember was a short story about the Undead, where i was able to write an outline of the story, and several paragraphs but never got to polish the story. My heart just wasn't in it anymore, even though when I first got that idea; the sagging skin, glassy eyes, unbearable stench, and slow slur of the Undead was as clear as day in my head. But now, it's just all feels like some foggy illusions of the distant past. My passion for writing has died.

Which can't be good, can it? I may be the first non-writer to have non-writer's block. What the hell happened to creativity? Whatever happened to inspiration? Years ago, inspiration came from even the most simple things, like a stain on the carpet that is sort-of shaped like a witch with a wart on her nose if you squint your eyes just a teensy bit and tilt your head at a certain angle. Lately, when I see a stain, my eyes just fade into dull gray and I just think, "Oh, that needs to be washed." Eeeeyuck, how boring is that? Have I become too jaded? Where is that little girl who used to dream of one-eyed dragons and rainbow-maned unicorns and fluffy little balls of koosh in electric pink and candy yellow? Where is that girl who used to grin in amazement at the sunset when the sky turned into a shade of cotton candy pink or when it turned into that specatular mix of midnight blue and happy orange. Where is she that waited for the full moon to come to simply stare at the clear and perfectly rounded white against a backdrop of night grey sprinkled with stars that winked merrily? Where is she that tirelessly mixed oil crayons to get the perfect shade of lavander just to color the unicorn's horn?

Where is she? Is she being pushed back by the exceptionally strong tandem of sarcasm and cynicism? Is she still fighting for survival? Or has she died completely, forgotten and decaying? ><

sometimes you just have to read between the lines..

I've never been good at getting to the point.

And people have told me quite a few times. Sometimes jokingly, other times seriously, sometimes politely and other times rudely. And I do sort of agree, time comes when I've opened my mouth to speak and then in the middle of it all; i stop, pause, and think: "What the hell did that thing-I-just-said have to do with what I'm really trying to say??"

I'm not sure, perhaps because growing up, I never had to explain myself completely to others. People around me always seemed to understand what I was trying to get at, so I didn't have to try very hard at making them understand.

You know those people that nod in agreement in the middle of a 'kwento' session and even before you can finish it off, they offer their conclusion to your intro? and if you say "it's not that.." they offer another possible conclusion.. and that goes on until you agree at some point? Well, i think i had a lot of those people growing up, up to now even. Hence, i seldom got to finish my own stories. Except in my mind. Sometimes it's all formed coherently and quite nicely inside my head but when i open my mouth, all coherence comes crashing down. Open mouth, insert foot situations are normal occurrences.

Add to that, the hesitance i have about sharing true emotions. That personal space bubble? Mine's a whole lot bigger than Bubbleboy's. Made bigger by certain circumstances that involved trusting too much and getting a kick in the arse, a blow to the head, a pitchfork on the back. But I am learning to be a tad bit more open though, little by little. Baby steps. Baby steps and i'll get there.

Coz i'm slowly realizing that while some people are dirtbags, others are okay. Nice even. But i'll never be the person who spills her guts out to the person she just met a week ago, i can't be the person who can be close buddies with a person she'd just met that day, i'm not the type who'd gush about feelings too openly. Even if we've known each other for a bit of time, I won't necessarily bare my heart and mind and soul to you.

So you know.. the things I'm not saying? Get it.
:P