Perhaps it is not a waste of time to start doing this again.  It has been a year, maybe, when I last saw this cursor passionately kiss my screen.  Since then, I have learned to do two things: 1. to make 2 spaces after a period; and 2. to pause, thinking what to write  next.  And this is not me.

i rummaged through my brain, uncertain what to type.  and at the same time scared to find out that i've lost the "it" factor of writing.  and i guess, that's precisely the problem like in most aspects of life- pausing to think what to do next.  will the reader love the topic i'm about to wrap in colorful magical words?  i just hate to think i act that way.

then again, it's a force of habit.  it's something i have unknowingly acquired since i started working.  i write for an audience.  gone were the days when i abandon myself in reckless writing just for the heck of it.  and it's frustrating that i've allowed the world to judge myself.  it's saddening (a term i never really used back then) that i have tried to love what is out there than what is in here.  i long to wear tattered jeans and carry nothing but myself, money in my pocket, and keys to my apartment.  i look back in melancholy and watch the 16-year old girl who would lay down at UP sunken garden to watch whatever remains of glitterin specks in the sky.  now my eyes just search every pleading in crazy frenzy just to spot and gloat over someone else's mistakes.  where before i make time for people because i genuinely cared, now i  defend people who are most likely the oppressors of those i cherished in the past.

and now i question why i lost the love to write? 

the answer is simple.  i lost the writer.