(1) Tomorrow you can see another writing of mine in publish. Like they say, “If you wake up thinking about singing today, it makes you a singer. If you wake up thinking about your writing, then you are a writer, whether you are published or not.”
By that generous definition, I am a writer. I write fictions and non-fictions with the same passion, but funnily, only my non-fictions are published in print. I quite fancy having another piece of my writing published next November, with an insane intention to write a research report on telco engineering with poetic language. A soulful research report maybe with snippets of love songs attached here and there. Yeah right. As if.
(2) I’m recovering, at last, from last week’s violent illness. Another lesson learnt: I’ll never again abuse myself.
(3) I’d rather lecture on Electromagnetic Theory than have a casual conversation with anyone. Better yet, I’d just write to myself like this. No matter how hard I try to do otherwise, seems like everytime I try to have casual conversation with a person, I end up hurting that person. This only happens with people I care about. Well of course. With people I don’t care about, I won’t spare the time to analyse whether I say something wrong or whether I use rude words. With people I care about, I can cry for hours over a single wrong word I say, over each idea taken wrongly, over each comma, over each full stop. The opposite is also true: your words can only hurt me if you are a person I care about.
(4) Seems like every step and every turn I make, always takes me back to you. Damn I miss you.
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