As finals week finally draws its final curtains on the suffering multitudes of the Ateneo, I -who now takes a few seconds of breath- realize that I can actually survive. Quickly reviewing the semester, the start was rocky, the middle was depressing and the end seemed to tie everything together then you sprinkle in the various ups, downs, cheers and tears THEN you have something to write about.

The days are getting longer now as I find myself sleeping more and more to the hymm of the midnight chime. Been a long since I had this feeling again. I always felt that the stillness of midnight was my sort of sanctuary from this fast-changing world. Admit it people, life's too fast for us to catch up with. It's always nice to smell the flowers, even if it is not the brightest day.

I decided to write something yesterday (funny how you get ideas in the bathroom). Nearing the end of the sem, I guess I decided it might be time to wrote something totally new instead of reviving characters over and over again. They have to be let go.

I had this chat with Berkeley and he said he'll revive Mirage, his story that started back in high school. Maybe that's why I wanted to write something new also. High School has been two years ago and a lot has happened, a lot to write about. I could never really write the things I did in HS, they were too flat and naive but I guess Berk could, his story started out pretty complete. Different for every person I guess.

I tried writing new stories every so often and they always fall flat on their face because I always had something to do. With one pc at home, I find it a hard to find time to write. I don't know what's with me, I can't write when it's morning or when I'm not talking to someone; in contrast to two years ago when I could write for hours on end. Have I lost my passion? Jesus, I hope not. I just lack inspiration s'all. I guess back in the day I was writing because it was fun and people liked it... but now it became sort of like an outlet for emotions making it rather erratic and indecisive. Never write out of rage, you'll get nowhere fast, I say.

In the end, when you write something, I guess you're doing it for yourself rather than other people. Back in the day, whenI wrote something I send it out to friends to have em read and compliment, like some sort self-gratifying act I've grown to enjoy. When everyone graduated, life turned serious and the fire was being put out. Everyone had their own business, they didn't have time for stories, they were growing up and where was I then? I was desperately trying to get back "my touch" because I believed I had lost it when no one was complimenting anymore. So then came the piles and piles of unfinished stories, all of which were attempts to have people give me a pat on the back. Maybe that's how this blog got started also, you think?

I never lost my touch, I just wrote for the wrong reasons. I still find it hard to stop open Word once in a while and type at least one sentence into a story. Shouldn't that mean something?

My story has to be written for my sake, not others. Only then can I be satisfied and finally see an ending to make it complete. I never took any workshops for writing, I just learned to love it; maybe that's enough then again maybe not, but I'm guessing for anyone who is really into writing stories, it comes to a point where we have to accept that not everyone has the time to appreciate your story but you. And maybe, that's all it takes.