【Blahs.】

I have a gazillion thoughts floating around in my head, but I don't know how to put them into words.

Perhaps they ought to remain in their place of origin (I think it's called "brain"), or maybe it's the other organ stuck in my chest, which kind of keeps me alive by pumping blood (I think it's called the "heart")...



But I digress.


I am not a big fan of finishing a book, as much as I want to. It leaves me with a weird feeling every single time. I cannot and do not know how to explain this; it's just there, the odd feeling of being left hanging, no matter how satisfactory the ending was.

And sometimes it happens with television series and movies too. Haha.

***

I read a whole lotta Enid Blyton books when I was young. It came to a point where I wanted to be like her; I wanted to be a writer. I even wrote short stories on A4 papers and went over them again and again to correct any grammatical mistakes I'd made. I would go through them and feel proud that I actually managed to construct a coherent piece of work, even though I was in reality vomiting out any random story (which I deemed relevant to the "plot") that came to my head in the midst of writing the paragraphs.

As bad as they might be, I really want to read them again. Haha. But I guess they're probably in some garbage dump now.

Actually, maybe they've gone through the decomposition process already. Somewhere. Humid air we have here.


Anyways, the thought of being a writer faded away as I grew up, together with many other naive dreams that I have held on to. Books for teens were more expensive comparatively, costing 30-40 bucks on average. (The Enid Blyton books I read cost 9.90. Yes, I still remember) So I stopped reading books, and I guess that's what made my passion for writing fickle into nothingness. (After all, reading and writing go hand in hand, don't they? At least, that's what I think. Haha.)

That, or I'm just more of a drawing person. Lol.


***

Some random dude or dudette (I don't care if it's an actual word) who's reading this will probably wonder what's the point of this post.


I don't know.


Haha.

Maybe it's because I just finished a book and I'm feeling the urge to write something.

Maybe it's that repressed writer, a very small part of me, trying to crawl out and just write something.

Just maybe.

And so, I finish this random post with a rush because...



It's 2.00am. And I'm hungry.