I’m an introverted person, carrying a mind that never stops talking..or thinking. I’d say it’s way more beneficial if I were thinking of practical things, but most of the time I’m not. It’s a constant argument with myself on the meaning of life, living, persona, attitudes, and experiences. I’m preoccupied with thoughts of ‘existence’ among other things. It’s like a play of people’s actions at different angles. I try to look at life, and understand mine, through the eyes of others, knowing that there’s something more to those spoken words.
I’d find joy and beauty in the tiniest of things for I wish to believe that nothing is purely bad or ugly. That there are no bad books despite the typos. That there are no bad music despite the loudest guitar rifts. That there are no bad news despite the economic recession. An exemption though: there’s no beauty nor joy in war and murder.
You write because you need to write, or because you hope someone will listen or because writing will mend something broken inside you or bring something back to life.
— Joanne Harris
When I’ve successfully silenced my thoughts, I’d pick up a good book, play some tracks or read the papers. Eventually, those things would start the little talks in my head so sometimes I’d just close my eyes and pray for sleep. If I’m too animated for sleep, I write or have a cup of tea.
As a child, I’ve written compositions here and there, especially on summer breaks. I kept journals back then, too, but I lost them from moving to different cities. Even the blogs I had as a teenager are now gone. I deleted them as significant chapters of my life pass by, and I regret doing so without storing those entries somewhere.
So now, here’s another attempt at creating a home here in WordPress. Teapotted Dreams, a blog I’ve decided to never (ever) extinguish no matter the circumstances. This shall contain what my heart, soul, and brain can—and cannot—contain.
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