for almost as long as i can remember, writing has been my thing. a constant companion that echoed celebration, numbed pain and reclaimed joy. long before puberty and acne, before love and experiments of love, before i even made perfect sense of its power, writing held out a hand and i grabbed the whole arm! intricately describing, weaving and plotting, setting scenes, rides in gondolas and ayam goreng at the mamak, words would just spew forth, and not necessarily to find logic or even meaning. this is what bore this blog, random rants with no guarantee at sense.
yet i then find that i am, especially this morning, groping in the dark for eloquent words to describe feelings in me, so turbulent, i dare say they deserve to be brought forth in a manner so elegant in description as 'eloquent'. clutching for straws and drawing blanks, i think it suffices to say it has been a very interesting time in my often mundane life. between a vulgar, obscenely hectic semester, family tragedies, rapacious love affairs and ecstatic friends- i now find the accumulation of so many emotions, there simply aren't enough words to express them all.
but i must write, i need to. even when i don't know where to start, or in what direction to go thereafter, i still must. even if for no other reason than to jerk off my own ego.
