Hello, it’s been a while since I last put this title on my post. Last entry’s to mark my first and probably last tattoo, isn’t it?
Things happened since then, a lot of things, but not many particularly stood out or heavily upset me so I sort of let them flow through me and left no record; I had many things else to write about. A couple days ago it occurred to me that it was about time I did a little reflection, you know, like putting a check mark on the calendar, so here it is, my incoherent ranting. You’re welcome to ignore.
Last year wasn’t kind to me; I suffered from depression episodes so many times I started thinking I might have developed chronic depression, and because of it, I was a bitch to my friends and as a result, I lost one of them, maybe two. I did try to make amends but I wasn’t very successful in this department. Well. One of my old friends (by ‘old’ I mean we’ve been in friendship for a very long time and show no signs of getting out of it) told me the older we got, the fewer friends we had, and that’s so true. I’m grateful for those I still have, those who have put up with my crankiness. I’m difficult and I know it.
This year is different; so far it’s been treating me with kindness. That hopeless, depressed feeling still pays me a visit once in a while; still it appears that monster is occupied with some business so it visits me scarcely, which means a happier, more satisfying and less cranky me. This year also marks a number of my first-hand experiences: I have a tattoo, for once, which I incredibly like because it is the symbol of the strength and endurance of familial bond, whose significance I’ve felt more strongly as I grow. I’ve began to explore my body and its needs, learning to appreciate and care for it more; after all it’s gonna be my life-long partner. I still hurt it sometimes, but the frequency has also greatly lessened. A satisfied body makes for a satisfied and productive mind and a more pleasant personality. Finally, my inspiration has grown with such strength I may think I’m obsessed with it. It’s funny how I’m almost compelled to write a certain number of words everyday; otherwise I will suffer, like for real. You could think I’m bluffing but it’s a nagging discomfort that makes me feel…incomplete. I have no idea how long this phase will last but for now, I kind of enjoy it. My ideas, plots and characters are my most faithful companions.
Something funny before I conclude this entry: I learnt that I will probably get married at the age of 30 and no sooner. So yeah, I may be appalled by the concept of wedding and such; nonetheless I’m going to have my turn at a ripe and hopefully mature age. No need to rush.