A misunderstanding with my parents.
Ambiguous suggestions from my close friends.
Once unresolved, but now a worried mind.
Single, Double Hits for Uncertainty.
I have that habit from young to keep a diary within my reach at all times. The younger Me somehow knows that when age ripens, I will have a high possibility to forget myself in different stages of my life. Thus, she made a habit to express herself and her feelings on pieces and scraps of paper.
Like a story, she tried to theorise and unravel the missing pieces in her life. She is getting too engrossed about growing up. Like cars speeding, so fast, probably too fast, till she forgot how to appreciate the present: speeding ambers and challenging red-lights.
Either the cops will soon catch up with her, or she will halt in dispair.
Instead of scraps of paper, she torn pieces of her memories instead.
She notes of her feelings every now and then, by years scarcely doing her precious habit because she keep finding herself without reason or rhyme to. Once a favourite thing next to chocolates and no classes for the day, it was replaced with a murderous intent of getting ideas and whining to herself that she should have at least a pencil with her. Though she knows that she will forget about it in less than 10 minutes.
Vicious cycle of the 'imaginary hand' rule.
Plagued by a weird habit, the older me has been forgetting the reasons why a part of me once loved to read and write.
A man came into the picture. He taught her dreams, desires, trust. Possibly, Love, to what she believe it is. His presence is something that she cannot bear to forget. She takes risks of making promises that she thought she is very sure of accomplishing in due time. Eyes in awe with the amazing theory she just created, she enjoys it too much that it starts to contradict herself. She is experiencing the difficulty of accomplishing the words she tied her life to.
Life is partially crumbling in front of her: Like iron fed with water and air.
Triple Hits for Life's Base.
I kept in tab with my own curfew. A good friend walked me to the station while the rest went for dinner. Sitting down on the train, making sure that I contacted Mom when I'm on the way home, earphones plugged in with the intention to get a rest with music in my ears, drowning the sounds around me. Somehow I can't sleep.
I walked back home from the station. All these while I noticed people around me, a feeling of effort hit me. I took out my diary and I wrote today's event. Came home with a smile on my face. Read SC's old entries. Talked to an old-stranger and a comfortable figure. Questioning myself. Switched off the lights. Understanding my own theories and remembering my little secretive reason for having a diary where-ever i go. And wrote... compelled with the lost answer...
I discovered sand to remove rust from Life.
I want myself to appreciate what I loved when I was young, keeping in tab with my mistakes yet, in touch with my dreams and reality.
Now, I need to learn how to weld Life proper, with water, air and of course, sand.
...And by practice, I will make homeruns possible.
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Read-for-my-own-reference: 1, 2, 3(if i remember what this is).
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