Bismillahirrahmanirrahim,

I confess, I have been having writer blocks.

Ever heard of writer block?

Hmm, writer block.

When I see writers around the net declaring they're indeed in a writer block mode, I just shrugged it off. I was thinking, how could one have out of thing to write? You could write about anything, about everything. The world is not that small! You could write about the cloudy clouds stumbled their ways through the clear skies and ruined your day, about the unexpected encounter of you and a perfect stranger in a train ride back home or maybe about how you are feeling so blue today and you decided to just lie in your couch regretting life decisions and someone, somebody you love just popped out and makes you giggle for hours.

Actually.

You have see it coming, but you just cannot predict when.

When you have the writer block, you don't even realise it. The passion is still there, alongside your tremendous workload, be it college assignments or meeting proposals. You love writing, how you could abandon it then?

You found inspiration to write in the weirdest time of the day. Once you have this sudden urge to write when you and your best friend were insulting your old blog posts. At some other instances, you have the urge to write when you're in the toilet and you saw the soap and it just clicked in your mind how love can be like soap - slippery and you always fumble for it even when you know what it  brings.

You tried to note everything mentally praying you won't forget it that simply, and on days you're feeling motivated, you even wrote your drabbles in little piece of note that later was lost in the sea of mazes which is your room. And some flexible times, you typed it all out in your phone later feeling very satisfied of it and smirked gleefuly how you are actually a decent writer.

And you could already imagining yourself in you favourite cozy chair, with a cup of warm tea, flexing and stretching those fat fingers of yours to dance on the keyboard flawlessly. Because at this moment, you feel everything is perfect. Just you, and all you definition of favourites. It was your favourite part in writing.

Because that's what you think you're good at. The only one you're good at.

And you clicked at the blue 'Submit' button and sit back, at your glory, at your success.

That infinite feeling of actually being able to write a piece of thoughts of yours to be displayed to the public just really satisfies you. You stared longingly at your blog with your new posts gracing your laptop and you smiled like a fool. How can I fall in love with my own writing? It seems cocky, but you pushed it aside as a token of appreciation to yourself. A pat in the back, you declared to nobody but you and your laptop. Even when you know nobody really read your blog, because they're too busy with their life to notice yours. You just write. You keep writing.

For who? Not really, for what? That was the questions you used to have.

Finally.

That's the hidden beauty of writing, you concluded.

Just like how people said photographs bring thousand meanings, words more extremely do. Because when you write, you express all the tingling sensations, all the emotions you have experienced that day, all the weird dreams you have the previous night, all those strangers you have bumped that day whose bear stories that you won't even remember the next day. It all mattered before. It all matters now. It will matter later.

You always have this thought in your mind when you write.

I will read all of this when I'm much more older than I am right now.

Be it tomorrow which really means you are one day older than the day you wrote the post or be it five years from now when you have graduated college with first class honors, you don't know when. But you know you will read it back. Because you're a sucker for sentimental things just like that. You know yourself better. You never have the heart to throw away your old diaries even though it consists of stupid ramblings or irrelevant words, the diary was a part of life. And to throw a part of your life just like that, was the greatest insult you could ever think of.

This is you. This is a part of you.

Your mind inevitably plays tricks in your mind. Like how one day, you imagined, you other half will unexpectedly stumble across your blog and oh, what a disastrous day that would be! All those little thoughts and secrets of your young self, you when you have not met him, come pouring out like a broken dam and you're helpless because he was laughing and raising his eyebrows, questioning every single things in your blog. Who is that guy? What does this mean? Who are you talking about in this one? Is this an inside joke? You just shake your head off, smiling as the memories flooded back your older self. He smiled too, able to understand you, his other half.

This is why you can't even bear to delete your old blog posts. It was really stupid and you just shudders at your young self. But, really, you thought you were the coolest kids when you're in that age! Sometimes, just for the sake of a little laugh and second hand embarrassment  you scrolled down and started to read. Like really read. But five minutes into the entries you wrote that particular month, you're already gagging at how lame you really sounded in your old blog entries.

Life, it is more fun if you laugh at it, don't you think?

But, there's also another side of writing. The bad one.

Like every single thing in the universe, writing has it's own virtues and cons. And one of it, is when you reread your sad report on your old blog entries. There is this one entry that you have not failed to cry when you read it. Not that it is surprising, because you admittedly is a crybaby. The pain of reading back the entries were as much as when you were writing it. The heartbreaks are almost echo-like, ready to jump at your present self rather than just staying in the past. And that's when you tugged your heart. Enough, your heart cries! Enough! I can't do this. And you move your trembled fingers on the little 'x' button at the corner of the screen and you sighed. Why are we doing this again?

You just saved your heart once again, from the ghost of the past.

And then there's the silly part in writing.

Oh, really silly one!

Like how you talked and talked and ramble about this band that you really like and you self-proclaimed as your own husband and swearing to go and search for him when you are older. Just a little bit more older to be able to achieve your dreams. Ah, the innocence. How could you forgot you have once possessed it?

And tonight, you really didn't plan to write. Because as what your brain insists, you still have tomorrow, But you counted the tomorrows, and you realised there is too little time again. You were perplexed. What should I write? You sighed. You have too may topics you want to touch on!

Then, you closed you eyes and take a deep breath.

Okay, here goes nothing.

"I confess, I have been having writer blocks." was the first sentence you could think of.