We have become too articulate about our suffering & too inarticulate about our strength. The more elegantly we describe our wounds, the harder it becomes to leave them behind. When a struggle becomes part of your identity, overcoming it feels like a betrayal of who you are.
Are you serious? After spending years and years opening my journal, writing, bleeding wringing my very heart out every time I get it broken, this is what I realize now by this simple couple of sentences I happened to read on fucking Twitter? I hate this shit because it's right, and I wish I could have written more about the times I admired myself or the people around me or the world, touched the grass and smelled the flowers or something, something beautiful! I am in grief, allowing those moments to pass, stuck and fragmented now it is only in memory. But, but... I think I've very much graduated from my wallowing, writing self for a while and I'm just being pouty at the moment at having read those combination of words above. Let me add it explicitly as the point of this blog. It is also for the happy moments.
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I work as a web content developer for my 9-5 job. I've recently started to take improving my cooking skills seriously and I'm always on the lookout to try new food and date spots with my gf [r] here in Manila.
Literally in the between and/or middle of different hobbies and interests: reading, crochet, sports, running and writing.