There are days when I force words out because my brain seems to act like a car sitting in the garage for too long, needing a few attempts before the engine purrs to life. Those days are hard and most of my work produced usually ends up in the draft folder I never revisit.
Then there are times when thoughts start to suffocate me and I cannot function. When my life looks like everything is right where it should be, but my mind is a mess I need to organise. It is then that my work seems less pointless. I guess because that is when I write the truth. Sentences that are not laced with exaggeration or randomly placed jargon to make it sound better.
I guess I write because there is actually so much about myself I do not know. This is partly because I never question anything really. When I am asked how my day went, it would take me a few seconds for me to actually think of it because I never do. I live knowing that I have to go through days however they turn out to be, so I never really cared if it was a good or bad day when I should.
I never really knew what I liked and what I do not. They used to be the same to me. I just power through whatever it is that comes my way. Maybe because growing up, I was never really in a position where I could choose for myself. Lessons are pre-chosen by my school or parents, I wear what is approved by my family, I do what seems to be appropriate to everyone else. I am a produce of a relatively constraint surrounding I would say.
Writing makes me question every underlying assumption I previously had. If not, what I write would not be convincing and if I am not convinced by it how would it ever help me sort out conflicts between the thoughts I have in my head? I do hope whatever I write would bring people pleasure or some sort of joy or satisfaction but essentially, they need to fulfill the main objective: for me to fully understand this loaned soul of mine and once I achieve that, hopefully I get to be a better person. Although that is arguable.