Gennaio Dieciquattro, 11:01 PM

It just occured to me. That I couldn’t write fantasy stories. Ah well, I’ve proved it so many times. Although I like reading fantasy books and watching fantasy movies, it’s just not my thing. I mean, my style is more of a reality. I mean, yeah, it’s completely fictional, but hey, it could happen. There’s a probability that it could happen.

Right now, I’m really sleepy but I have to download songs for my patrons (it’s one of my many sidelines), to burn it onto CD. My hunger for watching trailers had died down, and it seems that I’m just lost in my own thoughts. Like writing is part of my daily living, and as important as breathing. Several years ago, I’ve started wrting on a diary, and as time passes by, when I read my entries, I am amused, because I could see the improvement, in grammar, as well as in my handwriting.

Sometimes, I even laugh at it. I read some forgotten, funny moments, kept in my diaries. Those things could be forgotten forever without my diary. I was able to relive both the beautiful and sorrowful past, thanks to my diary. It reminded me that I’ve even dedicated my first diary to my dad, who past two years ago.

And I’ve also written the lyrics of my favorite songs in my diary. One time, I told Mom that when I die, don’t throw away the diaries; instead, publish it, or show it to someone who can publish it, to remind the people of the bittersweet life.

And in writing, I’m not afraid to show who I am really are. I’m not afraid to say what I think, and I’m not afraid to say how I felt. That’s why I love it so much.

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