I Can't Believe I Have Time to Write Again

In busy days and days that never seemed to end, I learned to bask in silence. At times, I would take good, brief walks, or laugh my entire being out. Pacifying myself had suddenly become part of my routine. Moreso, I learned how to manage doing one task at a time because I knew there were so many "nexts" to come and I would seriously lose it if I tried doing everything simultaneously. So when the days started slowing down, I found myself itching upon being confronted with a thousand uncertainties.

Be brave, they say. Grow up. Accept new opportunities. Try new hobbies. Do what you love. Never stop discovering new things. These days, these are the mantras I hear unceasingly. And I listened. I tried to be independent, fixating on the less than basic activities I could do in the kitchen. I brought myself to work, to the mall, and back home. I bought groceries and stuffed myself with fatty food. Every time, every time, I conquered a task by myself, I'd be proud, because, I repeat, I did it all by myself. Nevertheless, I do wonder sometimes. Isn't it a little too late for that, now that I have lived for almost a quarter of a century? Why do I feel this only now? Why was I not taught to survive and be, quite frankly, an adult?

Then time was of another matter, although as equally significant. I wanted to dabble in the arts. I have always enjoyed painting words, painting on blank canvasses, pushing keys and hearing wonderful, wonderful music. More than it being cathartic, I deemed myself to be a little bit better in this area compared to others, no offense. But when all my time was lost, why could I not push harder to invest on this? And then somehow, I ended up being a jack-of-all-trades and master of none. The pain.

It's hard to uproot me. When I find my niche, I dig really deep and claw my way down. I do not know if this brought me much good or much bad, but if I really, really, really trust someone else, I allow myself to be swayed. I have a strong history of harsh words and betrayal and somewhere along the way, I just wanted it to stop completely. So I put my guards up. How do I know if I'm trusting the right people? How do I protect myself from the awkwardness and intimidation while all the while enjoying new discoveries and being thrown away in a whirlwind? How do I become the person everybody is comfortable with in my endeavor to keep myself intact?

I have so many questions, most of which I can obviously see are contradicting or already provide direct answers. I just wanted to write. I have to say, my feelings are still twitching and sentimentally blurry, but seeing the words get strung together just like old times feels orgasmically good.