I miss writing stories, telling JAS' experiences, sharing uplifting beggar stories, commenting on something funny I passed by, proudly boasting about a not-so-intelligent discoveries I found, talking endlessly about small conversations Jody and I had, drawing interesting stories from my friends...
But I truly miss writing.
It makes me alive.
I was browsing to what I wrote in this journal about 2 days ago. It made me realize how fun that life is. How great it was to see everything in an innocent perspective. How I truly enjoy those small precious times with my son Jas. How it really is special to have my family.
Maybe it's just a phase... Maybe it will soon be better.. or maybe the beauty in this journey is the uncertainty of the road. I know where to go, I know that I have to live this life right. I guess I'm still blessed of having air to breath and being able to decide. Like the book, there's still hope for the flowers. I may have turned into a sour moth, rather than a promising butterfly. But who knows -- even moths can fly.
Yes, I really do miss writing.
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