I only write what is real. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been writing for a while. Lately, it has been very difficult to understand what is what and what is not, and I do not know what else to say about this. But surely, I will walk around the rubbles that once formed words and thoughts and try to build something, for meaning may abandon me if I don’t.

The scene consisted of a cacophony of images from various origins, some from my past, where all things used to be calm and collected, some from my future, where every object appears as blurry fractures of a silhouette, others from my now, where saturated colours overspill and paint the frame for me. I, the painter, held the brush with shame since art is always a product of intention. It guides the individual towards a destination. My brush strokes were unintentional. After a threshold, what remained of confidence left the scene as well, for it could not stand the escapism stink rising from my confused hand. My actions, lacking intention, were guided away from tasks, responsibilities and expectations. I had to tolerate living with my weakness, the thing I despise perhaps the most, for months before I could finally regain control and the belief that I can get rid of it.

If the picture I described does not resonate with you, my dear reader, worry not. You did not spend your time wastefully here.

The knowledge that correct planning and execution is key to manage the time and resources well to complete tasks one by one, and I did do the first part masterfully, accounting for my humanly weaknesses and the unexpected external factors. The plan would work beautifully and even yield free time to do anything, or nothing at all. However, I learnt that I was more of a clumsy executioner that I had initially thought. My humanly weaknesses gained superhuman strength, or I lost all of my willpower. The result was a living wreck who would slack off all day, every day and barely finish tasks. I am surprised to have become indifferent to the thought of failing my expectations as time passed. Was I growing up? Was I losing a battle? I did not understand anything, and I did not believe that I could handle the reality. So I ran away, figuratively, from all things that could reveal a reality.

Now, though, most are done. The number of deadlines simultaneously approaching are dwindling, and I am approaching a day that can potentially turn into an epoch for me. The overspills in the picture are not yet cleaned up, and I might as well leave them there as a reminder. But more importantly, the silhouettes from the future began to appear sharper and clearer. I am in a window where I can spend time to understand the now and make a map of the coming days. I do enjoy this opportunity. I have been waiting for it for quite some time.

I still have not grown accustommed to stringing words together. So, dear reader, I expect forgiveness for the lack of clarity and purpose. I am trying to hold on to them for now, until they heal and grow to their usual might.