I Give Myself Permission

I started this blog a few years ago because I told myself that I needed to pick up and practise writing again.

Being a writer was a childhood dream and how I envisioned myself in the future -- having been an ardent fan of Enid Blyton's since I forced myself to be as good in English as my classmate in primary school.

Well, Enid Blyton's books no longer attract any attention from book readers in this age, but her stories and descriptions are still ingrained in my spirit.

My weakness is that I think too much about everything I do, about everything that happens to me, to the point that I used to worry about what I couldn't achieve, and thus stopping myself from even trying to achieve it. Endless pessimism were detected in my brainwaves.

I left writing, the dream of becoming a writer -- just like I left the dream of becoming a music artiste -- because I was afraid that I was not good enough, and that people would laugh at me -- a serious producer wanting to become a flamboyant artiste? Get real. And so my talent diminished.

So one day, while lamenting over my lack of achievement, I decided I would start a blog that nobody would read -- just so that I could practise my creative writing again -- in preparation for that novel I was going to publish one day.

After some time, I got too busy with the struggles of work life, and I retreated into obscurity again. I was comfortable being a nobody. But at the same time, it was painful being treated as a nobody, and thinking of myself AS a nobody.

I noticed that there were many bloggers, even friends, who just wrote blogs probably without any wish for fame. Of course, there were many other bloggers who also commanded a great following. That got me comparing myself with the one who wrote just to express his heart's desires, thoughts, likes and views....and the one who wrote to publish themselves and be richly rewarded by advertisers.

I am a very private person who find it hard to tell every opinion I have -- maybe from the habit of being a self censor. But the strange part of being human is that part of our DNA is the desire to be that unique individual whom Human Existence created -- the soul walking and breathing on this planet Earth -- not merely to exist without rhyme or reason, but, to be celebrated.

And hence, while not knowing what I should write about today -- even though I have gone through many hardships in life, mentally and emotionally, which could fill the pages of countless books and blogs -- I decided I would just write about this moment --

-- the moment I give myself the permission to write.