Thinking of

topics, titles, complications, boredom.

Thinking of

why the world takes itself and others so seriously? Surely if Trump is the president, the world can’t be a serious place? 

Thinking of

what happened to that spirited confused cynic without a mission who became the spirited non confused non cynic with a mission who has now ended up being a confused, cynic with a mission but not spirited any more? 

Thinking of

the book that was written, in the thoughts and the mind with exact scenarios and words and ideas and concepts, but not recorded. How would that book have contained all the disjointed thoughts of slash, unrequited love, intense friendships and passion and dreams that didn’t quite come together into a story or novel, which disjointed on its own were actually quite exciting (even if I say so myself)

Thinking of

the lesson quite shockingly I learnt about myself that ultimately - I am a passionate person despite not having a singular passion in life. I am an ambitious person, despite not sticking to the norms of ambition. I am determined person, despite always seemingly giving up. I am an innovative person, despite innovation being limited to finding crazy ways of having fun, wait, that I think I always have been. I am an adaptable person, errr…no that I am still not.

Thinking of

Of why there is so many whys, whats, whens in my life? Why have I lost the fun loving child in me, what do I really want in life, when did life become so boring and grown up.

Thinking of 

getting back to my writing. The distinctive writing showing the immature, crazy, funny (not necessarily witty) side .