From the Heart

I was browsing through old posts, then I realised February marks a year of blogging! How could I have missed that? Happy birthday dear blogspot of mine. It was silly to have deleted the very first post, don’t ask why. I vow not to repeat what had I done, and I am keeping that up. go me! This is a tribute to being alive;

many ways lay for us to express trapped feelings, and I chose to write. The interest drawn since I first had own diary, more of which swaying along the in-trend. I’m sure you are aware of that there is a certain age where having a diary or a journal seems cool. defeat the actual meaning to have one as some created so as to show theirs' off. Mine started since primary school, but they weren’t grand nor near appropriate.

Eventually I tried poems, kept them to myself. Only during secondary years I wrote and let close ones read. they said some are good, so I began writing on occasions; birthday, thank you, farewell, etc. truth is, I’m never near perfect, grammar mistakes, shallow vocabulary knowledge, perhaps the liking keeps me going. And reading helps, a lot. And writing is a gift, of which some write in magic, they have the flair. Others however, have to develop own styles through learning. I am not sure where I fall into here. There you go few notes on prologue.

Writing is an art, of which it explores your wildest dreams. How one exerts others' works differ to another. Because we lead separate lives, much as we wish we are connected to one another, we just aren’t. Situations amalgamate us, but inside, no one else could understand better than we do. Words written accidentally match on purpose, we deem in authors' thoughts. at points, we intersect with their inner perplexity, that’s how genre surfaced and tastes widen. the gist is, words are beautiful. There is no limit to define an art, and with genuine feeling, meaning of life can never be detached once grasped.

Take a liking in reading that will bud interest in writing perhaps. It saddens me seeing it does not grow in our culture where reading is concern. The mind is restricted to thinking that reading bores, because reading = facts. Open up the mind; walk around countless of arts done. What one reads pictures how one acts. Write from the heart, that's among wise says from my mak. And here I am writing how i feel every now and then. Also wishing to touch your hearts if ever i could, because mine always has been by numerous writers. Their words make my day, entice this heart of mine, broadening the kid-thinking. And when a dream appears, make believe the fantasy. After all, reality needs some seasoning.