I'm cosidering Twitter.

Do I take myself seriously as a writer first? 

Or do I let others to pass that judgment on me?

If I am who I say I am and really believe what I say I am 

then I should get the word out there. 

I should start tweeting about it. And just let the music flow.

Another writer's block and my August is, almost, complete.

I should just relax. But as much as I tried to be as relax as I can something just doesn't work or things are just not happening. I'm still not loosen up and that's the problem. It seems like I've lost the jizz to my creativity. I'm so stuck in this rut and I think I'm slowly loosing everything, even my mind. Wow. Life can really be such an ass sometimes and I do feel stupid already. Next month is my birthday. If I continue being like this I can kiss my 30th-year-of-being-alive goodbye. Ohhhhhhh damnit!! I need a high voltage shocker to wake me up from this death slumber. I really need a breakthrough of some kind. Arrgghhh!!! Or maybe I should just go mad and let all my problems take care of themselves. That's a good solution. I think I could take that into consideration. 

What makes a writer a writer?

I googled the above question and found myself with a gazillion answers. Some are poetic while others are plain structured. Some say they like being a little crazy while others go for colleges and courses to get that piece of paper that says you're a-professional-writer-now-and-no-one-can-dispute-that. :)

So what makes me a writer or even different from others who don't display their soul on a piece of paper? Do I have some kind of extraordinary ability that allows me to feel what others are going through? Was I born on a special day of writers? Or am I just plain mad when compared to others?

I guess I am who I am because of all the above and more. I love being judged and I hate being judged but I can't help myself if I stop writing. My life is more than just an open book. I am also a canvas, sometimes with beautiful stains and sometimes plain white blank. I don't really care of being judged or misinterpreted but I can't help myself from being obsess with what others think of me and of my works. Do they like my story? Can they relate to what I'm telling them? Can they see themselves or me in my writings? Can they grasp the message which I'm trying to tell them in my works, of us not being too different from each other?

I am a writer and a crazy fool. My brains and my heart are so intertwined with each other; that’s why I'm irrationally encrusted with being super-complicated. It is all simply and because I am a writer and a buffoon! I lived hard and I cried harder. I loved hard and I get hurt harder still. And that's because I am who I am; a foolish writer who feels with her whole being.

So, from my standpoint a writer is writer when she is herself, who lives her pain slightly dramatic than an average human being, who also lives her life somewhere between a full-bloom melancholy and dangerously intoxicated while still have the capacity to look at God straight in the eye and be thankful for all the wondrous blessings she has got so far.

I just need someone to really tell me to not give in just yet.

Why giving up is such an appeal right now? Because it is. Because sometimes life gives me shit even when I have tried to hang on with the little sanity that I still have. Even when I'm engulfed by total darkness, the hard part never seem to run out of avenues. Even when my face is buried deep in the hot desert sands I still find myself being run over, again and again, by life's unforgiving burdens. All I want is just a break from all this craziness. Just one moment for me to shine and really receive the greatest beauties life has and can really offer me. But no. Instead of that I keep on getting the ugliness and the sadness as if I'm not getting enough of it. Why Lord, why? Am I really done this time? Have I really made things gone so bad that I'm out of options now? Has my moment been taken away from me?

Right now I feel like an elephant trapped in the tiny body of a butterfly. I feel like my brain is going to burst out of my skull at any moment now. Yes I know that others out there are going through even tougher situations than mine. I know I know and I do not want to be reminded of that! Right now I am talking about my life, my own shoes and my own shits. What others are going through are theirs to handle. I have enough despair in my hands right now and it's more than I could swallow. I just need someone to say to me to not give up, especially now. Not because of the tiny light at the end of the tunnel. And especially not because of whatever kind of rewards that awaits me at the finishing line. I just need someone to tell me, straight in the face, to not give up. Just plain old, 'Melissa, don't give up'.

To move forward or to find another route?

I'm overwhelmed with stress. Stress at work, stress with my fiance, stress with my family, stress with this long and sometimes painful journey. I'm so overwhelmed with everything. I know there are millions out there who are facing a much more difficult period than me. Yet, when I look in the mirror I only see the woman looking back at me with life's tiredness in her eyes.

I know that right now I'm actually approaching a dark and long tunnel. It's that time of life where I can decide whether to find another route or just keep on moving towards that darkness... and right now I'm standing in front of that darkness not knowing yet what to do.

It's that time again.

Suddenly I feel like it is just so hard to keep up with everything. Not to mention that I've gone back to my addiction and fuelling my vices to the brim. Why or what is happening to me? A minute ago I was soaring half way across the ocean like an eagle filled with pride. Next, I'm here ducking my head below the lowest plank and sniffing my brains out with my 'marijuana'. I have an addiction which I'm not prepared to step out in the open yet. Yes and it's because this addiction may ruin my reputation, that's to say if I still have any. What I don't understand is that even when I have a loving fiancé, a very supportive family and surrounded by wonderful people I call friends... I still go back and visit my dangerous closet of shame for an escape; an escape which I've no memory of its origin. Yes. You can judge me whatever you like. But this is a part of me which I want the whole world to know; a part where I am very much human, imperfect, struggling and trying to make the darkest part of me disappear permanently.

To the teachers who taught me to be me in this life.

I have two extraordinary teachers that I would want so much to meet some day. And when I do meet them, I just want to say thank you, hug them and have coffee with them while sitting on their front porches. For everyone else they may have been like any other strangers or some famous authors that no ordinary kid from Papar, Sabah might ever get to meet. But to me, they are my life teachers and they deserve to meet their pupils, so that they know they’ve made a difference in someone’s life.

Because, just like me, they struggled and confronted their demons on more occasions than what they had wished for. They tasted fear, defeat, tears and pain. They get their life lessons from others and most of the time from their own hardships and failures. Yet, they have stood the test of time and have written more books about living life, superseding their own expectations. And today I celebrate and thank God because He has led me into receiving them in my life, teaching me to believe that there’s more in me than what meets the eye.

So here's a toast to Paulo Coelho and Jennifer Lawler. First, for believing in their selves and second, for believing in the people that God has place in their paths. Salute!

Paulo Coelho

Jennifer Lawler

Just another Sunday afternoon.

It's a Sunday afternoon... and I have nothing in mind.
Except CSI Miami season 9 on tv, some clothes in the dryer,
this exceptional handy notebook and the very cooling fan on the go.
Nothing much going on. Just another usual Sunday afternooon.