rewrites

"Write even if it doesn't make sense," that's what my manager told me.

 It was supposed to be a technical coaching because of my performance but it turned out to be a heart-to-heart talk. I never thought I could open up my dreams to anybody, much more, my manager, but I suddenly blurted it out and I was glad I did.

At some point in life, I thought giving up writing is the only choice I had to stop hurting when high hopes are suddenly falling to the ground. And then he asked me one question that I have failed to ask myself for the last couple of years: "Why do you write?"

I suddenly got tongue-tied. Yeah... why?

I suddenly remembered that before I dreamed to have my novel published, I imagine myself sitting on a table beside an open window where I could feel the fresh morning breeze holding a pen in my hand and a blank sheet on top of the table, and I would feel so happy and contented. I used to write because I love to. I need scribbling words like breathing. It's a part of me. I suddenly got to a part inside me that I have forgotten to visit. I kept looking for my life's purpose elsewhere, failed a lot of times, and I forgot to go back to the baseline, the starting point which is the focal point of my existence.

"Write for a purpose," he said and I smiled and nodded. A huge part of my heart which had been empty for a long time has been filled.

When I went home for the weekend, I went over the writings I had when I was younger. Some of them funny, some with a lot of flaws, but it brought back that old feeling, that certain rush that makes me feel happy I am still alive.

So while I fix the broken pieces of me, I am rewriting these old scribbles. When feelings were still raw and my heart was still innocent. :) I'll label these as 'rewrites.'