Voluntary Blackhole

Writing has become what I have dreaded it will become as I get older: an activity that will fight for its survival in my life. It’s hard to keep writing these days; I am beset with a host of responsibilities that involve sinking into a vortex of new knowledge. And this new knowledge demands the entirety of my focus, my time, my attention, my devotion.

I sorely miss the old me, well, at least the old writing me who gets to post here and there in this intermittently updated blog. But these days, I’d be lucky to make a sentence for leisure. I still write a great deal during weekdays but it’s for technical and business correspondence purposes. I cannot even remember the last time I wrote an emotional article or chronicle of my life. It’s really mostly work now and responsibilities that come with being an adult.

But I do know that no matter how many activities I line up, I will always go back to my roots, that same thing I have done since I was seven years old. And all these awesome and intensive things sadly eating up my free time now are just means to enrich what I can convey to the world through words. It just so happened that there are necessary sacrifices at this phase of life that compel me to park my pen a bit and open my horizons of professional skills to accommodate new things.

I will always love writing and I strongly believe that up to the very end of my life’s journey, writing will always fight to emerge on the top of my full plate.

Here’s a tiny moment in my weekend in an attempt to keep letting her stay afloat amidst my other priorities. I will continue to write. The old me is still there somewhere albeit buried in a handful of new and challenging responsibilities.

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