When you can’t do something you love, then I bet you have a problem. A huge one.
There are some things that, in a way, defines you. Of course, the budists may have a different approach. They may call it attachment, or ego. Me, as a western, call it life purpose.
Sometimes, life just doesn’t allow you to do whatever you feel you should do. There is a type of feeling of being lost. To be different from who you are. To be somebody’s else. As responsible of that as we can be, as grown adults, I sense there is not a conscient choose. It can’t be. How would we choose to leave aside an important part of yourself? I mean, by our own will?
So, now, I try to catch the pieces I had of myself and try to build up myself again. And I found expression is a great deal for me. I had not many opportunities to express me in any other ways, so I found a way through writing.
I hope this text stand still here, lost in the middle of Giga and Tera bytes that are in the web. But anyway, I sware, this is my truth. I feel the read, I feel the write. I just need it to be alive.