As you grumble your eyeballs across an old house in. Everything pale-yellow and faded. I see my skill of writing resemble that old house. Grammatical mistakes here and there, an indication that my attention never focus on the detail. Who am I become once I gained all most people on my age desire? A mess postulates my thought, the scattered and unfinished night with insomnia invite great thought to come. But what have been left today? a settle-down-Nadya, live without worry about finance and the future, cause everything seems so beautiful and smooth. I closed my eyes, shut my ears and cut off those people that burdens me in the present and future. I am now surrounded with people who truly loves me and support me to become the best I am. But did I return that favour?
No I don’t
I do not yet
I do not want my life and my skill writing just stop there after finished a book. Or anythings that they called it achievement. Those products will mark my growth as human being, as a writer. My writings grows like my thought and myself. But now I just stuck. My writings are not as good as I was before. My language skill somehow never developed. I am losing my writing skill and I have to find out why. So I try to look back to my habits. Carefully selecting words and character. Slower typing, slowing my thought. I need to look back almost everything including people.
I never really apologise to those people I hurt in the past: my exes, my mentor, my neighbours, anyone that I hurt unintentionally. I was childish, egoist and reckless. I just wanna be someone like who I am today. And I am sorry for those words and action that probably change the way you think of me today. For those pain, disappointment and tears. I am really sorry.
