What

There are some things that are left unsaid. Things that cannot be precisely described by any combination of words. Things that we contain inside, sturdily walled by the simple fact that it, fascinatingly and yet at the same time, sadly, cannot be expressed. Things that lurk on the inside for so long, sometimes we forget, only to surface, unknowingly, one day, one night, like some chronic disease.

I'm being very random lately. Perhaps because I have the most abundant amount of* time I have ever had. I get to think of stuff that I always tend to un-think of. Before, the only time I get to think of these ideas is whenever I ride the jeepney, blindingly staring anywhere stare-able. But now, I get to write them down. At the moment, I have seven ideas for a short story. I know where to start, I have the plot outlines, but I just can't manage the urge to start writing. I always think I have something else to do, the chore will hang over a moment, and then I'm back to contemplating how to start.

Maybe this is the after-effect of terribly multi-tasking several works before. I can't focus on a single task. Even when I watch a movie, something else will swoosh past my mind and then I lose my concentration. At the moment, I am actually amazed that I have written this long without the usual swooshing. Pouring what I think about, thinking of maybe I need to get back my writing skills again. The back of my mind telling me that it's a shame I'm using the words 'get' and 'think' a lot of times already.

I need my old, writing self back. I will start tonight.