I resolved to write more but I couldn’t. I have these outlines in my head whenever I’m moving: walking, riding a jeepney, eating alone. I am no good writer but years of doing technical writing tailored for diplomatic correspondence made me look for an outlet to type something else at the end of a long day. I still find it hard. I am trying real hard right now, keying in words and phrases but I don’t know where this is going.
I do not wish to have crackhead emotional issues like before just so I’d write everyday; for during that time, regardless of the content, the desire to publish something, anything, was there.
I can only admire those who write for the benefit of imparting thoughts, teaching others, inspiring readers. I still have dreams to achieve that but looking at it now, it’s a long way ahead, now that I can’t even coherently and cohesively put my personal thoughts together. I have lots of stories to tell so I am not sure if it’s lack of time, resources, or desire that’s preventing me from doing so.
I will try again, and again and again, until that desire comes back again.