you know what, I'm just gonna say "fuck it". it has never been about me. too scared to write and publish, to scared to say what I want to say, too scared to live how I want to live. I guess I was just raised by this way. or I guess I'm just hiding behind this filthy excuse, blaming my mother or father. all is in the past now. now, I, like most of you, do not know where the fuck do I go next. I'm angry. angry at my neighbor, angry at my roommate, angry at my mom, angry at myself. this has no end. either I cannot cope, or I am wholeheartedly stressed.
this is not a story.
because even though I've been writing since I can remember, regardless of the awards, regardless of the tons of books I've read, regardless of my literature degree and the countless creative writing workshops, i havent got a fucking idea how to write a story.
do not get me wrong, i have studied. I have given many nights, many days of my life to writing. maybe to the level that it is so deified in my head that i don't think I will ever reach its divinity.
but to the very, very few people who will read this, or the article after this, i can plainly say that everything in this universe that i want to achieve is so exaggerated in my head that i don't think I will ever get close to them.
I always have the well known fear of who might read my stories and how would they react. but now as I said before, I decided to let it go. let the stories go, let the fears go. let the fears go, because no one really is here to read them. I'm like a blog traveller, I go from one blog to another and post one or two stuff and never go back to those blogs again. this app will probably be one of them, too. so if I bother anyone with my writings, don't worry, I don't think I will ever have the consistency to write here again.
so this is not a story.
but this is an explosion.
an explosion because even though I don't seem like it, I'm actually alone.
an explosion because I am a coward.