I always ask myself this same question. Everyday. Even though I'm not the "talented" one in my family, I have what others lack. A weird imagination. Sometimes, I pretend I don't live in this world. I have created a world of my own, one where I'm the star of everything, but at the same time, I'm just invisible to everyone else.
To write, or not to write. The same unanswered dilemma pops into my mind. Do you really want to be a writer? I ask myself. I don't know how to answer. Well, I love writing. Give me a pen, give me a paper, and I will write. About anything, about everything. But, I am lazy. Even when I love writing, I get tired too easily, and instead of writing, I end up watching another Pretty Little Liars episode on Netflix.
I have this love-hate relationship with everything I do. I love-hate my college major. I love-hate pets. I might appear calm and collected, but beneath my skin, I'm just an evil thing in the making.
Let's say I'm not sorry about anything I have done that has hurt people. I'm not the kind of person who fights, who swears, whose insults and bad behaviour are the only way to "defend" themselves. I'm the one who, with kindness and good mood, destroys whatever she touchs. When I'm in bad mood, which happens rarely, I'm like a destructive force. Walls are torn, glass is broken... Like I said before, I'm evil.
If I were a character on a book, I would be the complex one. The one who would be studied and researched, just to figure out what she really meant to do.
But well, I got bored of writing again, and also, I have to do my homework (which I despise).
See you.
-A
