Dear dead blog:


2am in the morning and your author is unable to sleep.



In a weird, distorted way, her mind is over-working itself again, indulging in too many thoughts and pondering about life and its inhabitants.



In that same sad way, your author sometimes wonders why she cares so much, followed by continuous beating up (of self by self) for having these doubts.



A young woman aged 21 should be worrying about what to wear, climbing the corporate ladder, Prada sales, etc.



Instead here is your author being a moper, dreamer and philosopher. (rolls eyes)



Here is your author waking up every single day without a clue of how to face the obstacles thrown her way, but is still trying her best, with only God by her side.



Over-sensitive, sentimental, and naive; with countless hopes and dreams and wishes and fears for the future.



In a way, I have missed expressing in you; but not so much the exposure part.



Because I have trouble believing that the world can accept one wholeheartedly, without judging and labeling.



In my life exist irreplaceable people, people who have touched it and left lasting hand prints there.



Yet I have also watched people loved and trusted turn heel and walk away, exposing a side never knew to have existed.



I have listened to words spurned forth in rage, and taken gestures of intentional spite from people who have shared essential parts of my life.



I have doubted and raged at life before, having become the person I am today due to the joys and heartbreaks which have shaped me throughout...






And without wanting to indulge in these thoughts anymore, till the next time I may have the random urge to write in you again, thank you for being a haven for my thoughts and feelings.



Thank you for patiently taking in my random moodswings and loyally displaying my expressive pieces without ever failing me.



Until the next time.



Love, Evie