I want to run a marathon — but can’t or won’t. Same thing as I don’t want to live away from home — can’t or won’t.

Typing a way on empty thouhgts seem weird. I keep on editing things that are in my head. Afraid to offend. Afraid to not make it. Afraid to fail. Afraid to admit that I am not good enough a writer.

I think I stopped being good the day I decided that no one can read my work. I never joined the school paper perhaps because I was too shy… or maybe too afraid to fail… or maybe just because I am afraid that someone else is better. You see, the logic goes that if I do not show anyone then I never get compared. And in the end, you can’t fail when you don’t start the race.

Weird because I told someone exactly that just a few days ago. It’s a matter of courage, I preached.

Perhaps, it’s time face my fears.

People think I am fearless and that I don’t care about what they think. The irony is that I do, I just ignore them to keep me sane. Because every day I am misunderstood and every time someone hates me feels like being in a straight path to a fired cannon. Gut-wrenching.

Every time it happens, I shake the tears away. Not because I am too proud but because if I start to weep, I know it probably won’t end. So I quickly remind myself that my love and the few people that like me are enough to keep me still.

Thank God it still works… so I am grateful.