Has it been a year already since I last wrote here? As I type away, I honestly do not check. I guess to say that I've been busy since my last post (honestly I still do not check) is inexcusable, even to myself. It's ridiculous really. And as someone who claims that writing is one of their greatest passions, I am ashamed of myself.
Earlier this month, I was trying to sell myself in an interview by a big time advertising firm in the hopes of being given a chance to spend my whole summer learning the ropes and applying what I have learned in the past three semesters I've had in school under an advertising student mindset. I think it was going pretty well until I was asked "So do you still write?"
I felt my mind shutdown for a split second knowing that the answer that was to come out from my lips was just as shameful as maybe the dumbfounded look I had across my face upon the question. No matter how I say it, sugarcoat it, the answer was still "No."
And still I don't refer to my last post on this, as I know it's still shameful.
It's been a good two weeks since classes officially ended for me, and the recently ended semester was just--yeah. I would rather not go into details of how School Year 2012-2013, 2nd sem tired out my whole system, body and mind, the whole package that is me.
But in the last couple of days since it did end, I went on a complete shutdown. Activated my hibernation mode. I'm still somewhat functional; robotic, if not zombified. Right now as I type away, I realize how worked up I was in the last remaining days of the sem that I just truly almost wasted away in my room--not in the bad way though.
I'ave had--no, taken--the luxury that was stripped away from me for the past couple of months: reading. And not the the journal-article-research-infused kind of reading, oh I'm definitely sick of that. It's that more-pleasurable-than-sex-itself reading. I've purposefully locked myself in my room the last couple of days and just kept quiet and read, and I'm granted this sense of satisfaction I haven't felt in months.
I've been confined to my bed with a book that serves as whatever my mind's been deprived of: color, creativity, and imagination--things I've lost in exchange for school and thesis and proposals and endless video projects and whatnot. Getting lost in a good book is I think exactly what I needed. I felt somewhat dehydrated and the words from the books I've read in the last few days were seeping into me and giving me my life back (okay, I know this is exaggerated). Reviving me nonetheless. A big chunk of 'me' that was lost in the last sem is slowly coming back.
And I think it's the reason why I'm writing in this manner, having much to say and not stopping anytime soon. Trust me, I've written this in a much shorter span of time than I did while I was writing my thesis not even a month ago. It was more like endless staring competition between me and my laptop for a good hour or so before I got things going.
I think I've been dead for far too long. From blogging. Writing. Reading. Even the luxury of observing places just by travelling around the metro. Anything that breathed so much life into me.
I'll comfort myself for a bit more longer, drowning myself in more books in the days to come. I think this is a reward for myself that has been long overdue. Life lesson: Never underestimate the power a good book.
It only feels too good to be back.
