I was talking with Frank earlier about writing and publishing stories or poems when he asked me,

"Am I a writer? Or do I need to get something published?"

I know I've asked myself that a lot of times when alone and wandering inside the caverns of my mind. I know I love to write and I know that writing is something that I will be doing until I inhale my last breath but what is the definition of a writer and who's got the authority to define such?

These days, when you'd call yourself a writer, people would expect you to be scribbling for your bread and butter or to have your print on a paper or a book.

But what if you just love to pen down every chaos that haunts you inside your head?

I consider myself to be a writer. I don't write for a living but I write. I write for my sanity. I write for my passions and for the many dreams I build with my hopes and faith. I write because I have this need to express what is lodged in my heart and because talking to my own self is considered to be dangerous and alarming (hahaha).

I write because I live and because I live, I bleed and where the naked eyes don't see the crimson birth of pain, there my pen bleeds in behalf of them.

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Why do we trust one another so little? I know there must be a reason, but still I sometimes think it's horrible that you find you can never really confide in people, even in those who are nearest to you.
-- Anne Frank

Sometimes, we get so complacent with everything good that is seemingly constant in our lives that we tend to forget their value and how lost we were before them. The same applies to the people in our lives. We love and we know that we too, are loved and we bathe in the bliss of knowing  that true love is and should be forever.

And then something happens and it shatters our complacency and we are suddenly rattled and at a loss for anything that could stabilize our shaken foothold. That's when we realize that nothing is absolute except the time we have now and more over, life is indeed trivial.

Only in shattered dreams and broken lives do we really feel the weight of everything we hold dear. It's is only through threats of loss do we realize that indeed, change is inevitable.

Since we don't really have an absolute stake on anything more that what we have now, I think we owe it to the people we hold in highest regard to let them know that they are cherished. I know that one of the best feelings in the world is to be appreciated. I don't really believe that constantly saying "I love you" cheapens its value. Love is one of the rarest and most mysterious  things in life that cannot be depleted nor be devalued. After all, these mere words can mean the world to someone and has been since time immemorial, the foundation of every dream and every hope worth dying for.

I got my internet connection at home cut off and I'll leave it at that until such time I deem myself worthy of such a convenience.  At the moment, I am enjoying this new found simplicity of not having to be anxious all the time. I am a self confessed internet junkie and in more ways than I can ever begin to explain, many things have been opened and just as well, scars have also been made.

This isn't as hard as I thought it would be, perhaps because I found myself at loss for words. I can't say I am uninspired for I am happy and content but just for now, there's this part of my life where even words cannot fill and satisfy...and amazingly so, I am not bothered by it.

Leave it for time to heal the gashes and mend the broken dreams, for prayers and grace to renew my faith and love to constantly  bring me to the consciousness of forgiveness.

This year holds such grand dreams and I am bent over doubles on my knees  struggling for patience and enlightenment.

I am also proud to say that even on the very festive season of Christmas and New Year, I lost 7 lbs. Yay discipline!