I like Kylin. I like Nina. I like Maya. I like writing in my journal. Creative writing is good too if you don’t overthink it. I like oil pastels. All the likes can be overridden with one hate. I like working one day a month. I like wondering what I’m going to do in the summer. It’s the tension in the background you don’t see, like student loans or even more in the foreground, bank loans.
I seldom look up when I walk on downtown Toronto pavement, and when I do, I look past the mismatched buildings at the condos extending into the sky, which is where Naim now lives.
I feel proud of myself after reading a couple of entries from 2017 and 2018. Progress. Time is muscle.
I obtained a fortune from a cookie: “truth can be harsh, but it can be helpful”. I think of spilling my guts out into my journal, a negative emotion flooding the pages.
This all started because I wanted to pen down a scene.
It’s raining. Or is it snowing? Either way, there’s some sort of sleet in the air and falling downwards. I am at home, in my pyjamas. There is a grey tinge in the air.
April. Some days seem to never end. Everyone is staying at home, happily (?)
Right now I am reading a story about a girl with an abusive mother. It reminds me of some bad thoughts I had a couple of days ago. My life is fiction right now.
Sometimes you just need to let go of existing in the present moment. Easier said than done though, I’m constantly playing music in my room in an effort to
-and then it ends
