When I was suddenly tasked with a nearly impossible essay to write, it's a daunting and scary feeling that overwhelm my insides. How was I suppose to write again after many months of inactivity. Honestly, I rather pick up music again and play the piano to my heart's content. Or even just jamming and whacking the drums would be the preferable choice of expressing myself. Not through words, this time, I'm afraid.
The art form of essay is lost on me. It's not that I am hesitant about writing. It's that the words, the vocabulary, the sentences and beautiful phrases aren't coming to me. And it seems for now, that musical stanzas and chords are more relatable to me than English.
Plus, the essay that N proposed to me has to be about how my family has affected my judgement on people, environment and, basically, things around me. Spanning over 21 years, little did I realize that my life is actually a tremendous source of anecdotes. How am I suppose to condense all those stories into an essay and then reflecting on my parents' and siblings' actions?
Yeah I know it's possible. But there are just too many stories to recount and it takes time and inspiration to come up with the descriptive language to properly address them from how I saw things happened.
So instead of writing my essay, I have absconded to my bedroom, while that crazy English teacher of a nut friend is downstairs playing the goddamned piano, to blog about not being able to ascend to anything.
Funny thing is, I have written some stuff...
I guess it's a start? Slow start though..
Like my driving instructor said to me yesterday at the driving course: Don't ganchiong. Would you rather be safe or dead?
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