lost and found

This post this time, I think would be very personal.

I have actually considered, before writing this time, to actually delete all my previous posts in this blog and start anew. I keep on thinking, hey wait, did I just say that?  Who was I?
Ohmy if embarassment has a daughter, it'll probably nickname her me.

But I digress.
Since I'm (a slow) working progress, I'll cling on my old posts and let me be embarassed by how foolish I was when I was younger, but never ashamed of I was to delete the pre-made up Afzan.
So let it be.

Ergo, I write.
Personal encounters these past week had a sudden bang on me, so much contained the cacophany must be written or else I'll just let it rot in my non active brain.

Exh. 1
The joy of being found.
Of course, you must be lost first before you could actually appreciate being found.
But what if, the rescue you're hoping for is just not what you expected to be?

Its just a lifeboat handing out lifevest in the midst of deep ocean. Sink and swim, you must.
And forget about waiting for anymore help.
There is no use about being bitter for those external help if you yourself refuse to do so for your ownself.

Exh. 2

I always thought that life would be more interesting, more lively if you have a passion.
I don't understand why people knit for their sake, but I envy their determination to knit a sweater with the cute squinting eyes and the hidden annoyance of the recipient of the knitted sweater.

But what if the reason of the passion died?
(Surely you tell me there could always exist a passion without any cause. But I doubt it.)
The passion, the hobby, the obsession could wither away.

And I thought, what's mine?
I've so long let it die that I couldn't remember what was it that I love doing most.

I remember writing. Lots of journal. Of fiery passion.
And doodling. Drawing. Of course, with fiery passion.
Art.
Reading.

And none of those are with me now.
Too bad.

If I could reflect why I did what I do, it must've been from all those teenage years, venting out to the canvas, being angry to something, I could actually say now I have lost the energy to (being angry) care, hence their disappearence.

Happier but boring-er.
I have lost that part of me, but at least I know what I've lost.

And that's one reason of joy :)