I never know that writing need a cause. I simply love to write.
Since my childhood time, I write about anything. Like any little girl, I owned a diary filled with my emotions. I was a pretty dark girl: stormy mood, full of anger and shyness, not a good combination. My diary was full with stories about how I mad at someone or how something depressed me – any negative emotion, really. Channeling my negative emotions through diary was succeed in making me calm, so anybody back then knew me as an ordinary smiley girl.
I remember one day, I had enough of my self: I climbed a tree and burned my diary. That day was the last day I have a diary about my hatred. I moved on and started to write fiction – mostly about falling in love, maybe my teenager hormones finally got to me and love was all over my mind. I’ve made a new diary that full of my feeling – this time, a positive one, the lovey dovey of my teenager time.
Accepted in a University far away from home, I found a new world and a new channel to express my thought. Mixed feeling and structured mind are now my best friend, while shyness was still my biggest draw back. As a psychology student, public speaking should have been easy because it is a mandatory thing for us, but I was struggling to master it. Blog was my practice field. I tried to build an alter ego as a nice and speak-up girl. My blog was my paradise.
And now, after all this time, blog is still a big part of my life. I write because I want to save memories. I want to be able to trace my past, not just about where I have been or who I have met, but also how I have improved throughout these years. I write because I need to proof my existence. I write therefore I am.