Strange how I find this night pleasantly humid as though I’ve been waiting for the rain to wash away the sticky feel in the air tonight. I had just finished my writing assignments for the week – a very exhausting job – and now I can feel the after effects of the regular finger cramps.
I’m given this generous time to write in my journal tonight; mom wants to turn off the lights already and I gently protest as that alone can hamper my regular nighttime writing routine. I like writing in this journal – I don’t have to follow rules, I don’t need keywords, and I can even end this entry right now. I feel that sometimes my daytime job corrupts my ability to write about the things that really matter to me.
I’m preoccupied by few things that left me confused at times, yet I don’t have the confidence, the necessary boldness, to write about them. Some trivial things I just can’t accept. And I figured out that someday, when I get a little older, I will truly feel that insecurity is a word to which there is no cure, only acceptance. I can feel simmers of it but I cannot perceive its true smell, its real scale. Perhaps I may write about this certain disconcerting feeling in retrospect, in the future.
As of the moment I will feel all the positive energy around me and appreciate the good things that was given for me, even if that means perceiving a humid night as something pleasant, when it’s not.