When I was young, I was naive and irresponsible. Many things fascinated me, but I never took more than three minutes to get to know what was beyond the surface. As soon as I got the answer I wanted, I moved on. With such fickle personality, it’s not hard to imagine that I have spent most of my youth wandering between this and that. I’m still doing that, but I’m trying to change. One of my goals for change is to stick to a story until the end. But boy oh boy, change is certainly scary. As I reach closer to the end of one of my stories, I find it harder to pick up the pen and let the ink run on the smooth paper surface. The feeling is like that of letting go someone dear to me. If the story is completed, it would fly from my palms. There is this unreasonable achiness settling at where my heart should be. It’s the end of a romance. I wonder if I have been subconsciously avoiding commitment of more than three minutes on anything because I knew it would eventually turn out this way.
Nevertheless, I must push forth because even though change is scary, I am still crazily anticipating it. This will just be a lesson of growing pains. Heh, I’m a late bloomer anyways.