Once again, I am leaving till the last couple of days of this month to write an entry.
However, this time around, I can say that I am genuinely busy.
I am busy filling the first page of a new chapter that has been empty for far too long.
It's like stepping out into a new world, afraid and don't know what to expect.
Everything is new, foreign and frightening. I just have to go head on and see where this brings me. I need to do this, not that I want to, but the responsibilities in life calls me. It keeps reminding me that I cannot escape from it forever. I need to get it done anyways, so why not now? I need to live on, for the sake of others, for the sake of myself. I'm ageing day by day, time isn't going to wait for me. If not now, then when?
I don't think I am good enough, I can't live up to expectations.
I don't think I will be able to cope with the fast paced society, no motivation.
I don't think I am suitable for this, it's going to be the end of me.
I don't think I will survive, leave me in my own bubble.
But I did.
For the past one and a half weeks at least.
I can't believe things are brightening up. It isn't as bad as I thought it would be.
I am starting to see why people do this. Fulfilling? Maybe? I am still not too sure if I am doing the right thing and if it is really what I want to do. Well, it is a start, and the beginning it is always the toughest, so they say. I wonder how long would I be able to keep up.
The book spine has creased deeply from leaving it open for too long. The open page has been weathered and tattered, dog-eared and uncared for. 'Chapter' was scribbled across, now appearing faintly, with the number now blurred and unseen. After all, the book is boring and incomplete, there isn't much to read. A couple of false starts and cancelled scribbles are strewn across the page, evidence of the author's agony and a long writer's block.
But the chapter starts, somewhat timidly, at the bottom of the page.
Small and messy, it begins.
I feel useful.
I got a job.
