i've stopped writing the way i used to, because i've stopped thinking the way i used to. or maybe i just don't feel the same way altogether. amidst all the comfort and stability, it's not that i feel i'm missing out on anyth. maybe i am just restless waiting for someth to happen to me, or maybe i wish i could do someth else to change my fate.

sometimes i think i am done fighting my fears. sometimes i want to throw in the towel and lower my expectations just so i can feel any sort of satisfaction. it's a catch-22 situation though, because if i did that i'm fully aware i've copped out and will be as equally dissatisfied as i had been before anyway.

and then in true fashion, i berate myself and stamp out all the dramatics and resign to plodding on. even if it's a phyrric victory, it's a victory nonetheless and i'll take it. a few years from now when i am war-weary and truly done with all of it, i hope i have some humour left to laugh at my foolishness. and maybe even forgive myself.

of course all this see-sawing occurs in mere seconds, vulnerable moments of hesitation and self-doubt. but what do i really know. how do i really feel. things like these hardly ever translate into anyth tangible, anyth i can hold on to and proudly call my own doing.

i'm not a control freak because i like it or because i am actually capable of taking control of my life. i'm a control freak because i am so afraid of being constantly on the verge of losing control, and i just want to hold on to something, even the most stupid and misguided plan, just so i can feel invincible.

i like sugar-coated cereal not because i have a sweet-tooth, but because i really can't stand anyth so damned plain and unmemorable. and i can't stomach defeat either.

life should be sweet, it has to be. or else, what's the point?