Have you ever wondered how writers came up with writing something like they have an ocean of thoughts? Or maybe a universe of words you cannot fathom? Unending scenes and plots so interesting you cannot stop reading? If you are an aspiring writer, then I bet you have.

As for me--I have been sitting here on my work desk, facing my laptop with a disheveled look. For months I have been thinking of writing a story. I have this idea in mind that I could derive whatever binge-worthy plot there is every writer like me could offer. I earned good grades in literature when I was still in the university. I have also won in every literature contest I have signed up for since my junior years. My professors used to say that if there are people with a green thumb, I myself have golden hands and mind. So this should be easy for me. But No! It is not!

If you would like to look into my draft folders, you'll then see hundreds of my babies killed. Stories I have stopped writing because of a boring plot. Overlapping character traits and characters with no proper growth. Some I trashed because I ran out of ideas. But most of them are just solely scribble of an intro. I tried salvaging any that I could probably recycle but to no avail.

However, despite all the challenges, I haven't thought of quitting. I have this dream of becoming a known writer someday. Though not great, at least a good, known, serialized writer. That's what I'm aiming for. And I hope the deities would help me with my chain of thoughts and my tendency to procrastinate.

"Aish!" I slammed my mouse out of frustration. Harshly pushed the laptop to close and stood up.

I'm hungry and I smell funny, but since I have no energy to even boil water for some noodles, I just drank water from the tap and dropped myself on the sofa. I'll bathe later. For now, let's just sleep and drown our worries in our dreams.

Indeed, living alone gives you a lot of freedom. You don't have to watch yourself and think about what others inside the house would think about you. No nagging, no errands, and no expectations. However, I missed home. This moment is one of the many moments that I came to miss home. My mom's food, her scent, and mostly her violence. If I were home, I have been kicked and spanked already for not cleaning my room, the living room, well... basically the entire house, and even myself-- my body.

"Mom... I'm hungry." I whispered and cried as I closed my eyes.

If you have ever experienced a time when you were very exhausted and hungry but your body has no energy left to even lift your spoon, and your eyes just literally closed even though your mind is trying to fight it, then cheers to that! That's what I'm currently savoring. It's like a push-and-pull game between my body and my mind.

I might also add, I have a peptic ulcer, so I should never pass any meal time. But for the past few days, because of my frustration, I have been neglecting eating. So if you do have the same condition as mine, you would know for a fact how painful it is when your gas strikes and there's nothing for your stomach to digest. Even so, I'm at the point where I'm already numb in pain to have totally succumbed to sleep.