The Old Me

Lately, I've been thinking About my past self. When I was still young I love reading books, writing stories, and collecting poems. I used to immerse myself in the world of my book, imagining I am one of the characters in it. I would stay up all night just to finish it. I would save up money just to buy the books that I want. I love smelling the pages of a book. Weird right? 😄

As for writing, I am fixated on the idea that I can be good, that I can be a novelist someday. I remember writing stories from scary ones to romance. Then I would read to my friends and wait for their reactions. When Wattpad came out I was ecstatic knowing I would have another platform to share my stories. But I never got the time to put all my stories in it as my studies and training demanded too much of me.

My love for poems started when I stumbled upon the book 100 love sonnets by Pablo Neruda. It unfolded emotions that I have never felt before. Because of Poems, I learned to dream a little, became a little hopeful in life, broadened my boundary to life. It made me understand a lot of things. It became my savior during my teenage years. 

I can't say that I had a bad childhood but during those times I felt indifferent, I felt something inside me that I cannot explain or put into words. But because of Poems my existence suddenly had meaning. All the struggles and temperament of a teenager gone because of Poems. 

I kept doing this thing until high school. But during my college days, I did not notice that I forgot about writing and my Poems. Reading my book is the only one that stays. 

After graduating from college then finding a job, reading my novels became less and less. Maybe because of the demand for my job or The pressure of earning a lot I focused on my career and forgot about all the things I used to love. 

I missed that old self of mine. I miss that drive, that passion, the overflowing of inspirations, everything. Nowadays I ask myself, was it because I'm getting older or because I already have my family and that I feel so much love that I forget all this. That I am constantly happy that there are no inspirations left. I truly can't say.

All I know is that I miss the old me, the creative me, the overflowing of thoughts me, the youthful me. 

Dear Old self, can you visit me sometime..