Okay. So here’s the thing. It’s not that I really can’t write. But I cannot write at the moment.

It’s not that I don not have the proper education of literacy or lack the intent or imagination in your mind that make your pen move. I’m obsessed with writing! I’m obsessed with writing as much as I’m obsessed with Death! Now don’t you dare take me for an unstable, suicidal lunatic. I’m obsessed with death as in the idea of it. There are things that you do for a purpose. There are things that you do for fun. Things that you do for fun, are normally things that you can repeat. Right? Otherwise you would’t try it. My obsession for death is something like that. It’s like sex actually. You wouldn’t do it once and then never do it again yes? Obviously you will want more. That’s because it’s fun. But will you be able to die twice or more? I’m not sure ladies and gentlemen so I wouldn’t try that.

Anyways, the reasons I say I cannot write are these;

Right now I’m becoming very lazy.

Even when I want to write something, I can’t be seated at one place for a long time.

I keep thinking that all my ideas are not good enough to be bothered to be written or read.

I read and watch more than I write.

I need more time to do nothing.

Other stuff and shitty, real life responsibilities.

Sleep is important, I realized.

I have become weaker after dengue.




New projects and assignments.

Just worrying and not doing the things that I could do in the time I’m worrying.

People asking for favors.

People asking for free favors.

People asking for discounted favors.

Inability to decline.

Social media and all other bullshit.

And most recently, today, I wounded my left hand thumb.

So there you see some of my pains listed. List is not over though. Everyday something new adds up.


So I can’t write.


And here is a picture of one of my friends trying to hide their shame with a palm while freezing in cold to death. Bid him farewell. Thanks.
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