Desire to Write

My writing spree goes on and off.

For the longest time, I wanted to be a writer. But at the same time, It was an unwarranted desire. I was not actively working for it. It was as if I’m a teenager aspiring to be a pop star after seeing Justin Bieber in a TV.

Writing is an interesting meta-skill. It allows you to present your thoughts in coherent, fluent, and convincing manner. But a writing needs to accompany a motif. Otherwise, it is simply a beautiful paper wrapping an empty box.

Regardless, even a good writing without content is fascinating. Similar to programming, the technique of this meta-skill alone is beautiful by itself. And my thoughts are not original yet. It is a patchwork of different ideas, overhead from the others, yet to form a melody.

I find myself enraged with jealousy in sleepless nights. Envy against the great authors. Character more human than anyone I’ve met. Stories more vivid than my memories. These fictional beings enjoy the immortality beneath the dusty bookshelves, while I’ll turn into the dusts covering them one day.

That is the only selfish desire I have in my life. To be immortal, To be able to live forever.

One day.