Why I don’t write

I have two reasons for not writing much these days.

First is that I realise that I see the world in a pretty sad light, I have troubles noticing positive things, and usually when I want to publish something, I realise that it’s too negative to put out there. For example, when I was travelling, I was often complaining about how hard it was to breathe in asian cities, hot terribly hot the food was, how I was tired of tuk-tukers, how annoying it was to always go to a shop to get clean water. I never wrote about how I found Bangkok metro to be super convenient and well thought-through, how I loved the rocks on Ko Tao or how sweet logans were.

Second is that if I have memories of some event, the moment I put it on a paper or tell somebody, the visual, sensual, hearing memories fade, and I remember mostly the words in which I’ve put the memories. So I start remembering the story that I told and not the events themselves. This scares me.

Nevertheless sometimes I write, because I can.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.