keyboard-catnip

[keyboard-catnip]

Writing again

I can't say it's been a while since I last shared my thoughts publicly. I’ve been on social media, after all. I post fragments of my thoughts, snapshots of my days, especially the kind I want to preserve in faded colors and slow motion.

But when did I stop really writing?

Technically, I never did. I’ve written emails, countless ones, thanks to corporate life. I’ve had long message threads with friends across different apps. But writing for the sake of it and writing to pour out, to get messy, to say things without a filter? That version of me might have last existed between 2007 and 2015.

I used to have a blog (I can’t find it now). I filled notebooks - both pocket-sized and chunky ones - with thoughts and songs I wrote using 0.5 pens in all the colors I could find. I tried writing music back then, when I was young and full of heart. National Bookstore and Papemelroti in Cubao were dreamlands for girls like me. They had all the fancy writing tools a teenage girl could ever want. Those pens felt mightier than any keyboard I’ve wielded in recent years. Back then, I was fearless: saying exactly what I meant, as it came.

I also had a shared notebook with friends. We passed it around after each entry, all journal-style. We shared happy memories, reflections, teenage frustrations, affirmations, and even a few petty arguments. Just remembering it now feels freeing. An old friend still keeps those notebooks. They were light blue, with Spongebob covers because Spongebob was, to us, the epitome of sunshine and imagination.

A decade has passed since. We’ve moved on, each living separate lives. I can only imagine what it would feel like to read those entries now. Page by page, I’d be revisiting the girl I was between 15 and 20, caught in family drama, unaware of how much I craved attention, boldly loving my friends more than my parents (who, back then, were on the verge of splitting up). Some pages would still sting. Some would make me cringe. But I know I’d read them with distance. That girl is someone I’ve outgrown, an empty shell I’ve shed, like a butterfly leaving its cocoon.

So, with all that nostalgia, why write now?

Because I’ve been holding in too much. These thoughts keep floating, and they need a place to land. I want to write freely again. Comfortably. Honestly. Without holding back.

I’m reminded of the movie Finding Forrester, especially the scene where Jamal, a gifted young writer, is told by a reclusive novelist to just start. Do the first draft. Write without stopping. Write with the heart first. That stuck with me.

And that’s what I want. To write at ease. To be honest. To nurture my thoughts as they are. To paint pictures with words again. To re-learn how to show, not just tell.

This is the restart. I’ll keep trying.

[keyboard-catnip]