I used to find myself writing whatever came to my mind a long time ago. Poems, short stories, ideas for novels and trilogies and series. I used to do it all, but lately, I feel like I've lost my knack for it.


I've ransacked the kernels in my mind to find the malevolent reason for this loss of interest. Instead of finding something, I end up somewhere entirely different—like Tumblr per se since I really don't have a life. But I still try. I keep pushing myself, hence why I'm still a member of Odyssey.

My lack of passion has driven me almost to the point of quitting one of the things I enjoy doing the most, but whenever I manage to get through those sullying thoughts, I congratulate myself. I believe that to be a step closer to finding that raw inspiration and creativity that would set my mind abuzz.


The bliss that came with letting my mind flow felt surreal—ethereal. It's something hard to describe but the rush of letting those words out, of painting a picture, delivering a message—that was what always made me want to write more.

But words are now a foreign stranger. Even writing my own articles is a hassle. Sometimes I have an idea, and I branch it out. But then I feel discouraged like it isn't good enough as I thought it would be and my mind just automatically discards the idea. Originally, I had not thought about writing this piece of mind for my article. I had a rant planned, as usual.


But resilience is the key to success, am I right? Never really giving up and pushing yourself along that path to achieve your dreams. This is what I constantly tell myself. Nothing can be accomplished if I just sit down and wait for a melon to fall from the sky and hit me in the head, leaving me with a turmoil of ideas that I might never really take action on.

However, dear reader, I believe that action must be taken into anything we want to accomplish in life. Nothing really falls from the sky, except for rain and frozen pee. But if you want to do something, you gotta reach for it.