And sometimes to appreciate life, I started imagining about those who are more unfortunate to kinda force myself to accept I am still lucky despite how I actually felt. And I know how does it felt like at some lowest point in my life, I just have the urge to let it out and writing does distract me so well from the world. And at some point, the whole world felt different. And everytime something happen that makes me upset and hurtful it makes me think about stories more and more.. then I write it down.. it doesn’t makes me feel better but it does keep me in my head. Back then, I bring a personal book to write like anywhere, which if people ask I would just say its a diary and forbidden anyone from touching the book. So I only wrote for myself, never intended to share it to anyone else.
When I turned sixteen or eighteen if I remember correctly, I kinda lost the stories I wrote because some stuff happened, it was very upsetting for me, then i discovered wattpad, where i could keep my stories online safe and no one around me could intrude my privacy and i dont remember why i actually posted it. But when I did, I got some comments that support the character and it makes me so surprised, like a 180 degree, it was very different. It felt like someone actually care, there are people out there who have a heart and it makes me feels like I’m not so different or difficult to understand, there are people out there who could feel upset for another, felt anger for what has been done to a person