Being constantly reminded of the desire to scream, I have been meaning to write. The blog has been abandoned for almost an entire year, just like my garden after last spring. The garden still gets my attention and my sparse efforts now and then, but the blog doesn't. Perhaps the mental need to tidy up an invisible room in the mind can go easily hidden and neglected than the expulsion to weed a visible space like the architectural extension of the house.
I will have been a mother for a year next week.
Apart from daily developments in the baby, I have also learned new things about myself everyday, but my pen couldn't catch up with the minutes of changes.
There rest many unpublished drafts, which I have been intending to polish, in the back of my throat and in the Internet room of my own here. However, over a year, I have not time to revise them, and due to negligence the thoughts sometimes ferment and get sour.
I happen to read something about perfectionist the other day. The idea of perfection used to hold a noble spirit of uncompromising for me, but in fact perfectionist is a real sign of cowardice and lack of action. Perfection has been used as an excuse for waiting for a impeccable timing to act, a moment that is forever postponed.
I was horrified at the reading, having my own weakness been pointed out to the core. If I do not write now, I will never be able to write. If I do not act now, I will never get to act. It is a lesson that I have finally learned now after so many opportunities have been lost, after so many wishes have become the cliches of "I used to ...". After T was born, this alert is learnt dear, as the baby always has something new to surprise me in his tight nursing schedule everyday.
So I have resolved to write, everyday, no matter how much I can produce and no matter how unorganized it might sound. The thoughts disappear soon with their feathers of time. (Having said so, it has taken me 3 days to complete this note..)
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