194. I sometimes asked myself why I've never continued writing my novel- the one I've started writing since my high school years. I poured my heart and soul into those two hundred or so pages of pure fantasy about a goddess thrown out of heaven, inspired by my dreams and internal wishes. Writer's block or what not, I just suddenly felt no desire to continue writing. Fiction, no matter how beautiful or exciting, paled in comparison to reality the moment I entered the next chapter in my life- college and... you. When I read my work with the new older critical eyes, the perfectionist side of me saw scribbles made by a child who had no direction in her life. The story itself was a mess. It lacked fluidity, grace, focus and character development. There were also some good points- the storyline was quite interesting, and the world was intensely creative but it wasn't enough. I rewrote twenty pages before putting down the pen. Taking a deep breath, I told myself I had to start anew. But not today. I had so many things to do in my life yet. So many things I've yet to experience and develop within myself first before I could complete this book. I was still a girl waiting for her adventure to start. I then realized that that was what exactly I had to do. I had to wait and live. The girl with the red hair and violet eyes had to grow up first. She had to die so she could start a new life. And she had to fall in order to be free. To learn the real meaning of love, sacrifice and family. And lastly, love a man she would have never dreamed of possibly loving in a million lifetimes. To live would be the greatest adventure. I shall write my novel seriously again one day. Someday. Until completion. I hope that you would read it then.
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