bit by bit, i'm regaining my voice. hip hip hoorayy!! thank You.

Wordsworth and Coleridge running through my mind now; of Wordsworth and his aching joys and dizzy raptures, and of Coleridge in laudanum-laced stupors that brought about his fragments of poetry. fully in school mode, i am.

which reminds me of what a tutor from my module, The Craft of Writing(it's a compulsory module! i can't escape from it), said: when we write, we must write deep from our hearts. quite to my surprise, i sniggered. uncontrollably at that. (not good for a first impression!) maybe it was the way she said it: full of sincerity and belief in that phrase itself.

now if i really wrote deep from my heart, what horrors shall be unearthed? what is actually contained within the recesses of my heart? must i write full of passion & emotion, or move my hand with intellect and reason? or should it be that all i write must be from God, since i should love Him with all my heart, mind, body, soul?

my heart is but a mass, or to be more accurate, a mess, of melancholy cheerfulness resolve anger peace appreciation disappointment praises delight discontentment fear facts truths and so on.

so from henceforth, i write about everything...

and yet nothing at all.