Uncertainty of the Unknown

I made this blog to write about my thoughts and make a reflection about my life. Yep. Whenever I get the feeling, I scribe my mind and hope for an utter clarity.

March 1, 2015 — We are nearing the end of this school year, as well as our high school life. The time has finally come for us to decide the paths we are to take when we reach college. I, for example, would want to pursue a degree with creative writing in the flagship university of this country.

But before I could raise my arms high and feel the welcoming embrace of my four-month summer vacation, I would first need to complete all of my requirements and responsibilities in order for me to graduate. Shame. It’s not that I’m a wayward student, no. For the record, since the 4th grade of primary school, I never have an absent in my class.

Still, with brain comes procrastination, as he points out in his speech. I am not sure whether I’ve passed all of my needed activity for the grading, specifically. There is this assignment, for an instance, which I submit with assurance. However, when Monday came, my teacher in that subject insists that only a handful of my classmates pass their work. I don’t have a stale brain yet, and yes it bothers my mind to think about the possibilities of my other subject teachers to also lost some kind of my works.

Another thing that bothers me is my organization’s last bid  for motion. Uhm, well it is I who put myself here in the first place. I’m the type of person who holds their word in a binding denoting not just a flick of the tongue, so I am very much perspired to finish my spoken mandate. But this is not what bothers me greatly. It is but a handful of the distortion inside this thousands of nerves I call my brain.

Should it be because of my personal problems? I don’t know whether it has to do with my family, financial or academic involvements. Though I am sure that it has something to do with the unforeseen future. It is hard to think of anything that may happen as equal to writing something of no definite goal rather than to express one’s desire to write.

A leaf on a river can do nothing but just to go with the never ending flow of the water-moving current to the edge of the falls, and into the inevitable nib runs black as reality is filled with ebony and from the nothingness comes  dots to lines until letters are made forming phrases joining together to form a sentence, until a group expresses a single thought into a paragraph till a new story is made from the husk of the original.

Maybe this is life. We are filled with uncertainty inside our minds but just as how the black ink of the pen writes anything on the blank sheet of paper, so is a new adventure written from the was-sterile piece of nothingness.


Yas, another fail attempt in writing and sounding poetic. Forgive me~ forgive me. Now, now, let’s go to sleep.


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