The worst part about having a passion is procrastinating doing that passion. I haven’t written in what feels like years. Why does it feel so long? Because when I string words together, it takes an energy inside me that sometimes only sparks genius when I’m feeling extreme emotions. And when I write down those emotions, I’m giving a whole lot of myself, so a lot of the times I only do it every month or so. I still consider myself a writer because, well, I write. Whoever writes is a writer. But if I believe in that, then why do I feel so distant from it at times? I have these questions that appear in my brain that focus on the topic of “what the hell are you gonna do with studying English?” and it can destroy my mood and question my motive. But I step back from myself after reading those questions, and try to imagine a life without not just writing, but imagining. No story telling or documenting allowed. And that life doesn’t call to me. We all need a way to express our emotions, and without writing there’s no way I could fight/ enjoy mine.