Is it me, or have I changed a whole lot since becoming a journalist?
I was glancing through my old blogs, struck by curiosity after a certain nosy lil friend chanced upon one of them with her excellent snooping tactics, and was immediately thrown off by the tone of optimism and quiet contemplation in there. The youthfulness of it all seeps through, jarring, because I no longer can go back there.
I look at the things I come up with now, and I see them tainted with weariness and half-assed haphazard thoughts, a reflection of a mind exhausted by hours and hours of mulling over words. I see them filled with quick anger and cynicism instead of a measure of calmness.
Nowadays, words fail me. An irony, considering it makes up the majority of my job.
But what else can I say that I haven’t said? Or maybe I just don’t find it necessary anymore, the only avenue of my release – gone.
And there you go, I’m at a loss of what else to say.
I feel constipated like you… Figuratively.