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I am sitting here having my late breakfast, drinking my cold coffee, staring from time to time at the greens outside, getting lost in my thoughts, picking up my Kindle and browsing through books I have read, then jotting random stuff in my journal.

I haven’t written in a long time. Could it have been because I was too busy? It has been more than a month since my last post. Or is it because I just don’t know what to write?

There are actually a lot of things in my head that I want to write. Living in Indonesia and experiencing a lot of new things are enough to keep my fingers pounding. But I haven’t gone around to doing that much, though.

Could it be pure laziness? With too many activities in the day, I forget to slow down, process and unload? Or could it be something else?

Whatever it is one thing is for sure, I write to hear myself.

It is when I stop, contemplate, internalize, and string letters that I hear the inner voice inside. It is with inking words that I understand more what I am going through.

It has been a month since I wrote. It has been a month since I heard the self.

And the self is in a rampage now going on and on. I have missed a lot, it seems.

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