I have a handful of reasons why I decided to engage myself
into writing. It is no longer clear to me of the exact time when I put an
interest to literature particularly in writing; but from then on, it never slip
away from me the thinking that one of these days – surely before the death
turns on me – I shall have a great part of my life specially allotted to
satisfy this passion. That is when I’ll be able to write those events around
that best catch my attention, when I’ll be able to express what I’ve been
wishing people to know and understand, and simply when every single thing I
know and happens that worth remembering whether healthy such as happiness,
pleasure, fun, feeling of contentment and acquiring new knowledge or those not
helping causes of pain from anger, envy and boredom to isolation would
naturally pour down and let out.
Some may interpret it as soft and inappropriate for a man;
but it would end up not the real issue. I have this awareness that
I am incapable of just setting it aside for a moment or for a lifetime. It is
one thing I know that makes me feel better than what I feel every earlier and
leaves me a feeling of genuine contentment. It is one of happiness I know in my
life; and I’m getting insane if I let myself forgetting this interest.