**30 days later** Well...hello there. Long time no see.

Sorry about that month-long M.I.A, that elongated buffer--for the past four weeks or so, I've been hibernating (both physically and mentally). Not that I ever stopped creating content, but I suddenly found myself at a dominating crossroads; one that made me become more skeptical of the validity and absurdity of my thoughts. The craziness and impulsiveness of my entire identity, even.

Yes, at 18 years of age, I am talking like a thirty-year-old-something corporate worker re-evaluating the purpose of my life; as if I already had two kids, living in a tranquil suburban neighborhood, whose identity has been drastically forced to transition into a mid-life crisis panic.

My existential crisis came a little early--and with a vengeance.

While my peers cherish their last home games, savoring every "firsts" and "lasts" of high school, my mind seems to be elsewhere. I am physically sitting on those bleachers, on those desks, only to drift off to a completely different world of my own...constantly interrupted by a noise--a screech that constantly yearns for nearing adulthood.

And through sophisticated syntax, diction, and (sometimes) downright unnecessary complexity, writing became my only ticket to distinguish myself from ignorance and childishness.

Yes, I continued writing; but at the same time, no, I did stop. I no longer wrote for myself. Every seemingly beautifully-crafted sentence, in actuality, as hollow as the next. I began to write merely for its superficial appeal, rather than exploring its spontaneous wonder.

Writing was now an obligation, as I became completely submissive to my own expectations--of what I should be writing, of what I should sound like, of what would be socially acceptable, of what would be worth reading.

Worth? I questioned the value of my curiosity. Losing touch of my wonder, I feared whatever came next.

After all my crafted pieces and seemingly legitimate advice on individuality, authenticity, and just plain self-discovery, I swallowed all that I preached. I became, funny enough, the criticism of all my suggestions. I was the "if you do this, this will happen to you" examples that are designed to discourage others.

I was everything I said I wasn't. And that mere fact scared me.

Uninspired and purposeless as I felt, I never finished my sentences. The cursor blinked and blinked, awaiting and hanging on my every word.

--

This month-long hiatus, however, forced me to witness a world without a voice. Momentary confusion would permanently confiscate an irreplaceable form of expression.

Muted.

Before I completely loose my grip on my created platform, let me begin to write with minimal perfection, yet also with measured recklessness. Let my crafted words be an explosion of emotions--from tantrums to random bursts of glee.

Let my writing not only reflect my prowess and wit, but as a testimony to my equally evident vulnerabilities.

No, I am not just "writing" again. Fearless as they come, I am creating new indentations, paragraphs, and ideas. This time, I swear, there is no holding back.

Stay tuned *wink*.

May this be the start of something in its purest form. In my purest form.