Although change is apparently inevitable, and permanence is as rare as finding true love in a random locus in space, I come to realize the existence of cycles in certain periods of my life. I see history repeating itself and the growth gap constantly shadowed my maturity stage. This, I think has terrible repercussions on my web blogging’s improvement.

My craft’s no more than a poet’s sophomoric musings! Modesty aside, it’s too big of a disappointment to note that I’ve had a sacred part of me who dreamt not of becoming a Number Theorist but a literary writer. When I was a young girl of seven, I fixed the ribbons of an old typewriter to compose my first novel. It was a typical adventure with my imagination stimulated by the ABS-CBN’s cartoon, “Julio at Julia” and “Remy, Nobody’s boyl.” The vocabulary’s obviously limited and sentence structures are often inapt for the situations. But in general, I would regard it as my very first masterpiece.

So maybe my blog entries contains all those personal thoughts, and as an objective of Tabulas, it aims to chronicle my life, but sadly in such adroitness, my literary talent stunted. I can no longer write anything except about me. Even when I’m writing supposedly unbiased or light-hearted entries, the bitterness materialize on the sentences. I am just nothing but my limited, depressed self.

You can infer from each and every phrase and from the choice of words the obvious pain that this writer has gone through. It’s just coming out of a political torture.

But my mere wish is to change this and to be more detach with myself, in general.

-mG