Where should I begin?

Someone asked me to write about something.

Write. That's easy isn't it? Isn't that what I am always inclined to do when my head and my heart is in a mess? Isn't that what I always do when I feel like my life is losing direction? Isn't that what I always do just because I enjoy doing it?

Write. This verb seems to encompass so much more than just placing a pen tip on a piece of parchment. It's taking all of me and placing myself just bare and open using words. Even my handwriting just say so much about me.

Today, I am happy. I never knew that I would be this happy. Yet, the strangest thing is, I cannot find anyone else to share this joy with me. Because if I do try, it would mean starting from square one. It would mean going through all the processes of how I became who I am today. But I guess that's alright now. What really matters? Nothing really matters to be honest.

I'm very proud of you, of me. And I don't know how am I going to feel when I see you when I see you, but I'll remember this.

I've been stuck in guilt and sorrow for way too long. I have tried to convince myself that I believe God has forgiven me. But in actual fact, I haven't let myself believe that. And I haven't forgiven myself. And I haven't stopped, for a single day, putting blame on myself(such a middle child thing). Nonetheless, I guess the journey from here on would be one of brightness. One of courage. Uncle Weekiong said last night that it takes courage to be humble and vulnerable.

I think this is the most courageous I have been in my life.