Staring at the whiteness of the screen, I have this feeling that I will be writing one of those vague lengthy crap that no one will dare finish reading. I have a lot in mind right now. I am unsure how to proceed in a logical way. But I'll go on anyway, punching into my keyboard letters that will turn to words that may capture the noises and pixels churning within.

A while ago, I just found out that Jojo, one of my favorite bloggers to date nominated me as the Best in English Blogger of the Year. Wow. Jojo, I want you to know how deeply moved I am. A month into the blogosphere and I received that honor from you. I'm practically a green horn and yet... Merci beau coup. It's just a nomination, but it means so much, for nameless faceless newbie.

I have always loved writing. I remember that years ago, my restlessness could only be cured when I write down all those words screaming inside me. Writing was the only release. I was so thirsty for life like a vampire who haven't had a meal for a century. I romanticize everything, even the most trivial details of daily living. Monotone was never in my vocabulary. I easily fell in and out of love with just about anything. I broke and mended my heart countless times.

It could have been an epic until the day that I gave up on romance.

I gave up my rose-tinted glasses. I gave up my pen and paper, decided to face the so-called reality. Decided to join the race. I was scared. They scared the hell out of me. They said that my dreams are beyond. That like Icarus, I may burn my wings if I didn't go back on the safe ground. That if I walk on the path less taken, I may lose my way. That I couldn't make a career out of writing, J.K. Rowling is a one in 5 billion. That engineering and law is an absurd combo. That I should just be like my peers, focused on a single goal.

I tied a white hanky to a stick, waved it weakly in the air. Peter Pan came back to London that day. Goodbye Neverland. Goodbye dreamy sunsets and intense midnights.

All the colors in my world was sucked out, left me with a new word: monotone. Everything was in shades of grey. Is this the real world, where everyone suits up to rise in the corporate ladder? Where everyone loses identity in a sea of black and navy pinstripes? Where everyone rejoices in triumphs based solely on material benefits? I felt the cold air creep in, coiling around me like an invisible snake. Despair. Nightmare. I heard tormented souls under the earth cry out. And a dark figure materialized out of thin air. It came closer to me. Under its hood, endless darkness. I felt its cold kiss. Dementor!

It has been two years. I was even joking about writer's block. Didn't know that the joke was on me. Two years of being out of the school publication. I just can't write anymore. Inspiration left. Along with my dreams and my pet unicorn. I was on the crossroads although my path was already chosen for me. But why can't I walk on every path I want and then shift on another? Why can't I make my own? Why can't I rewrite the map? They didn't trust me.

Dreamless nights hardened my wings as I slept in a coccoon I made for myself. I woke one day, my wings were a little fragile. I had to fly. I had to chase my long lost dreams. I had to find my lost unicorn. Writer's block broke. The world, again, is romancing the writer, romancing the bloggerina.