WDD and Rediscovery

It has recently struck me that I might be suffering from some sort of Writing Degenerative Disorder (WDD).

As far as I can remember, writing has always been some sort of a secret thrill of mine. If I did anything well in school, it would be writing. I think Mark and Joey will be able to testify that I well, in layman's terms, sucked at Math and any other scientific related subjects. In fact, if it's a subject that doesn't involve writing down lines and essays of personal experience or My Humble Opinion, I would probably fail it. See report card. When the time came for examination compositions, I would get the tingling feeling all over, as if Christmas came early (and as if someone finally cared to read my sheets of foolscap paper). Dad was even convinced that I would grow up to become a writer of some variety.

And so, with the selection of my Units 2 weeks ago, I picked 'Intro. to Creative Writing', and went into my first lecture full of hopes and excitement. As I sat through Lecture 1, everything that I expected the Unit to be, came to fulfillment. By the end of the Unit, I could write about anything that I wanted, and it would count as my final project.

But strangely enough, when I was finally given the free rein to write on any subject matter that of my choice, I felt that I had lost my taste for it. I sat in there twiddling my brains trying to come up with something, anything! By the end of the 45 minutes, I knew I didn't want to do it anymore. Somehow, somewhere along the way from Unit Selection to the end of the lecture, I had lost all desire to write. And I didn't really care. Anyhow, I've replaced that Unit with Ancient History. Which is another story for another day.

I was in a bit of a nostalgic mood the other day - brought upon by my catching sight of my shoebox while trying to find clothes. So I spent my evening just looking through my collection of old letters and photos. Inevitably, I decided to store them in some kind of digital format, hence the photo upload spree. Post upload, I left the house to play chauffeur to my sister, and when I returned, I discovered 43 new notifications on my FB account. I was pleasantly surprised by some of the comments. It appears that I am not the only one with fond memories of those halcyon days.

When other people started tagging those photos, I began to rediscover old friends that were once lost.

God Bless FB!

P.S Looking through the above construction, I am all too aware that it seems like a 10 year old child wrote it. With some more practice, I should be in some writing shape!