I woke up at 6 today.

It was cold, and slightly windy. The fan was not necessary; all I had to do was leave the window slightly open, and the cold wind would slowly come in and wrap the room in its coldness. It’s nice, studying at such an early hour and feeling the cold wind on your skin, and the goosebumps that appear as a result of it. The whole house is quiet except for the soft drone of the computer. I want to go swimming, but I know that such a foolish decision would cause me to have a cold later. No use being an idiot and getting myself sick before my mid-term paper tonight.

It has been crazy so far. Not so much in what I’ve done, but what I’m getting myself involved in. Besides having a hand in trying to keep a dying club from… well, dying, the world of politics has had a chance to enter my seemingly mundane life. It’s a dirty, dirty word. I hate it to the bone. All these years, I’ve tried my best to stay away from it, to back out of this issue whenever I felt that I was getting too deep. Well, I guess that all those years of being in the sidelines will get to you. A cruel form of karma, it seems. Name-calling, bickering, talking behind people’s backs… who knew that a dying club would have so many problems?

Silly me. The club is dying… because of problems!

My writing is worrying me. Or rather, my LACK of writing. I find it so much more harder to write these days. About anything. It’s not that my life nowadays is uneventful; the truth is far from that. But it’s just that… the words aren’t coming out. I comfort myself by saying that it’s writer’s block… but can I just call it writer’s block, and leave it at that? And what exactly is writer’s block? Does it have a definition? Maybe I’m worrying myself for nothing. But visiting Fazri’s blog makes those worries and those fears come back. He seems to make writing effortless, even funny. And me? I’m struggling just to write a 500-word article for the damn campus paper!

I need to start writing again. Even if it’s by force.

And I don’t think I’ll be running out of things to write about anytime soon, the way things are going. I can’t divulge much now, because most of it’s secret. Classified information, even. But I’ll write about it when the time comes. Write and write and write.

At the very least, it’s a way of making me write again.