Of Writing and Flexibility
I couldn't even remember the first time I write my thoughts... My father has always been fond of writing, and both he and my mother always encourage me to write in a diary ever since I'm little. I remember that I used to write about the simplest thing, the huge rat I saw at a dumpster near my school, the binder book my friend's mother gifted to me out of the blue, the drama of elementary school girls. My entry would be filled by only a few lines about what happens to me that day. Sometimes it doesn't even contain anything particular, I just wrote that nothing special happened to me that day. Although, my inconsistency apparently has shown its seeds even then, since I couldn't write consistently for more than several days. Consistency has always been an enemy of mine in the case of creative process. Writing, painting.... I still can't comprehend how artists can draw their character repeatedly without needing to be in (what I call) Copying Mode (basically it