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Ineffable

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I have bliss book. It’s a small notebook where I bring and write my epiphanic thoughts that out of nowhere reveals itself to me. At work, while exercising, inside the bathroom – anywhere and I mean, ANYwhere.
I’m glad I brought it in my belt bag when I had my run this morning. While resting at this familiar bench, in a familiar park and this familiar feeling, I started jotting down. I had tiny useless ideas running through my head while I was running and I tried to remember every detail so I can write those down.

As I sat on the wooden plank, I had this ecstatic feeling that somewhat liberated me from my dark plight. It’s different when I’m writing down my thoughts onto blank pages and when I’m encoding it on my blog. There’s no fear that it will be psycho-analyzed and judged by people on the internet.

Writing on my small notebook is very redemptive, and it feels amazing. I never thought i'd be back to writing again. I never even imagine that i will be writing now - all I planned was to run today, nevertheless, it’s all the prozac i need. I am stupid and oblivious about how endorphins work and psychological stuffs, but all I know is that this kind of feeling leaves me dumbed yet jaded.

It's simply, ineffable.


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