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It has been two weeks since my leaving of my dear home. My mind has experienced all kinds of feelings, wistfulness by leaving, excitement on arrival, happiness from reunion with colleagues, melancholy of missing, misery from worrying, all combined to driving me crazy at its acme when alone in the dark. Even, reading Baltasar Gracian’s masterpiece, the art of worldly wisdom, helps not. Dicken’s David copperfield reminds me only of my miserable childhood. Incessant rain chilled me into an abyss of bleakness. Never had I been in such a low mood, common sense keep telling to think of nothing that is unprofitable to life, but human weakness had won the battle this time, driving me deep into misery, pushing me closer to depression.
Unexpectedly, I feel so much better after putting my painful emotions into writing, I guess the magic power of wording is working again. Maybe this is a good way of balancing the life out by expressing the feeling into words. The healing power of wording is not just some imaginative fancy but a reality. Deep down my heart, this might be one of unconscious motivation to learn to perfect the language skill, or not, but a coincidence by fate which brought marvelous benefit to my life. I guess, T.S. Eliot should be happy when he was immersed in the writing of the wasteland, or Charles Dickens in writing any of his great work, or Thomas Hardy with his Tess, or any other greater writer with his expressive wonderful wording. Not for fame, not for materials need, but for the freedom to express oneself, the freedom to roam in the spiritual world, which are capable of bringing so fundamental a happy feeling to our life, so fundamental a way out of misery and depression.
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