And all the world can watch the choices you make
All the world can watch each tiny mistake
Let the world watch to let the world wait for you
So tell me I'm wrong, or tell me I'm cruel
Tell me I'd fight, tell me I fought for the wrong things
But I'm ready, I'm ready
I'm ready to believe

A year passed, dated back when I deleted everything for reasons that was never revealed. I did not regret anything, but I cannot lie; I miss bits and pieces of what I had wrote. The nonsensical rants and all the emotional outbursts of a confused man in his early twenties surely if were put in perspective would be nostalgic, but that is not the case.

Let me just be honest.

Privacy issue back then was my major concern. My deleted blog was my emotional shelter; an anecdote of my many overflowing meltdowns. I shared, and confessed things that were so close to me and let whomever read. Naive and unprepared I was unaware of people outside the virtual world who isn't all nice and kind. I was thrown with judgment, and I have no one to blame for what had happened but myself.

It was pretty pathetic that I learned the hard way for the fact that cyber bullying exist as one of the sickening virus in this ever growing social networking's orbit. I blamed myself for not being able to draw that line; between reticence and openness. Public had outsmarted me with all the access they have with my stories. I was left defenseless and vulnerable, and found myself literally crying over thinking whatever remarks that were plunked hard right to my face.

Have I ever told you how uncomfortable it was to have people putting expectation on your shoulder, and presuming that you should behave or act upon something in certain ways that they justify to be correct? The soft heart of mine always returned to its original shape despite my best effort to stretch it; by repeatedly told myself to never let what people say or think about me to get the best out of me.

I was defeated, and it was such a shame that I wasn't tough. And it was really sad when other people's expectations can tempt you to do something you don't really want to do. So much so that they sometimes become your own. I neglected my own emotional needs and suppressed my feelings out of subconscious expectations that accumulated inside of my head without even I realized.

And today eventually it come back to this ultimate reason to start writing again; I just want to start over. Raising from the ashes, like a phoenix, rebuild and comeback stronger and smarter than before. After all, I need to make peace with my past in order to move on. Don't you think so?
Start now.
Start where you are.
Start with fear. Start with pain.
Start with doubt.
Start with hands shaking.
Start with voice trembling but start.
Start and don't stop.
Start where you are, with what you have.
Just… start.

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