#owmycoma193

Okay, so I just turned 20 this week. No more teen, like nineTEEN, eighTEEN, just twenty.

Some of my friends are really anxious when it comes to being 20. But when my day was approaching, I just thought that “hey, here’s a new me... Asking to be someone better, someone more mature.” And I guess, I got more excited to the idea.

I promised myself back then that when I reached 20, I should be finished studying, that I should be working or finding my dream job, at least. But because of our school’s calendar shift, I am still here, two weeks away from my graduation’s verdict. It was fine for me, though. I have still got time to think about of what I want to do.

What do I want to do? I have plenty of options right now, but I am still in the middle of weighing what’s best for me. I feel like I should be responsible, more responsible actually, of the decisions I will be making. This is just the thought of the me who turned 20.

The next months will be filled with a lot of life-changing decision-making. The next months, I still don’t know. This was the first time that I got no plans for the days ahead.

I am a writer. I had written a number of stories - creative non-fiction, fiction, poems, prose, news articles, feature articles, speeches (of almost all types). Name it.

What I picked up from most of my workshop buddies, and professors and instructors in class is that to produce a great story the self should always be there. The most effective way is to write from the heart: it’s experiences, it’s happiness or it’s aches. Funnily enough, most of the things I have written reflects much pain and sadness.

I am a very enthusiastic, positive person. I like to make other people happy. There is just this thing that goes on when I write, I don’t like false hopes. In fact, on my most recent literary article where my class wanted to have a different conclusion on at least a part of it, I just thought “Why?”

Why must I give false hopes to my characters? Why should I make them believe that there’s always happy endings? Why?

Mind you, I really really love the idea of love. I imagined myself for so many times to belong to someone in a perfect love story. I already have plans for my wedding day. I already picture myself as a great girlfriend, then a wife.

As promised on my twitter account (@yssangkatha) posted on May 9, 2015, here is what made that day, my Saturday, extra special.

Actually, it was never really mine. It was about us.

I would like to start of my saying that I lost my ring at the beach. That ring was no elegant or expensive, in fact it was just made out of a thin wire with my name in it. But, to me it was priceless because I had made memories with it. I had it since high school, about four to five years now, but I could still picture vividly how it contributed to my experiences back then.

Now, that ring was gone. I tried to look for it, but I guess the beach sand already buried it. That time, I felt like I buried a precious part of my youthful years. It was hard, I guess.

I may have lost the ring that bore some memories in high school, but little did I know that it will be nothing compared to the memories I made that same day I lost it.