Recently I have been feeling down. Apathetic. I have been struggling to do even the most basic of tasks, feeling no inclination towards anything that wasn’t sulking about and the occasional novel. Hell, even reading the last Mistborn book and, as always, crying profusely, or watching a new shiny movie (未来のミライ) only appeared to have a temporal effect. A few hours after I would still feel the same crushing nothing I have been experiencing lately. Projects I have had for a few months and that because of lack of time I had not been able to start until now seemed lacking, uninspiring after having wanted to endeavor into them for so long. University stuff lied abandoned, even though my very real classmates depend on my real work to turn in stuff. My room in disarray, perhaps the last straw, what I thought not in my lowest moments could even happen.

After all, there are entire systems in place. Scaffolding, fail-safes, directives, inspiring quotes and texts, people to catch me if I fall, moments to get my stuff together, emotionally speaking… All put there by myself, something like what I am experiencing were to happen. And yet, most of it did not work. So much for planning, I guess.

In short, shit was hitting the proverbial fan. I was feeling completely destitute, and although I was more or less functioning (as much as a depressed zombie can function), everything just felt empty. Devoid of purpose. Only done because I had no other option. Even having an honest, sincere, heart to heart with my priest, who has always managed to push me forward, served only to trouble me more.

That is why while doing some praying and generally feeling bad about myself, trying to ascertain the reason for all this foolishness, for it seems so, since I cannot think of a single thing that would trigger it, I thought of writing. And while trying while praying resulted in nothing, it had a spark. A small one. A light in the dark.

It has been a long while since I have written. I thought I did not need it anymore, that I understood myself enough such that the rest could be found through experience. And although that noble goal of writing everyday has stayed in the back of my mind, making me feel vaguely guilty, I have done little to reboot that habit. It just seemed insubstantial. Not of any real consequence to my life, a good way to pass time and produce nice texts but otherwise something I have been to busy to pick up again. Life just gets in the way sometimes, I kept telling myself.

That spark though. Small but intense. Capable of inspiring some feeling into an otherwise cold heart, hardened by the indifference of a life without color.

So yeah, f— everything. I’m picking up daily writing again.

Once that spark fell in some nicely prepared fuel, namely all that has been going wrong lately, it all caught fire. A big bonfire of pure motivation flared in the time it took me to go up the stairs, start the computer and play some good music. A fire that lit not only my desire to write again, but by definition everything else in my life. A fire of hope, of impulse, of… Hell , I don’t even know how to describe it. Feels very nice, that is for sure.

I have no idea why I have been feeling so depressed. I don’t even want to know. What I want most at the moment is to continue. To drive forward. To get everything into shape again. Not only that, but to make things better. To build upon this dark night. To find the best stars.

I am going to write again. Every day, right here. No excuses that serve only to mask my laziness. Maybe I’ll need to sleep a bit less. Maybe I will have a bit less time every day. But in turn, this will drive me forward. This will give me the motivation, the impulses, the taste of the real beauty of life, the realizations that everything is not only alright, but better than ever.

Most everything I do is based on my motivation, talks about perseverance and driving forward notwithstanding. And sources of constant motivation are hard to find and precious as jewels. So I refuse to let this one go.