I have no mouth, yet I must scream.

I have no mouth, yet I must scream.

I’ve been to a hundred workshops, literature bootcamps with different generals stepping on my work, tearing it apart, nitpicking every speck of dirt embedded in the pores of the white paper my stories have been on. Every experience made me stronger, tougher, probably, a better writer.

Never in my mind did it cross that the workshop earlier would make all those workshops I had before seem like a kindergarten classes.

The workshop earlier made it seem like my story was the demon incarnate, out to destroy the foundation of good literature.

I thrive on criticisms especially negative ones, but this time around, I was forced to swallow a bloodbath then was tortured with the water cure. I was rendered helpless, never given the opportunity to defend by taking away my weapon of voice. This completely killed me. Now, I’m starting to doubt whether I am fit enough to be the leader of this pack, or as a writer.

Different workshops would kill the strengths and praise the weaknesses of another workshop, leaving the writer confused at which road to take, which armaments would be removed or equipped.

I have no mouth, yet I must scream.

Nominations for the executive committee in the Placement Office have started in preparation for the elections next week. I’m happy to say that I’ve been nominated. Hopefully, I would snag a position, any position for that matter, even if I don’t have the background of becoming a committee or team head in the office. My resume doesn’t boast much, but hopefully, my actions would speak louder than this piece of paper.

However, whatever the result may be, I would still be their friendly neighborhood, and resident assistant of the office assistant Milo.

Go to Elevation: The Further Studies Fair. It’s the last day tomorrow. Get a copy of the newsletter, I’m proud of it.

I have no mouth, yet I must scream.