Some recent events answer my big question about myself. A question that somehow quite disturbing, since I was at the contrary in the childhood. Why I tend to less talkative when talking about my life?
In the past, I was a talkative person. My friends even call me as ‘too much talking’ boy. I took comment over anything in front of me. In some matters I do talkative, but one thing that makes me joy. I love listening. I love listening someone story. I enjoy when someone tells a lot of things. I don’t really mind whether their talk worthy or not. Every human has rights to have their own story, and somehow I always find their story interesting.
Actually I still talkative person. Most of the time, I am talking with myself. I spend a lot of time talking in my mind. Mostly I won’t share to anyone because I don’t think my talk’s valuable, or maybe I don’t think anyone will understand better. Instead talking about my life, I love most listening someone’s story.
With this passion, I should be a good reporter/ journalist, am I? But I don’t want to. Let all of this things kept in my mind, filled my memory cabinets on my brain. Let my mind mindfucked by myself.