MB-20: Self-imposing Thoughts from my Past (CGPT edits)

Writer’s Realization [15.03.2023]

Whenever you write something—no matter how fictional, logical, or even scattered—there’s always a lingering sense of incompleteness once you're done. A quiet voice asks, “Did I forget something?” The answer, interestingly, is never a firm no.

Even if you temporarily feel satisfied, the moment you prepare to publish—or after it’s out in the world—you almost always discover something you missed. Sometimes it’s minor, sometimes it’s significant. Either way, it could have improved your writing’s clarity or depth.

And when this realization hits you too late, you think, “Alas! I should’ve added that.”

But here’s the truth: that very sense of incompletion is not a failure—it’s a source of learning. Through it, you grow in awareness. You sharpen your instincts. From my experience, this post-writing realization is one of the most valuable sources of long-term writing wisdom.

The Chaos of Inspiration [15.03.2023]
When you begin writing your own creative thoughts, something strange happens: all the other thoughts suddenly rush in at once. Shower thoughts, flash ideas, long-lost reflections—they all start shouting to be remembered.

It’s like a flood of current rushing through your brain. Or like a heavy cluster of stars, each thought dense with mass. This overwhelming flow creates pressure in your mind until you pause and ask yourself, “Wait... what exactly should I write?”

Eventually, the flood doesn't stop—it just gets... random. Thoughts begin arriving in no logical order, one after another, demanding attention. But that’s okay. That’s how creativity works. Write what comes, capture the mess, and organize it later.

You’re not supposed to fight the current. You’re supposed to ride it.

Will My Words Matter? [06.05.2023]
Different people come up with unique thoughts, ideas, philosophies, and theories throughout their lives. And I often wonder:

After I die, will my words still hold value? Will they be remembered by anyone at all? Or will they vanish quietly, unnoticed—outshined by others who come later with brighter, deeper, or better ideas?

Maybe my writings will mean nothing to the future. Or maybe, just maybe, someone will find in them a flicker of truth that still matters.

I don't know the answer. But I still write—because if I don’t leave something behind, then I’m sure it won’t be remembered.