I love to be alone because I find comfort in loneliness.

The fifth time.

It's the fifth time I sent a letter you. I don't know why but I feel obliged to share my year with you. To tell you what I've been through, what made me smile and cry in the past year. Although it's yet another silent reply, at least you are aware. And I'm contented.

Not many knows the struggles I've been through. It's always nice to have a shoulder to lean on or even just a listening ear. Someone to tell me that it's okay to break down once in awhile.  I guess it became a habit.

Now towards a new year with many insecurities. Will I survive? My social awkwardness will be the death of me but then again. I fear. My lack of confidence. I envy those who are able to speak their mind. To be able to express their thoughts and feeling, not giving a damn to the world's criticism.

When will I , be able to become, me?