My birthday is coming up soon and I don’t think I have felt so jaded before.

Granted, I have never truly been big on birthdays (except perhaps my husband’s), but I did somehow look forward to it. This time around, I don’t even feel like I want to know it’s my birthday.

For one, I have not been feeling myself because it’s been ages since I last wrote for myself. As a matter of fact, I just realized that my last post on this blog was a year ago; just a few days before my birthday – just as how I’m writing this right now. There is nothing more I love in this world than writing and reading, but as I said, I have not been writing for myself for ages. It’s always been about work, it’s always been for other people.

Never have I realized how important it is to write for myself. I thought that as long as I’m writing something, I would be happy because I’m still writing.

You’ve heard how people say that if you love someone, you would always try to find the time for them no matter how busy you are. I guess that’s no different than when it comes to doing the things you love. If you really love it, you would find the time to do it.

Thing is, it seems almost impossible for me to find the right time for me to write. A friend who is also a mentor told me that I should just write each day, even if it’s just one paragraph each day. I tried, but it didn’t feel like writing. I couldn’t just write one paragraph. When I write, I want to be writing for a long time. But I know that to be writing for a long time, I need time.

And I just can’t seem to find that.

My kids are definitely more independent now than they were a year ago. But somehow, things seems more hectic and chaotic. There’s so much I want to do, but there’s just not enough time to do it. When I finally did find the time, all I want to do is rest, and during the times I did get my rest from my chores and work, I felt guilty for resting.

I feel like I’m burning out sometimes. I feel like I’ve been stretched to my limits even though I know in my heart I’m nowhere near my limits. I feel like my soul is tired and it’s starting to take a toll on how I see everything.

I understand now what Bilbo means when he feels like “butter scraped over too much bread.”

I don’t know.

Maybe I just need a really long vacation.