I write in a narrow table that faces the little window in my room. The position is perfect for me to look at the moon as it rises at night. I have a little angel lamp that provides a yellow light, the kind of color that soothes my so-called agitated mood.
In that little window, I can watch the unicorns as they play in the grass field at day and admire the magical fairies as they dance in circles under the moonlight. In some occasions, I am able to observe witches brewing potions in their cauldron or flying on their broomsticks, a cat in the back with big, sharp eyes brightened up by the light of the moon.
I created a starry night on my ceiling, made of navy blue silk and numerous silver stars glued on it. I want to imagine I am under a sky full of stars when I write. I would then play an indie-chill kind of music and fill the air with a sweet-smelling jasmine incense, or sometimes I would light a scented tea candle.
I write on my laptop. I am very thankful for technology. No, seriously. A pen in my hand can’t seem to chase the thoughts running on my mind, turns out I always miss some wonderful ideas or words. I typed fast, through this, I am able to catch up to my wildly, rapid racing thoughts.
I started writing at the age of 10. I remember writing about a magical land with friendly creatures and lots of food. Oh yes, food that is found everywhere. The river is composed of a blue-bubble-gum flavored juice, the fences are built of hotdogs with mustard dripping all over them, and trees are made up of cotton candies and you can eat everything you want. You can only go there with the help of a magical shoe lace that would transport you to that place. Unfortunately, I wrote it on an A4 paper with pages stapled together, and my dad (thinking they were some scratch papers)
threw burned them in the backyard. Oh well. Life goes on.