On this week’s Blogging Insights – New Format #15, the following quote is given:

Louis L’Amour writes westerns, right?

I remember my step-dad used to be fond of his work. There would always be a Louis L’Amour book on his nightstand. As for me, I can never follow the plot of these books about cowboys. Though not a fan of the genre, I like the old-time radio version of Gunsmoke. Many people today probably have no clue what I’m talking about.

I’m talking about the 50’s radio series – Gunsmoke. I have seen the TV version of the show but found it was difficult to keep up with so many commercials.

Anyway, I agree with this quote. This quote relates to my writing as well as my emotions since I tend to have to keep my emotions bottled up an in check in real life because otherwise I would have a meltdown every day of the week. This was the main reason I started to blog from the beginning – to let the so-call metaphorical faucet that is my emotions flow.

I remember I kinda felt out of touch and uninspired at the end of 2019 when I stopped writing. It was not a good experience. At first it was okay but then by Christmas, I was like a volcano ready to blow. I had always been good with keeping my emotions in check. It was so in check to the point my mother thought I was born with a low Emotional-Quotient (EQ) or as she often suspects, I am mildly autistic.

In the recent years though, I have been struggling. Maybe it’s got something to do with age? You know what they say, “you’re wiser with age”, therefore, my emotions must be too. Ever since I spent the few months as an unemployed in 2018, I have felt like I’m riding an emotional roller coaster 24/7 – depressed, anxious, frustrated, irritated, angry, rinse and repeat.

I couldn’t keep my emotions bottled up for long and of all the places to blow, I chose Christmas Eve family dinner 2019. Both of my cousins didn’t understand this. “Don’t be mad,” they said as I ran out to my car, “Just apologize.”

Apologize? For what?

I got on the freeway and drove and drove, despite barely being able to see out into the pouring rain. I didn’t know what to do. I have no friends and my home was occupied by the people I had no interest of seeing. I felt reckless and didn’t want to live past the night.

After a while, I stopped driving and pulled into a parking lot. There, I called my former co-worker and we talked, like a friend talking a friend to get off the ledge. That night, I went home and began to write, letting my emotions flow into words, and ended up with an essay I titled The Meaning of Christmas.