do i love art, still?

the last self doubt entry was not even that long ago and here i am again.

dear diary, blah blah blah...

its officially the start of my 9th month here in this city that i once adored for its convenience and the freedom feeling it provided me for. a land where i thought i could be free from my past conservation and be bold enough to think new ideas or chase new dreams. a land where i came with a baggage full of hopes but now i am left with nothing but massive self doubts and maybe a little hint of regrets. how life would have been if i hadn't tried so hard to come to this foreign land to chase an unknown dream. how life would have been if i hadn't forced myself to jump out of my comfort zone and live truly because this life is the only and last one. 

what if i changed my mind?

honestly i am not doing great, things move slowly, music always plays, mind is always loud. maybe i really need to stop waiting and start doing things i really want to do by myself. i don't hate having friends but the idea of needing company for everything can be tiring. maybe it's really a great season to learn how to say no for the sake of my own experience without making people uncomfortable. 

at this point i have forgotten my initial objective for leaving home so far away. sometimes even getting flight tickets back home during holidays sound like a burden, i am the burden. what good does it do if i leave home but not earning any new achievements?

do i love art, still?  

doubts, as time is approaching the 8th month

Here comes one of those days when I feel like I am slowly losing my skill sets through living complacently. 

Soon it will be full eight months of me moving to Taipei, re-living the student life that I have been yearning for my entire life. Despite the constant reminder that I am here for a purpose, sometimes I cannot help it to feel like my life is a stagnant. It is indeed as slow as it should be, I am living in an art university, however, is the slowness appropriate? Am I wasting time?

Reading is not in progress, books abandoned, movies not watched, songs not remembered, and a lot of things are at the verge of falling apart, but why am I still living as slowly as it can take? Am I supposed to be doing something?

At this point, even English sounds awkward to me. I have lost the ability to write complete paragraphs, let alone sounding like a native. 

Am I really an artist? How long more can I call myself that? It's been more than a year that I do not have any new, solid, complete artwork, am I really an artist?