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Logbook – December 26, 2025
Tears and Resilience
Not long ago, I used to draw without stopping. I would lose myself in the exploration of colors, carefully refining every line. And whenever exhaustion caught up with me, I would turn to music, trying to improve my modest knowledge of chords, scales, and notes, feeling my way through the process of composing new instrumentals. It felt like a journey...
That day, I had composed a melody, and as I sang—carried away by a tide of emotion, my eyes closed and my heart overflowing with feeling—the power suddenly went out. In an instant, I was swallowed by darkness and silence. My spark was extinguished, just as a lonely breeze snuffs out the flame of a fragile candle. My computer screen turned black, and the gentle purring of my desktop came to an abrupt stop. Needless to say, I spent the next few hours waiting for the electricity to return in utter frustration.
After three hours, the power finally came back, and I was devastated to discover the extent of the damage. One of my RAM sticks had failed, my power supply had become unreliable, and my memory card was in desperate need of repair.
Without the money to fix any of it, all I could do was cry. Five years of creative work were trapped inside that faulty memory card. The loss plunged me into a deep depression. I spent two days in bed, trying to comfort myself by watching anime that restore my faith in humanity and rekindle my hope for the future—those heartwarming, feel-good stories that lift your spirits... especially Grave of the Fireflies. Strangely enough, I have no idea why, but after watching it, I felt even more depressed!
I don't know when my computer will be fully operational again. Until then, my technical abilities will be cut in half, and the quality of my work will inevitably suffer. Yet, as these dark thoughts filled my mind, I noticed my paintbrush resting quietly on the table. Calm and confident, it seemed to invite me to keep creating with the tools I still had. Determined, I picked up my notebook and made a list of everything that was still standing and capable of giving its best. They may not be as powerful as my mighty workhorse—my main computer—but they'll do. I still have so much to accomplish. My artistic journey has only just begun. I refuse to be defeated by something like this.
So my little piglet and I are getting back to work! It won't be easy, and the results may not be perfect—but we'll keep moving forward.
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