Friday, May 09, 2003
The other day I sat in a little office waiting judgment, having submitted myself to the critical eye of an academic institution so that I could further study the craft that has impassioned me from childhood. The woman across me was internationally recognized, and was easily one of the most brilliant minds in Philippine literature. She was pleasant, and she smiled a lot, but the words she said sent chills running up and down my spine.
“you see, not everyone who thinks that they can write are actually writers”.
I think I just nodded. In my head, I was stammering “but… but… but I’ve always been a writer! I don’t know what I’d be without my writing!”
“and after 18 units, we will sit down and evaluate you, to see whether you can write or not.”
“Whaaaaat?!?!?!” went the incredulous voice in my head. “I mean, I may not be anywhere near as good as you, but … I can write… at least… I think I can, but then again I’m not you, and maybe you know better, but I’ve lived a lifetime in my words… and if you take that away from me, what will happen to me?”
I wasn’t even talking and I was going in circles. By the time the interview cum orientation was over I was just about ready to throw in the towel and burst into tears.
Of course everyone tried to assure me I’d make it into the program, that I’ve always shown potential and that at the very least, I’d make a pretty good journalist. But it’s been more than 24 hours and my tears are still there.
I’ll let you in on a little secret. In the back of my mind, I think that they might be right. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to stand it if they were to decide I didn’t have what it takes, that my soul was devoid of the fire and art that it took to make writers.
It will be like waking up one morning and not knowing who I am.
I have always been a writer, a student of the written language. What happens to me if they told me I had been deluding myself? Was I? Are they right? Am I?
Right now, all I am is terrified.
“you see, not everyone who thinks that they can write are actually writers”.
I think I just nodded. In my head, I was stammering “but… but… but I’ve always been a writer! I don’t know what I’d be without my writing!”
“and after 18 units, we will sit down and evaluate you, to see whether you can write or not.”
“Whaaaaat?!?!?!” went the incredulous voice in my head. “I mean, I may not be anywhere near as good as you, but … I can write… at least… I think I can, but then again I’m not you, and maybe you know better, but I’ve lived a lifetime in my words… and if you take that away from me, what will happen to me?”
I wasn’t even talking and I was going in circles. By the time the interview cum orientation was over I was just about ready to throw in the towel and burst into tears.
Of course everyone tried to assure me I’d make it into the program, that I’ve always shown potential and that at the very least, I’d make a pretty good journalist. But it’s been more than 24 hours and my tears are still there.
I’ll let you in on a little secret. In the back of my mind, I think that they might be right. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to stand it if they were to decide I didn’t have what it takes, that my soul was devoid of the fire and art that it took to make writers.
It will be like waking up one morning and not knowing who I am.
I have always been a writer, a student of the written language. What happens to me if they told me I had been deluding myself? Was I? Are they right? Am I?
Right now, all I am is terrified.
Wednesday, May 07, 2003
I thought I was not moving because I was depressed. Turns out that I was depressed because things aren't moving.
My bad - too often I am caught in contemplation and i don't pay attention to the fact that I can actually do something about being static. Paralysis by analysis. I forget how much happier I am with action, because there is this nagging voice in my head that every step I take should be correct... but since I'm the one taking them, there is no possible way that they can be. I have been trying forever to exorsice these voices, grabbing up laurels to fend them off, but to no avail. I guess these are demons I'll have to live with.
My bad - too often I am caught in contemplation and i don't pay attention to the fact that I can actually do something about being static. Paralysis by analysis. I forget how much happier I am with action, because there is this nagging voice in my head that every step I take should be correct... but since I'm the one taking them, there is no possible way that they can be. I have been trying forever to exorsice these voices, grabbing up laurels to fend them off, but to no avail. I guess these are demons I'll have to live with.
Tuesday, May 06, 2003
stasis. the condition of being in suspended animation.
this is where i am now, not moving, not breathing... i am in stasis. I wonder why the world moves, and i am trying to stay very very very still as i watch it go by. Of course, deadlines pass by like meteors, and people like blips on my radar. Of course, i want to get my drive back... there are a million reasons to start moving again, but not one of them inspires me to move.
I am dissilusioned. I have lost my reasons. What is wrong with me?
this is where i am now, not moving, not breathing... i am in stasis. I wonder why the world moves, and i am trying to stay very very very still as i watch it go by. Of course, deadlines pass by like meteors, and people like blips on my radar. Of course, i want to get my drive back... there are a million reasons to start moving again, but not one of them inspires me to move.
I am dissilusioned. I have lost my reasons. What is wrong with me?
