I have had second thoughts of making transparent to other people the kind of person that I am and the kind of life that I live, for I know mine is not that interesting to share in the first place. In fact, there is nothing special in it. Yet, at the back of my head, something is pushing me to pursue this. Since I am here primarily not to make a living or impress people with my familiarity of the art of writing, which is not true but something I aim to attain- to have that finesse and exceptional understanding of this art like the pros. Admitting my incapability, I vow to learn it the best way I could. And while I’m learning, I’ll be doing this blog until time tells me to stop or you urging me to quit this insanity (I do hope you won’t).
Writing has been my way of coping up with my setbacks in life, and I know this holds true to some people as well. There is something in it that gives one the power to fly and be freed from our humanity. Somewhat, writing gives one the power to unleash our emotions in an unconventional, non- violent manner especially when faced with an aggressive and difficult situation; or when you’re feeling light- to just freely and completely soar high up in the air with what tickles your heart and your fancy. It has been, as it always will be, one of the things that I love doing in my life, and more so, because writing makes me human. Like reading, being able to jot down your thoughts and reflect on every word you have scribbled has some surprising results within me. Apparently, this is probably why I feel in love with this art. These results like my stinky old notes may spent hidden for some time and will only blossom in the right time radiating the kind of learning I get upon witnessing and crossing at other people’s lives.
There has been countless pile of drafts in my closet. Some were almost as old as me- from primary grade drafts (which were mostly just funny, nonsensical notes) to high school rough drafts, poems and compositions (the time I first feel the real and innocent yearning to write down my thoughts), to college notes and journal entries (the ones I had which nearly made me quit writing after my Kuya invaded my privacy, and just made known to all the things I hold dear during those years) and though these stacks that I am keeping may not at all qualify for an average article, yet for me, they comprised to what and who I am today. Until then, I will be keeping these notes; maybe not for good but probably until time itself will corrode its physical component.
For some this may sound funny and childish. Well, I will not be arguing anyone for that, if some would think it as it is, fine. After all, we are entitled to our own opinion. Hence, trust me to give everyone the right to say what he/ she ought to say, but of course give me due respect as well for having different view unlike the rest. What’s truly important is that I am bringing with me the bittersweet memoirs of my life- the ones I’ll be keeping and ought to keep for the rest of my life, whether people would accept that or not. Yet, this time, I intend to tell, as I finally got the nerve to do after much deliberate decision- making (?), and share my story in a way that I could still keep a part of me unknown. Thus, with this end in mind, my ardent hope is to give light to others who probably similarly going through a rough time traveling this road, as I did before.