I am supposed to write something. As I touch the keypads I do not know the direction my mind will take me. My mind is such in a jumbled state. I need a few minutes to untangle the thoughts. There are so many things running in my mind I do not know where to start.
Focus on a single thought. Or at least, think one thought at a time. Try to slow down so that my mind can catch up and freeze one mental moment so I can write it down. Write it down vividly. I feel like there is a super fast display of various thoughts and ideas parading in front of me. I still can’t figure out a distinct and clear idea that I can isolate and describe. This is pretty hard because I am coming out with garbage!
No matter how I am admonished not to pass judgment on what I write, I can’t help it. I can’t ignore typos and grammatical error either. I get so paranoid about my mistakes. I know there are a number that escaped my scrutiny. But you see, when you are working in the computer, it is so easy to use the delete key and the backspace to edit and correct whatever it is that I have just written down. But at least, I don’t try to erase everything.
I think that is the beauty of writing longhand, using a notebook and a pen. You can’t simply erase (without leaving an evidence) what you have earlier written down and considered garbage later on. And I agree that when you write with a pen, it is more personal compared to a typed or encoded piece. And using paper and pen is more flexible and not prone to or dependent on location, availability of electricity, and if you are blogging, need for internet connectivity.
I scolded myself last night because I didn’t get to write anything. My excuse? My internet connection is faltering and I cannot access my blog. But that is total bullshit! I can actually write anytime and anywhere if I wanted to. Posting my garbage in the blog is not a prerequisite to writing. I can do that later. I simply have to start writing wherever.
I used to have a special pen and paper/notebook when the urge to start writing strikes me. But how many matching pens and notebooks have I bought? I didn’t even get to fill up the notebooks halfway and I’d stopped writing. I do this ritual over and over again — just like in the other aspects of my life.
I make a big fuss out of starting anew but I don’t have the perseverance to see it through. I can start doing a number of things but the real challenge is continuing what I have started. Yes, it’s a big problem on my part. When I lose interest, I can use the flimsiest excuse and my innate laziness to not continue doing something. And yet, again and again, I am drawn to writing. I start, I stop, I restart, and then I get stuck. Hah. When can I start again? That is the question. And the challenge, not to stop no matter what. Not to use stupid excuses to avoid writing. I love writing in cafes, but not being able to go there should not be a reason not to write. But I use that excuse. Am I not pathetic?
I usually have these bright ideas while doing something else — commuting, washing my clothes, eating, lying down to sleep. Then some nice thought will pop into my mind and I just want to write it down. But I don’t. By the time I get to what I deemed as a conducive time and place to write, the thought has vanished. I cannot summon it. No matter what. And I feel frustrated. Damn! I should have scribbled it down anyway I can just so I can rewrite it again.
Yeah. I think that is the key. I used to look like crazy when I would whip out my notebook wherever I am just so I can record stuff and ideas and scenes I saw on the streets. That was before the advent of cellfones. It was actually pretty hard to write in a moving vehicle or in a dark place but back then, I was able to do it. In simpler times I think I was more creative and persevering. Now that we have the cellfone, it was actually easier to write down stuff anywhere. But I don’t. At least not that often.
I remember that I can even compose what we call text poems. Short poems using the text (SMS) language – you know, shortcuts, words without vowels. And they were pretty good. I even remember composing poems anywhere: standing on the bus, in the MRT, inside a dark FX, in the bar, etc. Again, somewhere along the way I stopped doing it even if it actually works. Or maybe that’s the problem? I can’t stand it when things are working out so I do something to sabotage it.
Ew! That’s nasty. Self-sabotage. Self-inflicted psychological pain. When things are running smoothly, I get bored so I do something to make life interesting. Make my existence more of a struggle than a smooth walk in the park. Why do I hate myself like that? What is it about happiness that scares me? Why can’t I let myself enjoy life, be peaceful and happy? Why do I create my own problems?
People say I am bright but I think I am wasting that bright mind by messing up my life. I am one such pathetic human being. I could have been anything, if I wanted to. But no. I am so consumed about not standing out, being in the background, fading out into the darkness so no one can see me. I don’t want to be noticed. Why? I don’t know. Why am I doing this to myself?
I have so many dreams. I think I can do them if I wanted to but I am limiting my achievements. For what? For whom? Why this punishment? I can’t stand the thought that I am okay. I have to be NOT okay to appreciate my life, my existence, my talent. I should be happy but I don’t let myself be. And that is crazy.
I don’t know where I am going, I am not sure where my path will lead me. I started not knowing what to write and i ended up realizing I actually don’t know what I want out of life. And maybe for me to find the voice to guide my writing, I should tresh that one out. I hope these writing exercises can also exorcise my demons. There are a number of things I want to write about — facts, fiction, memoir, random thoughts and ideas. I just need to be able to write them down. Stop thinking about what is right and wrong. Commit them into paper and let go of these muddled thoughts. I hope to be able to organize them later.
I am so confused.