Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Just go with it: Doing what you love best

One of many firsts. My spelling at three. 
Every one of us has talents, no matter how simple. We may not be able to do everything, but for sure,  there is something we are really good at. Then perhaps, everybody might really be good at something as people would say. After college and media days, I never thought I could ever have the chance to write again. Nevertheless, the written words kept on haunting me. I guess I can’t escape its curse.

With so much to put into paper, having the personal courage to start writing again is somehow an achievement. I tried to look at different possibilities and even, opportunities by the time I start to write regularly. For so long, I have been thinking of getting my feet back unto journalism and take advantage of my gift for the written words. Somehow it is one way of telling my mom she didn’t have to regret teaching me how to write way ahead of everyone else in the family. That was when I was three. 

Strange writing system. One of my incomprehensible writing at two.
Are writers actually cursed? There are countless instances when I felt the need to put my thinking onto paper. These happen even when I am in the middle of my sleep, at the most silent period of the night. I have wanted to set aside the idea, but they just keep pouring. There are countless words that keep popping- life experiences, plans, fictional, or anything else under the sun. In most cases, I start scribbling things that are reminders of the not-so-pleasant past. It brought me to tears, but made my heart feel lighter.

Many of us might think that trying to outlive the bad memories make the pain go away. This, however, never worked for me. I think that the more I try not to think about the things, the stronger they shout to my brain. People have control over their lives, but I think memories not given proper closures are more haunting. Believing that there is no way out of trouble than facing it, I accommodate the memories that are coming back, put them down into paper, set them aside and read them when my mind is clear enough. Now there are lesser things for my brain to handle.

Local media gig. One of my articles as a junior journalist.
It took many years for me to realize how much I miss writing. I feel like I am home again. That I was given another chance to do what I can do best. After some time of trying to figure out my happiness, I have finally got the answer. I have learned the lesson of listening more to myself than to other people. I am delighted that at every moment, I need not pretend to be happy. That I know I have done something out of love for it. I have found half of my missing self. This is me- and I ain’t going to change it. 

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