Exactly two years ago, I wrote:from the mouth of my babe
he said what i need is diligence. my laziness,according to him, is detrimental to any literary visions i have of myself. i just have to write, write,write, he said. if that's the way i want to live my life, i might as well die writing. and to do so, i must get on with it.
come to think of it, this has always been my problem. i have always been a butterfly when it comes to projects. i work hard,set my heart on things, get my heart broken and move on. as with my life, my relationships,my dreams and fears, i flutter, fly, thrive on whatever's good (even the bad) and move on. and so, i look for more.
i envy naya
. first, because i really like and admire her poetry. her metaphors range from the most common to the amazingly profound. her language mesmerizes me,too. i know for certain that when i read a poem of hers without her by-line, i would recognize that voice, resonating on the page,reaching my mind. and second, just like her, i wish i were teaching again.
i am writing this with a sigh.
and of course, there's ian
whose works i would always read for sheer pleasure and to simply marvel at his craft. his fiction is comforting no matter what his subject is. there is,in his words, a quiet spectacle that unfolds before my eyes but it is always something calm and fluid that i allow myself to flow along his plots, his characters, his images. i specially love ian's stories on afternoons when my own despair to create swallows me whole like a dragon's open mouth...
then there's pam
. this girl simply amazes me.
? this woman has the most beautiful words and an equally beautiful mind.
there are other things to do and enjoy aside from writing. i love, i am loved, i laugh at myself, cry,weep, eat anything, hug people---there are a million other beautiful things i could make myself do.
but writing eludes me. and i was born to chase anything that runs away from me. chase it, grip its neck, shake it and when everything's done and still nothing else happens, i let it go.
i know when to admit defeat.
These are still my sentiments except that two years ago, I was agonizing about my job. Now, I am a number of notches higher in my dreams list--I'm teaching now and loving it. However, I'm still in square one, or shall we say, zero, when it comes to my writing.
Why can't I just do it?
Stop deluding yourself, Tin: this should probably be my mantra now but hey, life's too short. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
Ride with me, will ya?
How do I make Holden Caulfield interesting to my already disinterested Class 10 students??? Sometimes I just want to give up on them, telling myself, no, it's not my fault they're too out-of-synch in class. I could blame them.
Then again, who am I kidding? It's my job to hold their attention once I stand in front of them. It's my job to care whethet they get what themes
really mean in literature. It's my job to bring it out of them. The thing is, it's so damn hard...
It's so easy not to care. Sometimes when I'm this exhausted, I wish I really don't care at all.