On last week’s blog post, I wanted to express my genuine concern on the problem of diversity in media and the limited inclusion of AAPI representation. I also wanted to tell you all how I plan to help with it beyond reposting Angry Asian Man’s articles on my social media accounts. But somewhere at the end, I got strapped for time. I was already late meeting up with a friend and ended up rushing the post. Consequently losing control of my thoughts, and instead, writing about what my addled brain wanted to do.
The problem with me is I have too many things in my mind. Nevermind the everyday living problems I have to face with like paying-job-related problems, and financial stability or the lack thereof. I have seven or eight … ten … 100 ideas in my mind fighting for the exit of a burning room. Maya Angelou said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story.” Boy, does she know what she’s talking about or what?
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| Image borrowed from http://ofilispeaks.com/mayaangelou/ |
I started writing when I was twelve years old. Poetry at first and a few months later, before I turned 13, I’ve moved on to short stories and tween fiction. (I know I’ve told you all this before, but let’s follow the train tracks for the moment). I never thought about it before, but I realized that the primary reason I started writing was that I wanted to see myself in a disparate situation — that is — winning and being happy for a change. Let’s be honest — I’m creepy, annoying, exasperating, and sometimes, rather aggravating. Why do you think I relate to Harley Quinn so much? Nope, not because she’s so desperately in love with her Joker, and so am I. It’s because, like her, I can be quite vexing. Because I was vexing, I became a target for bullying. Although it happened to everyone, and I probably unintentionally emotionally bullied someone along the way, for a teenaged-me, it was discouraging. Then there was the never ending family drama I had to deal with as I grew up (Paranoid Schizophrenic parent, bi-polar alcoholic siblings, absent fathers). Add to that the painful loneliness of never being romantically involved (and this was a big deal for teenaged-me). All of this, I believe, drove me to write — with me as the heroine of my stories, fought over by rock stars and popular jocks.
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| Borrowed from quotefancy.com |
Four years in high school, I continued writing. And I wrote every day. I filled up piles of notebooks and pads of papers and reams of letter papers. Even in class, I would sit at the far back, writing a novel on a notebook by hand. I eventually stopped caring about my classmate’s opinions. I didn’t care if they hated or loved me. I eventually became deaf from all their negative insinuation. I didn’t even care when they didn’t believe I was hanging out with the Philippines’ number one rock band. Only when that rock band’s guitarist took me home and hit my schoolmate's car did they start believing me. I was smug and vindicated, sure, but it was nothing compared to the high I felt finishing a story. My confidence grew as I gave zero f@cks to my immediate environment and 100% concentration on my characters.
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After high school, I majored in writing. I was forced to write almost every day for workshops and course requisites. I was happy and popular on campus. I was no longer bullied. Neither was I alone. People paid attention to what I said. Boys showered me with affection. Some girls did too, although it went over my head (
Now, I’m way past the calendar age. I haven’t completed anything but rough drafts and half-baked stories. I’m alone and wallowing in self-pity (because I’m an asshole*). And even my blogs have no direction or continuity. Because I haven’t poured out the words, so my brain’s brimming and the contents overflowing to each other’s compartments. I should always remind myself — write for the relief and the release, if not for making myself a better person.
766 in 1 hour while strictly following an outline.
Not bad when I commit. Now I should commit to
running my errands. Peace out!
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* Reference NORWEGIAN WOOD by Haruki Murakami-sensei
Not bad when I commit. Now I should commit to
running my errands. Peace out!
____________________________
* Reference NORWEGIAN WOOD by Haruki Murakami-sensei
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