FOR the past few days, I’ve been painstakingly trying to come up with a decent article for today’s column. I read, talked to friends a lot, strolled around the busy Session Road, stared at the swirling cinnamon in my coffee, sat for hours at the rooftop—everything and anything that could hopefully spark something worthy to write about.
I had all sorts of ideas, ranging from lame to outlandish ones. I started writing about the upgrading of the Dantay-Sagada Road with hopes of coming up with a piece that could be political and developmental in nature. But ironically, like the rehabilitation of that national road, I keep on stopping. Then I thought of working on something sappy to bring out the romanticist in me—dreams. But like how warped time and events unfold in our dreams, the ideas I was putting in were as distorted.
I had all sorts of ideas, ranging from lame to outlandish ones. I started writing about the upgrading of the Dantay-Sagada Road with hopes of coming up with a piece that could be political and developmental in nature. But ironically, like the rehabilitation of that national road, I keep on stopping. Then I thought of working on something sappy to bring out the romanticist in me—dreams. But like how warped time and events unfold in our dreams, the ideas I was putting in were as distorted.
I had to stop, resigned to the fact that it’s just one of those days. Writer’s block? Dream on woman. You can’t have a writer’s block when you’re not even a writer in the first place. I’m no “Young Blood”. But there had to be something why even though I fail in eloquence a lot of times and I don’t have impeccable writing styles, I always have this urge that compels me to go on writing.
This made me rethink why I have a space in this paper in the first place. There are just some things that you want to share to others (as attested by those innumerable statuses, photos, links, articles and other what-have-yous that we share on Facebook among other social networking sites every split second). When I write, it’s for the same reason, I want to share something. It doesn’t really matter how many readers you have out there; if you’re that awesome as to accumulate a number that could give you rights to have your own fan page, or you’re such a lousy writer that only your mom remains loyal reading what you babble about. What’s important is you get to share those thoughts and sentiments hoping that in one way or another, you get to connect and touch a reader out there.
Men have this innate instinct of recording himself—his thoughts, his feelings, his views. And more than just recording, we want to share these. We weave these words. We use them to communicate with others in this world. We use them to convey our happiness, generosity and exuberance. Even our ugly emotions, frustrations, perversions and vengeance, we jot these down and that white piece of paper becomes witness to our rants and raves.
We write for a variety of reasons. For some, because writing is a career. For others, because it’s a hobby. I write because I’m naturally talkative and I tend to be more articulate with words when writing than when actually speaking. There are those instances when I see something and the next thing I want to do is to sit down and translate that spark I felt into words—to capture that thought, moment or occurrence.
Writing is something that we all can do. It’s a faculty which everyone can afford hence it can be the most pragmatic means to utilize when wanting to share something. It is an avenue that can let us be ourselves without being confined to certain norms, it transgresses boundaries as this can enable us to make public our wholly private experiences. We can express our respective individualities with the hopes that what we write and share can strike a familiar chord with some readers.
So yes, as long as that desire of sharing through this means remains to be unquenched, I will keep on writing. As to what to put on paper? Let’s save that for another topic—something else to write about.
This made me rethink why I have a space in this paper in the first place. There are just some things that you want to share to others (as attested by those innumerable statuses, photos, links, articles and other what-have-yous that we share on Facebook among other social networking sites every split second). When I write, it’s for the same reason, I want to share something. It doesn’t really matter how many readers you have out there; if you’re that awesome as to accumulate a number that could give you rights to have your own fan page, or you’re such a lousy writer that only your mom remains loyal reading what you babble about. What’s important is you get to share those thoughts and sentiments hoping that in one way or another, you get to connect and touch a reader out there.
Men have this innate instinct of recording himself—his thoughts, his feelings, his views. And more than just recording, we want to share these. We weave these words. We use them to communicate with others in this world. We use them to convey our happiness, generosity and exuberance. Even our ugly emotions, frustrations, perversions and vengeance, we jot these down and that white piece of paper becomes witness to our rants and raves.
We write for a variety of reasons. For some, because writing is a career. For others, because it’s a hobby. I write because I’m naturally talkative and I tend to be more articulate with words when writing than when actually speaking. There are those instances when I see something and the next thing I want to do is to sit down and translate that spark I felt into words—to capture that thought, moment or occurrence.
Writing is something that we all can do. It’s a faculty which everyone can afford hence it can be the most pragmatic means to utilize when wanting to share something. It is an avenue that can let us be ourselves without being confined to certain norms, it transgresses boundaries as this can enable us to make public our wholly private experiences. We can express our respective individualities with the hopes that what we write and share can strike a familiar chord with some readers.
So yes, as long as that desire of sharing through this means remains to be unquenched, I will keep on writing. As to what to put on paper? Let’s save that for another topic—something else to write about.