Jun 17, 2009

why i write

i don't even know why i am writing this. this motion of somehow explaining myself about my motive for sharing a bit of my thoughts and what i did is something that honestly bothers me, a little. people have asked me time and again where my past blogs are and what i did with them. and people ask why i write even if i know some of the things i write about are nonsensical or incomprehensible at the very least.

i started blogging approximately 4 to 5 years ago. so far i've had a xanga, a friendster and 3 blogspot blog accounts. what happened to them? my xanga subscription got expired, so basically there's nothing i can do about it. the 3 blogspot blogs, i lost access to. and the friendster blog, i deleted, after finding out that people really do read what i post. it's a funny story actually, but yeah, when i found out about that awful truth, i deleted my friendster blog for my own selfish reasons. however, it dawned on me that the point of me being an amateur writer and wanting to become a good, actually great one would be devoid if i don't share what little skill i have. and, i realized that not sharing would also mean that i won't avail myself of the chance to improve whatever it is that considers me a "writer".

why i write, somehow you can blame it on my genes. my dad was a writer, my siblings are writers, i have several cousins, aunts and uncles who also love to write, and i have an uncle who owns a huge blog. my parents practically soldered tons of reading and writing on me and my siblings ever since we all learned how to read and write. hence, i got a major part in a school play back when i was in preparatory school, a fairy godmother. until now, i still don't quite understand why i got the part.

before i discovered the joy and ease of blogging, i was in on the traditional pen and paper. back then, i'd try to write stories and little etceteras on several of my dad's prescription pads, and when i'm done reading my work, i crumple the papers and throw them or i'd just have them burned. i also owned several journals and class-notebooks-turned-journals, some of them still alive until now. but the first writing "task" i received was for an autograph my parents had given me on my 7th birthday. it was a task because instead of letting my friends sign the book, i interviewed them and wrote down the answers myself. the first person i "interviewed" was, believe it or not, gem. yes, kathreen gem. her family was vacationing then and before they left for bohol, i set-up a kiddy appointment with her at the patio of the house we were renting hehehehehe. after that, i'd have my thoughts written on the back pages of my class notebooks and several scratch papers i find in my bag. that was how my infamous writing "career" started pre blogging.

sometimes i write about things that make readers ponder about life and its meaning, and conversely, i write about lame, trivial things. sometimes i am in the mood to write, and sometimes, most of the time, i get ingested by laziness and sheer boredom of the task perse. sometimes i can whip out what i can call a masterpiece and sometimes making one is like pulling a tooth. but what inspires me to write even if i don't feel it is the message that beloved writer, rainer maria rilke, delivered in his book "letters to a young poet".

There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must,” then build your life in accordance with this necessity….

…But after this descent into yourself and into your solitude, perhaps you will have to renounce becoming a poet (if, as I have said, one feels one could live without writing, then one shouldn’t write at all). Nevertheless, even then, this self-searching that I as of you will not have been for nothing. Your life will still find its own paths from there, and that they may be good, rich, and wide is what I wish for you, more than I can say

Write about what your everyday life offers you; describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty - describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the Things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember. If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator there is not poverty and no poor, indifferent place. And even if you found yourself in some prison, whose walls let in none of the world’s sounds - wouldn’t you still have your childhood, that jewel beyond all price, that treasure house of memories?

right now, i am trying to keep this blog and another one at multiply updated, and i keep a journal for the things i cannot publish in the web. the habit of keeping a little notebook inside my bag is still present in case i have epiphanies when i'm out. however people find the stuff i write, one and only one thing holds to be true: quitting is never an option. writing makes me learn, and writing keeps me aware, sensitive and grounded.