Feeling Your Mortality
Today, I was having a conversation with my friend who Dom and I fondly refer to as "Glasses Guy". And he told me about his 3 profs getting into an accident on the road. One of the profs died, and the others are in the hospital. And GG said, "I just totally feel my mortality right now." After his, he informed me that he also just finished taking the Engineering Board Exams.
I've been thinking about what he said, and I guess I've been feeling the fragility of human life a lot lately, too. And it scares me. Marz and I talk about the blissful ignorance of youth that we sometimes feel we've lost; that innocence we envy others for still having. Now we know that almost nothing is for free; that money plays such a big role in the world. And it gets harder to be happy as you grow older and realize how the world really is.
As I was revising my draft for Malate, I started thinking about a couple of ideas that Martin (Tinio) and Ivan (Mendez) told us at the last GA: (not exact quotations; just the main ideas here) 1) keep your compulsion to create alive despite how useless it all may seem at times 2) try as hard as you can to master your craft and appreciate the crafts of others 3) life is too short to waste on anger.
I started thinking about how continuing to write (or paint, or take pictures, or make music) and worry about these fictional worlds; these real frogs in imaginary gardens is a choice we make that brings us discomfort that we aren't sure will end. And for a while I started thinking about why I write; whether or not I should go on writing. Wala namang mawawala sa akin, diba? Besides, why worry about these "people" and their lives when it's hard enough to worry about my own life? Why worry about how they act and who they are and what they do and what will happen to them and where it will happen? Above all, why continue worrying about how to write about what happens to them? Why worry about your tone and your choice of words? Why worry about the consistency of your language? Why try and organize chaos anyway?
And tonight, I sort of got my answer to those questions. I'm posting it here to make sure that I don't forget.
There's not a whole lot of organic unity to this note so bljahsfrhuaew. :))
I realized while having my online consultation with Akire about the draft I eventually finished (hurrah) that I write for no other reason than to have something to get better at; something to build up and then break apart again and again. Yes, I have to change about 80 % of that draft I wrote. And yes, I have to do it within the week. And no, it doesn't get any easier. But I'm glad I still have something to do. I still have something to accomplish. I still have something to get better at. Sometimes I think writing saves me, and as Neil Gaiman wrote, it is a peculiar way of saving myself. While the story can still improve, or is still being written, the author is still alive. And when it's over, the author's dead. And sometimes I think maybe I save my characters. Maybe they feel kind of lonely, those ghosty people who live on paper and in my mind.
Someone said that our crafts don't save us; don't lessen our despair. He used Van Gogh as an example; saying that after Vincent painted starry starry night he cut off his ear. I'm pertaining to a different kind of salvation in that last paragraph though. Maybe our crafts save us from giving up on other things. Or in case we give up, at least having something to leave behind.
EWAN. BASTA PUNYETA ANG LABO. :))
Organic Unity, love/hate tayo. Mwah.
I've been thinking about what he said, and I guess I've been feeling the fragility of human life a lot lately, too. And it scares me. Marz and I talk about the blissful ignorance of youth that we sometimes feel we've lost; that innocence we envy others for still having. Now we know that almost nothing is for free; that money plays such a big role in the world. And it gets harder to be happy as you grow older and realize how the world really is.
As I was revising my draft for Malate, I started thinking about a couple of ideas that Martin (Tinio) and Ivan (Mendez) told us at the last GA: (not exact quotations; just the main ideas here) 1) keep your compulsion to create alive despite how useless it all may seem at times 2) try as hard as you can to master your craft and appreciate the crafts of others 3) life is too short to waste on anger.
I started thinking about how continuing to write (or paint, or take pictures, or make music) and worry about these fictional worlds; these real frogs in imaginary gardens is a choice we make that brings us discomfort that we aren't sure will end. And for a while I started thinking about why I write; whether or not I should go on writing. Wala namang mawawala sa akin, diba? Besides, why worry about these "people" and their lives when it's hard enough to worry about my own life? Why worry about how they act and who they are and what they do and what will happen to them and where it will happen? Above all, why continue worrying about how to write about what happens to them? Why worry about your tone and your choice of words? Why worry about the consistency of your language? Why try and organize chaos anyway?
And tonight, I sort of got my answer to those questions. I'm posting it here to make sure that I don't forget.
There's not a whole lot of organic unity to this note so bljahsfrhuaew. :))
I realized while having my online consultation with Akire about the draft I eventually finished (hurrah) that I write for no other reason than to have something to get better at; something to build up and then break apart again and again. Yes, I have to change about 80 % of that draft I wrote. And yes, I have to do it within the week. And no, it doesn't get any easier. But I'm glad I still have something to do. I still have something to accomplish. I still have something to get better at. Sometimes I think writing saves me, and as Neil Gaiman wrote, it is a peculiar way of saving myself. While the story can still improve, or is still being written, the author is still alive. And when it's over, the author's dead. And sometimes I think maybe I save my characters. Maybe they feel kind of lonely, those ghosty people who live on paper and in my mind.
Someone said that our crafts don't save us; don't lessen our despair. He used Van Gogh as an example; saying that after Vincent painted starry starry night he cut off his ear. I'm pertaining to a different kind of salvation in that last paragraph though. Maybe our crafts save us from giving up on other things. Or in case we give up, at least having something to leave behind.
EWAN. BASTA PUNYETA ANG LABO. :))
Organic Unity, love/hate tayo. Mwah.