I’d like to think that I’m a writer, at least a part of me does. Well, let’s put it this way, I am not compartmentalized into only one character, I am actually divided into bits of personas that people see in me. However, for me, I see two identities, one: I’d like to think I’m an ingenious writer and two: I’m nothing but an accidental writer, a half writer per se.
Apart from what people see and know about me, I adore books and so much more than that, I envy writers. Long before I studied such writing course (I won’t tell since I prefer myself to have anonymity), I was really attracted to hard-bound books. The mere feel of it across my fingertips and the smell of old paper running up my nose, is like I’m in Disneyland (wishful thinking that I have been there and experienced it.) Every page of countless, relative and meaningful words was a mystery for me, how such normal people turned their words into weapons of mass destruction and destroy the universe (thunders roar with matching evil laugh). Of course I’m kidding.
Back to what I was saying, I envy writers, their wit and expertise in putting words together, say ‘I love you’,… alright not a good example. I mean how they were able to string events and turn them into words without losing their magic and even accentuating its importance is a glorious talent that is, kill me if I’m wrong, enviable.
Reiterating it, I envied writers, but I was just pushed into studying it as a profession. As my mom had always been telling me, I am a jack of all trades and sadly a master of none, whatever I put my heart into, I do good in it. I have a habit of wanting so many things which clouds up my mind from the essential things in life (if you’re thinking you can relate to me, screw you.) So here’s the cloud coming up my mind, writers have really weird auras, I never saw or felt mine though. They have a different way of looking upon things in life, love, sex and yes, as you said it, rock and roll. What’s blue to them turns sour grape under the heat of the moonlit night, what’s new may be old in their eyes and politics is an entirely different thing.
Writers may be the best people you’ll ever meet in the world (see? I’m a real fan, yes.). They read a lot and write a lot about all the things in the dice of life. They do drugs, smoke, drink a lot and I mean it. One scene flashes on my mind:
OJT Mentor: Do you drink?
Me: yes.
OJT Mentor: Do you smoke?
Me: yes.
OJT Mentor: Great. Welcome to our world! You’ll never be a good writer if you don’t have any vice, ya know.
Of course, this does not apply to everyone, some writers prefer to have their personal space (autistic ones), some deal with all the luxury in life (the elite) and some blend in the crowd like I do (the cool ones.) Yes, writers are not immortal (cry), we bleed and cry too, where else would we get emotions in our stories if we were everlastingly alive and unfeeling, right?
This is the one part of me thinking that I am a writer, or maybe not… I don’t really know actually. But reason why I started this blog is that I wanted to get back into writing, even if it’s not everyday, this is the least thing that I can do, express myself in words and hopefully accompany them with pictures… yes, I want to be a photographer, but that’s another story. So yeah jack of all trades and master of none.
Just last week, my past EIC shared my sentiments as I was running in circles not knowing how I could get back to writing as I was flooded with work, work and work. After college of not being able to work in the media industry, I got so frustrated in writing that even though half of my persona wanted to write, my mind just eats dust of whatever topic I try to write about. So yeah, I tried to write again, get back on my feet and start writing my thoughts down on a webpage.
Read all my posts, and maybe you’ll be a half-blood writer, if you get lucky that is. Yeah right, me and my big mouth. Don’t believe me, I speak crap.
Just Another Blog 