Write if you feel like it

I feel free when I write. I am actually in the mood to write right now. I promise this will be short, really short. Okay I’m done.

Kidding aside, it is not everyday that one like me would write, I don’t know really, may be I just lack the resources or maybe I just don’t know of a topic to write about (why you got any problem with that?).  Ask other writers and they’ll tell you about their muse and stuff. For me, it’s just my mind speaking and my hands typing.

Right now, I don’t really have a topic in mind, I just thought that maybe, when I open this window (blank page and a blinking cursor) loads of thoughts will be shipped right through. However, as I type these words down, words are slowly leaving me… literally (ooh… this is getting really boring).

You may find this as a stupid blog but then again, this is me (what the hell can you do?) this is my blog and it’s my brain you’re reading right now. I’ve been thinking if anyone really thinks I could write well or just plainly if I could write. I don’t find my thoughts interesting (e.g. do ghosts and ghouls get wet if it’s raining?) yes, it sounds weird. So technically speaking, I don’t just entertain myself whenever I write things, I try to get what makes you (my readers) tick, giggle, laugh, feel sexy and whatever. Get my point?

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Someone’s actually singing my fave Chinese song, brings back memories of time long lost and spent. (ye liang dai byaw wo di sing…)

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I don’t wish you to get in my head, just like in Inception, no. (the movie really rocks big time!!) I just wish you’d say your views, negative or positive, about my write-ups. I just want to express myself! Yes, I maybe really too public when it comes to my facebook status messages, but hey girl, this punk wants to write it somewhere, better write it in my wall than I write it in your fuckin’ wall right? I may lack practice and the perfect words to say what I feel but it’s definitely not a reason for me not to try to get back to writing or just simply write. I get my topics from what I feel, what I experienced and from what I observe around me, so yeah if it ruins your day reading my stats, better get me off from your friends list (I don’t freakin’ mind) .

However, one problem I usually experience is my short-term memory (I am not old, it’s just that I’m like that). See? I totally forgot the flow of my thoughts. This why I plan to have a PDA phone with me, since I wanted to write all of my thoughts down in an instant or probably a recorder so that I could simply record what I’m thinking as of the moment (so wth am I telling you that part eh? Phooey.). In anyway, I’ll still be writing down my thoughts running in my mind at the speed of light. I suddenly realize that the longer you prolong your article (leaving it locked up, saved in your laptop) you lose your angst and the rush of wanting to translate your mindlings (I suppose I could make up my own word for thoughts, how many times have I used it in the previous paragraphs??? Don’t count stupid, I didn’t ask you to)  into words. More and more layers of paper thin mindlings get piled up in your head until those at the bottom are decomposed already.  

Yesterday, I was thinking of renting my own place just so I could leave our jam-packed house. Was that an understatement? Oh yeah, sorry about that. So yeah that was yesterday, while just a while ago I wanted to continue my studies and also land a part-time job in a tabloid (anything, even without pay as long as I get trained to become a reporter.) I even thought of finishing all my books as I’ve given up on reading a few months ago.

If you think I’m a boring person, just say so. Because as a matter of fact, I don’t really care if I have readers or not, well I guess I do… but if you already find my stuff boring, you may leave. Simply click on the ‘X’ button on the top right corner of this webpage, if you do not know that is. Last night, I dreamt of a wedding, I was one of the guests along with my high school batch mates. Thing is, what was supposed to be a wonderful dream ended up like a horror story. Nature was calling and believe it or not, the church does not have a bathroom. I was at the verge of peeing my peach silk gown when this sign just in front of me started glowing and blinking the sign ‘bathroom this way.’ I followed the sign surprised to see a two-storey mall (who builds a mall in front of a church??) I never did realize this oddity due to the emergency I was feeling so I went and flushed all my fluids away. The bathroom had so many corridors; everything was colored pink, from the faucet to the tiles, pink. On my way back, I noticed that the entrance and exit were different so I had to find my way to the exit and be back to the church in time for the ‘I dos’ part. However, strangely, the bathroom exit had led me to the second floor of the mall, which to my surprise, was a cemetery. Mist covered the entire floor the usual mist that usually gives you the ‘Hostel’ or ‘The Texas chainsaw massacre’ goose bumps. Moreover, the mall was actually surrounded by a moat, a dark sticky, boiling moat (where did that come from eh?) The only way back to the church was if I ride the sickly boat tied to the concrete post at the far end of the floor. I swear it only took me minutes, but it took me almost two hours in there. I was just in time for the reception, but I missed the ‘I dos’ part. Weird huh? Well, it was only a dream, and dreams are just dreams right? If it were translated to reality what is it then? Could you give me a heads up on such things?

So yeah, you may go back to what you were doing before this (assuming that someone is reading this piece of shi*).  Tough ending huh? I really suck at endings, if I’d write a story about my life, I’ll probably have someone to write it down for me. But yeah, I’d love my life’s ending to be abrupt… or maybe not.

Intro to my insanity

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.