Breathing Space and Scatterbrain Writing

Where do I start talking about this Sunday? I'm scatterbrained this morning. It feels like I'm all over the place. And I wish I can really nail what it is that makes me lose the writer's flow. It is frustrating because I have to go back and retrace my steps all over again. But this chronicling is all about trying so I should not be so conscious if my writing doesn't make sense.

As long as I write. For now.

3.42 hours on a chat/video/voice conference with my bestfriend has pushed me back on track. I missed conversations like these. It doesn't happen very often but I suppose these are the things I need to keep my eyes open for. These unforced rhythms that become vessels of grace and illumination.

The ink is drying up so I'm just going to have to post some snippets of that conversation to hopefully chronicle that I am going somewhere with this journey.

Yesterday. I finally figured out why I can't write. Chronicling a chat conversation yesterday below.

adrienne: the other night i tried to write in my journal and i just lay there (i was lying on my tummy in bed to write) for like 45 minutes staring into blankness like how is that even physically POSSIBLE to just not do anything i was holding my pen and i was thinking lots of stuff to write but i just wouldnt write

me: i know how that feels but for me i know why i can't write. AM failed relationships that's the core reason. i always find myself just wanting to write about that until i figured out why they failed. writing is my way of figuring things out. writing is my way of talking to God writing is my way of hearing God talk to me i act upon what i think God says because i write if i can't figure it out i always end up blaming myself. so i write to hopefully liberate myself but when i start writing i never end up liberating

adrienne: why?

me: i don't know

adrienne: so youve never felt liberated by writing?

me: not anymore not all the time

adrienne: :( so is that why youre not able to write now

me: yeah

adrienne: because you feel you wont get liberated?

me: yeah i don't "feel" i won't get liberated. it's what it's always been. it's how it's always been. given the circumstances i've gone through. i love writing. i love feeling the keys on my fingers and typing word after word i love describing things with words i love capturing the unseen with words i love remembering with words but when i try to write nothing ever comes out of it i just go on in circles in my journal or a private blog or a half-baked public blog there's no fulfillment no release so i collect diaries of other writers and see how they went through it because they're the only real companions i can ever have in this earth they're all i have nobody knows what i'm going through exactly because nobody is empty enough to make me a priority so i have to live a spiritual life a recluse life because i need to trust the unseen since i can't trust the seen

It is still such a struggle to point out what exactly keeps me from writing but this particular conversation pushed me to try to figure myself out which I have been trying to do as of late. At breakfast this morning I told Adi that I feel like I'm living my life backwards. I may have reached this point in my career but I feel like I'm living another parallel life. I'm living the life I feel I was supposed to have been living when I was 20 years old. A life of exploring my gifts and inclinations and preferences. A life of starting to understand my idiosyncrasies and being comfortable with them.

I find it hard to strike conversations with people my age now because they are well into their lives as married men and women who work in a desk job and most probably satisfied with their contributions to their organizations. I could describe myself pretty much as someone who can be at par with their business achievements but to me, it is not enough. I am not satisfied with what I have achieved because I left out the most important goal of my life. To be a writer.

I feel that I need to say that again and again to myself because in admitting it I come to terms with it. And I come to terms with aspects of myself that I know not everybody will fully resonate with. And I should be okay with that.

Talking to Adi this morning has helped me realize that there is still so many things about myself that I need to understand. This is something I should preoccupy myself with a little bit more so that I can listen to the promptings of my creative impulses with gentle attentiveness instead of restlessness. I told her that Jack Keruoac dealt with the same things. In his diary he wrote:

Reluctance! Reluctance always! We hate original work, we human beings. Wrote 1800 words pertaining. I'm back in these regions of fumbling dark uncertain creation, but it's my one and only world, and I'll do the best I can. What would be the best medium for earnest thoughts if not a novel--earnest thoughts refined, as from crude one, into earnest motives--and the unconscious intuitive drift of great theme--thoughts rushing. I often think a notebook is better--but no, a ovel, the very tale of earnestness and life meaning is the best thing. - Jack Kerouac, Tuesday June 17, Windblown World

It helps me read of other writer's journeys in polishing their craft. It makes me feel that I am not alone in this terrible and labor-some sifting of thoughts like birth pains. It makes me feel that all this uncertainty is significant because someday, it will bear fruit like an empty womb soon to carry a child.

We talked about possibilities and past memories. Traveling together and lingering in transit routes and places like airport terminals or subways. Imagining what it would feel like to finally journey together in the same place. Calculating ticket costs to London and figuring out if savings can take me there for a short vacation.

So many dreams. So many longings. And I write them here to believe and etch it on stone. So that I will never forget that I have committed myself to believing them.

Today I enjoy the quiet of no obligations. My Mom is still in Cebu with my Dad and I wish they'd stay there a little bit longer and spend some time together without thinking of anything else. We all need a bit of breathing space. And I'm glad I got mine today.