On Writing and Finding a New Lover

/ Sunday, September 5, 2010 /

It all started with those formal themes back in grade school where you were supposed to write a few paragraphs about yourself and what your pet back home looks like. And who would ever forget that never-ending question of what (or who) do you want to be when you grow yourself a goatee, some pubes and a handful of armpit hair. There was the Filipino version too; I can vividly remember that it was called Kathang Pormal.

Despite the sweaty palms and garbled penmanship, I always look forward to that day in class when our manila paper-covered spring notebooks were distributed for us to write about whatever our teacher fancies us to talk about in paper. Ten minutes later, you'll hear a page carelessly ripped apart from somebody in front of the class. And then almost everyone in the classroom follows suit. Well, I had this theory once that the sound of a page being torn apart from a notebook is contagious during formal theme sessions. When somebody starts doubting his work, everyone around him will start doubting themselves too. However, I would like to believe that I am not one of those doubters. Writing was unadulterated joy to me. And it still is.

What am I to do? I could neither dance well to the tune of Macarena nor sing the Lupang Hinirang without going off key. I also had second thoughts on joining the volleyball team because I looked anorexic when I was 10, perhaps the chocolate-coated Bonicol tablets that were regularly given to us during deworming sessions didn't work. And almost half of the class can draw. So I decided to please thy academic gods by writing about holistic health during Nutrition Months, nationalistic essays during August and the scene-stealer, World Peace.

The usual adolescent angst followed and thank heavens for those thick spring notebooks which can only be found in Gaisano South's school supplies section. They absorbed almost anything I wrote, pasted and eerrr, poured on them.

And then one lonely Saturday evening, the Internet showed itself on my doorstep. I said goodbye to my dearest springies and started pounding the keyboards instead. I wrote almost anywhere in cyberspace; created a few blogs here and there. They were like lovers to me. One day, I'd like you to death and the next day, "Oops! I have a lot of issues myself so goodbye for now."

There is that urge again to find a new lover and stop myself from crossing the other side of the road. I now found myself in an intersection that borders the sane and the deranged.

Where do I look for that new lover? Here. Neverwhere is Here.

I don't want to think of what our future will be, Dear New Blog. All I want to do now is write about those fragile things I see in a stranger's eyes, poetry that doesn't even rhyme and a nagging wife's woes about her cheating husband.

And of course, maybe tidbits about that search for the elusive Neverwhere. This will probably keep me sane for the time being.


{ punkassimus } on: September 5, 2010 at 6:43 PM said...

payter ni kai sensei. hahahahaha. drop by my page @ punkassimus.blogspot.com

{ kendi } on: September 5, 2010 at 8:40 PM said...

i feel the same way for words, Kai. though lately, i seem to satisfy my "wordly" needs by reading (and consuming) someone else's, like this. :)

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I usually say, in the end, okay, it’s love and it’s work — what else could there possibly be? -- Maira Kalman


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