there are writers, and there is me.
i don't think i was born a writer. i don't write during my free time (except here-- and even writing here minsan kinakatamaran ko pa). i'm not by nature brimming with story ideas that i ache to realize on paper/phosphorus screen.
i used to be that. i used to be in love. with stories. with writing. at 15, i wrote to escape from boring chemistry lectures. i used to read a lot, and there was a longing in me--- to write the kind of stories that i myself would want to read.
but now? i hardly read anymore. the longing is no longer there (i don't know if the passion for reading and the passion for writing are correlated) but i have to keep on writing, because by profession, i'm a writer. i am paid to create stories. to realize them on paper. i have a job that i used to fantasize about, at 16. i had dreamed of having this when i was young.
but now it's so hard. so hard for me. dahil nawawala ang puso ko. natuon na yata sa iba ang pagmamahal ko. while i write, i fantasize about my oven. about the orders that are waiting in line. the samples i have to make as soon as i'm done with my real job. what keeps me awake are not ideas for stories. but ideas for cookie designs.
it's ridiculous. maybe this will pass. maybe i just need to go back to why i fell in love with writing, at 15. why this had become my One Great Dream, a long time ago. i'm living a childhood Dream. so what's wrong with me?
deadline in 4 days. ni hindi pa nakakaalis sa laot ang barko. lumilipad ang isip ko. :-(
