I Will Not Begrudge the Years

January 29, 2009.. 0054 H
Finally. REAL literature. It felt like letting the sand squish through your toes after being away from the sea for so long. It's like dipping into a cool lake after a long trek through a dense forest on a hot summer day. It's like drinking Gatorade after walking all over Makati's convoluted streets.

It's like coming home.

What is?

Dang. Interpreting poetry, that's what.

For the past few weeks, I've been salivating over the idea of studying actual Literature instead of the dang theories we've been taking up for /forever/. I never knew how much I missed interpreting poetry until last night, when my professor asked the class what the current poem we were reading meant. It's not that I don't like studying theory; they help a lot, they really do. But too much theory sucks all the creative juice (what little I have) out of me, so nights would constantly see me staring at my computer like a retard, begging for my he-muse to shower me with fantabulous story ideas that would someday soon capture the world. All efforts are futile, though, so I'd end up reading yaoi fanfiction featuring my two favorite male characters from whatever fandom I'm currently obsessing over.

I'm not against studying theories, but sometimes, a writer just had to read something that wouldn't make her second-guess her choice of vocation. I just want to be able to /really/ read Literature again, instead of analyzing and critiquing it to death. So yeah, yesterday, Dr. Neil Garcia made us read poems out loud in class and together we all tried to find out what the poems were trying to say.

I've been slapped upside the head twice over by two poems, and right now I'm thinking that I'm on my way to 'begrudging the years'.

Nights would find me obsessing over my future instead of carousing with friends. Days would find me staring into empty space while my mind travels to places I've only seen in my dreams, instead of communicating with the rest of the world. I'm a self-confessed social retard, and I don't dish out any effort in trying to rectify that situation. I'd rather talk to the books instead of catching up with friends. I'd rather obsess over my apparent lack of inspiration to write than to go out and meet new people.

Yes. I can see my future already. My last years would find me reclined on a rocking chair on late afternoons, writing nostalgic poetry while my dogs doze and drool on my feet. What a dazzling premonition.

Someone once told me that I'm a 'silent, steady campfire on a cold mountain', and that 'I'm on my way to talk to the gods'. The description always stuck with me, even though I never really understood what that says about me. Somehow, I feel as if Ms. Ricci was right in saying that about me. My heart has always been set on starting that 'walk', but everytime I take that first step, demons would suddenly appear out of nowhere and bombard me with stupid ideas that would always leave me uncertain, faithless, and defeated- way before the battle could ever begin.

I want to start walking. I desperately want to reach the Palace of the Gods, and I'm willing to pay any price just to be able get there, no matter how steep it is.

As of the moment, I doubt that I'm a silent, steady campfire? Right now, I'm a crackling, wavering bonfire on a deserted, dried-up beach, and that I'm on my way to drown with the dead fish.

What an uplifting imagery.

Alright. Snap, snap, snap out of it.

That I could finally dish out metaphors about the current situation of my soul tells me that I can finally start to write- again.

Social life might have to be put on hold, but I'm not closing any doors. Eh, what the heck. Even though all my doors are open, I doubt I have the capacity to step out of them. Yep, I'm a social retard like that.

Couldn't even manage to talk to people who sit right next to me.

I hope to the heavens that I wouldn't end up as a miserable spinster. I do want to write and be famous for it, but what the holy hell, I do NOT want to die an old maid.

I really don't.

You'd understand me better if you've read Angela Manalang-Gloria's 'I Have Begrudged the Years'.

Look it up.