7 June 2013
I have to be honest about how it’s not easy to keep a journal and write constantly. By constantly, I mean in an everyday basis. It has been more than a week since I last enter something into my journal. A lot of things have happened definitely and as usual, I have to narrate it here.
Here’s the inside story of what happened the night I decided to put up a diary.
It was in the middle of the night. Or so to me, it was still early in the night. I was sharing room with my grandmother and her mother for less than two weeks. I was reading a book when my grandma’s mom entered the room and called it a day. One bit of information: Old people sleep really early. So while I was reading, I thought she was about to go silent and drown herself to sleep. To my surprise, she didn’t. She was kind of chitchatting with me about random things she could ask about my life. Until then the conversation got interesting. She started to tell some information she could remember in the least about my father whom I never seen, etc. At one point, I had to ask several questions about what happened before. It was more like a historical queries. Like, how did they deal with the series colonization of Spanish, Japanese, Americans.
One thing I liked about that conversation was by how I could imagine the setting and the vibes people went through before. I felt like I was there witnessing and experiencing all the emotions whenever she told me those stories. Also, I was stunned by how she could still remember those stories given that it was decades from now.
After we finished talking. I thought to myself, I needed to do something about my story. I long underestimated the capacity of my brain to hold memories, even the smallest detail I wanted to keep and still remember years from now.
So I started to be extra passionate on writing.
Warning: I do not write terrible and horrible experiences. In case I do, it is just for the sake of stating what I have learned.
The happening of events within 10 days.
31 May 2013.
Finally, my mother left the Philippines. I was more happy than sad about her leaving us yet again. Mostly, I guess because I got to have my room back. In as much as possible, I didn’t want to formulate early judgement always but if there’s one important thing in life people should know:
Never put your children on the bottom lists.
I believed that’s a universal common sense. If ever I would have child/children in the future, I would give my all to provide him/her support in every aspect there would be without any second thoughts.
3 June 2013.
I had to wake up really early like a zombie because I needed to be on school really early. It was the first day of school enrollment for first semester and absolutely the worst day of my life. Well, enrollment day usually was.
I had to carry on the exhaustion of 4 hour ride and still fell in what seemed be like endless queue of people. It was a nightmare if I would describe it. Thankfully, I have wonderful friends who helped me through a lot during the process. I know I am a very appreciative person but in a situation like that, even those people who don’t know how to say “thank you” will never forget the generosity of other people. I believed I’d get insane without any help that day.
The only good thing made me happy was that I get to see my friends since 3 months. It was such a wonderful moment because everyone was surprisingly nice. Even the people I had issues with before vacation seemed to forget what happened. Also, everyone was super talkative it felt like we could talk for days without having a pause. In this point of my life, I am grateful to have friends I might possibly be friends with after school.
One last thought that day:
I remembered I read or watched somewhere an interview about the author of ultra successful novel-series “Harry Potter” J.K. Rowling. She said she started the idea of writing the characters of Harry Potter while inside the train. What relatable about this interview was the thing that I thought while riding a bus home.
I thought about writing my own book. Genre: Autobiography ish.
It was no longer a foreign idea that I wanted to be a writer. My only issue about it was the fact that I didn’t and could not afford to have any degree these writers took. And that led me to a bigger problem: “How could I write?”
I knew writing and blogging were kind of the same in some ways so writing in its sense wouldn’t be any hard to me. Also, I wasn’t up for selling my book so I didn’t care about how my grammars should appear inside the book because usually I write the way I thought it was right and I felt like it. I just simply had no idea how it should be presented without having any confusion when someone who had good soul tried to read it. Sure, I had been reading a lot of novels lately and that was somehow a training ground for me already but I was afraid my training wasn’t enough.
The only solution I could see was by starting to write until I got to finish whatever I needed to finish. So by the time I re-read it, I could notice the developments and further revise what would be needed to revise.
The remaining events of ten days.
What happened on the remaining days before June 3 were basically the same thing happened to me during my ordinary summer days. I wouldn’t say it was a routinely activities because there were some tiny changes at least. But those were days wherein I was in the middle of nothing special and nothing bad happened. Just the usual day I could let pass by and yet still be thankful I was alive despite my effortless efforts of trying to live my whole life to the maximum. I recognized there were a lot of people who wanted to buy more time in this world and I thought: “Here I was staring at a blank space trying not to think and just taking the act of breathing for nothing when too many people outside were desperate to extend their lives even for a little bit more.”
Sometimes, I thought life was unfair to everybody. The people who fought so hard to avoid death were the ones being taken earlier than they expected. On the flip side of it, the people who didn’t care about dying were the ones still living. It was too ironic it wasn’t even funny.
If anything, I wasn’t super scared about facing death. Not that I was saying I wanted it now, but that was a common thing we both known since then. The small piece of fact that we were all going to perish to give way to new life. No one was safe and no one should ask for mercy about death. But between life and death, I wanted to make a difference and leave something to remember in this world. And that is why I’d be writing.