…Feeling small lagi, puro angst. Sometimes when you listen too much to yourself you don’t get to hear and see the world. We forget we don’t just write to be satisfied that the words fit so perfectly or so that we put that grandiosity of beauty into one of the shelves in our bellies and regurgitate-engulf it as we desire. It is a gift we give back to the world. “The world is not the same once a poem is added to it.”
Sa tabi andaming batang tumutulo ang uhog na pinapalayas mo lang ‘pag tinitingnan ka sa mata at humihingi ng tulong, mga narape na nakakasabay mo sa daan pero nakangiti pa din. A swift breeze, a squished makopa on the sole of your shoe waiting to be justified. Falling in love, falling out of it. ‘Wag puro self-pity, ‘wag puro ‘yung the usual artist’s frustration. We are only a medium. Hindi tayo ang bida. Lagi.
Sometimes I think it’s why I stopped writing so often…I got tired of thinking of and figuring out myself; Dissecting parts of me into a thousand more minute particles. There’s more to life than me and my puny self-esteem. The world needs its drama be told too, you know.
