What??? (My reaction.)
What was that? Who said that? And who the hell is Bun? (Your reaction, most likely.)
Hi, my name is Bun. The first two lines you just read in this article came from a delusional guy who, sadly, is my friend. Just what he was talking about, I have no idea. Really. Until now, I still do not know what made him say that. He has never read anything I have written which, by the way, were all for academic purposes only. Which only goes to show just how delusional the guy is.
A natural writer. Come on, now, delusional friend of mine. Get real. OK, fine. Maybe I can write. I can write crap that’s for sure. Maybe that was what you meant. I am a naturally crappy writer, who is actually now writing this article. Hmm, which is scarier: the fact that I write crap or that I am actually writing an article now? So why am I writing? Why am I doing this to myself?
Why, to be recognized, of course! But, please, don’t get me wrong here. It may seem that I am starving for attention in doing this, for wanting to be recognized for this. Gee, no. Not at all. Just sorta maybe a tad. See, I zeroed in on two particular ideas from my friend’s statement: writing and recognition. I figured writing would be the means to achieve recognition, which would be the end. Both are essential to my mission. Make that two missions. Now, that is a tough one for someone who prefers to be behind the scenes. But I guess the time is now for me to come out and complete my missions.
Hello, world! Get ready for me! This is I: Bun on a mission!
Mission #1: I have to get myself recognized by certain people in a certain agency. I have to remind them that they have already found in me what they have been looking for. Hello! You have already found me! I am here, Mr. JC and Ms. PT, the great wonderful, talented CDs at your esteemed agency. This is I, VJE or BE, ready to be a part of your CD. And I am really serious about that. Imagine, I have been bombarding the heavens by praying a nine-hour novena while driving, watching a basketball game, during a photo shoot and even in the middle of an audition. And if you must know, I pass by your building every day, sending telepathic messages of love, peace and future business ventures. The guards must probably know my car by now. Call me a stalker for doing that, if you must. But I prefer to be called a determined person. Now, come on. Let us join forces and get this show on the road. Let us take the industry by storm!
Mission#2: Drew Barrymore did a thing like this in one of her movies, but I won’t go there. Instead, I will just say here the things I have always wanted to say to someone but just couldn’t. (Inhale deeply, Bun. You can do this.) Here goes ... (Now, exhale.)
Church Boy, hi! Every week, I look forward to seeing you in the hope of getting to talk to you again. But that’s just it: I only get to see you. No talking ever takes place. Isn’t it funny how a simple two-letter word such as "hi" could be so difficult to say in your presence? Which is weird, come to think of it, because you are also only human. I mean, here I am, saying a lot more than just "hi" in print, yet I couldn’t say it to you in person, much less look at you and smile. Last Sunday, I mustered enough courage to actually want to talk to you, but not enough to do so. Besides, you were surrounded by your friends that time. I just couldn’t. I don’t know if I will get to talk to you again this Sunday. I am not even sure if I will get to see you again. But I could only hope. I could only hope that you are reading this now. I could only hope that I would see you again. I could only hope that I would not die of embarrassment when I do get to see you, after having this article published. I could only hope that despite this (or maybe, because of this) you would recognize me. Oh, I almost forgot. Do you even remember me?
Now, there you have them, ladies and gentlemen: my missions, which now feel more like a death wish. I have completed them now, sort of. All I have to do next is wait and pray that I would not die of shame; pray that my family would not die of shame either; and pray that I get the desired results from writing this article. And while you are reading this, how about saying a little prayer for me? How about praying that I do get recognized positively by the great CDs, Mr. JC and Ms. PT? How about praying that I will get to see Church Boy again? And that when I do see him, we would finally talk again. And that I would still be alive despite this article – an article by a naturally crappy writer with three missions.
"Um, did you just say three?," you ask.
Yup, three. I stand corrected, my apologies. My third mission is to write an article and have it published. Which was what my delusional friend wanted me to do. I have now finally written an article and gotten it published, too. Surely, I would be recognized for writing. I wonder if I truly am a natural writer, as my friend thinks I am. And would I be recognized for being such? I could only hope.
I do not know what would become of me after this. Will you hear from me again next week? Would you want to know the result of mission #1? Do you think Church Boy and I would finally talk to each other? All I can say for now is this: I have tried my hand at writing to fulfill my missions. And so far, the satus is: missions sorta acomplished. The verdict: still unknown.
By the way, this, Bud, is for you.