Writing and Exhaustion
July 30, 2002 | 12:00am
I always ask myself why I chose to be a writer. It’s one of the most demanding and taxing jobs on earth. I can’t claim to know everything I write about and my observations of the world are often inconsistent, if not inaccurate, approximations of what it truly is. I am plagued by insecurity because I know my mind fails me sometimes. It’s as if being a writer gives very little room for error. Words have to be arranged in a certain way to convey the desired message and the message itself is scrutinized for clarity, morality, etc. The most frequent question I ask whenever I write is: "Does this make sense?"
I have known since I was a little girl that I’d be creating something in some way. I had always carried a fascination for creation – the process and the end product – that I decided at an early age that I would be a creator, too. Whether it be a sketch, an interpretation of a song or a poem, I felt I had it in me to make something out of nothing.
After years of doing it, I still can’t get over the fact that writing is such a pressure-packed job. It’s not only because a writer has deadlines to beat. Writing is an exhausting activity as it involves not just the intellect but the spirit as well. You employ fact, fiction and a lot of grit in the process. I hope I’m not romanticizing writing too much but that’s how it’s been for me. Perhaps, it’s the fear of not writing anything of substance that breeds fear. I have always been afraid of not getting my point across or being misunderstood.
I don’t know if other Filipino writers in English share this fear. English is complex enough for people who consider it their first language. We Filipinos are comfortable speaking it and some even find themselves more comfortable with it than Tagalog or some other native dialect. However, I always have to watch myself when I write or speak it because I’m forever in doubt when I use it as my medium of expression. I just can’t let go of the anxiety.
Maybe I’m taking my job too seriously. Maybe it’s because I’m 27 years old and on the threshold of yet another quarter-life crisis.
I fear of not leaving a legacy of some kind. I heard someone say that we tend to accumulate things, memories and knowledge when what we really need to work on is how we will be remembered. There is art. There are good deeds. There is beauty. There are so many avenues we can take, so many creations waiting to flow out of us. I have yet to find that One Story that will make everything happen for me.
Perhaps my life is one great story. The beginning was pretty much laid out for me by a Higher Power until I was deemed equipped to take over the quill. Now, it’s up to me to find an appropriate ending.
Did that make sense?
I have known since I was a little girl that I’d be creating something in some way. I had always carried a fascination for creation – the process and the end product – that I decided at an early age that I would be a creator, too. Whether it be a sketch, an interpretation of a song or a poem, I felt I had it in me to make something out of nothing.
After years of doing it, I still can’t get over the fact that writing is such a pressure-packed job. It’s not only because a writer has deadlines to beat. Writing is an exhausting activity as it involves not just the intellect but the spirit as well. You employ fact, fiction and a lot of grit in the process. I hope I’m not romanticizing writing too much but that’s how it’s been for me. Perhaps, it’s the fear of not writing anything of substance that breeds fear. I have always been afraid of not getting my point across or being misunderstood.
I don’t know if other Filipino writers in English share this fear. English is complex enough for people who consider it their first language. We Filipinos are comfortable speaking it and some even find themselves more comfortable with it than Tagalog or some other native dialect. However, I always have to watch myself when I write or speak it because I’m forever in doubt when I use it as my medium of expression. I just can’t let go of the anxiety.
Maybe I’m taking my job too seriously. Maybe it’s because I’m 27 years old and on the threshold of yet another quarter-life crisis.
I fear of not leaving a legacy of some kind. I heard someone say that we tend to accumulate things, memories and knowledge when what we really need to work on is how we will be remembered. There is art. There are good deeds. There is beauty. There are so many avenues we can take, so many creations waiting to flow out of us. I have yet to find that One Story that will make everything happen for me.
Perhaps my life is one great story. The beginning was pretty much laid out for me by a Higher Power until I was deemed equipped to take over the quill. Now, it’s up to me to find an appropriate ending.
Did that make sense?
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