I like talking about love and relationships. I like asking the sometimes too private questions of how did you meet, what made it work, when did you realize he’s the one, what’s your song – what happened, basically. As much as I enjoy a lively (or awkward, depending on the other person) discourse, I also relish being able to delve in these topics alone. Hence, I write.
Be it my own personal experience, or based on someone else’s (both fictional and otherwise), I like finding and making mental notes of common themes and values. Writing it down is effective in streamlining my consciousness and finding nuggets of wisdom about the world and myself.
I’ve always thought nothing of this fascination of mine, but an aunt (who has fast become a favorite) made a simple yet rather astute observation:- I had parents whose marriage didn’t work. Of course! And I’m supposed to be the psychology major!! Sigmund Freud must be rolling in his grave at how long it took for me to arrive at this revelation. I mean, yes, there are other factors involved too, but isn’t this the most psychoanalytic? Hehe! And let’s be clear, saying “you chose this field because you’re a girl” is sexist.
Like what Taylor Swift said, dudes like Ed Sheeran and Bruno Mars write about exes but nobody makes a huge fuss as they do over Taylor’s songs. In the same vein, the editor of my favorite column, The New York Times’ Modern Love, is a man. Heck, even the most famous love story ever told, Romeo and Juliet (or Love in the Time of Cholera, or The Notebook) was written by a guy. I write because my curiosity directed me to this path, not my gender.
Thing is though, no matter how much I like doing this, there are times I wished I’d written about economics or finance instead. Not only does it probably pay more, but this craft involves digging up the past – and worse, wounds. There are some flashbacks that never seem to lose its hold. And when you encounter one of those gripping cringe-worthy, heartbreaking, breath-taking memories, it can get damn uncomfortable.
Much so that there are even instances when I’d stop midway for fear of what I’ll end up writing.
You see, in hindsight, you can end up facing the ugliest version of you. And no, I don’t mean bad haircuts. Looking back, I’ve seen clearly that I wasn’t the heroine I believed myself to be. No one’s perfect but it still sucks to realize that you were actually the bitch. Ouch!
But self-deprecation isn’t even the toughest part. It’s revealing someone else’s impact on me that I find most difficult. As much as I don’t want to show my aces and keep some things bottled up to myself, sometimes, as any writer will tell you, there are words and stories that are just begging to be put out there. And more often than not, these inspired pieces end up being our better works. And, hello, which sane writer will tell you that they don’t want that??
So, I write. Even if it means walking the tightrope in portraying a person, who most likely doesn’t even have a clue I’m writing about them, without glorifying or antagonising them too much. This is me baring my soul the best way I know how. This is not some attempt to persecute nor extol you. Narcissistic as it sounds, this is all about ME. But putting it out there means putting it out to your world too, so I tread carefully to balance both my literary and moral integrity. I do my best, at least I try to.
It must be noted, however, that what’s written in the present doesn’t mean it’s current, regardless of what tense I used. There’d be times I’ll talk about you or me or us after the fact. It doesn’t automatically mean that I still harbor feelings towards you, it just means that I’ve sorted the situation and my emotions and I feel that someone – at the very least, me – may pick up something from it.
But sometimes, it’s not really you or me or us that I’m talking about – even if it feels a lot like it. Some are inspired by actual moments but it’s likely that I may have romanticized or tweaked it to pack some punch to the message I want to convey.
Not everything is personal either. Other times, it’s all entirely fiction or based on something I’ve heard. Wish fulfilment, sublimation, whatever you want to call it. Point is, I’m not talking about you and I’m not talking about myself. And no, I will not tell you which is which. 😉
So here’s to words and writing, and talking about love and other things. I plan on filling this blog up the way I used to fill my LiveJournal and Xanga secret blogs, so I’ll let this disclaimer sit out here, just in case.
