___________
It’s been a while since I’ve last written anything of substance… and I am not about to start now…he..he..he..
You know, back in high school, I thought I would make a great writer – a Palanca awardee. Yes, right, THAT sort of writer. Obviously, I did not become one – a great writer, I mean. I DO write about anything and everything, though, which I guess, make me a writer.
I write about everyday mundane things -the breaking of dawn bringing a new day, new hope, the setting of the sun sharing its calm and tranquility to our otherwise harried lives, the coming of rain refreshing the soul. I write about taking a jeepney ride and rejoice in the knowledge that in life you chose your directions. I write about household chores, about brushing my teeth, watching tv….I write about people – about families and the ties that bind them, about life partners and the serendipity involved in meeting them. I write about children and the innocence of their questions. I write about teachers and the nobility of their profession. I write about manong magbobote, my nosy neighbor, my feisty nephew…
I write about emotions – about love conquering all, about unbridled passion, about mastering fear. I write about beautiful sadness, about brimming joy. I celebrate pain and happiness in my writings.
I write about events - of the birth of a baby, the metamorphosis of a sweet child into a young lady, of walking the aisle in pure bliss, about aging gracefully and welcoming the bittersweet call of the end. Yes, I write about LIFE but have never fully grasped the mysteries of it.
I write about places - the charm of Europe, the grandiose of Britain, the mystery of Asia. But most of all, I write about HOME.
I write about science and engineering – of photocatalysis , advanced oxidation and reaction kinetics – because these I write to put butter in my bread.
I write about topics all writers seem to write about. Thus, I expound on taking risks and paid my respects to the turtle who can only make progress by sticking its head out. I write about success and appreciated the vast and differing insights on it. I write about politics and realized how boring it really is.
I write about how I rejoice in my writings. No matter how profound or meaningless they are. I bask in the quietude of the moment when I write. I pour my thoughts out and what come out mirrors my soul. I feel alive when I write.
Then came text and e-mails.... and I fear for writing.
