The memory of the past two weeks has been hazy probably because I am zombified a lot of times mostly from the lack of sleep in trying to meet several deadlines. A good thing I tweet frequently that I remember what I did on those days. I should probably be working right now on my next article, one of the three pieces I have due at the end of this week. But instead, I can’t help in wanting to take time off and pour my soul here.
Procrastination perhaps? Maybe. I just know I miss typing on this keyboard, and just write freely. I’d probably kick myself later, but let me worry about that.
I hesitated to write more on this page in the past week, despite having so many thoughts in my head. So many, that I would craft sentences as I am driving in the middle of the highway, or even when I am stuck in Jakarta’s notorious traffic jams. I would often get my iPhone and scribble notes on it, or even record the voice on my thoughts using my Evernote.
Then I’d forget about all those scribbles, putting them aside because of other commitments.
Commitments such as that NKOTBSB, yes, you read that right, New Kids On The Block and Back Street Boys concert earlier this month, one that took me on a time machine back to the 90s, where I turned 13 all over again, sang my heart out and danced like nobody’s watching.
Then there was a visit from my friend Sarah from New Zealand earlier this month, bought nothing from Jakarta’s glitzy malls – which she wasn’t even impressed with – but instead purchased three dresses when I took her to cheap and quirky shops in ITC Ambassador. Wandering around Jakarta’s Kota Tua (Old Town) in what seemingly a chaotic square for many up-town-girls was a joyful experience for her.
Oh, and to my surprise, how she enjoyed the street food and convinced me that for as long as the food are piping hot, all is well, and proceeded to take in that first spoon of Mie Bakso. And here I thought she’d suffer from countless trips to the bathroom, like the times I had when I returned home for the summer from New Zealand back in the school days.
The moment Sarah took off, I had every single day of last week filled with social engagements. Many of which were, now that I think about it, results of a series of serendipities.
By the end of last week, after filling in the social calendar and meeting the professional commitments of a freelance writer – a title I am still getting used to – I crashed on the weekend. Exhausted, I hibernated at home, when in fact I should have kept going on my soon-due work commitments. But no one can write without the clear head.
That’s when I wanted to simply write, and not worry about anything else. Writing not for pay, but just for me. Me and my soul.
But I got stuck. Like an actress in a play, just before she went on stage, knowing all eyes will be on her. I froze. I didn’t walk on to the stage and perform. I kept quiet all that weekend and instead posted this, when in fact I wanted to say more.
Whenever I get that stage-fright state of mind, I revisited my favourite personal blog. I would look through its archive for inspirations, even though I have visited the same archive countless times, reading the same passages and stories despite having familiarised myself with the writer’s past life. Or at least the life that he portrayed then.
The thought of having another anonymous blog so I can write freely for fiction and other life-inspired creative writing crossed my mind many times, only to remain each time as a passing thought. Then, I am reminded that this blog (and I am about to steal the words from one of his entries), is sanctitious to me, and me alone. Just like what that blog is to the writer.
Writing for public consumption where I get paid is where I’d have my restrictions. This blog, is where I should be able to write freely about things I want to remember when I look back in the years to come, and hopefully without any cringe, like I had when I read my earlier days’ posts. Ugh.
Do I fear judgement from what I write, especially after meeting some of you, or about to meet some of you in real life? Maybe a little. Aren’t we all secretly afraid of judgement?
But if I let those fear take the better part of me, then I’ll never write, let alone get better at it.
I want to keep writing. Write whatever and whenever I want. Be it the emotional rants or flowery words and passages I wrote when that special someone was around (*cough* a writer himself) or the seemingly serious inspiring posts during my sabbatical, which to my surprise, did touched some people’s lives. So I was told by the affected person.
And here I am, still inspired to keep going by one writer’s blog. What do you know, huh? Didn’t they say what goes around comes around?
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have paid work to catch up on. And some sleep.