a bit of nervous writing
Book in Hand: Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
Song in Mind: come out & feel the sun, shine down on everyone....
I can tell when I'm edgy with something I have written. I always get my pronouns and conjunctions wrong. I sound whiny. After rereading that particular piece of writing, a shade of embarassment always hits me with how pretentious it all sounded.
Sorry. That's just how it always ends up when I am not quite sure how to approach a subject. Case in point, my last blog entry on Filipino Mythology. I love the topic dearly, but I was caught somewhere between presenting a critical view of the material and cursing the whole goddam country for letting it fall through the cracks (me, included).
Nervous writing is lousy writing, and I would like to offer my apologies for inflicting it on the unwary readers.
I did receive comments from my friend, Peloy, though. Aside from giving me tips where to find books on pinoy myths and legends, he also offered me an explanation why very few books can be found on the topic. He proferred that our mythology is ingrained in us, and thus too close to be noticed. I think that was what I was trying to point out yesterday, but he just used clearer words to describe it. Hay, iba talaga ang tutoong nagsusulat. G'leng, Peloy.
It's going to be May soon, and I just noticed that my list of books to read isn't any getting any shorter. I have 30 books I still have to read, and yet somehow I'm still not touching them. Work had been extrenuous lately, but that's already a given. What I was shocked to realize is that my "home" time hasn't exactly been restful either. When I was still a student and we had a house maid, I can read two to three books a day. Nowadays, I'd be lucky to finish one because I have to sweep the floor, water the plants and wash the dishes intermittently.
I sound like darn spoiled brat, which maybe I am. Maybe I should be thankful that circumstances changed enough for me to learn how to handle a broom. House cleaning isn't so bad, anway. It's actually nice to do something which does not demand one's 150% mental acuity. I mean, I can perfunctorily wash the dishes. And I like the feel of water on my hands. It's just that on rare days such as this one, I wish I still had the luxury of time. If I only knew how precious "alone" time would become as we grow older, I would've avoided squandering it on daydreaming and used it for reading and writing.
Alas, too late though. Now I can only reminisce on days gone by. The cloak of childhood has fallen off my shoulders and I'm cold. Surprisingly though, I find I can move on. Perhaps, even survive.
Song in Mind: come out & feel the sun, shine down on everyone....
I can tell when I'm edgy with something I have written. I always get my pronouns and conjunctions wrong. I sound whiny. After rereading that particular piece of writing, a shade of embarassment always hits me with how pretentious it all sounded.
Sorry. That's just how it always ends up when I am not quite sure how to approach a subject. Case in point, my last blog entry on Filipino Mythology. I love the topic dearly, but I was caught somewhere between presenting a critical view of the material and cursing the whole goddam country for letting it fall through the cracks (me, included).
Nervous writing is lousy writing, and I would like to offer my apologies for inflicting it on the unwary readers.
I did receive comments from my friend, Peloy, though. Aside from giving me tips where to find books on pinoy myths and legends, he also offered me an explanation why very few books can be found on the topic. He proferred that our mythology is ingrained in us, and thus too close to be noticed. I think that was what I was trying to point out yesterday, but he just used clearer words to describe it. Hay, iba talaga ang tutoong nagsusulat. G'leng, Peloy.
It's going to be May soon, and I just noticed that my list of books to read isn't any getting any shorter. I have 30 books I still have to read, and yet somehow I'm still not touching them. Work had been extrenuous lately, but that's already a given. What I was shocked to realize is that my "home" time hasn't exactly been restful either. When I was still a student and we had a house maid, I can read two to three books a day. Nowadays, I'd be lucky to finish one because I have to sweep the floor, water the plants and wash the dishes intermittently.
I sound like darn spoiled brat, which maybe I am. Maybe I should be thankful that circumstances changed enough for me to learn how to handle a broom. House cleaning isn't so bad, anway. It's actually nice to do something which does not demand one's 150% mental acuity. I mean, I can perfunctorily wash the dishes. And I like the feel of water on my hands. It's just that on rare days such as this one, I wish I still had the luxury of time. If I only knew how precious "alone" time would become as we grow older, I would've avoided squandering it on daydreaming and used it for reading and writing.
Alas, too late though. Now I can only reminisce on days gone by. The cloak of childhood has fallen off my shoulders and I'm cold. Surprisingly though, I find I can move on. Perhaps, even survive.
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