So, here I am, back again from the insanity of this ongoing world -- seems like I've survived another year. Let's hope 2019 actually continues as good as it is, reading-wise and all, because I'm starting to feel like January's productivity is nothing but a fluke. After my birthday last year until this day, I've been occupied with reading, and I must say, I'm pretty happy with what I accomplished. Still, I'm a bit disappointed with the story I've been working on, Silence, for it seems I've reached a dead-end for now. It's a shame that I promised people that it would be ready for them to read soon. I should've known better -- you can never control a story; it does what it wants.
That being said, I've realized something the last time I went to visit dad. I think it was the graveyard's effect, for it looked and felt so different -- so vibrant -- it left a kind of mark. A realization. For many years, even when I decided to be a writer, death never frightened me. Twice now, I have seen it pass by me with only a threat, and that shook me quite well, but not because of fear, but because it came to me when I least expected it. If anything, I wished for death many times throughout my life, and only when I saw the graveyard that day that I realized how absurd it was, wishing for something as natural as death to fast-forward its arrival. Sitting by my dad's grave, immersing myself in that beauty that surrounded me, and feeling the peace of death, I saw that it is not what I wanted. Those wildflowers that bloomed on that barren land, and the butterflies, the bees, and the flight of the usual flock of pigeons, it all seemed so beautiful to miss out on. That moment of birth in the midst of death seemed almost magical, and I saw how foolish I was, wanting to give it all up. Then it hit me, I really don't desire death as much as I desire to continue my studies and get my M.A. nor do I desire death as wholeheartedly as I desire to finish writing a book and getting it published. In fact, I believe now I'm going to work against death's arrival, at least until a book or two are done.
That being said, I've realized something the last time I went to visit dad. I think it was the graveyard's effect, for it looked and felt so different -- so vibrant -- it left a kind of mark. A realization. For many years, even when I decided to be a writer, death never frightened me. Twice now, I have seen it pass by me with only a threat, and that shook me quite well, but not because of fear, but because it came to me when I least expected it. If anything, I wished for death many times throughout my life, and only when I saw the graveyard that day that I realized how absurd it was, wishing for something as natural as death to fast-forward its arrival. Sitting by my dad's grave, immersing myself in that beauty that surrounded me, and feeling the peace of death, I saw that it is not what I wanted. Those wildflowers that bloomed on that barren land, and the butterflies, the bees, and the flight of the usual flock of pigeons, it all seemed so beautiful to miss out on. That moment of birth in the midst of death seemed almost magical, and I saw how foolish I was, wanting to give it all up. Then it hit me, I really don't desire death as much as I desire to continue my studies and get my M.A. nor do I desire death as wholeheartedly as I desire to finish writing a book and getting it published. In fact, I believe now I'm going to work against death's arrival, at least until a book or two are done.
We only have this one life after all, so we better achieve all that we have ever dreamed of.
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