You see, when you reach a certain age and still is single, people would think all sorts of reasons why you’re still single (barring the myth that all singletons are covered in scales and can turn into a carnivorous creature at night).
The reason I always heard is I’m not yet married because I’m choosy and have high standards in men — that I’m too stuck on a certain ‘type’ that I cannot settle for anything less. It does sound shallow and vain if that’s the real reason. But, I have to put my foot down and say a very simple reason: I like being single. In fact, I make being single an art form (heh!). Continue reading What The Heart and The Eyes Want→
Just imagine a person having one foot on each side of two states, straddling a state-line or a demarcation line. That’s what I am and those who were born in the same year I have (or at that age bracket) are considered generation straddlers.
I recently had a conversation with a dear friend about having a hard time defining which generation we belong to. You see, we were born in a very strategic year where we straddle two great decades that made a huge impact on the world as we know today.
Spending my formative years between the 80s and the 90s was both enlightening and confusing. Those two decades can be viewed like an antithesis of each other. The boldness of the 80s versus the minimalism of the 90s. The junk food craze of the 80s versus the vegan emergence of the 90s. So it only goes to show that people who grew up as a generation straddler is more well-rounded, so to speak. We can get along with Gen-X and Gen-Y people without looking and sounding off.
That’s what my radio co-host would always say when we’re on our final hour and I felt that way now when I got a notification from WordPress that it’s been a year since I’ve been blogging here.
How time flies.
I didn’t even notice that it’s been a year if not for the notification sent by WordPress.
With a smile and a joyous heart, I finally accept the fact that yes, it is true that when you’re enjoying doing something, time becomes irrelevant. You wouldn’t feel yourself dragging out of bed or forcing your fingers to move over the keyboard to write something. You wouldn’t feel drained of any or all ideas to write about. You wouldn’t feel you need to prove something. All you would feel is a sense of rightness after posting something that you’re not expecting 1 million “likes” afterwards.
Nope. I’m not going to talk about that thing women experience during menopause. The title is metaphorically used in this post for something else. So . . . here goes.
Whilst the west is experiencing the scorching and unrelenting heat of summer, it’s wet and rainy here in the tropics. One might think it’s the best time to catch up on writing. But, one is experiencing a writing “dry spell“, no amount of cozy weather can bring a bright light of inspiration to get the creative juices flowing.
I am experiencing this “dry spell” much like what the earth experiences during summertime.
After having a short but enlightening conversation with a friend, I suddenly realize that it’s been months since I did updates on my manuscript. I know that it happens to the best of us. However, with the recent events that somehow jump-started my formerly non-existent social life, my fiction writing world was put on-hold – something that should have happened because writing brings me more joy than the other stuff happening in my life.
There have been plenty of reasons and excuses that hinder the human heart to finally achieve some semblance of happiness.
Guilty as charged, I’ve been one of those whose pursuit of happiness took more than a decade to come into fruition. For different reasons that are both logical and sometimes plain idiotic, I have been plagued by my passion to do what I want, creating less than pleasant dreams and making me wake up both defeated and sullen. Because I always find myself in that infernal intersection, trying to weigh the never-ending pros and cons, practicality always win — hands down — paving the way towards a less fulfilling endeavor, leaving me to question myself WHY.
Regrets are a poor bedfellow to a craving heart.
Being with friends who likes to psycho-analyze me A LOT, and had no qualms in pointing out how I’ve been wasting my talents away, I have achieved clarity upon careful reflection.
If you love something so much, you’ll make time for it.