Draft Upon Draft Upon Draft

The Continuous Act of Writing

Life can be messy. Just like my unfinished drafts of writing!

Drafts have been piling up lately, sitting in between pressed pages of notebooks. Multiple notebooks. In my Wordpress blog, there's roughly about 20+ drafts. (I swear, I wish I was kidding!)

So many things, all crammed in my head. Ideas, snippets, short incomplete thoughts with flowery vague language. Confusion. Feelings. Drabbles and late-night (or early morn?) scribbles.

None of them are completely fleshed out. I have yet to write a full work, one that is possibly ready to submit for publication in journals and literary magazines.

It's been a while. I am still trying to write again. To finish something again.

Lately, I have been unable to write since the beginning of my full-time job last June. Honestly, I thought having a real job is the best path to be a writer. Don't we all need the financial stability in order to be able to write?

Perhaps I’m unfit for the role. Physically unfit, mentally mismatched. I don't know, and I'm not sure what went wrong. (Is this denial stage?) But besides the amount of work load, what really hit me is the long commute.

The commute is no walk in the park. Of course, I know this from the start. I even confidently answered that I know my way to get to the office. So yes, I understand, it is an underestimation on my part.

For some reason, I have failed to consider relevant factors such as the weather. How on earth could I have forgotten that the second quarter of the year promises storms and floods in the Philippines?!

Picture this: shrieking winds that knock out umbrellas, lightning and thunder both asserting dominance, dirty flood water above the ankles, wet slippers that tend to slide while walking on the uneven roads of the damned city, where cars and motorcycles zoom in haste and entitlement.

Now repeat all that for five days a week. Five days in two. Full. Weeks.

And of course, salary’s deducted by the minute you’re late. Forget the fact that you stay up late in the office, trying to juggle several tasks, trying to prove that you’re capable and useful.

Some days, I still can't believe I went through all that severely overwhelming ordeal.

Eventually, the whole kerfuffle of work-related worries takes a toll on my physical health. My mental health has been deteriorating already, but I have been in denial for weeks on end, pushing (well, over-pushing) myself until past the breaking point.

All this attempt at survival from the floods and trying to be a fully functional responsible adult, all of that leads me to a short trip to the hospital even before I could admit that I am unwell.

I have been unwell in those weeks. Something about work triggered my self-esteem issues on a random Tuesday. I do not blame anyone at work for this. I believe I was not mistreated that day, it's just my rejection sensitive dysphoria popping up. My body physically perceived it as a huge threat back then (even if some parts of the critique are understandably objective).

My mind has been messy ever since.

As messy as my writing.

And as messy as my drafts of short horror fiction, poems about my ancestors, a nonfic about lesbians in the Philippines and my thesis about the leonatiko literary theory.

There are works that are a mix of written and unwritten material. Some of these writings are bold and purposeful, while some are bouts of formless emotions on paper.

When I cannot completely finish anything, not even a poem, I turn to blog writing for a quick exercise. This way, I can finish a short blog entry and feel a small sense of achievement. Unfortunately, there are ideas that show up only to abandon you mid-sentence. How cruel!

But words, just like people, they come and go. Just like how jobs come and go, too. Life goes on. All this growth is what I prayed for after all. I'm determined to grow through and through.

I'm also determined to finish this one entry in the very least. More than just for the sake of having something done, I am hoping to get back into writing. Hoping to make sure to have this routine of pouring out words from my head, to the tips of my fingers, then on to the screen, on to the web, on to the world!

This is just a challenge I must overcome. Setbacks are normal, I remind myself. I'm sure I'll get back to my old prolific self as I continue to write more.

Or maybe not.

Perhaps I can craft a new version of me. Doesn't sound so bad either. A version of me who is more intentional in writing.