July. August.September.And next week, it’s October! What a shame! I have missed blogging for two months. What the Dickens have I been doing ? It was quite a long hiatus.
I believe I had this so-called writer’s block. I was not able to pour out my ideas here. When I felt like writing, I was not able to organize my thoughts . They were like bubbles springing up and bouncing against one another in the chambers of my mind ,and would vanish into thin air. I would digress for some moments until the contents appeared to be word salad . It was like kind of “flight of thought”, a medical condition experienced by a person with bipolar disorder . Well, you may hint at the term itself that the clinical condition may be attributable to my writer’s block. Ideally, writing is another cathartic method to cope with stress.
The clinical term may also resemble the Filipino street words ‘lutang‘ (afloat) and ‘sabaw‘ (broth) . So, I was lutang means my mental state was frivolous and lack of organization, or I was kind of sabaw means my grey matter was not functioning well; it was frail. I am being exaggerated now. Anyway, the short of it is that I was not in good mood to write. I would just kill time, pig out on any grub I craved ( but I didn’t gain weight) , browse the web, watch videos, anything I could comfort myself with. If I held the book I had let knock around for days or checked the novel I have been working on , I would just browse through the last parts I left behind: All the words were unintelligible to me. Therefore, I would end up doing aimlessly.
I believe that writer’s block has many underlying psychological causes. Admittedly, love my foot is the heart of the matter aside from personal problems which I can still lick myself. It is my greatest weakness and the only element that can really make me go weak at my knees and scramble my brains. I found it out when it was my first time to get trapped in the web of love long time ago. It turned out that I cannot handle such emotional disturbance. I’m going red now.
However, out of my pragmatic view of life, I have managed to come back to my senses. I have woken to the rational analysis that I should stop living in my own reality. Thanks to the people who inspired me to stand up on my own. They pulled me out of that idealistic world. When that warm blood of realization started to circulate throughout my system, all of a sudden, I missed the real me, my humanism, the real habits I was into, insouciant to the things that could burn me out,like reading the books I would have read by heart for sure during those mooning-over-someone days. In fact, I missed having intellectual intercourse with the folks I regard as knowledge monsters, engaging in heated debates, studying my butt off late in the morning whenever I learn something I am not convinced of and I take cognizance of it before drawing my own conclusion. It was some kind of assuming an air of scholarly life.
Despite that I was warped up in my pabebe days ( trying to act out like a baby) , I was still able to read books which turned out to be maudlin ones: two of famous Haruki Murakami’s books.
Although these books fed my moments of melodrama and sentimentality, I learned many things about life and love. I believe Murakami fans know what I am talking about. 🙂 That’s why I have figured out now why reading Murakami’s books is addicting. I will share my thoughts of them soon.
And look at the books below, I should have reviewed them during those months.
( heavy sigh)
Well, after all, bookworms also need a break. We can still be bothered by the hustle and bustle of the world.