Post-Something Post

Over a month ago I was tasked to write a poem, a Tagalog poem at that, with the intent of presenting it to about 1,500 audiences. It was nerve racking. The writing process prompted the return of my insomnia, irritable mood and writing insecurities. It was not a good time.

If you know me, like really, you'll know that I find it hard to express myself in tagalog. I love the dialect along with the entire language but I am just inadequate. I feel that whenever I write something in tagalog, I can't translate clearly what I want to say or that I just do it all wrong. This is all because of my lacking really and I just had to keep on trying I guess or else I have to answer to a certain number of people. This of course added pressure to the entire process making me all the more cranky and unpleasant to be around with.

It took hundreds of cups of coffee and unreasonable demands to friends to stay up with me to just to get the first line written. This reminded me why I didn't want to be a professional writer at all, I had multiple reasons mind you, but the stress of writing is one of the top 5. Add to that is the fact that I am not that good and I don't really have anything genuinely of my own to share to the world. After the poem was done, all 99 lines and 643 words of it, I felt like throwing up. I couldn't handle the prospect that something very intimate would be scrutinized by someone else. I was in pieces the moment I sent it and I even went to the extent of drafting an apology letter, admitting my inadequacies and explaining how hard it is for me to write anything substantial especially while having 2 jobs. Amazingly it was accepted, we were already discussing how it will be performed (thankfully they didn't insist with the idea that I should perform it) and I was still in disbelief. This sound a lot like bragging, but it is not. I finally understood why Johnny Depp and Jared Leto feel really uncomfortable watching their selves on screen. 

The first reading wasn't fun, I sat there cringing the entire time. Strange experience it is, to be hearing the words that used to swirl inside your head be spoken out loud. After 2 more rehearsals and I realized that I must snap out of the entire phase. I got protective, too protective actually. Fortunately, I was allowed to share my notes on how I want it to be delivered. The poem was intended as a spoken word duet and thankfully the two performers actually wanted to hear what I have in mind regarding the piece. I became very sensitive and specific with how it will be delivered. I remember going into these extensive narrations just to illustrate to them the emotion I want out of a certain word. In retrospect, I went a little crazy there. Oh well. 

Performance night came and I found myself very near to losing my marbles. I was shivering, goodness, and pale. I tried this focusing exercise of staring at my hands realizing later on that I had them clenched the entire time and couldn't open them. The Dongsaeng came and unfurled those suckers, it was embarrassing. I stayed backstage, there was this entire production arranged for it and so I was left alone. I listened intently and at the very climax of the poem the performer stuttered and changed that entire stanza. 

It was perfect. 

It hurt like a motherlover but it was perfect. At that moment I was reminded that nothing is really within my control and the Lord calls the shots, after all that poem was made for Him. He transformed it to something worthy of His approval and I was glad. 10 minutes passed, the crowd were on their feet and I was about to pass out. Finally, the horrifying experience is over. I may not be able to write a piece that will be presented to a 1,500 crowd again and that's alright, I at least managed to survive this one and that is more than enough. 

I was on a high and was even closed to tears, finally it was over. Emerging from the backstage I was greeted by hugs and congratulatory remarks. It was great but I was just eager just to go back to my table and enjoy a good glass of Shirley Temple.I was just getting comfortable in my seat when a text came in, "May repeat performance daw next week. Please tell the guys." The horror won't just stop, right?

Well, repeat performance came without any incident. It was for a smaller crowd but the deafening thumping of my heart didn't change. The piece was delivered the way it was originally intended to be performed and I had a smile on my face afterwards. Okay na yun, iba lang talaga siguro kapag unang beses.

I think I surprised people with that one and I had to be honest with that I feel the same way. They were wondering why I am so secretive with the things that I write and I couldn't give them an answer short enough to contain every single reason, so I just said, "I'm just learning to share, madamot talaga ako by nature. Be patient with me please?" 

I read via twitter something that Amy Winehouse said that neatly explain what I feel:

"It's hard to write, because you can write a million things a day, but it's hard to write something that you're proud of."

I wish I could, someday, maybe, who knows?