Writing Your Heart Out

It's sad seeing my blog inactive. For months I have been thinking of what story to write or what experience to share. Nothing comes. Everything happens so fast and hazy making it impossible to notice. Stories end as soon as the next morning comes. Feelings don't last long. Before I even get to the computer, my story has already expired. Why write a story that has been alive for only a short moment? Why write a story that has died when its very purpose is to keep the content alive - the heart beating, blood flowing, and the mind dreaming.

Two nights ago I finally understood. There is a story that lives inside me. It has been living for, I don't know, years? It's a story so alive I can feel it beat with my heart and flow with my blood...inside me. It's as if we coexist, that it would die at my death.

Why I learned of this story only now when, in fact, it has been living for years, I need not ask. The answer dawned upon me even before the question was raised. I'm a liar.

I lie about everything - about what I did, about what I want, about what I feel. If lying to someone else is bad enough, I don't know what lying to oneself is. Yes, I lie to myself. I know what I want and I know what I feel. I know what will make me feel better but I refuse to admit that it's what I need. I find other activities to put my attention to just to bury the story. I keep myself busy with other things when I know that after the pile of work has been accomplished the story will resurface and haunt me. I tell myself that everything will fall into place in time when I know that it will never be until the story has been told.

That's when I realized why writing has become a rare activity for me. I was afraid that people would get tired of the same story I have been telling for years. I was worried that it would bore them to read the same old stories about bleeding and wrath. But you know what, I'm thinking of writing more stories about bleeding and wrath now. Because I would rather write about pain and hatred than not to write at all.

Trip to the Wild

We visited the Ninoy Aquino Parks and Wildlife Nature Center yesterday to get an interview with one of the veterinarians, Dr. Steven Toledo. He was very nice and he answered all our questions very adequately. One of the questions I asked him was if he had a personal favorite. He answered that it was difficult to get too attached to the animals because letting go would be hard. He had a personal favorite, a baby gorilla. I noticed that his eyes became a little teary when he was telling us that the baby gorilla died due to some disease. What moved me was that when I asked him if they had any kind of problems maintaining the center. He said that he was hoping that we could help them and that we become biologists instead of a medical doctor. That debate, between biology and medicine, is a thought I have been bothered lately but that would be an entirely different post. I could go on writing about the many things I have learned from him but that would be delaying my date with sweet organic chemistry.

Anyway, that picture of the deer above is my favorite; its sadness raising awareness of animal welfare.