I haven’t done this in a long time now so instead of taking a day or two of polishing whatever I have written, I will just write instead without any regard to grammar or coherence. Let’s just fuck order in the mean time, shall we?
“You can’t be a car salesman” my design manager told me before. I never retorted in anger nor did I explain otherwise. We both knew he was right so I can’t help but agree. I can’t stand the BS that comes with trying to sell something (not saying that being a salesman is BS at its finest). I will approach a department store or a hardware if I am fully convinced myself that I need something. I won’t bother another soul into buying something because I don’t want it being done to me. A yes is supposed to be yes and a no is a no and no bullshit in between. I will buy anything i need and i don’t want anyone talking to me about it.
A former office-mate asked if she can schedule some time with me to let her talk about the insurance she is offering. Sorry I cant give up my lunch break, it’s my only time to rest I told her. That must’ve came off as very rude of me but I also don’t want to waste my time, and hers eventually, by saying yes and cursing at the back of my head while listening. Of course i wont shell out my precious treasury with any insurance. It is reserved for the family. So please, we can talk but please don’t waste my time selling me something I know I don’t need at the moment.
While writing relieves the pressure off of me much like releasing a valve in a pressure cooker, nothing else can unlock me the way music does. Specifically loud rock and roll music.
I used to go around saying music or playing music is now limited to playing the mp3 player or the stereo at home. My guitar is already retired after being broken for quite some time. My son’s ukulele just lost a tuning peg and I don’t have the resources to replace it anytime soon. Although i wish i can.
In as much as I don’t have the resources to buy another instrument, I have to be content with, well, nothing except for the stereo as I mentioned. And I am content with that.
Be that as it may, I cant deny that there is this loneliness that persistently tugs my suit asking me to pay attention. Yes I’m happy and contented with being quiet and the occasional high that comes from connecting with someone. Add to that the semi regular writing and scribbling to clear my mind and to understand myself better. But nothing can fill the gap left by not being able to play music.
I want to change that but I am at a loss on when and how to start. Aside from having no musical instrument, I don’t have potential band-mates. Yes, I want to play out loud in front of many people. I still haven’t forgotten how I’d want to be a vocalist or a lead guitarist and just play my heart out and get lost myself into music. I don’t know how will I be able to fulfill that fantasy. But that predicament and consequent loneliness already reached a point where I know I have to do something before the bottled up pressure within me implodes. I have to make a move, to do something to make it a reality instead of just a deep nagging feeling. It’s persistence is unbelievable that it is now pushing me off a cliff. Do something or die, I can hear it’s bellowing whispers.
Building connections is hard if not seemingly impossible for me at this point in time. I am not sure why all of a sudden I am in a hurry to make friends with everyone here in my new office when historically I wasn’t the type of person to be as such. Perhaps because I want to start something new and good the right way. And since i am the new guy in here, I have to let them know that I can get along everyone and anyone.
That, and another reason.
I have a crush on this beautiful pregnant lady. What attracted me most to her though is her apparent strong personality. A lady with a strong personality can be discerned from the way she carries herself. I can smell it as I have a penchant for iron ladies. So I told myself, instead of having this huge crush getting bottled up inside me dangerously, I’d just find a way to talk to her to diffuse the built-up pressure of attraction. Something like letting off steam and hopefully to get things over with.
So I messaged her asking if she’s into reading because I want to showcase to her that I write, and I wrote something which I hoped would get us connected. Something I hoped can possibly vibrate her strings and get us in resonance. That somewhere we can connect.
It took her more than a couple of days to respond. At first I thought she got offended or something so that worried me a lot. But then she responded thank goodness. I am not sure though if it’s obligatory in nature that she responded just to maybe “cut it short” but she did. She said she is more of a visual person. Ok, I told myself. I got a response from her, I did but it looked like I did get the response I wanted to receive. I gave her something, a part of me. I don’t know what she received.
I thought I could connect to her, build a connection even. But I guess it’s one of those failed expectations. What can I expect anyway. She may be halfway through her pregnancy for all I know. Like myself she have a lot to worry about and what I shared her isn’t even enough to scratch her curiosity and take a look.
Well what I can say more? I threw something at a black hole. Not entirely lost though I’m sure of that. Energy is neither destroyed nor created so says thermodynamics. It got sucked into a black hole alright. But what seems lost in this dimension might have found it’s way into another dimension. May not be in this reality Heidi. Maybe on some other universe. In there I had your full attention. In there I am laughing at your strength. Not making fun of you but amusedly viewing how good you look in your strength…
I don’t give a shit before if I am an unknown blogger or if anyone else knows I write at all. It worked for me. It worked wonders. I’ve written somewhere else and when people discovered me without my help, the admiration gets more authentic and more satisfying than when you ram it down people’s throats.
But now things are different. Not that I wanted to boast, I don’t think I even earned anything at all that’s worth boasting except for my family and the peace and calm that I experience every now and then. But denying something very important to you such as writing for me is already an obsolete way of life. In denying that I am a writer, I deny a large portion of my identity. I am a writer. That doesn’t mean every letter I write is worth something of monetary value. Far more than than. I write because my everyday survival for art depends on it. Writing and my soul are one.