I will write this down soon enough: 2017 is the year I started a lot of things. 2018 is the year I just had to call it off. It takes some guts to close a book half-written; I mean, there will always be what-ifs, but at this point, I just got to flush it all in and never look back. And I will always look back, just like now, with eyes still gleaming with a tinge of regret, inwardly asking my worth and my ability, and why it never, ever met my goals.

Of course, there are questions. Was I too complacent? Evidently. Was I skill-wise lacking? Of course. Was the situation against my favor? Absolutely. Everything is in negatives, even this current manuscript.

In my heart of hearts, I know I can write something else. I finished two 6,500-worded stories this August and September and I know I could write things. I just don’t know if this particular one, the one I constantly swoon and think and rewrite, makes the cut. It’s too silly. It’s less POC-ish. It’s fluff. But people, I daresay, loves fluff.

This week, I saw Aling Milagring’s story: an old woman trying to make a living out of bushels of sampaguita flowers, sold 600 per tabo, and makes leis which she sells out of town, sat on the side of the street where she is exposed to sun and rain. I love old people, the brave, the kind-hearted and the underprivileged. I knew I wanted to write about them, the ones who are often unnoticed, and let them be heroes in their own world. In an unspoken message, I want to tell them, “No, you’re not forgotten.”

My current WIP is just pure self-indulgence. I just hope I cross that line where it is less of me and more of “it.”
On Sunday, I read a tweet that flipped my world and pushed the green button:

And it hit me hard, made me think of things coming into realization. That, as God’s vessels, we must always be clean, for we must always be ready for use (otherwise, God will just skip us in His pantry and use someone else because we’re gritty). And being clean, especially with a head still running while asleep (see my Stranger Dreams), could be hard. The punch in my face was when I exploded all of a sudden out of no reason, despite of the yellow warning, and I knew. I’ve been snatched. It was just a split second.

In loving God, there has to be discipline, and this is something I am pursuing. More patience. More listening. Less noise in the head. Less of me so He can fill all the gaps freely, in full abundance.

I’m looking forward to getting my headspace back. And with that, I’m signing off. x