Everybody in this house is asleep now. At 8:30 p.m. Me? I just watched Where’d You Go Bernadette and swooned at Cate Blanchett’s perfect bangs and brunette look (which she should stick to, if she’d like). I’m writing this blog post. Sleep won’t come anytime soon.
Random thought: do you know what I think of the ocean? That we are tiny, molecular, minuscule beings settled above giant plates drifting above the surface of a wet, blue tub. And once day, when a pair of giant feet dip in, everything topples over; the plates crash on each other, and we? We’re tiny, insignificant lives, as unimportant as how we see bugs crawling under our pets’ skins. And we’ll be gone.
I have many thoughts about death, the many ways to arrive in it, not that I want to, not now; not soon. But when a life gets snuffed out too soon, I couldn’t help but just rethink my choices. Am I doing enough? Am I living enough? Am I loving enough? What details should I have paid more attention to?
I can only come up with a conclusion:
May death remind us to love better.
May we learn to make bigger rooms in our hearts.
It rained today. A downpour. Dad overslept and, consequentially, we had to get through torture all Malolenyos go through: flood. Oodles and puddles and floods. It was like a waterworld going home. I dread to imagine how our streets will look like this week. Clue: we’ll have 4-point-something of high tides every day.
In the words of Ebe Dancel, “Ngunit kung bumagyo, para bang lahat ng tubig ng mundo ay nandito.”
The heavens know how to appease the middle-Earthians after the rain. By dusk, our sky turned into a brilliant flare and my mom said it was like a pink aurora, minus the wiggly curtain part.
Also: my cat ate a baby snake.
A couple of weeks ago, everything about my life felt like slow motion. Like I was in a series of montages of odd nothingness, like a vacuum, a sad void, an indigo sky that won’t turn into dawn. This week, I realized things were happening fast, like yarn unspooling when the cat chases the thread-ball across the floor. I was wrong. I had no concept of time, or its weight. I’m just floating.
Maybe with happiness. Maybe with hope.
This week, my literary agent sent in her notes. It happened first thing on a Thursday morning, which means Wednesday eve in their part of the world, and before I could even come up with a reply, or a gasp-tweet, I had to let it sink in. It’s there. We’re doing this. Someone’s really chosen my story, and in effect, me, and will take time to make something out of these words. I stared at my email for an entire hour before reacting. And by reacting, making social media posts about THE thing.
I didn’t open it. Nope. Not that burning file in red. I knew what I have gotten myself into, and it would be a hard mess. Plot acrobatics. Character stretches. Mel already told me that from the time we talked on the phone. I accepted that. I expected that now.
Later that afternoon, I opened her notes. Yes, with gingerly fingers made of anxiety. And boy, I was relieved.
I still didn’t open the other file on Friday. I did, however, asked questions I needed answering. Funny. At that point, I stopped thinking about a book. I started thinking about books. And the world that spans in between. The dream has become bigger.
I wasn’t thinking about this on June 22, when I accepted the offer of rep from Root Literary. When, a week after, I made the announcement and Book Twitter embraced newbie me. When, after likes and follows, I felt the responsibility of becoming more confident, to actually feel like an author, to respond and make a few ripples in the conversations I awkwardly scroll past through. And I had new friends. New people to shout tweets at and not feel in any way ashamed.
Things have changed. Let me count the ways
- I updated my website, because even if this won’t be my author website, hellocaris.com has been my brand for ages and I’m not switching. Therefore, I’ve updated my pages, added Terms (because, legal speak), and revised my Work page
- Conceptualized at least two more stories: another magical MG and a historical YA, and, the newest victim, a revised Hide & Sing, which is BREAKING MY HEART
- Outlined Book 2 of Marikit, with Book 3 needing to convince me, because thrones will be overthrown, and doors will open
To be honest, I want to write them all, right now. And the thing is, I don’t want to plot the endings, because there’s a 99.9% chance that I’d be jinx, and I might not be able to finish the story at all.
Just like before, I guess I’ll be … guess what … guessing along the way.
But that’s what makes this journey exciting, isn’t it? To not know any single thing coming my way. Not a map, not a painting. Just a shadow we all have a chance to form and mold with our hands as we walk closer to it.
That’s what this life is. A shadow of things to come.
Okay, I know, that’s a lame ending after all that buildup. But I’ve got edits to do, and if you can excuse me, mamser, I’m working on a THING. x