Lately, being online and looking at people's posts and/or posting my own shiz has been a huge challenge for me. I've been thinking about sincerity and literature and Facebook and whether or not people are still willing to listen. There are more than a million blogs out there, more than a million Facebook accounts, more than a million people tweeting about how their days went--is anyone listening? There is so much talking and so much yapping and so much pressure to "like" things that I find no one really takes the time to take a look at anything anymore. And this is why I've been off the web for the past few days.
It made me extremely sad to realize that despite the (overwhelming--thank you , guys) visits to my blog everyday, this blog has failed to do what I started it for--as a means to keep in touch with people who are no longer in my everyday life. While I find people liking things based on the title or the little blurb that I post up on my social media accounts referencing these entries, only a few of those people who like these things have actually read these things. I'm still unsure about what I can do to promote reading again in a time where people would rather scroll through a feed than sit through a story or listen to an anecdote, but I will keep writing. And I will keep reading. To a certain extent, I guess that's all that I can do.
Writing is a lot like an eating disorder when you're starting out--you think you write to assert the illusion of your freedom of choice when the truth is writing is the ultimate exercise in losing control. You are speaking to someone (everyone, possibly) and you don't know if you will be heard (no one, possibly). Even more than in speech, the possibility for humiliation in writing is huge because a) it is in a medium that can be resurrected (photocopied, re-printed) and b) because writing beyond your diary will always entail tedious care and enormous struggle before you're satisfied with what you've written down (enough to show to other people).
Years ago, when I was initiated into Malate Literary Folio, I remember my editor/friend Akire telling us that the truth is this: no one cares whether you write or not. Most people on campus don't even know about Malate, or don't even read anything that isn't in the "To Read" section of Powerbooks or anything that hasn't been turned into a movie. So if you're writing because you want to be recognized--well, yeah: you might as well stop because that's something you can't count on. Being recognized and making quality work aren't always synonymous.
It's only now, almost 5 years later that I'm realizing how true this is. To a certain extent, I'm sure that we all want recognition but all we can do is the work (make sure we deserve it)-- and whether or not we get the recognition we want is the part that isn't up to us. We just keep working.
Over coffee today, Trizha reminded me that everyone goes through a period of starvation and that we all feel obsolete, sometimes but no one ever got anywhere turning into a recluse this early in life. And so, yes. I think I'll be okay. And yes, Paperweight will be coming out this summer--one way or another.
