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Part 1: Sword in the Stone
The library was my favorite place in my small world. “Truth” was out there I was quite sure. I liked everything to be perfectly planned – the world seemed magical yet meticulous. I wanted my mysteries solved, I wanted magicians to break their code, I wanted 3 wishes to fulfill my desires. For every birthday candle blown, the burden of my ignorance increased, until I seemed like an atlas carrying a world or rather my big head on my shoulders.
There came a time when the rumors of my quest for the perfect book converged into a singular moment of life changing magnitude. To my neverending embarrassment I made a rediscovery – not all books were right. I rebelled against my cause, by such time I had read as much as I can from Encyclopedias to Guiness World Book of Records, but the damage had been done. My aunt had recommended I keep a “diary” – too late. The very idea made me cringe from the very depths of my soul – “diaries are for girls!”
If I had not stumbled with my choices, I would not have such a big problem. Nevertheless stumble I did, and I found my weapon of “truth” not within books but between.
Part 2: Knights of the Round Table
I would not entirely give up on my addiction, i continued to slake my thirst with Mysteries of the Unknown and detective novels. Around 10, I had left my roots, to seek new grounds. It was a golden age of wonder and stagnation. By 15, the “truth” was no longer important, as I was exploring this totally shiny uncharted territory called “Love.”
My bestfriend of the time recommended writing letters so we could be penpals. Had I any idea what I was doing she could’ve been something more, but I let her go. I have to admit that everything I was to do from then on was colored by the frustration I felt at my inability to express my feelings.
I might have regretted that selfish moment, but generally I don’t regret my life and all the friends I made, especially the choices I stand for. I graduated to Fantasy and Science Fiction, having read JRR Tolkien and Frank Herbert the most.
Now I accept momentary books on improvement, instead of ultimate overhaul and change. I like to believe that personal “truth” is acceptable through “love.”
Part 3: Quest for the Holy Grail
on 911 “truth” came like a messenger, I found that life did not intend for me to be serious, you cannot “pursue” your dreams because it will remain a dream. You have to be able to enjoy being in order to become. “Funny” and “beauty” are actually synonyms for “truth” and “truth” is what you experience.
I cannot stop the onrush of thoughts by the impulse to write. Expression provides only momentary relief. Sometimes I just need to be with people though I want to be alone. Sometimes the noise of the crowd inspires me to be loud. Through writing I find my simple switch to “otherliness.”
As soon as I begin touch pen to paper – I write about anything and everything I could think of. I get rather exhausted if I think too much under a certain topic, therefore I want to avoid editing myself as much as possible. I feel that whatever crap I think of that makes it to the page does not deserve to be crossed out or crumpled to oblivion. I simply don’t bother rereading my old scratch that much for as long as it is not typed. Besides, the writing makes more sense for as long as you’re willing to work with nonsense when you have an end in mind.
Even if I run out of things to say, all I have to do is keep updating my “ends.” I begin with “truth,” I fail miserably in “love,” but I finish off with a “Purpose” then I start over again for as long as I’m able. Sometimes I don’t have to know the reason why, because it’s much quicker to stroll along than go with the flow of traffic for any patience inducing time.
I know my “purpose” for now is to reach a logical conclusion. There is a much bigger “PURPOSE” that is my reason for being, and that’s what I want to keep writing for.
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