I’m still in the process of writing #TheBridge and it has proven to be a very daunting task because of all the memories that I’m forced to revisit.
So as I was scrolling through my newsfeed, I stumbled upon this post: Exes Ask Each Other Questions They Never Had A Chance To While Dating (Video), which I thought would be helpful but I was wrong. Half-way through the first video when she asked him why he cheated on her so many times, I had to end it. “I can’t watch this,” I told myself. His final answer to her was, “Yeah, I don’t have the answer to that.”
The reason I started #TheBridge (aside from the fact that some friends have been ‘encouraging’ me to write it for many years now) was because of my children. My 12-year-old is already interested in some girl from the opposite school. My 10-year-old, although she doesn’t seem to care about stuff like that, is also reaching that age. And we all know they grow up so damn fast. I have seven kids who will have to deal with I-don’t-know how many relationship problems each. I’m getting nervous just thinking about it.
I’d like them to know what being in a relationship with the opposite sex is about. How they will cry their heart out at the most confusing time of their life and it’s all never like what they read in romance novels or what they see in rom-coms. How both parties can be too proud to admit their mistakes. About how they WILL make mistakes and hurt each other when they are trying to guard their own feelings. And how some broken pieces just remain unfixable.
Sometimes I think the things we experienced when we were younger were just so petty and the ways we chose to handle them were just so silly. We were all so gullible back then. But, returning to those moments with our younger selves is still as painful.
And this is when I wish I could just keep my kids in a monastery for the rest of their lives. Or stuff them back into my womb.
*** This was originally posted on my Facebook page on 6 June 2016.
And this makes me wonder why I still write. Maybe I’m hoping too much for a good change. I wonder how many would read this post of mine…
People get turned off when they see anything that’s more than 150 words. Did you know that a first-grader could write a 100-word composition about their family?
Reading a 1,500-word article enlightens and empowers a person so much more than a 30-second video advertisement that’s just tempting you to spend money on things you don’t need. The word count required for submission to magazines like Nat Geo and RD is 4,000 – 6,000 words per article. I wonder who reads these nowadays.
Having said that, there’s also the kind of reading materials that people would rather go for. It seems that articles written for trashing individuals, organisations, and governments are more popular than pieces aimed to uplift, build character and morale, and help with social, emotional, and mental ills. People would rather gossip about than help one another. That’s just sad. And you’re screaming about that guy over there not contributing in making the world a better place…
Also, do first-time parents spend their nine months reading parenting books these days? (We did that a lot years ago before the Internet came about.) Or do they just wait for the baby to pop up and decide what to do with it? This is alarming. As real as it is that your parenting wisdom may come in a package with your bundle of joy, you also need adequate prior knowledge and information from every source you can get before hearing your baby’s first cry. It’s no wonder why parents these days get so ‘overwhelmed’ by their first parenting experience that they are terrified to have more kids in the future. Equip yourselves before you pop. Your newborns won’t be able to wait for you to watch a five-minute YouTube video on how to change their diapers when they’ve got black sticky poop stuck to their bum-bums. And yes, first poops are black and sticky. It’s actually body hair they shed from their body which the baby consumed while in your womb.
*Originally posted on my Facebook page on 20 May 2017
I love gore. I love war and well-written fight scenes. I love how some people can transfer their visions of combat into words and dedicate more than two chapters of their book to just that one battle. I love action.
I also love Mage, wizardry, witchcraft, spell-binding and the world of the afterlife. Not those child’s play spooks, though. Not those about ghosts coming back to dwell in homes and haunt living beings. But ‘real’ enchanting stories of communication between realms and beautiful out-of-this-world races where the characters leap off the pages and the events pull you into each paragraph.
Sometimes, you can’t get enough of it: you just shut your eyes and imagine yourself present in the scenes, be it as an onlooker or a character actively involved.
I love to read about them. I love to get myself enticed, entranced, encaptured and enraptured by these stories. So much so, that when I’ve finally reached the end of it, it takes me a few days to recover and return to the real world. And then, I would start over again with another similar story.
However, as much as I love them, I cannot seem to write them. All of my stories somehow swerve towards the direction of the real life. Towards relationships and petty conflicts that we all experience in our daily life. It’s boring to me but I know, from reviews that there are people (and quite the majority of readers, in fact) who actually just enjoy plain, ordinary life stories and I find myself trying to appease the demands of this particular group of readers.
Maybe someday, I will be able to write some hardcore action stories or enchanting otherworldly fantasies that will assuage my interest. Who knows?