I can’t write
By: Alsie Penaranda
And I envy those who can.
I’ve always wanted to write my whole life. My father is a writer and a journalist in the oldest running news paper in the country. He was already an editor even before he got his Journalism degree in Lyceum of the Philippines . He’s got two government books to his name and countless magazines and newspaper articles. My great grandfather, Carlos Bulosan, was a writer too. He wrote during the post world war 1 era in the United States . Now, his writings are included in the curriculum of high school and college students in the States. Whew! What an achievement!
When I was a child, I would often write about just about everything. I knew then that my grasp in grammar and other technical things in writing are above average. I would always come up with working titles that stir the minds and imaginations of my siblings (one in particular who cried several times when she read my short stories about love and romance) and classmates. Unfortunately, computers, usb’s and hard drives were not yet invented then to save my manuscripts from being lost in my pile of books, papers, toys and who knows what else. Organization is not one of my strongest points.
Now that I’ve grown older or as some people (mostly women) would prefer, matured enough to write a lot more things in life, that’s when I began to experience what they call a “writer’s block”. I can’t seem to finish a draft even if my titles and thesis were concrete. Oh sure from time to time I would be able to come-up with a good introductory letter for job applications or a short story here and there, but “real” writing is far from my accomplishment.
Sometimes, when I am in that state of consciousness and sleep, I would begin to think about a good working title; topic sentences for the body of the paragraph and all. But I would be too sleepy or too lazy to get up and write it down in a notebook or journal. Besides, I know myself all too well to realize that I wouldn’t be able to get back to that notebook or journal again to even start writing the introduction. Most of the time, when I’m driving or waiting in line in a supermarket or atm machines, I would try and think about why I haven’t been successful in writing a true to form essay or short story. Is it because I can’t write? Or was I just too lazy to think and compose? It is a good thing that I listened to my father when he told me to take up nursing course instead of Journalism. (And that didn’t work to)
But why, I ask myself, do I feel the need to write? Why do I love it so much when I can’t really write something good? Why do I keep thinking about it? Is it because I am from a long line of writers? (I haven’t mentioned my Uncle, my father’s younger brother, who’s also a journalist; but his character is what you might describe as “dark and doubted”). But what is it really? Until I write something that makes sense, something that would impact a lot of people in the way they think or feel about something, until then, I know I can’t write; and would continue to envy those who can.