Writer-Wannabe

I want to be a writer. Back in my grade school days, I would spend my summer poring over books of poetry and re-writing ‘em all in my alma mater script on the blue and red lines of my pad paper. I only wanted to perfect my penmanship back then, but the rhythm and rhyme of the poems before me made an indelible mark in me.

Fast forward to college applications… I was contemplating whether to put on my UP application Journalism or Biology. My lolo (bless his soul!) advised that I can be a good writer without having really studied it. You see, Lolo reads my writings and probably surmised I have no talent for it so why spend thousands of pesos? Har har. And really, I thought of me unable to get in the HS paper (I think they found out I only know 250 words, prepositions, conjunctions and articles included), so I figured writing wasn’t really for me.

With the odds against me, I accepted defeat and wrote Biology in my application form. Only, I ended up in Computer Engineering…probably had something to do with the campus of choice. In CoE, the only words I needed to know were: if, else, then, switch, main, void --- not really a wealth of vocabulary I tell yeah. But at least you get to invent words such as: name1, name2, num, etc. And become bestfriends with the underscore. The closest I got to writing an original work is when I had to write a freaking algorithm for a machine problem, which doesn’t really help if you’re setting your sights on the Palanca.

Today, I give. I no longer have stars in my eyes. But I still write. I write for the sake of writing and to keep my sanity.

Of Leaking Brains

The trouble with these long hours of bus rides to and from the suburbs is that I have too much idle time in my hands. Unfortunately, I have a leaky faucet for a brain that just won’t stop working. My neurons have a tendency to work overtime with only the passing scenery to distract it.

Sometimes, I get lucky and score a bus with the TVo on showing the local morning show. Else, I would alternate reading a book, sleeping, over-frying my brains or listening to music.

Yes, I sleep on the bus. But I say, sleep at your own risk lest you wake up bereft of all your personal belongings. I have been taking the bus for a little over 90 days already since I opted for suburban living (well, that’s a nice way of putting it) and am glad to report that have not met any mishap yet --- unless, someone grabs my PDA now as I thumb this article in.

You can only read so much in the bus. I have had the bad luck of getting on tired, old, wobbly buses, such as the one am riding on now, that will surely make you green. For sure, you’ll gag if you so much as look up the ceiling and down the floor a couple of times. The pill of choice? Nodiz.

But not so long ago, I finished One Minute Millionaire by Mark Victor Hansen and Robert Allen while being stuck in the gong gong qi che going to work for 5 hours, the day after Milenyo struck. I finished the book, slept, listened to my mp3 player and still no office in sight. Times like those can make you go crazy. 5 hours of forced silence! It was no wonder that I couldn’t stop talking when I reached the office.

Listening to my mp3 player (uh yeah, no ipod for me) while riding on the bus is sometimes an ordeal for me. You see, I can’t help but bob my head to the music, tap my feet or snap my fingers and yes, even sing along --- which is really difficult in public transport when you’re causing too much racket. That makes me wish I have my car again and sing my lungs out as I drive through the busy streets of the metro.

However, with the skyrocketing oil prices, am having second thoughts driving my car again. Not to mention the huge traffic am sure to meet along the way. No sirreee. Well, I guess am on my way to becoming a professional commuter. Do they have PRC license that goes with that?

When my brains start shifting to 4th gear, am in for a ride. Thoughts from Christmas past, an old flame or what food to eat when I get home, goes through my mind. Now thinking of the mundane stuff is a comfort. But sometimes, I stall and hit the huge bumps in my memory lane when all the drama of my life decides to haunt me. My life isn’t worthy of a soap but like everybody else, my drama matters to me. When caught off guard, especially on PMS days, my seatmate on the bus can probably catch me with tears rolling down my face. Oh yes, I have PD (psychological disorder). Well dang it, try these long rides and see if it won’t make you loony.

Can somebody please get the plumber and fix my leaky brain?