I just drank two cups of coffee (with a bit of cinnamon) and am waiting for my garlic heads to finish roasting in the oven. I wont be sleeping tonight; I’m really adamant about getting some writing done. I was able to finish the draft of one short story last night and I know it still needs vicious editing, but I’m now ready to move on to my next one. I just find that I really cannot write in the daytime, no matter how hard I try. I know everyone will say that I should discipline myself and force myself to write; I do do that, it’s just that I do it at odd hours of the night, from 12 midnight to 6 am. Last night (this morning) I got to bed at 4 am, and slept until 10 am. It might bet he same thing again tonight, although I’m starting a bit late because I’m waiting for my garlics to finish. I’d like to have a bite while doing some work done. Not much has been happening lately. I graduated two months ago and last week I got a job offer from the biggest daily paper in the country; I start work on the 28th. I’ll be writing content and news, with a little bit of digital marketing and social media thrown in the side; no, it isn’t lucrative, but I’m more surprised at the fact that they’re willing to pay me a cent for something I’d do for free. I’ve been freelancing for a couple of years now, since college started, and I’ve had some of the best (and worst) experiences ever; let’s face it, the writing industry, regardless if it’s journalism or creative writing, doesn’t get enough respect. And it pays peanuts. Until today, I still have withheld checks from the publications I used to contribute to. I’ve since given up on those; most days I feel as if I’m the one accosting them for following up on my checks. It’s nasty and exploitative and clearly unfair, but it’s something I have to accept if I really want to go this way. I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I’m fine with this for now, as my first job, at least I know I’ll be getting a salary and benefits; there’s some kind of security as opposed to freelancing wherein you can be gunned down on the job and nobody would know or care. I know I have to start from the bottom pit of Hell, but I guess what I’m surprised by all this is that I’m not moaning about it. In fact, I am excited to get to writing again. I’d like to believe, like Odysseus, that I am still staying centered to my mast. If I really want to do this, if this is what I really want to pursue and make a career out of, there will be some huge sacrifices to make and I’m ready to accept that. I’ve moonlighted in a lot of jobs, and at the same time, also moonlighted as a writer while being bound by other responsibilities but this time, I don’t want to moonlight anymore. There’s just no point in lying to myself, trying to convince myself that I can work corporate and find time to write because that’s never going to happen. So there. I am actually quite happy with how things are working out. Hopefully in a year or two I can start pursing my masters; I’m still torn whether I want to pursue philosophy, anthropology, or literature—but I’ve always been partial towards anthropology. I don’t want to get ahead of myself; I don’t know, still, how to go on about this life, but at least I have some idea—although vague—about what I want to do. I think I’m gonna be alright. I always remind myself of Szymborska, that there is nothing wrong with not knowing and we, in fact, spend our entire lives in uncertainty. I can live with that, I’m not insecure about it; certitude is beautiful, but uncertainty is more beautiful still. And I don’t know is such a small phrase, but it flies on mighty wings. I will be alright, I think.
On another note, I am not best friends with my best friend anymore. I talked to her a week ago and, well, I ended our friendship. I don’t want to dwell on it too much, but I’m just not happy anymore. I’d like to believe that our friendships and relationships with people reflect our inner lives, and I hate what I see when I reflect about our friendship. She was my first best friend in college, having met her in freshman year, and now she’s on her first year in Law school without me. I though we could make it, but I guess things just really change. I’m not pointing any fingers and I’d hate to, but I don’t think we’ve been fair to each other, I to her, and her to me, and it’s something we cannot ignore. I don’t want to pretend it’s alright when it’s not. It makes me uncomfortable to label someone a ‘best friend’ when in reality, I cannot trust this person nor be completely open with her about myself. I wish it didn’t end this way, but I’m now at the point in my life wherein I have a strong sense of what I look for and want in a friendship/relationship, and I’m very clear about that. It just cant be called friendship—nor a best friendship— when I dread it every time, when I feel drained and depressed, fail to recognize myself, and hate myself every time I talk or see this person. I wish it didn’t end this way; I am just as devastated about it, but I cannot continue lying to myself anymore. When I told her, she didn’t contest and told me she understood; she even told me that she hopes that one day, we can be friends again, and that she loves me. I told her of course, that I would never close my doors, and that I love her too. It’s just that right now, I cannot do it. I need to put myself first. After we talked, I went to bed and cried the moment I woke up. It was that sense of loss that dawned me, the feeling that I lost this special person in my life, and that we’ll never have the same relationship again, that things would have to be different now and we have to continue living our lives without each other. I am still so heartbroken about it, and there are times when I want to reach out to her and say, I take it back, but I stop myself because I know this is for the best. I don’t think I made a mistake, and I don’t regret my decision.
It’s something I’ve struggled with all my life, making friends. Frankly, I find the term “best friend” problematic and refuse to call anyone that. I know some might say it’s sad, but I don’t find it sad. I just don’t like measuring my friends that way, putting them in a hierarchy like that, and singling out the Good, Better, and Best. I don’t even like thinking of people in superlatives and to begin with, I don’t even have much friends, and so when I do call someone a Friend, I know deep in my heart that they are exceptional and extraordinary people who I deeply trust, respect, admire, and love. I am confident in never having to label a Best friend, because I know that all my Friends, with a capital F, (and they are very very few), have already surpassed the superlative. I know most people won’t understand this, but I think thinking of people in superlatives just cheapens them As a child, sure, because it definitely sounds like that kind of thing you’d say if you’re a kindergartner and you’re in the playground and you tell someone you meet, Let’s be best friends! I just find it so immature and juvenile. That’s just me, though.
It’s now 3:00 am. I just finished eating my roasted garlics. God, they’re so delicious. How come I’ve never done this before? So I roasted four baby garlic heads and one regular sized one until they were soft and creamy; I mashed them in a bowl and ended up with about 2-2 1/2 tablespoons of garlic mush? And I spread them on some butter crackers and holy fuck, they’re so so delicious and silky, like butter! I’ve never tasted anything like this, and the taste is so simple yet so exquisite, and all I did was put olive oil, salt, and pepper. It doesn’t even have the astringent taste of garlic; it’s so creamy and nutty and melts in the tongue. Hay. It really is the simple things in life that matter the most! I’ll most likely eat the same thing tomorrow and the next day and the next day, until I tire of them (or run out of crackers) but I just can’t get enough of them. I’ll try roasting a bigger batch tomorrow.
I know I’ve said there is nothing wrong with uncertainty in life, but I’ve been talking about certainty in what I look for in relationships and friendships, with how I look at friends, how I go about my (budding) career as a writer, pursuing graduate school in the near future, and all that. Well, there are just some things I cannot compromise anymore, and these are those. And to add to that small list of certainties, I would also like to confess (to myself! listeners, are there even listeners out here in the void of cyberspace??? lol) that I am certain about my feelings for this person. I don’t want to dwell on this too, but I’ve reached a point where I’m not even denying myself of these feelings. These are all normal and I know I’m very late to this whole thing (being 21 and being single since birth), but I mean, my emotions are valid. I really like this guy. The word “like” is something I find banal and “attraction” sounds too robotic so I guess the word I want to use is tenderness? I feel tenderness towards this person. He is very special to me; I’ve known him for a few years now and he’s actually a friend of mine, so that’s sort of a problem here, but I enjoy his company, I love hearing what he has to say, I love talking to him, and well, like what I said, he has a tender and sentimental effect on me. That’s all, HAHA. I don’t plan on telling him; I guess I’m more afraid of ruining our friendship and losing him. I hope someday when I’m not bound by my own frailties I’d have the strength to tell him, but even now, I am more than grateful and indebted to the friendship he has given me. I cannot ask for more (I guess, unless, my emotions get too strong and it starts affecting me in a negative way, then perhaps I would have to tell him at some point).
Yeah, that’s pretty much it. I don’t have else to say. I have to write. Goodnight. I’ll attach some pictures below just for the sake of it.