{ Interlude }

It is the second week of October and I am sitting here with three different drafts, all unpublished due to doubt. I wrangle with my writing; I take too long to decide on the content I am contented with. 

And then there are days when I don't want to write about surfing. Sometimes, I just want to write. I've realized that running a surf blog has set certain expectations for readership, that maybe only surfers would want to read what I write, or that I always had to use surf terminology to deliver valuable lessons in life. I've been taking sidelong glances at old pages, either ones I've stowed in drawers, bound by the leathery spine of time, or pages online: always new, the past preserved, soaked in saudade.

Photos in this set by Edric Chen, 2012. Poem tattoo: The Three Oddest Words by Wislawa Szymborska

Photos in this set by Edric Chen, 2012.
Poem tattoo: The Three Oddest Words by Wislawa Szymborska

Yes, I will always be the girl with sea metaphors up my sleeve. But sometimes, I want to write simply for the sake of having written. But words will always enchant me (no matter my distance from the sea). This is a communion I have with myself: a commitment, a pact, a way of seeing things that will leave me wistful and willing for certain sadnesses to extend a hand. I say sadness to mean the slow, torturous unfolding of delight. And no, this does not make me lonely. I don't know how to describe this to people without eliciting looks of concern or pity. Let's say you took up carpentry so you can never look at a chair without disassembling its parts in your head. Or let's say you are a student of film and no video will ever be free of production's scrutiny. I am exactly like that, only I am a story-builder and these letters are my tools, these words, my color filters. 

Yes, I will always be the girl with sea metaphors up my sleeve. But sometimes, I want to write simply for the sake of having written. This is something I've forgotten in the fun flurry of weekend warriorism, but hey, I'm not going to give all that up. I just have to reconnect with that part of me that can ignite anything and can be ignited by anything. Sea or no sea. 

Photos in this set by Toto Villaruel, 2012.

Photos in this set by Toto Villaruel, 2012.

So allow me the slight excursus. Indulge my random digressions. Let my direction-less wordplay be the whetstone to senses, cleansed, sharpened, rambling to refocus. Maybe this is yoga. A warm-up write-up, if you will.