Being hit by the so-called "writer's block" is the worst. It tends to paralyze my writing fingers, followed by the fear that I may not be able to craft words anymore. Not ever. I realized that writing has unpredictable rhythms - muse comes and leaves as it pleases while the block often falls like a... Continue Reading →
We lost our dog to an accident days ago. Since then, I feel like a heavy cloud hangs over my head. Every time the scene plays back in my mind, that cloud bursts with rain, and water streams from my eyes. It's not an easy life. It's also short. Somehow, after we lost Mama late... Continue Reading →
I sit at my writing desk now, pondering on generosity in writing. Recently, my time's been tight with work and I noticed that my head's becoming difficult to set right for writing. I struggle. Specifically, it takes me innumerable deep breaths, several walks to the water dispenser, and looking nowhere and around before I can... Continue Reading →
I always approach the page afraid. I am afraid that once I begin typing the words, I'd see my walls crumble. Then my words would reveal me. This blank page always asks too much, strips me down any cover until vulnerable. But courage is a muscle, they say, and there's no other way to know... Continue Reading →
When we lost our mom, I felt like a tub of ice cream. I know it's a lame metaphor. But I exactly felt this way: The universe scooped a part of me and left there a gaping hole. That scoop can never be replaced, and thus that hole will forever be there. The days after... Continue Reading →
Mid-2019, I crossed a street and got hit by an overtaking jeepney. The whole vehicle--from front to back--passed over me, albeit none of its wheels ran over any part of my body. Its right front wheel, however, struck my ankle. The impact tore the tissues between my tibia and fibula and left a tiny crack... Continue Reading →
"Every time an old person dies, it's like a library burning down." - Alex Haley Weeks ago, Scribblory commenced a "5-Day Memoir Challenge" on Facebook and Instagram. It is quite akin to the "7-Day Book Challenge" albeit this one (1) runs for five days, (2) is limited to one genre--which is memoir, and (3) requires... Continue Reading →
Most of my treasured memories are from childhood. As far as I remember, I was that naughty, brave, and curious child. Every day, I would be busy tinkering, creating, and making mess around the house. My parents gave me freedom to explore as much as I wanted to--as long as I would do after-care, of... Continue Reading →
What does carnal mean? By dictionary's definition, carnal means "bodily" or "corporeal." OK? So what is a "carnal writer" then? I am borrowing the term from the exquisite memoirist and author of The Art of Memoir, Mary Karr. I actually attempted to explain what she meant by "carnal writing" on Chapter 5 of my memoir... Continue Reading →
"Pa, what makes the sky blue?" I was looking up at it from the car window while we whizzed past the things underneath it. "Depth, like the ocean. Infinity," was Papa's answer. When Papa was a young farmhand, he would gaze with awe at the heavens while lying on the flat of a huge boulder... Continue Reading →
