I am just reacquainting myself with music recently. For the longest time, I have shunned my world of tunes just because I believe I'm too busy to even muster up a song or two. Then the moody episodes started, depression, loneliness, self-doubt and loss of self-control. Somewhere, I just had to stop myself from thinking about all too many things and just concentrate on that one thing that made me so nice and goody-goody before. I had to think for the longest time what has actually been missing in my life that has always relaxed and soothed my every mood. Then it hit me - music. For the whole duration of my college life, I don't think I have seen it as a necessity to help me bring my A on the game. I've been concentrating so much on requirements that I have failed to recognize that hey, your demeanor and self comes first, it's the most important thing because without it, you'll end up accomplishing nothing. And so I did - accomplished nothing and found myself groping for some guidance just because I barely know myself anymore. I have been breathing and living each day just to finish my degree, accomplish requirements and get good grades. I was the worst kind of zombie there is. I came to and fro school without the slightest eagerness to learn, but just for the sake of getting by it.
I have missed out on a lot of things maybe because I have been busy making good conversations with people, eating out and having fun, or studying lessons, but that isn't a good excuse even. Well, they - my friends, for that matter - do so also but did not miss out on anything. They still find time to listen to music and know the latest buzz of things here and there. As I come to realize awhile ago, I have chosen to forget who I used to be trying my hardest to cope with everything. Well, even coping is an understatement. I have been trying all these years to be best in everything I do that whenever I fail, depression and self-rejection gets into me, thus shrouding myself more to a pit where the gates-man's no other than myself alone.
Lemme give you the perfect example.
I used to like writing poems. I write poems whenever there's time, inspiration, and just whenever I feel like. I like writing poems about love, most especially because there really is an innate romantic in me. I write whenever I'm in love and whenever a cute love story inspires me. I write about love even if I don't feel loved. I write about it because deep down, I can never refuse that belief in love and all it brings. I write about other things as well. I remember my highschool friends asking for poems - my poems. That felt good. It has always felt good knowing that certain crowd appreciates your work. Then, self doubt started creeping in. I guess it started when I had my Humanities class back in College.
I had this professor that I really look up to. He can give you long lectures about anything without even buckling and losing words. He's too good that all his narrations start to feel memorized, only it really isn't. He's just one of those rare highly intelligent ones that can express everything he wants to say perfectly both in written and verbal ways. So, as we were having this one class late one afternoon, he was discussing about some prose we were asked to read at home, and suddenly, out of nowhere, kind of remembered something that he needs to tell us. That instant was one of those moments I just wish I was absent - skipped classes, went for a walk with the boyfriend, ate street foods with friends, hanged out at our favorite campus spot, or just practically doing anything, anywhere besides being on that class - or better yet, just not listening, texting or whatever so long as I am not able to hear what he was able to say. But then he said it anyway. He blurted it out, stinging every inch of me as if his greatness isn't enough to intimidate every inch of my being and suck the humanity out of me. Well, that's an overstatement, of course. But, yes, I heard him say "A poem is not a poem if it isn't two-dimensional. If you only have one meaning on your poem, then it isn't one... you are not a great poet if you can't at least bring 2 meanings at your poem". And that's the end of my being a poet. That also was the instant I've given up on writing just because writing poems, short stories, essays and feature stories kind of mean the same thing to me. The root of it all comes from one thing - my love for literature. And having someone slap me in the face with those sharp words was enough to suck inspiration out of me the way dementors use to. Then there were only crappy essays for school requirements and researches that followed suit. I lacked the creativity that I used to have. I lacked that belief in literature. I lost the feeling of fulfillment I used to have whenever I finish a work of art. For the nth time in my college life, I have let other people tell me that I am no good and there are a lot of others that are out there - far better than me.
I have come to realize just now that I didn't just let it get into me because some award-winning, highly-acclaimed professor said so, but it was mostly because of this mentality I used to have - I have always wanted to best everything and everyone. Now, I have come to realize that being best at something isn't fulfillment at all. Being best at something may be a good thing at times, but it isn't equated with fulfillment most of the time. AND, one does not need to be best at EVERYTHING. So long as you are doing things that you love, it's enough, and who know's by practicing your craft, you might end up being the best in the long run, after all.
So today, I have decided to bring that love of poetry back to life. I'll start writing again. There may be someone better than me at it, but that's not the point. There's just that small part of me that I have to resurrect for it has been submerged in the dark for the longest time. AND, for the past months, I've been downloading and starting to listen to tunes again. It does me good, really. Day by day, I am being in control of my emotions already, instead of it taking control of me. I must say, I am getting good at handling myself already.
Now I know why a lot of people from other countries need shrinks to get back on life. And those geddem shrinks as Dr. Phil are making bazzillions of money out of it. It sounded absurd to my young self, then, but now I fully realize that we sometimes need an outsider's perspective to deal with our lives. We do sometimes need help because more often than not, we do not know how to handle other people's lives, let alone our own.
This alone time is actually doing me good. It has brought me back to my senses just in time before I lose myself again in the next coming months. Haha
I am,
indeed,
a king,
because I know how
to rule myself.
~Pietro Aretino, 10 May 1537
DISCLAIMER: This post may have got you into thinking that I was an A-student, or that I studied my lessons diligently and have been the most responsible and studious student there is, Haha! I'm sorry but I was none of that. So please don't be blindfolded by it. As in all things in literature, it is fabricated for the greater good. ☺
