The Ego Episodes

Monday, May. 12, 2003

Writing (A Tim Guest Entry)

Journalers, for lack of better things to do, sometimes ask somebody else to write an entry for their diary. They have their reasons: laziness, nausea over hearing their own voice go on and on about their day, or just--what's he doing??? I see Tim grabbing the stuffed puppy and singing Linkin Park's "In the End" to its face. Poor puppy. Although, hee! That said (very non sequitur, I know), here's the first ever guest entry since the birth of this journal. I'll leave you to Tim's thoughts (and the image of him hugging said stuffed puppy) for a while.

Writing

Eyes are often bestowed with the title: “windows to the soul.” I would never have doubted that had I not come to the realization that something else, something more powerful and more transparent could allow people to see through the deepest recesses of our very beings. Eyes tell the emotions that we feel; but this thing tries to camouflage all those emotions but in the end makes its receivers know even more about us, even more than our emotions. And that’s saying a lot; but it’s absolutely true. And you probably guessed it. It’s none other than the topic for today: writing. And the striking thing is, it never occurred to me until I watched the movie “You’ve Got Mail.”

I know you’re probably thinking, “What? You realized something so profound just by watching an oh-so-predictable love story? What are you, some kind of pinned-up junkie that doesn’t socialize with people or read up on the latest psychological developments?” Okay, that might have been exaggerating a bit, but – yes, I am a junkie, and a very lazy one at that – and the truth is, I really only came to this realization when I was in the middle of that movie. Far beneath me to swoon over romantic-melodramatic stuff (I couldn’t even finish 10 pages of Message in a Bottle), but still, I was honestly caught up in how the two leads communicated simply through e-mail. I was caught in a mouth-open-wondering-out-loud mood all throughout the movie, saying to myself: “Does that really happen? Can you sincerely get to know people just by writing to them? Gosh, they weren’t even talking about specifics!” And in the end, I pretty much believed in it - the fact that people really do connect through writing. And not just connect as in hands-together connect, connect as in minds-and-hearts together connect. I’m just on a light-bulb (when you get an idea) high, so please excuse me. But you get what I mean.

Writing has been an integral part of my life ever since….ever since I could remember. As far as I know, I’d written my parents poems during their birthdays ever since I was eight. I’ve never been really good at it, but would probably not be reprimanded for writing something totally nonsensical as well. Of course I’d outgrown that “habit,” but the fact remains that I simply love writing. I love writing, not just in the active form (i.e. I’m the one writing) but also in the passive form. Be it known that if I had my way I would spend all my time reading books at Borders (I have this ritual of going to Borders after every semester and then just reading for a whole day nonstop). And I guess it’s really because I want to know what the writer is feeling. What I’m feeling. I read and write because I want to see emotions and ideals and beliefs transcribed into words. And another thing helps - I’ve never been a fan of face-to-face contact. So what else is better than writing to release all those pent-up frustrations, excitement, and other whatnots? I really must stop rambling.

Anyway, here’s a brief anecdote on said topic (so that you can get to know me better, as if anyone’s really interested). During my senior year in high school, English was really one of the toughies. We were required to read over 1500 pages of world literature aside from finishing a grammar book, a spelling and vocabulary book, and tons of other reading assignments. In other words, that’s like infinite books for one subject. And we had over 10 subjects, mind you. So in short, it (English) was one of those forget-it-coz-it’s-too-much subjects that people just didn’t bother with at all. But not me; I just loved it. And during our last grading period (or ‘quarter’, for some) we were given this huge task of writing a research paper on a famous author, dead or alive. Now it’s not as simple as it seems. The teacher required that everybody have a different author, and that we should have read all if not most of that author’s writings. At first I was tempted to take the obvious (and safe) choices: Tolstoy, Dickinson, Dickens, etc. But in the end, I realized that I never really connected with them, with their writing. It was as though I was always in a different world, watching the scenes in their books unfold from a distance. I couldn’t picture myself being one of the characters or even just having any form of semblance to any of the characters in their stories. That’s when I came to the decision that I wanted to write about Erich Segal. You’ve probably read one of his books if you’re an avid reader of contemporary fiction (Does Love Story ring a bell?). And I have been addicted (yes, addicted) to his writing ever since I read my first book of his (incidentally, Doctors, that book, is still my favorite). I hesitated at first because he was still living and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get a biography of him (let alone a good one). But I persisted. I searched the Internet all over, and voila! There had been a bio of him published in the States. But it only had a limited number of copies and they weren’t printing anymore. So you have to understand that given my situation, which was two weeks to get the whole thesis-like paper done, I panicked. I had my relatives in the States working round the clock to try to get a hold of one of those copies so that they could send it to me ASAP. And thank goodness, it got in time.

Now here’s the part that’s related to my current topic. I had decided that my paper would be talking about how Segal had relived his own life through his books. And having read all his books more than a few (five or more?) times, I knew I had enough material on my hands. Segal had been an incredible academic, having gotten all his degrees from Harvard. And it reflected on his writing. Not just on his style of writing, but even more so in the literal sense. That is to say, most of his characters were preppy, all-American guys who had bright futures and all the money in the world in their hands. But at the same time, Segal had a culturally diverse background as well. And this played a major part on how he developed his characters in so far as having them go through all sorts of inequities and prejudices. All his works were heavily researched, and it showed. It also made my life a whole lot easier. And the bio helped. I got a 99 (yeah!). But more importantly, through that assignment, I saw right through the meaning of those books which I previously devoured thoughtlessly. I finally understood that reading wasn’t supposed to be just another activity to make you feel good, or something to get over with. It was something that once you’re finished with, you carry with you all your life.

My point is, words are such a blessing. They give us the opportunity to “know” people even when we haven’t met them. Writing allows us to read about their experiences, and learn from them. It takes us to different levels of understanding one another far deeper than any form of verbal communication can. It is an outflow of our internal stream of thought, the mouth of the river that is our imagination. It is the great avalanche that forces us to throw all our inhibitions away, whether we like it or not. Because even though we don’t want to admit it, our thoughts are reflected in our writing. Our moods are reflected in our writing. And ultimately, our whole lives may even be reflected in our writing. Our writing mirrors our innermost psyches.

So after such a long (and probably pointless) deliberation, I’d just like to end this on a personal note. Thank you, Joycie, for allowing me to write on your online journal. But alas, as I’ve told you before, I will probably never write my own (online) journal. Inasmuch as I love reading the escapades of you and others, I still haven’t come to terms with “exposing” myself to the world. But until then, wish you and all the bloggers and writers in the world all the best. Keep writing, because your writings are the windows to your soul.

So finally, did I mention that your (Joycie’s) journal is the best ever? I am really one ingratiating, but completely frank fool, am I? Hope all you readers didn’t snooze through this, or else….just kidding! Auf Wiedersehen und bis bald! (German for goodbye and see you soon!)

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Hi, it's me, Joycie. Is it still a wonder why journalers have guest entries? I love praises! More! More! MORE!

{ joycie at 11:42 p.m.}