14 March 2017

I procrastinate on my procrastination. That’s how grossly uninspired I’ve become. I wrote a grand total of 200 words today. Hip hip hooray.

I don’t know. I don’t know. I get an idea, a good idea, like, why don’t I write about my dad? And BAM, I start thinking that is the stupidest thing ever, who wants to read about “He was*disappointed in me, bla bla bla.” But then I’m sitting there, alone, in front of my typewriter all day, and maybe I get something to eat, and all I can think about is how every second I’m getting older and he was right, what am I doing with my life? And also. Also I am feeling ambivalent about Scotty.
Replace Scotty with Society* and that basically sums up my daily woes.

I try not to be too harsh on myself because, on the bright side, I’m still constantly making art. There are many ways to be creative, and writing doesn’t have to be the only way to live a creative life on an everyday basis.  When I’m not writing, I’m drawing. When I’m not drawing, I’m engaging in stories. Be it in fiction, in films, in comic books, even in Youtube videos…

But recently, I find myself really interested in listening to verbal stories from people. My grandparents, for example, provide me with endless amounts of new stories every day. It’s pretty wonderful to see their eyes brighten up when I unlock and draw out those stories buried and hidden within them. The best part is when they take a long exhale at the end of the story, and you can see the pensive nostalgia in their eyes. I remember my grandfather saying wistfully, “When I look at Basil (my younger guy cousin), I’m really reminded of myself back in the old days. The young, reckless, cheeky, creative, determined boy that I was.” A smile, sad but alive, tugging at the ends of his creased lips, his wrinkled eyes.
I don’t necessarily need to be a writer in the future, but I do want to be a vessel filled with stories. Maybe a more specific title to place on my dream would be ‘storyteller’. I want to preserve these stories. I want to keep them alive and to rescue them from their dark reserves.
Also, a friend of mine posted this on his Instagram today, a quote from an author he loved: “Over a decade ago I said that writing must touch the most painful spots in one’s heart as it records mankind’s most unbearable memories. Now I believe that one must write things about which people feel most discomfited, about people’s most uncomfortable conditions. The writer must put himself on the dissection table and under the microscope.”
Interesting, but I can’t say I wholeheartedly agree.
On the contrary, I believe that your stories don’t necessarily need to have a deep meaning. Your stories don’t need to be written with the goal of saving lives or something. It’s purposeful and great if you do have that ambition, of course, but writing can just be a form of entertainment. An emotional release. A way of communication. Heck, I’m even going to use this word that I kind of loathe at the moment. Be frivolous, if you must. If it makes you happy.
I also feel that you don’t always need to be original. Ideas can be recycled, that’s fine by me, but always try to be as authentic as you can. Authenticity will stir me, always.
One day, I’m going to churn all these collected stories into something worth reading and sharing. I’m going to give these stories an amplified voice. But first, I need to get over my crippling fear of judgement.
Huge sigh.
Song of the day: Tell me you love me // Bolbbalgan4
Quote of the day: “Recognizing that people’s reactions don’t belong to you is the only sane way to create. If people enjoy what you’ve created, terrific. If people ignore what you’ve created, too bad. If people misunderstand what you’ve created, don’t sweat it. And what if people absolutely hate what you’ve created? What if people attack you with savage vitriol, and insult your intelligence, and malign your motives, and drag your good name through the mud? Just smile sweetly and suggest – as politely as you possibly can – that they go make their own fucking art. Then stubbornly continue making yours.” // Big Magic – Elizabeth Gilbert
Art of the day: Big Magic // Elizabeth Gilbert

Author: The Dreamer

Jean | 18 | Singapore "Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water. And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes you cannot even breathe deeply, and the night sky is no home, and you have cried yourself to sleep enough times that you are down to your last two percent, but nothing is infinite, not even loss. You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day you are going to find yourself again. " This is a poem that I had stumbled upon, and it has changed my life drastically. My blog, 65percent, is named after it. Indeed, all of us are just 65% water, yet we are greater than we seem and more magnificent than we can ever imagine ourselves to become.

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