anne’s sponge

I was completely floored when I learned about this course requiring me to write a reflective essay about myself as a writer. I never tagged myself as a writer before but looking back, I realize that I have written all my life. I have written about my fears, my anxieties, my thoughts and my dreams. I recall writing on my scented journals in grade school, swapping letters with my girl friends, passing a note to my crush and seeing him blush. I remember corresponding with my father who was overseas for ten, long years and how he was so proud of me when he read the articles I wrote for my high school paper of which I was once the Features Editor.   I also distinctly remember when I recently learned about blogging (online journal writing) and my first entry was about the regrets I have in my life. Those regrets are gone and I stashed away whatever hard copy I have of that sad narrative.

I used to be a big fan of journals, planners and gel pens of all colors and sizes. I used to write about everything, and on any medium.  If  I had my way I would buy myself that digital smartpen that can capture what you write and transfer the notes to your computer. But right now my personal digital assistant will suffice. Recently I have limited myself to writing only important dates on my PDA like doctor’s appointment, school activities and bill reminders. That way I get reminded only of what I have to do, of what I should not miss and tasks I should not put off.  Somehow I try to seize the day and look forward. It’s cliché to even say that writing aids your memory. I believe in that so much that I have actually shunned writing my personal thoughts down as they will only remind me of the things I once had but lost, things in the past that have only slowed me down, things in my life that are still not in place, things that I have been waiting for but I still have not embraced.

Writing is therapy for me, for as long as I do not linger on the grisly details. I find myself more productive now that I do not browse my old journals and keep looking back on what I have failed to do in the past.  I have ceased thinking about what could have been if I went back there. I have stopped writing in my journal about our every conversation, reflecting on whether I said too much or cut too short.  I have forced myself to accept that our story has ended and there will no longer be a sequel.  I still write, but at least now it is not about him. (NOT?) 

Somebody sent me a text message saying “The enemy of present happiness is past happiness too well remembered.” I was tempted to reply that it is “unhappiness” in my case but the principle is just the same: that dwelling too much in the past causes sluggishness. I have realized that sometimes writing down memories are fine as long as they do not take up too much space in your life that you can hardly move forward. I am also now cognizant of the fact that writing about lessons learned spurs interest more than writing about your mistakes.

If there was a movie I would be asked to write about, it would be Disney’s computer-animated film “Meet the Robinsons.”  It is about a whiz kid who was left at an orphanage as a baby. He invented a memory scanner he used as he went back in time to search for his mother and ask her why she did what she had to do. The movie’s theme “keep moving forward” has touched a nerve and made me see the error of my ways such as breathing life in what is long ago dead. I realized that I should quit being too nostalgic and just be thankful about the blessings I have in the present instead. Now I try to focus my energies reflecting on and writing not about things that are already threadbare but on things that bear promise. Like a traveler, I am ready to ignore the trails and embark on a new journey .