Blog 2

 Yesterday I watched Adaptation, a meta-movie about writing a screenplay. That's all I'm gonna say. It's the same director of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which I guess was very meta as well, but absolutely wonderful to watch.

Submitted two stories to Ricepaper and Apparition. Been sleeping at 2 plus every night, and waking up early in the morning to fetch the kids. Hardly any friends, since I am always at home. 

Finished writing a story yesterday titled Flies. When I read my first few stories, I felt the language was much more colourful, sharper and probably better than my latest story. My latest story feels very stilted. But, hopefully, it will get easier. 

After everything that has happened, it probably won't. But at least I'm getting back into it?

And probably this blog will help as well. It's like I'm writing for the world, but at the same time, it feels private since no one will probably read this anyway. And anyone who stumbles upon this blog is definitely meant to read it? And I won't feel so lonely anymore? Knowing that I might have a reader out there. 

Before, I was writing for her. Am I still writing for her? Maybe. I don't know. I get questions in my head all the time when I think of her, and I think of her more nowadays. 

By the way, spoilers ahead. Don't read this paragraph if you want to go into Adaptation spoiler-free.

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One line in Adaptation that resonates with me is this: You are what you love, not what loves you. I think that's brilliant. I could really identify with it. I have always relied on others to spur me on, to make me feel better. And in a way I suppose, I poured everything literary in me into her; I made her my mold. I latched onto her. And she onto me, in a way? But not for long though. And now, and now, the dust is settling. But everything has changed. I guess each of us is just trying to pick up the pieces and move on. I think she is doing just fine though. She seems very happy in the few photos that I have seen on her. Meanwhile, I am sleeping the morning and afternoon away, and after exercising (recently) and finishing everything, it's night time, and I watch the Office and movies, and probably read a little. I haven't been writing as much as I should. But sometimes I do write a little poem. And I try to write one short story per month, normally when it's nearing the end of the month and it's submission time. The writing course does help though. In a way, I am still relying on external factors to motivate me. One lecturer even said I do seem to rely a lot on inspiration to write. I can't deny it. It's just me. Perhaps my best years are over. And I am only 37. The irony. 

I am watching Misery now. I haven't even finished and already I am feeling afraid for the guy. She is obsessed. The characters in Adaptation are obsessed. Definitely in Notes on a Scandal as well. Sigh. I am obsessed too, but I understand myself better now, and I am definitely more careful not to let it get the better of me, and I guess even at the height of my obsession, I am nowhere near the lady in Misery. Maybe like the guy in Notes on a Scandal. But my intention was purer I suppose? I don't know. 

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Enough with the sob story for now. Time to finish watching Misery.

Oh, and I walked around my taman yesterday around midnight. It was a bit chilly. And the full moon was out and bright. And I could see a few stars I recognised. It was great. I wished the surrounding lights weren't so bright though, the streetlamps etc. I kept thinking of the hills she brought me, how everything was dark and it was just her and me. It felt like the world belonged to us, and it was just us. Nothing else mattered. Even after everything that has happened, she is still on my mind. Only time will tell, as cliche as it is.