When you claim that you write, you can't seem to escape someone asking you why.
I usually get dumbstruck when this happens. I used to have a pre-recorded answer, saying I write to help me retain my poor memory or I analyze people and situations better when its on paper (or on a computer screen). The last would probably be, out of exasperation with ransacking my brain for a cool answer: I write because it's fun.
These are all true, of course. But it just doesn't quite fit everything... or anything at all.
I encountered the hard question earlier this day in a coffee shop with insert-name (the newest dynasty, by the way). What I'm doing in a coffee shop, in the first place, is also another question. Unless I'm with my coffee-addict-rich cousin or friend, I will not be bothered with high prices of caffeine.
But insert-name wanted, insert-name got.
Besides, it was his treat.
Strolling inside the tiny we're-so-classy-you'll-look-smart ambiance, feelings of belonging and displacement washed over me. All at the same time. I've been in these types of shops before and I know how they work. I know what I order (always something cold with whip on it) and I know how to do it. I mean, it doesn't necessarily take a genius to do just that but I know the mechanics. I know the routine. I know the people who stay there and I know, somehow, I'm a lot like them.
We took our seats and waited for our drinks. I glanced at this mestiza girl talking with man in polo and glasses. I glanced at myself, in plain black baby tee, short skirt and high cut rubber shoes. They looked they were talking business. I looked like I should be heading to a track field to exercise. And no, not a gym, just some free track field courtesy of some oh so kind city.
I never ever hit looking like an intellectual right. When I'm with my rich cousins and friends, apparently, having a car to back up your lousy clothes make up for it all. Well, insert-name doesn't have a car. I walk, ride a jeep, tricycle, train, or whatever is there to get wherever I need to go.
I glanced at sweat free polo glasses men; I am soooo not like them.
Jumbled feelings like these remind me why I am not really fond of coffee shops. It's like having a tug of war about your society's status played in your head. Insert-name was his usual self, making jokes about the place. I'm guessing insert-name is also in my status level and I pretty much have a good guess on why he wanted to try out hanging in a coffee shop. But then, this post is not about him.
He was already cracking jokes about how easy it was to make "intellectual" statements about the irony of sitting there, being all "bourgeois" while eyeing the view of the poverty-ridden Cubao below. I giggled. Probably, out of guilt, or how cliche the situation was, I'm not sure.
Yet, the conversation flowed. Just like how one passes bony street children covered in flies. We just do. We flow. We talked about anything under the sun until all the talking led to questioning. And all the questioning led to one single word. Why?
Why do I write? he asked.
I gave him the pre-recorded answer I gave everyone else: it's fun.
But maybe, its just because I do. It already became a part of my system. I won't be me if I'm not writing.
But then again, maybe that's just another "cool" answer I ransacked from my brain to join the list of answers I could give to those who ask about the reason I write.
Why was I in a coffee shop?
I have no pre-recorded answer to give myself.
For the last time, I glanced at my clothes. If I go out and mingle with the rest of poverty-ridden Cubao, my clothes still wouldn't be at peace. If I stay in a coffee shop, my clothes would want to shrink away.
Maybe I stay because it's who I am. It already became a part of my system. Because I have no choice. I have no place. I need to pose wherever I go. One walking poser.
A hell lot like writing, don't you think?
 | I write to make others feel my pain. To make sure that in their comfortable homes and all-too-normal lives, they know that someone out there is living in a world of shit. |
 | I encountered that question too. And I just gave the same answer to different people. I write because it is MY form of expression. Writing gives me the freedom to express everything, something that I couldn't do through verbal actions. And yes, for someone with a poor memory like me, it is advisable to keep track of daily ramblings through writing (or blogging).
About the coffee shop thing, wow! Di ka nag-iisa! I used to think I was the only one with that awkward, out-of-place type of feeling. =) Kasi naman, eversince the branded coffee shops from foreign soils hit our country, it has already become a status symbol of the AB crowd. Isn't it unfair na ang isang tasa ng kape ang magiging batayan ng estado natin sa lipunan? *sigh. |
| Not the same levels though. |
 | i write because i want to. that should be your answer. :)
even if someone tells you, you shouldn't write... you should. in fact, that's more of a reason to write. (flashbacks from JCR's class)
anyways, with the coffee thing... in this world, it's weird that everyone wants to fit in. all of us aren't alike. even twins. so why the hell do we want to lower our standards and fit in? when each and everyone of us, stands out.
go to the coffee shop as often as you like. prove to the people that you're not low.
hopefully, you don't ever feel like an outcast again. |
 |  i write because i want to. that should be your answer. :)
even if someone tells you, you shouldn't write... you should. in fact, that's more of a reason to write. (flashbacks from JCR's class)
anyways, with the coffee thing... in this world, it's weird that everyone wants to fit in. all of us aren't alike. even twins. so why the hell do we want to lower our standards and fit in? when each and everyone of us, stands out.
go to the coffee shop as often as you like. prove to the people that you're not low.
hopefully, you don't ever feel like an outcast again.  JCR? Ahahaha. That's funny. He's one of the people who implied that I shouldn't write.
And the coffee, it's not that I felt low. It's more of "This IS not MY people." The same thing when I went to cubao farmer's foodcourt. (That was the same day and the thing that prompt me to write this entry.) It's just funny that, well, it seems that I don't feel I belong anywhere. Owel, might be just succumbing to my emo mode. ;) |
| believe me, i think he implied that to everyone! taking his class was like a beating. Everytime i come to class, my spirits were up. After class, i felt like i was a real loser and that i shouldn't write.
there will never be a place where everyone fits in. (not even heaven) |
| ahahaha. you should call him. pyvez called him a thousand times, that's why we all got our grades asap. unfortunately, JCR hates pyvez now. OR you could keep bugging ate susan and ate marie. but they might be the one who hates you. that will probably suck more than JCR hating you.
ok lang yan. AP pipol unite! |
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