on being too short to reach.
there's this song that i've been listening to on repeat recently. it's crazy because how can a song be at once so happy and incredibly sad at the same time?
sometimes, i wish that i had musical talent, and skills to go with it. and i definitely know that skills come from practise and hard work. i know that, because that's what i did for the last 10 years. but for me, i can't possibly reach all of the things i want. you know that amazing song that you hear, that makes your chest tighten and makes you hurt inside, or think up stories or dreams and puts the pictures to words in your head? i wish i could do that too.
sometimes, i remember how much i loved running and leaping and jumping as a gymnast. yeah, i did that for 7 years too. i thought of it yesterday, i loved doing change-leaps. that rush of being in the air. the closest thing to flying i had. but it wasn't something i could do forever, i had to hit ground eventually.
sometimes, i realise all the different paths i could've taken along life, all the different things i could've been, could've done, where i could've gone.
sometimes, i wish i had practised harder in piano and music, actually learnt to memorise things, learnt all my key signatures, have that amazing gift of song so that i could make music that would affect people.
sometimes, i wish i had trained more at gym, that i wasn't so terrible at vault or so scared at handspring backsaults. i wish that i had done more splits back then when i still had the flexibility. i wish i could stay airbourne forever.
but i've got to stop dreaming somewhere.
i'll find something, i told myself, i'll find something i can do. i'll write, 'cause that's the one thing i've never stopped doing. because that is maybe the closest thing to actual talent i have.
i know i can't paint like james jean or draw like shaun tan. but i sure as heck am going to try. but i'll forever regret the years that i did stop trying, that i stopped drawing, 'cause i'm not getting those years back.
i'll write with all my might. i'll paint for the rest of my life. i will.
but it's so hard to do that here.
even if i spill out all my guts, try so hard to find the right words, to craft the stories i want to tell- what happens when nobody wants them? what if nobody reads them? it's not a matter of whether they'll love it or hate it, but whether they'll read it. there's a lot of reasons why it's hard to be a writer in australia, i know 'cause i've done my research. but the truth is, it's not location-wise at all. it's ability-wise. it's taking-a-chance-wise. it's finding-someone-who-will-give-you-a-chance.
but where is that person?
i know this blog entry is all rant and rage and rave. i know that the word count of this entry would be better put in my nanowrimo. i know my thoughts don't make sense and just jump from one point to another. but i'm scared.
i'm scared that "sketches" will never get anywhere. i'm scared that the two people who read it will be the only people who will ever read it. i'm scared because writing is now mass-produced and catered for, that everything is put into categories and lines and numbers. i'm sad because writing is now about money and business and not about the stories. i'm sad because it's no longer about breaking new ground but about doing the same thing over and over again. i'm sad because i don't fit into chick-lit or paranormal romance or vampires or gossip-girl clique, and nobody wants to take a chance on something different.
i'm just wondering if there are people out there who want something more than that. i'm wondering if i'll find that agent, if i'll find the people who'll accept what i've written and will help me bring it to the world. i'm wondering if people want to hear my story, if people want to read my words.
'cause i can't write the music that is both sad and happy at the same time. 'cause i can't make people's hearts hurt through playing beautiful music. the closest i can get to it is through my words.
i know i can't do everything. and i know i'm too short to reach. but i just keep trying.
sometimes, i wish that i had musical talent, and skills to go with it. and i definitely know that skills come from practise and hard work. i know that, because that's what i did for the last 10 years. but for me, i can't possibly reach all of the things i want. you know that amazing song that you hear, that makes your chest tighten and makes you hurt inside, or think up stories or dreams and puts the pictures to words in your head? i wish i could do that too.
sometimes, i remember how much i loved running and leaping and jumping as a gymnast. yeah, i did that for 7 years too. i thought of it yesterday, i loved doing change-leaps. that rush of being in the air. the closest thing to flying i had. but it wasn't something i could do forever, i had to hit ground eventually.
sometimes, i realise all the different paths i could've taken along life, all the different things i could've been, could've done, where i could've gone.
sometimes, i wish i had practised harder in piano and music, actually learnt to memorise things, learnt all my key signatures, have that amazing gift of song so that i could make music that would affect people.
sometimes, i wish i had trained more at gym, that i wasn't so terrible at vault or so scared at handspring backsaults. i wish that i had done more splits back then when i still had the flexibility. i wish i could stay airbourne forever.
but i've got to stop dreaming somewhere.
i'll find something, i told myself, i'll find something i can do. i'll write, 'cause that's the one thing i've never stopped doing. because that is maybe the closest thing to actual talent i have.
i know i can't paint like james jean or draw like shaun tan. but i sure as heck am going to try. but i'll forever regret the years that i did stop trying, that i stopped drawing, 'cause i'm not getting those years back.
i'll write with all my might. i'll paint for the rest of my life. i will.
but it's so hard to do that here.
even if i spill out all my guts, try so hard to find the right words, to craft the stories i want to tell- what happens when nobody wants them? what if nobody reads them? it's not a matter of whether they'll love it or hate it, but whether they'll read it. there's a lot of reasons why it's hard to be a writer in australia, i know 'cause i've done my research. but the truth is, it's not location-wise at all. it's ability-wise. it's taking-a-chance-wise. it's finding-someone-who-will-give-you-a-chance.
but where is that person?
i know this blog entry is all rant and rage and rave. i know that the word count of this entry would be better put in my nanowrimo. i know my thoughts don't make sense and just jump from one point to another. but i'm scared.
i'm scared that "sketches" will never get anywhere. i'm scared that the two people who read it will be the only people who will ever read it. i'm scared because writing is now mass-produced and catered for, that everything is put into categories and lines and numbers. i'm sad because writing is now about money and business and not about the stories. i'm sad because it's no longer about breaking new ground but about doing the same thing over and over again. i'm sad because i don't fit into chick-lit or paranormal romance or vampires or gossip-girl clique, and nobody wants to take a chance on something different.
i'm just wondering if there are people out there who want something more than that. i'm wondering if i'll find that agent, if i'll find the people who'll accept what i've written and will help me bring it to the world. i'm wondering if people want to hear my story, if people want to read my words.
'cause i can't write the music that is both sad and happy at the same time. 'cause i can't make people's hearts hurt through playing beautiful music. the closest i can get to it is through my words.
i know i can't do everything. and i know i'm too short to reach. but i just keep trying.
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