Pay Me or Not
I like it this way--all alone at the kitchen watching the fire burning from the coals, waiting for the water to reach its boiling point so I could go back to the living room--oh, no, let me correct that, I mean to the dining room which I consider living room for I isolate myself there everyday, not to eat, but to write new ideas, new words tailored by my right hand and give life to my inspirations and day dreams.
The truth is I don't know if I could get anything from writing--from writing using a language that is no stranger to me but definitely not my mother tongue. I don't know and I'm not sure if anybody reads my works but it's alright. It's fine. I don't care. I don't really care whether I get paid for spending my time and efforts in using my hand and imagination or not. What matters to me is I finally found a friend that understands and listens to me every time. It's been nine years--nine years since I first created my nonsense poetry, no it's not a genre because it's really nonsense, along with a nonsense novel. But those nine years was no nonsense to me because in those nine years, I've been creating my life in the world of pen and paper. I used to be a senseless writer, that's what I call myself. I used to write diaries which I would burn whenever my brothers would discover it. I also used to write poetry without meaning, plays without endings and anything that inspired or pissed me off. And in those nine years, I promised myself that someday I would be read by the entire universe. My life is full of words, letters and drama. When the writer was born inside me, an actress was born, too. Whenever I would watch movies, I didn't notice it but I would memorize the lines which blew my mind. I would imitate the actors--how they speak, how they move, how they throw dialogues and so, I decided to enter the world of stage plays. My first play was also nine years ago. It was long ago but I could still see myself in that pathetic play portraying the role of the antagonist whose lines were meant to be spoken or delivered with a loud voice--a loud irritating and intimidating voice. From then on, I always dreamed of performing on a bigger stage with bigger number of spectators wearing colorful and bizarre costumes, memorizing better scripts, performing more mature roles and being applauded not being laughed at anymore. I never get good payment for those plays but it's alright--applause is the best talent fee for me.
I cannot understand why people are after money. If you don't get paid, you have the worst job ever, well it's not even called a job. If you don't have the money they will call you broke. But if you have the money or a good salary and you aren't happy, you still have the worst job on Earth. So, which is which? I'm no hypocrite so I admit I dream to be rich, to live in luxury, to be famous and powerful, it's human nature, isn't it? But there was this boy who told me that if I want to be what I want to be, I will never achieve it by being a writer wannabe or a frustrated theater actress. Oh, that boy...he's the most beautiful boy I've ever saw. I like him and he likes me, too but the problem is we are separated by those very long roads and deep oceans. I know someday, I will be with him. I will buy him, if I have to.
Oh, how stupid I am. Why am I sharing this to you? It's supposed to be private. Well, I think I don't have to worry because not everybody is interested to read this. Maybe because I want to get paid? or maybe I want to be read? Perhaps, I do not know the reason as of the moment but sooner I will. It's like figuring out why the sky is blue, why the moon floats, why I was born with this name, why you have two eyes, why your fingers aren't the same in length and why the hell you are reading this.
I love it this way--talking to myself, thinking of what would happen tomorrow.