How? (Patreon)

Ray Bradbury said that a real writer creates with gusto and zest. If a writer doesn’t write with intense love — or intense hate — then they’re better off working some other routine job.

What do I feel strongly about right now? The pandemic has killed my passion. Countless talks with other people reassure me that I am not alone. Two years of bad governance and home isolation has killed something in us. I hesitate to call it a “fire” or a “flame” since it already feels cliché, but there’s no better way to describe it. And here I am, trying to rekindle what was once lost.

I should feel strongly about my friends, and yet that love for them has been tamed through the years. Or is it possible that I never really loved them as much as I should, and I am only starting to realize that now? During a drinking session with Jan, I got to admit that. “If I’m not careful, I would love the work more than I love the people,” I said. I then thanked him for being the heart and soul of the band, providing not only heartfelt melodies but also heartfelt interaction with our listeners. That’s something I admire about Jan, that he can effortlessly relate with anyone. He has a down-to-earth-ness that I could only dream of having.

Maybe it’s a product of being born in a well-off family. I’ve never had to rely on anyone outside of my family to survive. My parents have always been supportive. Growing up, I had the illusion of self-sufficiency, when in fact, thousands of people have carried me upon their shoulders, making me the person I am today.

I think I need to let go of the hope… the illusion of being a genius songwriter. I feel like I’m far from being a genius. And even if I were, that’s a title that should be bestowed upon me, and not a crown I place upon my own head. I’m not a genius who was destined to be detached from the world. That is how I imagine people like Gaiman, Tolkien, and Lewis is, but I’m not sure how true that image is. I revered them as gods, and yet these genius writers really were just genuine people who genuinely loved the craft, was genuinely curious about life.

Love, like writing, is something that develops through practice. I must love everyday. Though I shouldn’t do it like I used to. Not too long ago, I tried to love by acting as if I loved people, taking C.S. Lewis’ advice. But I’m sorry, Mr. Lewis, that advice doesn’t work for a proud person like me. Acting as though I loved others, even when I actually didn’t, made loving a sort of task to be accomplished. And when I accomplished it with great struggle, I would feel triumphant and entitled. “Good job for loving today, self. Now it’s time to take a break from loving.”

Love is so hard. For a person who has written so many love songs, loving is so hard. I feel like I have lost love, and I need to get it back. But how? I will look back on this entry again while I continue looking for answers.