I’m currently struggling with some health issues. Pretty ironic since I just recently did a podcast with Ana Santos for Rappler about HIV and how she remarked that after eight years since my diagnosis, I looked perfectly healthy and I was living a meaningful life. I am actually, living a meaningful life, but at the time we were recording the podcast, I didn’t know that my insides were in serious need of care. As much as I hate to admit it but I’m not well and I have to slow down and recuperate.
I’ll talk about it more detail soon. I’ll just say this much: it involves the kidneys.
Right now, I’m just bowing out of current projects and not accepting any new ones while I finish off whatever work I can still do for No Filter. I really have to take it easy and I have to make myself available for all my tests and, when I have the go-signal, my parents want me to fly to Bacolod to stay with them for a month (I’ll try to negotiate for two weeks) to rest and for them to hopefully fatten me up.
I’ve gotten very thin, like scary Christian Bale in the Machinist thin. I feel fine, though, but sometimes I run out of breath and get tired easily. So I’m taking it easy.
With the prospect of not working, the idea of going home to Bacolod is kind of scary. I get so bored there and I don’t do anything but sleep. But maybe that’s what I need. And without work, there’d be no stress of having to deal with the unreliable Internet access there.
Maybe I can actually start writing all my personal projects. Start writing more fiction, write more essays, write more poems, compile them, and then send them out. Get them published in whatever publication accepts online submissions and just find a way to get my literary work out there.
Again, is this some sort of cosmic alignment making it easier for me to get to that which I should have been doing far earlier in my life. Or, now that I’m ready, at this stage, and I’ve matured as a writer, I’ve found myself in circumstances where I can actually chase that once-elusive dream.
Did I have to get sick to finally give myself time to write? Did I have to get sick so that I had no choice but to accept help from my family to take care of me so I could go and write?
If you really knew me, you’d know that I try so hard to be fiercely independent and self-reliant; and that I’ve failed at almost every turn. I’ve not had a very good run at doing it on my own. I seem to be great when I’m with someone, taking care of someone, but when I’m alone, everything just turns to shit.
Is that a pattern I can break or must I learn the lesson that I have to always be living with someone? Anyone?
I don’t know what the answer is but I’m just going to write and write and hope to God it all amounts to something.