On writing

I am writing this post on a train to Cubao from my work in Katipunan. In Cubao, I’m hopping on to another train to Mandaluyong where I currently live. I do this every day. I have been wanting to write down my thoughts like I used to do when I was younger. But thoughts go stale. They are bombarded every day by our hesitations, self-destructive thoughts emanating from the many selves contained within the Self. Thoughts are diluted and rendered cliche by the daily assaults of the everyday. And I’ve stopped writing for some time now. Writing required me to examine my thoughts, but this act of examination annihilated all thoughts, further examination made me realize that the experiences I have enrich not this collective experience. That the collective goes on despite my stopping. And raging against the dying light is just like that–raging. And angry.

And so the individual chooses silence. Perhaps in silence he may hear that Self and its stories drowned by the noise of the world and the painful rebuke of the many selves it encases.