Lost at home


I CANT write. I dont. I sing. I dance. I play music. Okay, what’s an all out performer doing in the backstage buzz work? Writing? Documenting? Reporting?

While browsing thru my multiply dot com account, I read a blog entry of one of my friends and men, does she write fabulously. I left a comment saying, “I wish I had your hands and inspiration.” Five days ago, I attempted to read the Sunday paper. Well, it was more of scanning. Within those seconds of scanning made me ask, “How can these people write so well with different topics every single day??” That’s insane!

I’m a Mass Communication student from the University of the Philippines. And for three years now, I’ve been asking myself, “What am I doing here?” Yes, I write. But I write songs. I don’t write for journalism’s sake. I don’t do interviews. Normally, I’m the one interviewed. I hate politics. But I’m forced to get updated with current events. Today, I took a pause and sat down, grabbed a pen and paper and wrote everything I thought of for the past 10 minutes, venting out my dilemma between myself and my course.

I am lost and I’m in big trouble. There’s no way out. How am I going to pull this all off? And then bam! I saw a picture of my late dad who seemed to be laughing at me because of how I’m freaking out with this whole “I’m-confused-don’t-know-what-to-do” situation.

Four years ago, I was asked to write about our high school campus. Well, I made my dad write for me. A month after that, I was asked again to write about family and again made my dad write for me. Two weeks later, our school paper adviser appointed me as the editor-in-chief. My eyes popped wide open and I went “WHAT???” They were not actually appointing me! They were appointing my dad! Uh-oh. I’m not that good. But oh, there’s more. They made me join the division press conference to do feature writing and broadcasting. Surprisingly, I got first place for both categories. During the regionals, I went third and first place in both categories respectively. I maintained that standing for three years. I actually discovered a skill I didn’t know I had until that eye-popping incident.

And my dad, being the passionate writer that he was, always told me that he dreamed for me to become a successful writer someday. He believed in me. And that made me achieve way more than I thought I could in the field of communication.

Then he died. Cardiac arrest. And my passion for writing died along with him.

It’s been three years since he left; since my writing left me. I can’t write. I’m not good enough and I won’t be. This is who I was since September 3, 2005. Until now, and probably still counting. I see no reason to put thoughts into words anymore. There’s no more inspiration, not anything, for me to even lift a pen and write a single sentence. I suck.

Why am I a Mass Communication student? I don’t know. But I know I’m lost, totally. And somehow I feel home because of my loss. It’s ironic but this is the only way I can feel closer to my only inspiration, Papa. I miss him every single day. And it pains me so much to know that I can no longer hold him nor hear his voice.

He used to believe that I can change the world with my thoughts written and read. He used to see a girl so eager to let people know what a wonderful world it is out there filled with God’s graces.

I don’t see that girl anymore. All I see now is a lost child trying to find her way home but she’s not so sure where it really is.

Why am I here? One thing. Papa. He is the reason why I started to write and actually liked writing. And he will be the reason why I will graduate a year from now with a degree of Mass Communications from the most prestigious school in the Philippines.

Can I write? No. but he can. Do I love to write? No. but he does. But he’s gone now. And I’m his only hope of continuing to do what he used to be so passionate about. He may not be around anymore. But his spirit will carry on to flow in the words of my writing now until the day that I can be with him in eternity.


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