Passion Over Everything

The Love reminded me, yet again, to write. Write every day. Write always.

We’d had one of our existential-into-the-wee-hours conversations over a cup of hot choco and he went, ‘You know what? You should keep writing. You should always write’. This was in reference to a discussion about life and where it’s heading and all that drama you’d usually get into when it’s existential-into-the-wee-hours conversation over a hot cup of something with someone you’re close to.

This global pandemic has forced the world to stop – okay, fine – pause. Given its inhabitants a chance to sit and be still with their thoughts and all of that (along with everything else that’s happened in the world since 2020 started) has provided a brand new perspective.

(If it hasn’t given you a new one then I recommend – nay – prescribe a more intense isolation so you can rethink things. You can do it! Let your damning thoughts get loud and take over. Lose yourself a bit. It’s so fun!… May you be reminded of your humanity.)

I walked into the third decade of my life last year with a renewed sense of self, thinking, ‘You know what, self? No more backing down from dreams and letting our demons win’. That entire mantra has carried into 2020 (and hopefully onwards).

The Love and I had had a conversation about, ‘Musugal ta para satong mga damgo’ (Ehem2x… Translation: ‘We’ll gamble it all for our dreams’). Had it written on a notebook and on a post-it and had it up on our wall and all.

The thing is, having invested over a decade into an industry that isn’t exactly what you’re placed on earth for is never good for your soul. For your sanity. If I sound ungrateful in anyway, I apologise – I don’t intend to – if anything, I’m ever grateful for what my work has offered and provided me over the years. The beautiful, colourful bits of it. Yet, we go back to the fact that it doesn’t feed one’s soul.

No matter what you do, no matter how hard you paddle up to get some sense of sanity and of yourself, the god-awful truth is that work is work and it will consume your energy that you will get to a point where you’ll lose sight of who you are, what you’re about and what your true purpose is. No matter how hard you try and find some semblance of passion in the work that provides it will never compensate for having a go at what you are truly passionate about. You end up having to fool yourself. Talking yourself into thinking that, ‘This is what you want’ and ‘Find the good in this – there’s good in this.’

There is good in it – it provides. But in all honesty? That’s… it.

Take it from someone who’s been there.

You try and try and you find yourself looking at things you’ve created – the real parts of you – and feel cynical about them. You find your own art laughable. You find performing, presenting and the very pursuit of them to be trivial and nonsensical.

I got there.

I got that far into what society said I was supposed to do.

I felt hallow.

My art was all I had of and for myself but there I was somehow appalled to have ever made them then felt empty and rotten cos of how I felt about them. I thought, ‘These are all I have and all I am and these are nonsense. I am nonsense’.

I sat alone in my room with my guitar, unable to sing a melody I’d strung together or strum a chord, feeling squeamish about having to play a song that I wrote.  A song that, at some point, saved parts of me.

I read the things I wrote and found myself to be overly dramatic, emotional and irrational. I felt somewhat disgusted over what I’d written when, at some point, those things were my truth that needed to be written down for my own sanity.

I remembered how I used to dance and felt ridiculous over how invested I always was. How I always gave my all – never taking breaks, never skipping run throughs, only pausing to drink water. I felt embarrassed for younger me throwing those shapes on stage in front of people and felt as if I probably looked like I was flailing. I thought this about dancing when dancing has always been, ever since I was a child, one of those things that’s made me feel alive.

I got there.

Not a good place to find yourself in.

Not worth the trade.

Sure, you’re provided for. Well-fed but… be there long enough and that’s the trade off.

Not worth the trade.

Multiple times I found myself spiraling and disassociating myself from my everything and everyone around me. Work stress has led me to some of my more severe anxiety attacks and darkest episodes of depression.

Like I said, not worth the trade.

Guess what saved me from myself during those moments.

Art. Music. Literature. Dance. The very things I lost sight of.

I knew it wasn’t me to think that these things were trivial and laughable. These things were life and an expression of it and there’s nothing trivial about that.

I clawed my way back into writing, making songs and dancing whenever I could. I struggled but I clawed my way back until I found my way back into feeling human and alive again.

All this plus all the maddening events of 2020 has made me realise that a life lived without pursuing your passion is no life at all. Sure, you’d struggle but don’t we all struggle anyways? Isn’t that what life is anyways? Isn’t being well provided for yet losing yourself simply a different version of a struggle yet a struggle nonetheless?

So, why not struggle doing the thing you love most instead? Why not lose yourself in the pursuit of the thing you’re most passionate about? Struggle yet feel alive while you’re at it.

And so that’s where I’m at right now.

I understand I’m rather late in that realisation. I got roped into what society said I was supposed to do and go full on ‘adulting’ (also known as: Suck it up! Don’t complain! This is fucking life! Whut? You don’t feel good? You don’t feel alive? Well, I haven’t felt shit in decades – so, suck it up!) about things. I’ve tried their bit. Gave it over a decade of my life. A decade worth my life that I could have spent learning my craft. Gave it all I could give. They can’t say I didn’t. I tried and tried and tried and, in the end, I found that the thing they were selling me still isn’t worth it.

Not worth the trade.

This pause left me still attached to an employer but on leave without pay. It’s given me all the time in the world to reconnect with who I really am and be alone with my thoughts (sometimes a good thing, sometimes a bad thing but that’s why we’re here talking art, yeah?). I found myself going back to doing the things I’ve always done as a child: write songs, sing, dance, write poetry, keep a journal, read books, watch films, knit, colour, make things. (Needless to say, this introvert has been thriving through this series of multiple lockdowns. Thank you, Philippines!)

Consume and create art for entertainment and for sanity. For the soul.

A recent recurring line on my journal has been, ‘Oh! The countless times music has saved me from myself!’ after spending hours doing nothing but listening to music and getting lost in it. I found myself feeling better than I’d felt in days. I felt revived.

It is in art that we are reminded we are not alone no matter how alone and terrible we might feel and whatever darkness we might be battling. It is in art that we are reminded that we are human and all these things we feel are normal human things and we will surely surpass them as we have surpassed previous challenges. It is in art that we find ourselves and our mundane human-ness as extraordinary, magical and, at times, even powerful.

A life lived with passion, amid struggle, it is a life fulfilled. The very pursuit of it is everything.

There will be no regrets. No lost, broken fragments of your soul. No dire need to get away from everything and everyone and, most importantly, you will never lose sight of who you are when you choose passion over everything.

11.25.2020 02.06pm

‘Even If I Just Wrote The Lyrics?’

‘… Even if I just wrote the lyrics?’, he asked as my heart broke a little…

Yesterday, a trainee shared to the class how writing was his passion. How he can write anywhere, even at a noisy restobar. Then he shared that he’s writing songs for a band. He said this with so much innocence and pride. I could hear it in his voice.

This declaration, however, worried me.

Firstly, the way he shared it sounded as if he wasn’t awfully close with the band he was giving his creations to. It was more of ‘they’re friends of a friend’.

Secondly, and more importantly – regardless of the accuracy or inaccuracy of the statement under firstly – his wide-eyed approach to this told me so much of how the world continues to let their artists down.

I asked him, ‘Wait, you’re giving your songs? Are they giving you credit?… Have you registered your songs? Are they under your name?’… I sensed he couldn’t really hear what I was saying as the class started to quiet. ‘This is serious stuff – you have to make sure your songs are under your name’, I heard myself say with a hint of panic and desperation in my voice.

He later asked me more about it.

I told him, ‘It’s something all artists should do. Even people who sing their own songs have to do it. However, especially for you, since you hand your songs off to other people’.

‘But they arrange the music for it. Do I still have to do that even if I just wrote the lyrics?’, he asked as my heart broke a little hearing the thing I was fearing.

‘YES. Yes, they get credit for arranging the music, but YOU get credit for the lyrics. That’s your intellectual property. They won’t be able to create the music without the lyrics you created’.

Oh, world, so much more work left in educating and valuing your artists.