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Commuting is one of the many times/places I fall in to deep, ahm ok, just some random epiphanies.

I can't remember how I fell into these thoughts:

Some people write to be read, I am not part of that some people. I write because there is something inside that wants out and that's about it.
The thing is when the strings attached to writing surprises you along the way. :D Unexpected sweet surprises that makes you go "wow! i actually affect people. wow! this feels so good. wow! just wow!".

For one, when I was in my senior year in high school I submitted most of my poems in our HS official literary compilation entitled "canticle". Most of my poems got published, under a pseudonym because I don't feel like telling the world, "Hey! Look I can write!" and yes, I am a shy person.  Anyway hemingway, after that, those poems were later on just some water under the bridge. The truth is I lost my touch of writing poems like that. I'd like to think I've moved on to different things...hehehe.


So what's the point? The point is sometime in my early college life, my sister Sarah told me that she have a friend who memorizes my poems because she, the friend, likes it so much. That without knowing that the writer was Sarah's big sister, me. That felt oh so nice! Someone memorizing your poems without anyone asking them to. Gahd! She memorized them because she just wants to. Gahd! How elated and humbled that made me feel. It was so touching to know, that I can affect people like that. It felt like it meant so much more because I didn't expect that. I didn't have that in mind while writing or while submitting them for publication. It's like winning in lottery without gambling.

Another incident is later in my college life, my twin sisters and their friends became the people who manages our high school publication. They gave me a copy of the latest version of the "canticle". I lend it to my friend and former high school classmate Checho. He read the poems. I haven't had the chance to read most of them, the time I lend it to him. Anyway, he showed me his favorite poem. I read it. The poem was good but for some then unknown reasons some words in the last part didn't fall nicely, they didn't feel nice. As I was about to walk away, the right words resounded in my head. That's when I back tracked and told my friend I think I have a poem like that. I reread the poem and lo and behold me! It's mine! I got plagiarized! I was shocked! But my first reaction wasn't that of annoyance or outraged but of sincerest flattery. Because as they say "imitation is the greatest form of flattery". I hope I don't sound egoistic or stupid, but that was something. People getting out of there way to copy you!

Another thing about that incident was Checho's reaction to the poem. For a friend, a tasteful, highly critical friend that is, to appreciate my work and not even know that I did it, was awesome. My friends commend my works but they are my friends. Their reaction was probably 50% friend related comments...:)) anyway hemingway! it was still awesome! :D

Sometime during typing this post I realize...Gahd! are my only good works got stuck in high school?! Good thing I remember this one time, when I asked my friend Myla to read  a short story I wrote based on a picture. Her reaction was, "Who wrote this? Did you write it?" and I said, "yes". She said "You're good! I actually thought a guy wrote it a conyo guy to be more specific". Or something like that. :))

I love my friends! And I badly miss them...:S

*Sorry for the wrong grammar and glitches, this post is still subject for editing later. Thanks!