Influences (or Why I Write the Way I Do)

Natalie Goldberg (free-flowing writing)
Clarissa Pinkola Estes (wild woman writing)
Jane Hutchison (direct-to-the-point writing)
Ernest Hemingway (simple words writing)

Saturday, August 8, 2009

One Eternal Memory, One Eternal Question

i just had dinner today with good old aussie friend, sally. while we were in the car and talking about the old days, the topic switched from my MA thesis on divorce to her now waging divorce battle. when i asked, 'is this with the same guy living with you in 1999?'. she said, 'yes, i lived with him for 21 years' and there on goes the litany of how fruitful promising relationships turn bad, turn sour, and crush,...just like that. earlier, i wrote about my earliest memory as that became a topic of conversation with acacio, lorenza and elroy, an east timorese family; and of janty and eldo, an indonesian mother-son team over dinner. as each of us took turns sharing our memories, i could not help but just wander off and think about the good old times i had with yaman's dad and how, why, did it ever crumble. so in loving, we have memory. that's why at random and unexpected moments, we smirk, make an occasional silly smile, shed a tear or bite the insides of one's mouth in contempt. i am fascinated though by this --- what is your last good memory from your greatest failed love? what was it? what triggered the 'downfall'? when was it? how did it feel? isn't it fascinating? one day, you love a man so so deeply, hug him tightly under the covers, your naked bodies entwined, desperately cry just with the thought of death or separation, and just don't care a bit. would you care to know too, how he sees you right now? yesterday an angel and now, just an ugly fat bitch. i mean, how could it change just like that? then you take comfort that you meet and loved and had a life. because then, you will not have this heaven named yaman, or sam (sally's) and even chandler (as i cannot help but think of maryanne and glenn while writing this). and that, makes all the difference, makes all the pain and heartbreak of remembering bearable. but still you cannot help it. i cannot help it. i had to look back. dig back the bones of memories and still i cannot see, i cannot yet comprehend why it has to happen to all of us, humans.

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