Excuse me for my absence. I have been busy writing away, like some kind of maniac, and haven’t surfaced from the watery depths of my secret worlds for the last month or so. Maybe more.
Tonight was another one of those nights when I couldn’t sleep, and thoughts swirled through my brain like honey. While there is no doubt I am not completely a lonely person—I have friends, and family, and all of you—sometimes, at night, when all is quiet, I get unbearably lonely. For some reason, I found myself trawling through Instagram—which is absolutely the worst thing to do when you’re lonely—and really began to question whether I was entirely happy with my life. Look at all these people, with their beautiful, shining lives, publishing books, travelling to far-flung places, living out their lives with their families and friends, while I laboured alone in my bedroom, watching Chinese and Korean dramas whenever I felt sad, trying to eke out a living from my writing and failing miserably.
It all really came to a head. All my hopes, all my fears—next week Thursday, I will find out if a particular Australian publisher will have accepted my book or not. It’s a book I’m very proud of, but I have no idea if it will get accepted. In fact, my soul is screaming to me it will not, that I have no chance, while my heart years and pines and hopes.
I am so anxious it’s a wonder I haven’t chewed off all my fingernails. If my dreams are dashed, once again, next week, I don’t think I could bear it. Obviously, I’m not the type to really take my life or anything drastic like that, but I imagine I would be quite miserable. Give or take a few days—well, four, to be exact—and I will know whether I “made” it or not, and it’s terrifying.
Nevertheless, I do apologise for not being on this blog for so long. As for my career arrangements, I am thinking about becoming a librarian, either doing a course in librarianship or completing a traineeship. After all, I love books, I don’t much mind conversing with people (well, it’s hard for me, but I can force myself to do it), and who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by literature and computers all day long? Not me, that’s who. Because to be honest with you, I’ve never considered doing anything in this lifetime except for writing. It has always been my one dream and goal. Anything other than it—entertaining the thought of an alternative career—is impossible. I have my heart set on carving a name for myself in the literary sphere, and that is what I intend to do.
As for my loneliness, well, that can hardly be helped. I mean, in the end, nothing can assuage the loneliness deep within our souls, nothing except God, for we are, all of us, lost children, stumbling in the dark. No matter how many people we surround ourselves with, friends, lovers, family, children, spouses, in the end, when the lights are off, and we drift off to sleep, we are completely and utterly alone. When we die, we are alone. On the brink of death, there is nothing and no-one who can save us, who can go with us to wherever we go after our spirits leave the flesh. That’s a sad truth. So we better get used to this loneliness, and realise there is no cure for it, rather than pine and make ourselves more miserable in our lack of acceptance of it.
I wish you well. I hope your lives are flourishing and beautiful, like the Garden of Eden. I hope no poisonous apples come flying your way, and no pesky snakes whisper secrets in your ear. I hope your life is filled with joy, wonder and hope. I hope your life is the complete opposite of mine. Well, my life isn’t all bad. Currently, I’m working on another book, and it’s a marvellous one, if I do say so myself, such a joy to work with, to play with, spinning words and tales the way a seamstress might hem a dress, skilfully and quickly. I am blown away by the extent of my own imagination sometimes, which is a little bit arrogant of me to say, but is the truth, after all. Not that any publishers, so far, have recognised this brilliance. Mayhaps I am doomed to forever wander across the beautiful terrain of my imagination, with no-one ever to recognise its sparkle and glitter. Maybe I’m not cut out for writing, after all.
Or maybe I am. Perhaps next week Thursday, emblazoned across this blog will be the words I GOT PUBLISHED and all the angels will sing and heaven will rejoice and all the birds will come fluttering out of the trees in vibrant singsong, all because my dream finally came true. Maybe.
Or maybe not.