I am anyway certain that if we stay true to ourselves, what comes out of us will be honesty amplified.
TO BEGIN WITH
"Up On The Roof" is back! This is the title of the first blog I've ever had and it was in the now defunct Multiply platform. I resurrected this blog to again have an outlet for my "romance" writings, poetry, prose, etc., which I think are ill-suited to publish on my other blogs.
In this post, I share to you an essay I wrote more than a decade ago. It was actually a letter written to a writer friend who seemingly had lost confidence about writing. I had hoped I was able to somehow stir up the spirit of this writer friend of mine with this one.
Eventually, the letter was included in my book of essays called "Coffee And Mornings" independently published in 2010. If you want to have a PDF copy, I can give you one. Just email me at raymundtamayo@gmail.com, introduce yourself, and we'll go from there.
DEAR WRITER
Thanks for the nice thoughts and good wishes. Have come through another one of those weeks when a smile or two is much appreciated. Where am I now? Physically in a good place here in Olongapo City, that after all my travels I love calling home. Emotionally? Pretty happy, excited (as always) to find more time to write and read and meet obligations, delighted to be finding so many old friends on the net. Love? I’m sleeping warmer than I can ever remember. Spiritually? Still connected. Still trusting and loving. Still hoping.
But enough about me, this entry is for you. You say you want to write, then do. Do not accept advice on how or why or even to what purpose. Writing is its own reason. In the end inspiration is more dependable than what people think or say, or the truth. Perhaps writing brings out the truth. The truth in you, the truth in the writer. I am anyway certain that if we stay true to ourselves, what comes out of us will be honesty amplified.
You should not be afraid of being honest. You shouldn’t feel terribly embarrassed to expose emotions that you didn’t want to admit you once had. Most well meant writings ought to discover its writer’s persona. If we refuse this, the best stuff stays in our heads and hearts, not once given the chance to be known or read, and it will die with us. Is that okay with you?
You say that you have done some work. Good. Very good. You won’t regret it later on. In my case, I save everything I can. In my life, the more days go by, the less I trust on memory. Time flies so fast that it even leaves memories behind. I write, and I save. The inspiration used to create what was created or to continue some unfinished sentence may not come back again. But you may need it some day for whatever purpose or sometimes to carry you through some of the worst extremes – depression.
While I read, re-read, and think about your writings, I believe that you are not far along in becoming an important writer. I envy your future; will use it as one more reason to stay alive as long as possible, hoping I’m still around to be a part of it.
Your path through the woods is safe here, your poems and letters find safe haven, too. Faith. A friend ends letters to me with that word. None of us can have too much of it. Faith, and love till next time.
Random Thoughts
Poem of the Week
DEAR WRITER
Thanks for the nice thoughts and good wishes. Have come through another one of those weeks when a smile or two is much appreciated. Where am I now? Physically in a good place here in Olongapo City, that after all my travels I love calling home. Emotionally? Pretty happy, excited (as always) to find more time to write and read and meet obligations, delighted to be finding so many old friends on the net. Love? I’m sleeping warmer than I can ever remember. Spiritually? Still connected. Still trusting and loving. Still hoping.
But enough about me, this entry is for you. You say you want to write, then do. Do not accept advice on how or why or even to what purpose. Writing is its own reason. In the end inspiration is more dependable than what people think or say, or the truth. Perhaps writing brings out the truth. The truth in you, the truth in the writer. I am anyway certain that if we stay true to ourselves, what comes out of us will be honesty amplified.
You should not be afraid of being honest. You shouldn’t feel terribly embarrassed to expose emotions that you didn’t want to admit you once had. Most well meant writings ought to discover its writer’s persona. If we refuse this, the best stuff stays in our heads and hearts, not once given the chance to be known or read, and it will die with us. Is that okay with you?
You say that you have done some work. Good. Very good. You won’t regret it later on. In my case, I save everything I can. In my life, the more days go by, the less I trust on memory. Time flies so fast that it even leaves memories behind. I write, and I save. The inspiration used to create what was created or to continue some unfinished sentence may not come back again. But you may need it some day for whatever purpose or sometimes to carry you through some of the worst extremes – depression.
I think about you and your work with increasing frequency. I picture you in that ramshackle table of yours after a long hard day ignoring the hot cup of tea or coffee prepared hours ago because you’re so indulged in what you’re doing. That’s okay. It’s better, though, to nearly finish the article first in your head the whole day before you give your hands free reign. The truth will always have less ornamentation when what we have to say is more clearly thought-out ahead of time. Plus, it reduces a lot of stress to think about good things while laboring all through the day.
While I read, re-read, and think about your writings, I believe that you are not far along in becoming an important writer. I envy your future; will use it as one more reason to stay alive as long as possible, hoping I’m still around to be a part of it.
Your path through the woods is safe here, your poems and letters find safe haven, too. Faith. A friend ends letters to me with that word. None of us can have too much of it. Faith, and love till next time.
- from “Coffee and Mornings”, 2010 essays
Random Thoughts
Old poets are forever trapped by poems not let go off in their prime.
Write. Don’t die with all your thoughts inside you.
The more profound the insight, the easier its transmission.
Poem of the Week
A WRITER’S YEARNING
by Raymund Tamayo
There's only one person
who needs a glass of water
more often than a small child
tucked in for the night,
and that's a writer sitting down to write.
A word will never be the same
once a writer grips its name.
Like pine trees, like lemon drops,
like melodic coco pops,
love cannot be cured by herbs.
In a world where love seemed
to be the most misunderstood myth,
poets unlock the story,
they open planets, shift stars,
overturn galaxies just to find one.
Oh, how I long to have thee,
my love, my ancient ocean love.
With a love that showers like
the misty rain, coming softly,
but flooding the river.
(August 2006)
AND FINALLY
who needs a glass of water
more often than a small child
tucked in for the night,
and that's a writer sitting down to write.
A word will never be the same
once a writer grips its name.
Like pine trees, like lemon drops,
like melodic coco pops,
love cannot be cured by herbs.
In a world where love seemed
to be the most misunderstood myth,
poets unlock the story,
they open planets, shift stars,
overturn galaxies just to find one.
Oh, how I long to have thee,
my love, my ancient ocean love.
With a love that showers like
the misty rain, coming softly,
but flooding the river.
(August 2006)
AND FINALLY
It continues to be a crazy 2020 as we roll through this pandemic. Rain is starting this August and I hope you’re still sleeping warmly amidst all these cold. Take care.
Thanks for stopping by - see you next week.
Thanks for stopping by - see you next week.
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