We go to places with a goal in mind. Expectations all set. Finite.
Predictable.
In our heads at least.
I went to this event thinking I'll only be fulfilled if I sold copies. Most fulfilled if I sold out everything.
But my sales today, ever since I started on this industry of marketing my works, is ZERO.
But here I am right now, writing this entry, stomach full at Bonchon somewhere in BGC...
Happy, content, accomplish, thankful, BLESS.
Because I won a big raffle prize. Explored a new interesting community. Bought a book which could be a great literary piece from a publishing company I now highly look up to.
And met a new friend.
My dilemma of zero sales today has been eradicated because of her (she knows why hahaha).
We just clicked like a slipper who found a pair. (PS: I don't know why I used slipper of all symbolism HAHAHAHA maybe we have great adventures together in the future?)
I have a resting bitch face but she saw beyond this facade. We discovered we both came from UPLB and felt the vibes strongly from someone molded by UP. She works for a publishing company, provided sound advice, offered help for my future plans to publish paperback with them, was my companion almost throughout the afternoon.
She's this girl with a melodic voice, smart, kind, talented. She's a boost to the writer in me because of her sincere support. Of her wide vision. Because although our situations are completely different, when I showed her my works, SHE.RESONATES.WITH.THEM.
She can see a herself in a way different from the way I see mine when I wrote those compositions.
This is the power of literature. It's magic. The magic to connect people no matter where they come from. Regardless of their conditions in life.
UPLB is hell at the same time it is heaven. This campus triggered my worst nightmares but also helped carve the real me so I can start dreaming again.
She said it is as if we are long time friends.
I agree.
Told her maybe in another life. I could have met her earlier in that life.
We are friends now anyway.
She is an explanation to the world of memoir. That she writes memoir because of fleeting memories. Because forgetting can be scary. Forgetting can be one of the worst things that could happen especially to a memory of something or someone precious to you.
In this way, we are of the same tribe. I also don't wish to forget that's why I write.
This publishing company, Central Books, was also so kind to give freebies even before I buy something from them. I bought this one particular poetry book later on called Breakaways for I have this feeling I will love this after I browsed some pages.
I don't want to forget this feeling. I don't particularly want to forget these moments I spent with my new friend.
We expected something else. We found something different. But the ending is all the same when you're doing something you love. Risking because it is worth it.
Those moments compiled in hours is another village in the map of my journey.
Unfamiliar. New. Shrouded in mystery.
But I went anyway, passed the gate of another unknown, and although what I feared have actually turned into reality, it failed to scare me. It failed to bring me down. It failed to become a fear.
Because I just didn't know back then that I am supposed to stumble on something that is different from my expectations.
And despite of this difference, it didn't change the prize I was always meant to claim at the end of the day...
Blessings.
And in all of the many blessings I received throughout this day, that which stands out the most out of them all is this blessing in the form of a true friend.
May we have more memories together, Elaine. Though memories are fleeting, because we write, we own the power of words.
We can make anything, anyone, immortal.
