in search of a lasting effect
three things that moved me no. 1 — entry 07
before i even begin writing, i have to know where the story is going. armed with an outline i created days before, i sit down with a thesis in mind and a planned narrative of how i can get there.
unfortunately, for this week, i got nothing.
and as much as i want to say that i’m the kind of person who gets things done, regardless of my current mood or frame of mind, i’m learning to listen to my gut. and right now, my gut is telling me to do something light.
this week, instead of the usual long forms, i’m taking a slightly different approach by writing a list.
in this digital age of insensibly clicking ‘like’ as we scroll on social media every day, i have to ask: what do you mean when you say you liked something? i’ve found that when all i can say is “oh, i liked it!” when someone asks me what i think of a film or a book, what i really mean is that i don’t hate it and i enjoyed certain moments of it, but i will probably forget about it after two weeks.
rarely do i come across things that have a lasting effect on me, something that shifts my perspective or makes my heart beat in a rapid speed. but this is what i am always in search of — something that reshapes my current understanding and wakes up a forgotten feeling inside me. and in the golden times that i do find one, i have a strong desire to share with someone, anyone really, hoping that it can do the same for them.
here are three things that moved me recently:
a book that taught me that there’s value in a quiet life: stoner by john williams
i first heard of stoner when i came across a new yorker article that dubbed it as the “greatest american novel you’ve never heard of”. the novel experienced a popular resurgence in 2013 when it topped the best-seller list fifty years after it was first published. it follows william stoner from his childhood in a missouri farm through his long years in the academe.
the premise can sound dull and banal. there isn’t a major plot twist or any specific climax in the story. it is simply a narration of the unremarkable life of an ordinary man. but i truly believe that that’s the genius of it.
here is a man who willingly stayed in a terrible marriage, worked a low-level university faculty job until his retirement, and failed to give his only child a better life, and yet, he still had a devastatingly beautiful story to tell. this book gave me an entirely different lens to look with when it comes to observing one’s life.
stoner’s life is nowhere near perfect. there are very few highlights, no career-turning promotions, and no grand recognitions. it’s a quiet and unexceptional one which is the direct opposite of what most of us aspire for. but it’s still a life worth examining and worth reading.
no matter how obscure, a life still has value. and in that realization comes the comfort that maybe these simple and unglamorous lives that we lead in our own can be significant in its own ways too.
a tv episode that made me realize my own toxic trait: normal people, episode 10
i read normal people by sarah rooney two months ago and was heavily unimpressed. i started the novel with excitement, influenced by the lavished praises from book critics and its prestigious book awards. but my entire journey with the book was a long and continued false hope that it will eventually get better at some point. it was a frustrating read, and i finished the book with a sigh of relief. the i’m-so-glad-that’s-over kind.
with its television adaptation, i had a different experience. the love story that rooney created made more sense in the small screen than on the pages. we often dread film and tv adaptations of books, but with normal people, it was simply a better fit. i finally understood the gravity of the main characters’ story: that marianne and conell became better people for simply having known each other. and no matter where the future will take their relationship, that was enough.
the tenth episode of the series particularly stood out to me. after having lost an old school friend to suicide, it was the darkest time of conell’s life. he decided to seek the help of their university counselor and conell was, for the first time, in his most vulnerable.
sobbing with quivering lips, snot, and all, he said: “i thought that if i moved here in dublin, i’d fit in better. i thought that i’d meet more like-minded people. but it just hasn’t happened. i left carricklea thinking i could have a different life. but i hate it here. and i can never go back, because those friendships are gone and i can’t get that life back,”
i cried with him, snot and all too, watching that entire scene.
a big mood from normal people, episode 10 (2020)
i was instantly transported back in high school. when i couldn’t wait to graduate and go to college to meet people with the same interests. and when that didn’t happen, i ended up doing the same thing. i spent my years in college isolating myself and wishing for the whole thing to end sooner so i can go out in the “real world” and meet professionals that i can be friends with. that didn’t happen either.
i understood then that much of my life was spent looking forward to the end of an era, thinking that the next one is where it gets better. i’ve always believed the promise of a greener grass on the other side. and what keeps me awake at night is a regret.
a regret that maybe if i hadn’t spent every waking moment wishing for one chapter to end sooner, i could have had more meaningful relationships by now. had i lived more in the moment before, i could have been less alone now.
a piece of advice that changed the way i work: “don’t let your process get precious” from novelist delilah dawson
a friend once told me that it’s helpful to associate different scents for different activities. according to her, a smell can trigger mood and focus. and once you’ve successfully programmed yourself to associate a specific scent with an activity, your brain will automatically think of said activity whenever it recognizes the scent. this advice successfully convinced me to order three different candles.
i reserved the vanilla scented one for writing. whenever i have to write, i clean out my desk, place my glass of iced coffee on the right side of the table and light a candle. you’re probably thinking: so does it work? some days, i can finish a piece i’m proud of in less than five hours, and i’d like to think it’s all thanks to my vanilla-scented room.
jana bouc, tea and lemon
after a week of “programming” myself to associate the sweet scent with writing, i came across a piece of advice. a year-old tweet by novelist delilah dawson said: “don’t let your writing process get precious, by which i mean that you don't want to get too caught up in a ritual — at this time, drinking this coffee, in this chair. make it so that you can write anywhere, laptop or pad. keep your process nimble, not rigid,”
sometimes, when i’m dissatisfied with my output, i search for the daily routines of accomplished creatives, hoping to glean inspiration from the ways they work. maybe if i do what virginia woolf did every morning, i can start writing my own mrs. dalloway.
but dawson’s advice made me realize that writing shouldn’t be built around a routine. instead, writing itself should be the ritual. the little things i do or look for before i start writing shouldn’t be requirements to proceed.
it shouldn’t matter if the chair is creaking or if the summer weather’s too hot. even when my laptop runs out of battery and the only available writing instrument is a thick 1.5mm ballpoint pen (i truly hate those), i should be able to write.
if we have the desire to create something, we can’t be reliant on ideal conditions or fixed programs.
so here’s to creating. despite the absence of coffee and a vanilla scented candle.