People make assumptions. Always. They make more each day, which misled them about us and everything eventually. On the other hand, it drives me crazy when it comes about me or anything that I do, some time I can’t get enough strength to ignore. Well, who won’t get crazy, anyway?
|I'm allergic to shitty assumptions!|
Like writing, for example. Most people will have writing in their mind as a solitude working moment goes on like enlightening reflection or felt like a soothing yoga as seen in movies.
But hey, it's (half) true!
Yet, there is still one big misconception about writing somehow. Writing isn't like when words by words come into your head, narrated to your mind and then your fingers just help to let it slip out---whether you write by hand on a paper or simply typing it on a computer, whatever how you do it. Please, keep that in mind! In some lucky on-fire chances, it can be true, though.
In fact, writing takes hours of wondering and wandering around, brain juggling in a search of great idea to write about. Then, followed by another hours just to start finding the first right and perfect sentence to come… which means you’re gonna staring at the blank page during those stressful phase. So, from my brief experience, I can conclude, writing isn’t that easy you see in films. It’s not a robotic work like you’re doing mathematics.
I have been writing non-professionally and professionally since 15 years old. Before that, writing is seen as a shitty task that made me feel doomed at school. Magic not-so-magic happened.... coz I wrote a poem. Then it all started from there. A day later, I edited it. Within a month, I started writing my first novel which has never been published. In two years, I published my first article in a campus magazine and another one year later, in a real newspaper, and magazine shortly after that...and it lasted for almost three years of my life.
I can make a conclusion from these experiences I’ve been through. What's next once you got the first sentence(s)? Re-reading it and deleting it all over and re-writing it... again and again. Hours to complete the whole piece, hours to find the perfect words, style and soul.
Hours. Worse, it could take days. So, it won't be quick and easy.
Nothing is ever easy. Quick, only for cheap stuff. Got that memorized!
I didn’t think that it was a big deal, a very big deal to land my future in journalism. All I know, it’s something big and awesome. I didn’t think the ‘deal’ I had to settle. No one told me. My family is far from anything that they called ‘risky job’. Most of them are entrepreneurs, bankers, accountants, architects and all. Safe jobs, they call it. They push me to be one of them. Not myself.
They really had no idea of writing things work and they only know journalists means people who are running here and there, chasing people with questions, making rumours on celebrities or going to war zone. This was my first ‘deal’. With them. I have to explain that I would not do those things, as I planned to work on lifestyle section. Still, it was hard. They could text me asking if this ‘x’ street was under shitty traffic or not. ‘I’m not even a traffic reporter!’
But, there I was for three years. Standing tall in heels, trying to ‘crying in the inside like a winner’ as Carly Witten in The Other Woman would suggest you. Stay to look fabulous with eye-bag on your face and clumsy work wear everyday, being pushed to improve your skill and persona with no-cost as what you get (sorry!) won’t be enough for what you are needed to be. Journalist, here in Indonesia, aren’t respected as in excellent countries. Yes, excellent and amazing countries respect their journalists and journalism! There again, my fam were (are) getting disapproved of this job as I could go home late, staying up until almost morning just to get my job done right on time, and seriously looked stressed out.
It’s a sad fact. Journalism isn’t an easy job. I can tell you all the worst stories.
Somehow, it feels like you are married to a guy and this guy keeps cheating on you and beating to black and blue...but you choose to stay. Waiting for a change. Or you think by staying things can change. It’s not.
(Note that I’m being a masochist. I enjoyed it. Very much. More than I can tell you.)
It took some years for me to see it and see my blank pages ahead of me. Writing is something I cherish the most. More than a one million dollar trip, more than a lottery jackpot, more than me being this too overreacting. So then, I dived deep down and come out alive to the dock. Running away from the wave that chased me, teasing me the pleasure to go back drowning. Lost.
Yeah, writing made me stay longer than ever.
When you call it as ‘writing’, most people who are not from that same world would say, “oh that’s awesome, I would never be able to do that”. Sadly and questionably, they would see it as something that could be done by a blink, or some random mathematical work like you can just ask an App in your cellphone to do it. Sorry, you can get cheap price for a piece of dress, but not my writing. If you can’t do it, then it’s not something easy-bitsy, bitch!
Translating has almost the same fate with writing, Once I was asked, “Why do you need to read it deeply and googled anything related about it? You can just simply read it and go on translating the words, right?” No, it’s not like that. Why are there super expensive translators? Because they’re not robot who works like Google Translate, not to forget their overload experience.
Translating doesn't mean changing the words between languages, it is more to changing phrases. Some words cannot be literally translated in other language as the other language we translate might have another way to express the intended meaning. You can speak the language fluently, but it doesn't mean you can just be a translator. This is also something I have dealt so far. Small things but annoying.
Misconceptions are fatal. What’s even more fatal? They ignore to look closer. This has brought me to stand on the other side of my previous life. I might call it quit for a bit. I don’t know, though, if I will go back. The dream of being Lois Lane is still alive in me. I’m still Lois Lane, trying to be my own Superman.
... what happens in my bedroom, stays in my bedroom...