image1 image2 image3 image4 image5 image5


What Happens When You're Living In Your Head

Forgive me, friends, for I have sinned. It's been more than two weeks since I last posted a vlog and exactly two weeks since I came out with a blog article. 

I was supposed to come out with a second Vlog entry last week. But as usual, I flaked. I couldn't do it. Not for the lack of trying, though. In fact, I lay the blame on my tendency to try too hard. I wrote three different scripts for Monday (this thing you're reading is the fourth, by the way, and still didn't quite cut it). The first one connected last episode's ending to the next step of filing for Naturalization. The second was about Identity Crisis and how it manifests a tangible form in one's environment. Then, there's how Monet's artistic style relates or influenced mine (because I went to a Monet exhibit and I didn't want the footage to go to waste). 

After days of uncompromising, but ludicrously pointless writing — I succumbed to a rather unproductive term. All those nights, sleeping late thinking of how to approach this venture, took a toll on my fragile little mind. I crashed. Blue screened. Four-o-four'ed. I couldn't help tucking myself under a rock, and just binge-watched something on TV —  Star Trek Voyager and Designated Survivor, still on it, by the way. 

But the thinking never stopped. Maybe I could write a new script. Maybe I don't need a script. Maybe I need a few more footage to add to the reel. Maybe I don't and just use the ones I already have. Maybe I should not talk about my filing for citizenship — is that even legal? But then what would set me apart from the hundreds of thousands of YouTubers out there. Maybe I shouldn't even be thinking about Vlogging. Maybe I should concentrate on making these things into mini-short-movies. Maybe I should learn how NOT to be redundant. Maybe I should make that my brand — the redundant one. Maybe I'm just wasting all my efforts. 

Maybe I should stop. 

Maybe I should just stop chasing this pipe dream.

But I just couldn't let this go.  Maybe it's a  compulsion. Maybe it's a developmental disorder. The more I helplessly watch it getting farther away from my grasp, the more I hold on to it tightly. Ironic, but very true. 

And still, I'm relentlessly thinking making a vlog would teach me to write, produce, direct. It'll instill in me strict discipline. And it'll motivate me to just keep at it. 

But the absence of a controlled approach is holding me back, or at the very least, slowing me down. It puts my objective and my principles in question. And it derails me into my chaotic pattern.  

Should I adhere to the standards of the internet — like another talking head streaming in buffered space?

Should I be funny? Should I be sad? Should I be inspirational? Should I clone myself on camera and ignite a debate with myself? That's not too different from what I do every day. Just ask the people at my work.

Should I Casey Neistat my days? I could mimic his style, and it'll all be easier for my anxiety. [But before I could release this video, Mr. Casey Neistat said this in his].

Just as he said, my conscience (or was it my pride?) reminds me doing that isn't exactly being creative. It's just copying. Besides, it's not like anything awesome is happening to me. He has all these ventures and exploits to share with the world, while my days are incredibly bland and mundane. Dude! I'm writing scripts to make it look like something is going on.

In fact, I've been recording since February. I have almost a hundred footage of various events of my life — hospital visits, work routines, birthdays, mini skits. None of them were as exciting as meeting celebrities; or talking to the Star Trek crew (dude, I still feel their hands on me); Or going to Hawaii to see the loves of my life with my tiny slits of eyes.

It's sad but true. It's like my luck has run out over these last two years. I'm disappointed with myself. I feel no excitement. I experience nothing stimulating. I am listless.

So much so, that even seeing the works of Claude Monet in person didn't stir any sensation in me. Same Claude Monet whom I had revered all my life as my favorite painter. 

I looked at his Water Lily painting, expecting a deluge of emotions. And all I could think of is, "there're too many goddam people in here." Don't get me wrong. His paintings are beautiful, inspiring, even calming. Unequivocally masterful. There's a reason why Monet is Monet. I just didn't feel anything. 

I wishfully thought I would find something where I could say, "That's where I got my visual style!" But I didn't. I think the only thing I got from him is my fondness for dull palettes.  

There's still so much I have to learn about myself. How could I ever reach my pipe dream if I don't even know who I am? Or why I'm dead set on chasing it?

Or am I just back to overthinking this?

I need help, and you may be essential to getting me some answers. COMMENT. SHARE. LIKE. SUBSCRIBE. (LOL — it is a script, right?)

Or not. That's all up to you. If you're still here and watching up to this point, I already applaud you and thank you for your time. To everyone back home, Happy Philippine Independence Day. And to every Dad out there, advanced Happy Father's Day.

This has been Tala Dekya Dayeah Drake. Flipping. Geeking. Living. Vlogging. 

Share this: