Writing away the hurt

It’s been a while since I got in touch with my artsy fartsy side. Whenever I’m going through a tough time, I always go back to the pens and let myself bleed on paper, in words and strokes and lines and color.

I went to a basic calligraphy class hosted by Charm Pia Tan at Craft CEB (Banilad Town Center) a few weekends ago. It was my kind of afternoon – coffee, pens, letters, and artistic souls.

So much eye candy. From the Basic Calligraphy Workshop hosted by Charm Pia Tan at Craft Ceb BTC.

I thought that calligraphy would come easy for me but oh was I so wrong. Switching from thin to thick strokes, from light to heavy pressure, while getting your curves right requires more mental energy and focus than I thought. I love those brush pens though, and how they make the words so pretty on paper. Charm gave us kits that include a set of brush pens, a manual and worksheet for us to practice our letters on, and an unlined notebook (which I quickly went through when I got home and went crazy with the pens.)

My output for the workshop. y Yoda, of course.

Calligraphy-wise, I need a lot more practice to get right my thin and thick strokes, and the curves. It’s a skill that can only be acquired by repitition. Writing one quote a day or one letter a day. Same with loving and living, right? Getting over a heartache will require some skill, too. If you’ve been through it before, then you know that the ache – though it may throb and sting like hell for the moment – will eventually numb and wash away. How long it will take is another story. But what I’ve learned over time is that I need to pick up a hobby that will make me forget time and myself. Or else I’ll spend it staring at my bedroom ceiling while I overthink myself to depression. Reading, writing, drawing. There’s also eating. I can either eat my feelings or brush them away with my pens. Or why not both? I’ll have my pie and eat it.

Amy and Adele are on repeat in my playlist these days. I don’t even know why I listen to these sappy love songs.  It’s a form of self-torture, their lyrics are grinding the crushed heart. But still I listen. So the crushing and grinding an gnashing continues. For now.

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I write to live, or live to write. Whichever it is, writing is my life.

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