From time to time, I get reminders.
I get reminded that my dad died. I was only 20 back then.
From time to time, I forget. Because I’m distracted, stressed out and pissed off with so many things. I’ve to push myself as a writer and even that can be greatly uncomfortable. I’ve to find ways to generate an income every month. I put time aside to talk with my girlfriend who doesn’t stay with me.
But I always remember. I remember that my dad is no longer with me and my family.
I remember the insane feeling I felt when I saw his lifeless body on his bed, where he slept for the last time. Most outstandingly, I remember clearly asking myself, “Why the hell are you always so angry?”
I remember. I remember.
My day-to-day routine includes waking up at around 2PM. Lately, it has been a drag. I don’t know why I feel so tired whenever I open my eyes. I drink water. I have my coffee. If it’s the day to take my hyperthyroid medication, I pop the pills into my mouth.
Then I sit. I read. I read for inspiration, not just entertainment. Then I write.
I write, and I write and I write.
At 6PM, I head out for Bboying practice sessions.
It is only of late that I managed to establish a proper system and work routine for myself so I can get a lot of shit done, but to surmise, I’ve been at this shit for the last three years of my life.
That was the birth of the blog. That was the birth of Alden ‘Dash’ Tan (as my close friends like to call it), the writer. That was the start of Alden being who he is meant to be, at least I hope it is.
All of this may sound simple enough.
Alden Tan is trying to follow his dream. He wants to write, so he started a blog.
He studied and did his homework. He applied all the marketing and entrepreneur cliches/usual bullshit. He brands himself as an honest and real storyteller. He positions himself in the personal development field. He sets up a USP by being vulgar as fuck. He creates content and builds his list by adding consistent value.
He even goes back to his roots and passion by, as they say “going back to your Why.”
The usual crap.
But would you believe me if I say all of this only made me unhappy and drove me further from my vision? My goal?
It’s somewhat true.
If anything, the entire journey has made me a cynical bastard.
I hate blogging. I really do.
But I love to write. Please note that there is a difference.
Blogging consists of so much bullshit. People just want to make money. People tell all kinds of flowery bullshit to manipulate. People call making money passion. People straight up lie and then say “It’s just business.”
I saw a book at the shop the other day. In it contained a testimonial by some other entrepreneur. I happen to know they both hate each other. What fucking hypocrisy.
Please, for the love of god, stop liking Facebook posts of pretentious people posting up their earnings and critique of other businesses. Please, for fuck’s sake stop buying into quick-and-easy schemes that promise the world to you. They’ll never work. These people are pretentious cunts who only stretch the truth. Their reality is already warped.
I’ve read and studied so many self-help books and bloggers that I’ve come to absolutely abhor them.
Please, fuck please, stop.
Your life isn’t going to change overnight because some blogger wrote in a fancy way, “Don’t Give up” and other cheap, cliche nonsense. Your negativity isn’t going to be blown away just because you meditate. Miracles will not come because you downloaded some law-of-attraction ebook. And no, you can’t hypnotize yourself so your bullshit disappears.
Yet I wonder why I’m so fixated on that kind of reality.
But then, why the fuck do I wonder.
I do need to make money and I do intend to make the shit out of it. I know what it’s like to be broke and I don’t intend to ever fall again.
So, I go back.
I remember that I want to write, that I love to write. I do whatever the fuck I want. And amazingly, that usually brings me the best results.
It’s a paradox. It’s a fucking mystery, but trust me when I say this: Whenever you’ve set your sights on a very specific result, you will probably never get it.
But when you open your world, bare your soul and start doing what you want, somehow you produce a kind of charisma people can relate to. Then the results come to you.
Yet, I falter, fear and fall again
Because I worry again, about money and/or some tangible result I think I need to succeed.
It’s cycle. A circle. Or it’s two parallels that bounces me back and forth.
And then I remember…
I get the reminders again. I get that feeling. So I try even harder, but with more heart.
Are we all so constantly distracted then we always forget?
Have you forgotten something? Do you not remember?
Why did you study that course in college in the first place?
Why the fuck do you wake up for this job?
Why are you putting up with that annoying colleague or boss?
Why do you want that new iPad Air so much?
Why do you want to be with her so bad?
Why the fuck do you care so much about what others think?
Why are you always so darn unhappy?
Do you even know you’re caught in the matrix?
Losing one of my parents has made me special
As ironic as it sounds, the correct word is indeed, special.
I know it has categorized me into a new group whose culture and perspective on life are way different from others, so much so I actually got criticism from people when I did the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge.
I was rather disappointed in some friends who did not seem to understand the obvious reason to why I did the challenge.
But here’s something I never told anyone yet:
When I did the Ice Bucket Challenge and emailed the post to my readers, one of them immediately replied me and said she showed it to her grandson. She said he was so touched by it he immediately did the challenge himself and saw that some of his friends did the same.
And that is why I’m special and that is why I fucking love to write. Special in a “You’re born special” kind of way is bullshit unless you really make it happen yourself.
So maybe it has indeed been a huge struggle for me.
Maybe the future would still be bleak for me.
Maybe I won’t find my big break yet, though I stopped hoping for one long ago.
Maybe I can never convince the people around me to understand why I do what I do.
Maybe I’ll never be able to sit in somebody’s lap again.
But I remember, I remember.
Thank you all for those who have supported me, pushed and have allowed me to command an audience. Please keep the emails coming. I’ve finally managed to catch up on them and am currently replying on a regular basis. And thank you for actually buying my shit. You’ve funding the dream.