I can’t sleep right now and I suddenly remember a question I received the other day about why I become a writer. There is no single reason why, but I believe this story is one of them.

A person who was important to me once told me, after reading my blog, that I’m “a good writer, but you can’t make a living by writing. Writing has no future.”

I wasn’t a published writer back then. I wasn’t even planning on becoming one. But I despised her for what she told me.

And for a long time, I told myself, yes, maybe she was right. So I stopped dreaming. I stopped writing. I stopped my imagination. I’ll just become another corporate drone. I wasn’t happy. But at least those were the things that I was told I’m supposed to do.

But then shit keeps happening and I was in the lowest point of my life. The absolute lowest. She left me a short while after that, saying I can’t take care of her, even though at that time, I was the one that really needed someone to take care of me.

What did I do? I said fuck it. There is nothing to lose. I start to write and see where it would take me. About 9-10 months after that, I held a copy of ZOMBIJAYA in my hand. And things only going uphill after that.

She is no longer part of my life and I stopped being angry at her a long time ago. To tell the truth, I even forgot how her voice sounds like.

Now, it is 2015 and I am happy to live my life using the money that I make through this craft that has no future. I earn more now that I’ve ever made when I was working blue collar works.

Yes, I struggled for a while. What kind of writers didn’t?

If this is a failure, then it is a very satisfying failure.

Now, I shall try to go back to sleep and continue finishing the scripts that are due in a few days once I wake up tomorrow.