Recovering My Lost Literary Muse from the Gentle Flapping of a Pawikan’s Flippers

I must admit. This post is oddly, if not problematically, named. How can a pawikan steal my creative flair?

No. The poor pawikan actually didn’t steal anything from me. I didn’t even know I lost my creativity until I and Pawi, as I have fondly called her, met at a deeper end of a coral bed at Moalboal. I called that moment a chance encounter as I heard the fishermen say that midday isn’t a time for pawikans to drop by the site.

But Pawi came, swimming serenely from the dark blue waters of the underwater precipice. She lingered for a moment at a huge coral to feed herself and greet the fishes. And I floated a couple of feet above her, looking at her through my foggy snorkeling goggles.

Then, time stood still.

My Literary Muse Appeared

I’m quite amazed at how her tiny flippers set her direction and allowed her to float as she journeys from one island to another in search of food. I wondered how her tiny flippers managed to propel her otherwise heavy and stony body.

And at that moment, I caught sight of my literary muse, the flippers. I realized I’ve lost my flippers as I succumbed to the realities of everyday life. Pawi’s flippers remind me of those short, but precious minutes or hours I failed to save for myself to power up my soul. Her flippers remind me of that one thing I used to do every day for myself that gave me joy, writing.

Over the years, I felt like I’m stuck and unable to move forward due to the load I’ve been carrying. I allowed frustrations and failures to drag me down and chain my flippers for a long time.

How I Lost My Muse

You see, I always have a love for writing, and I have always considered this craft a worthy channel of my thoughts. My journaling used to help me stay sane during my toughest times. And I’ve prayed that I can make a living out of doing this one thing that I love.

For the first couple of years, writing really felt like the flippers I needed to navigate the world of work smoothly. The craft served well in paying my bills. But the workload got overwhelming, and I had to succumb to superficiality just to cope.

I have churned out thousands of words for other people during the 10 years that I’ve been writing for a living. But I haven’t written anything serious for myself. And until recently, I felt like my words flowed out like I’m bleeding. Anytime soon, I know I’d run out of words to say.

How Pawi Came to Save the Day

At least for now, my chance meeting with Pawi is what I need to rekindle my love for creative writing. Her playful look, despite the heavy load of her heart-shaped carapace, will be forever etched in my memory. I will always remember her as someone comfortable with burdens; someone whom nature assigned to carry a heavy load, but carries it with grace and gratitude.

I know I still have a lot to learn and room to grow. I still have hundreds, if not thousands, of failures to undergo. And there’s still a long way to go. The words of Markus Zusak in The Book Thief still resound in my head as I struggle every day to learn to wield words like flaming swords: “I have hated the words, and I have loved them. I hope I have made them right.”