There’s a strange kind of silence that settles in when a writer goes too long without writing.
For the past three weeks, I’ve been a tourist, not a storyteller, and as much as I’ve savored every new experience, there’s been a gnawing emptiness I can’t ignore. Here I am, in the heart of Texas, surrounded by beauty and hospitality. Yet, a quiet restlessness lingers – an unspoken longing for the familiar rhythm of words flowing through my fingertips.
It’s in this silence that I am reminded: being a writer is not just something I do, it’s who I am.
As tourists in the United States, my wife Cher and I have been captivated by the experience. Our stay in the elegant home of Ed, our gracious and generous host in Allen, Texas, has been nothing short of extraordinary.
BFF & HS CLASSMATES
Left photo with Ed in front of his home
Right photo from left: Cher, Ray, bday boy Ed, & Bing's son, Gabby
Ed and I, best friends and high school classmates, reconnected in the Philippines after more than 50 years. He has returned many years earlier to marry his high school first love, Bing, during our high school grand reunion – a bittersweet yet heartwarming tale I detailed in my ATABAY article, 50 Years Later: Joy Of Reuniting With Classmates.
It was during that reunion that Ed and I first spoke of the possibility of my visiting the U.S. Now, that long-cherished dream has become a reality.
The accommodations Ed has provided are beyond anything we could have imagined. We are staying in a private guest room complete with an ensuite bathroom equipped with both hot and cold showers, conveniently located next to a physical fitness and game room. The kitchen, fully stocked, allows Cher to prepare our meals daily. In our free time, we indulge in the mini-theater and unwind by the pool.
But what Cher and I cherish most are our daily afternoon walks through the meticulously landscaped park, complete with four baseball fields, all nestled within the exclusive, gated community of Allen.
Attending Sunday service, grocery shopping, strolling in the park
Ed’s hospitality extends far beyond that of a typical host. On our first day, he took us to Walmart to purchase essentials – from towels to toiletries – and even stocked the refrigerator with groceries for our meals. He’s also gone out of his way to take us to delightful restaurants, treating us to exotic culinary experiences, despite his busy personal and professional schedule.
For our spiritual well-being, Ed has also invited us to attend Sunday worship service at his Southern Baptist Church, providing us with a fulfilling spiritual respite. As Catholics, we hear online Sunday Mass presided by Fr. Jerry Orbos after dinner in the privacy of our room.
Thanks to Ed’s extraordinary generosity, we feel not just like ordinary tourists but like honored guests in his home.
The First Great American Buy -- A Nail Cutter
SENSE OF INCOMPLETENESS
Yet despite the joy and serenity that this journey has brought, there lingers within me a quiet, persistent sense of incompleteness. The days have been filled with new sights and experiences, yet a part of me remains tethered to an unwritten world, waiting to emerge. A stillness nags at me, a silence that demands to be broken.
Beyond being a tourist, I am, at my core, a writer – and for the past 23 days since Cher and I first set foot on American soil, my keyboard remained untapped, my thoughts unspoken. The once-flowing stream of creativity has been dammed, and in this unnatural silence, I feel a subtle void, a restlessness stirring deep within. Each day passes without writing feeds this disquiet, leaving a faint emptiness where words used to thrive.
It is a creative yearning that tugs gently but incessantly at my spirit, reminding me that my identity as a writer is more than a pastime or a profession. It is a calling that cannot be ignored, even in the most indulgent moments of peace or the most excruciating flare-up of conflict. Writing is not merely an action but a form of existence, and without it, a part of me feels suspended, waiting for a return to the familiar rhythm of creation.
Looking back, I wrote in my natal ATABAY article What’s In A Name?:
“To write or not to write, that’s the question I’d been dealing with after I got off from over two decades of blood, sweat, and tears in the corporate world. It’s not as existential a question as Hamlet’s To be or not to be since I love writing. But, where would I write? The answer: my blog, I am launching today.”
That was three years ago. ATABAY – that was the name I chose when I launched the blog on August 21, 2021. In that first article, I closed with these thoughts:
“I look forward to charm, not a fast reader who can’t put down a good book, but a slow reader who after reading a line, a paragraph, or a page, puts down a great book and reflects."
WORDS ARE ALL I HAVE
“I’m not naïve. In this day and age of hi-tech social media crazes like TikTok, Snapchat, and Instagram, what does an old-fashioned writer, like me, have to compete for viewer/reader attention? The answer is embedded in the lyrics of a Bee Gees’ song":
It’s only words and words are all I have to take your heart away.
Now, after publishing 294 blog posts covering a wide range of genres – personal essays, technological insights, political commentaries, travel writing – I find myself at a crossroads, unsure of which direction to take next. My dilemma is not a case of staring at a blank screen, cursor blinking in defiance, the ominous specter of writer’s block haunting me.
Writer’s block often mythologized as an impenetrable wall between thought and expression, is less about the absence of ideas and more about the fear of imperfection. It is that moment when the weight of expectations – self-imposed or otherwise – paralyzes creativity. The blinking cursor becomes an accusation, not of silence, but of the writer’s inability to translate the thoughts swirling inside into coherent form.
For some, it manifests as a dread of mediocrity, a hesitation to begin for fear that what emerges may not live up to the vision within. For others, it’s the simple inertia of starting, the blank page too vast and white, daring the writer to fill it. But perhaps, the most insidious form of writer’s block is the one disguised as waiting – for the perfect sentence, the perfect scene, the perfect moment.
Sometimes the best part of the story is the one you return to later, with fresh eyes and a clearer mind.
UNANSWERED QUESTION
My current challenge, however, feels less like that and more like an unanswered question, lingering in my mind without urgency. I trust answer will come – in seven weeks, seven months, or perhaps seven years. Until then, I will keep writing, knowing that sometimes the best part of the story is the one you return to later, with fresh eyes and a clearer mind.
Perhaps I need to do more research and dig deeper into the well of knowledge. Or maybe more contemplation is required, a quiet space to reflect and let the ideas brew. It might even come to me in the most unexpected moment, as often happens – in the shower or during a simple walk. But sooner or later, I trust that I will figure it out.
As I grapple with these uncertainties, I am reminded of a profound quote attributed to Ernest Hemingway:
There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
In this simple, raw truth, I find solace. Writing isn’t about ease or perfection. It’s about honesty – about opening yourself to the page, no matter how difficult or incomplete it may feel. And in that, I find the courage to continue writing.
Content and editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT
Head collage photos courtesy of Redbubble, Wallpaper Cave, & Abstract Wallpapers and Backgrounds
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