Cycles

Life is little but the same cycles repeating, with wrinkles of variation.

On Friday evening, Kris and I travel for an ultimate tournament. After a few hours, we arrive in the city. We stay over at our friends house. We eat dinner. We talk. We play a boardgame. We go to sleep. We wake up on Saturday morning and head to the field. We meet our teammates. We play a few games. There is some entertainment to occupy us in the downtime. We play some more. We take a tournament photo. We shower and get ready for dinner. We eat barbecue for dinner. We head to the party. We party. We go home.

On Sunday morning, we prepare to play more Ultimate. We play. We hang out on the sideline when we are not playing. We eat a late lunch. We spend some time with friends while waiting for our transport. We travel back home. Catsby yells at us. We go to sleep. We face the new week. I vow to write a blog post. I procrastinate.

Life is little but the same cycles repeating, with wrinkles of variation.

On Friday evening, Kris and I travel for an ultimate tournament on Jeju island. After an hour flight, we arrive on the island. We stay over at our friends house, where we’ve never stayed before. We eat a delicious dinner that our friend lovingly made herself. We talk, catching up on the small talk we haven’t been able to have because we don’t see each other as often as we’d like to. We play a boardgame that Kris and I had never played, and were justifiably terrible at it. We go to sleep, eagerly awaiting the hat tournament the next day. We wake up on Saturday and head to the field, with our friend driving us there, chatting all the while. We meet our teammates, a mixture of old friends and island folk we hadn’t had the chance to bond with before. We play a few games with everyone in costume, trying to keep their outfits together and still play decently. There is a field-side game show to occupy us in the downtime, all meticulously planned for maximum fun and price-guessing opportunities. We play some more, with no-one stressing about the results and everyone just having the best time. We take a tournament photo, with some costumes in a state of disarray. We shower and get ready for dinner at another new house. We eat barbecue for dinner, and I have the best kimchi jjigae I’ve ever had. We head to the party, marveling at people’s new costumes for the evening. We party, Kris and I feeling a little out of the loop with the strong party and costume game in the club. We go home, arguing that the costume contest was a sham and some people are the worst.

On Sunday morning, we prepare to play goaltimate on a beach. We play, with everyone a little less energetic than the day before. We hang out, and are surprised by a visit from a long-travelling friend’s sudden return. We eat a late lunch, the best fish and chips on the island for Kris, and a solid burger for me. We spend some time with friends while waiting for our transport, teaching them rugby as we watch South Africa win their world cup semi-final. We travel back home, a short flight and subway away. Catsby yells at us, his way of saying he misses us. We go to sleep, determined to to return to our friends on Jeju soon. I vow to write a blog post. I procrastinate.

Life is little but the same cycles repeating, with joy in the wrinkles of variation.

Spreading the Ink

For most of my life, writing has been something that has just happened, that has always been there with me. From my first, one-syllable pieces when I could barely hold a pen, to fledgling short stories and poems in high school, to this blog post right now, putting words onto paper in a mostly logical and flowing manner has always been something I did for enjoyment, for myself. Today, that changed. I wrote my first article for GosuGamers.net.

It wasn’t delivering major, world-shattering news that needed to be put to the masses or society would collapse. It was just a little piece telling the lovely patrons to the site that an exciting tournament of DotA2 would soon be starting. Nevertheless, I felt an immense sense of pride and accomplishment when my current mentor from GosuGamers pressed the button, and my article, something that I had written, popped up on the front page of the site. I had contributed to something larger than myself.

This is the first step in a new direction that I am taking for myself. Next year, I hope to teach only part-time, and supplement my income through freelance writing or editing jobs. Having recently been told about Freelancer.com, a most intriguing platform that helps freelancers of all trades meet up with potential projects where their talent can be utilized, I am testing the waters to see whether this could be a viable option for me for the future. I am trying to net a few small jobs, build up my reputation on the site and my skills in the writing field at the same time.

While the GosuGamers article may not be the first time my work has been published online (with a short story I wrote forming part of a digital anthology called The Collective, available here), it does mark a step in the direction of more lucrative writing, and possibly even supporting myself by doing so. This causes me to stop and wonder: could I write for a living?

My heart says that I could. Hell, there are a host of people that put pen (or the digital equivalent) to paper (or the digital equivalent) and money happens to end up in their bank account because people like their work. My mind then reminds me of the much larger host of other people desperately flogging their creative wares to no avail or profit, and I feel more reserved and conflicted at the idea, but no less keen to walk the path, even if it is only for a little while.

So, I flex my fingers and carefully tread the next brick on the yellow road of writing. Will I walk long enough to reach the Emerald City of self-sufficiency and self-actualisation? Is that even where this road goes? I know not. But I am going to enjoy the view along the way.