The Writer (3 page)

“How on earth will we be
able to afford that?” I asked.

“We’ll just get jobs… work
anywhere and everywhere we can!” her eyes lit up as she started
envisioning our trip.

“How are we going to
afford our plane tickets? Where do you want to go anyway? Where
would we actually stay?”

“Calm down, half the fun
is in the spontaneity, the freedom to go and do whatever we want,
whenever we want to. Just see it: the open road, the Open Space,
just you and me, the fresh air and our Art.”

I felt a surge of
panic.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“You’re making that Face again…”

“What face?”

“The face you make each
time you’re freaked-out.”

“Sorry about
that.”

“Just breathe in. Keep it…
Breathe out.”

I wish I could tell you
that it annoyed me when she babysat my breathing like that.
However, in reality, it did not. She actually amused me. I usually
would not do what she said, but watching her close her eyes and
start her Yoga poses, always made me laugh; it usually did the
trick she intended, it calmed me.

“Which part is freaking
you out anyway?”

“It’s hard to pick just
one, really.”

We laughed.

“So where do you want to
go exactly anyway? France? Italy?”

Chapter 7

I had not known Joy for a
year yet, and here I was flying across the world to New Zealand by
her side. She had forced me to bring a notebook into the plane to
jot down my ‘feelings’ and ‘emotions’. She felt that all
experiences had their creative worth.

“You never know when
something might be useful to you.” She said, sitting next to me,
drawing in a little black leather book.

“What do you
mean?”

“When you write a story,
it’s like being an actor; you have to look into yourself to find
the right emotions to deliver realness to your game, your story. If
people can’t identify to what you’re saying, what’s the point?
People have to believe your storytelling… get captivated by it.
They need to immerse themselves in what you’re delivering, lose
themselves in it. Art is all about escapetism…”

“I’m sure that’s not a
word: Escapatism” I said.

“So, why are you
correcting me then? Is that all you got out of what I just said to
you? If you got the point, why are you getting stuck on the
punctuation?”

“You lost me…”

She exhaled loudly and
rolled her eyes at me. “The shape of the message doesn’t matter,
it’s the content that does.”

It was my turn to breathe
in and out, lie back, and ponder on what I had just learned. Of
course, I knew all this, but it sounded different coming from her.
She was right. Sometimes, there was no point in picking at things,
finding the exact right word. I had wasted a lot time worrying over
things that seemed rather insignificant when listening to
Joy.

I smiled.

She smiled back, and then
rested her head on my shoulder. She drew out a camera from her bag
and snapped a shot.

“For Posterity,” she
said.

Chapter 8

Looking out of the window,
with the lights stretched out before us, I was overwhelmed with
anticipation. At first, I had put up a fight about the whole idea,
as I usually did about everything. My first reaction was rarely a
positive one. I know it sounds stupid, but I could never really let
go of my numerous reserves about any ideas coming from Joy. She was
simply too disorganized to really allow me to feel secure in trying
new things.

Half the idea, in trying
new things, was to go with the flow. I got that, but it did not
mean I had to like it.

So, yes, I tried to always
start everything with: No. That way, it was sure to slow down any
scary plans that popped into her head. At first, she would put up a
fight, argue with me, trying to convince me to see her way.
Obviously, that never worked. I enjoyed my well-planned,
well-structured, well-organized way of life. It did not need
improving, it was just perfect the way it was; that is what I liked
to tell myself anyway.

These days, it seemed I
had overused the word “No,” as she did not acknowledge it anymore.
It appeared to me that she no longer heard me, or my reservations,
because they no longer held any weight. Hence, the reason I was
sitting on a plane right now, instead of working throughout summer
to pay next year’s tuition. It was not the smartest plan, but I
would worry about that later.

“Breathe,” I heard Joy say
through my hyperventilation. “Chill out, Ben…”

This time, I really needed
to take a deep breath. I had sub-rented my apartment for the time
being, so I did not need to worry about that. I had told my parents
where I was going, which would eventually cause my mother an ulcer
in the long term. Joy had insisted on meeting them, and explaining
the need to “disconnect” from our Routine to really get the
Creative “juices” going. No way, I had feigned a stomachache,
headache, and nausea to avoid their meeting.

After the third
cancellation, Joy asked me why I was embarrassed to introduce her
to my family… I had to tell her I was actually embarrassed of my
parents, and did not want her to judge me through them. She had
laughed and thought it silly. The reality of the matter was that I
did not want my head to explode during the second course of the
meal. My parents would be wondering all night what language Joy was
actually speaking. Yes, it sounded like English, but she would
simply make no sense to them. Do not laugh, but my parents were
actual Accountants.

Yes, I had used up most of
my savings for the plane ticket. Yes, we were arriving in the
middle of winter in New Zealand, which made the cost of the tickets
a bit lower than the high season, but still… I had no idea how we
would afford “life” there.

It did not take too long
to get through the customs, and get out of the airport. The first
thing that hit me was the smell. It is hard to put a finger on what
the difference is exactly, between Canada and New Zealand, but
there is definitely something there.

I took my notebook out and
wrote it down, my first impressions of this new country. I looked
around, wrote the details. As we started making our way out of
Auckland and into the Waikato, I could not believe how many cows
there were. Did these people keep them as pets or
something?

Joy bought us a very old
rusted piece of can on wheels. It was going to be our Home for the
next couple of months.

“Where are we going to
bathe?” I asked.

“The sea…”

“What about
toilets?”

“They have them everywhere
here. Don’t worry! It’ll be great!”

Her eyes lit up as she
drove us around. We found rather easily the sea again once we made
it to the Hawkes Bay, where we ended up spending most of our
time.

We worked left and right
for various farmers and wineries, though there was not very much to
do during the down season.

Many days and evenings
were spent on the beach, where the sun had not received the memo
about being rain season.

In the waters of the Mahia
beach, Joy swam with a dolphin, which appeared to have fallen in
love with us human folk. Watching Joy pet it, laughing and
splashing around, I felt suddenly a pang of jealousy for her
uncomplicated way of life.

Jumping into the sea, with
her t-shirt and jeans, was quite a sight to see. She did not think
twice. How many opportunities to swim with a dolphin would come up
throughout her life, she had said. She dove in, not looking
back.

This was the way she lived
her life. The picture of the Fool from the Tarot came to mind. Yes,
she lived her life with total freedom, but how many times would she
fall off a cliff? Was it really worth taking that kind of risk? Why
was I thinking about Tarot cards? Joy was most definitely becoming
a strong influence in my life.

“What if it was a Shark,”
I said, “You couldn’t really tell from where we were
standing…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She
laughed.

I felt angry.

“You always do that! You
always do these crazy things without thinking!”

She laughed, which poured
gasoline on my fire.

“This is Serious! You
can’t always just do everything that crosses your mind. It’s not
because you’re thinking it that it’s necessarily a good
idea!”

“Oh Ben…” She smiled. “If
you wanted to swim with the dolphin, why didn’t you?”

“What are you on about?
This has nothing to do with it!” I said. “I’m talking about your
thoughtlessness! Your Crazy impulsive ways that could throw you off
a cliff and me with it!”

“You could have just come
with me… It’s not too late if you want to go in…”

“Are you not listening to
me? Which part did you not hear?”

“All I can see right now
is that you’re upset at yourself for not just having gone into the
water with me.”

“GAH!”

In silence, I stared at
her heavily, fuming.

Why was she not she
listening to me? Why did she not understand what I was trying to
say? You could not just dive into anything anytime just because…
you could.

Why not? I could already
hear her asking me. Well, why not? Because! Because who knows what
might happen if you do!

She rolled her
eyes.

“What?”

“You could just say what’s
on your mind, instead of just pissing yourself off all on your own.
You seem unhappy even with your inner-monologue.”

“Just be quiet!” I
said.

She looked at me as though
I had just slapped her in the face. She was taken aback, and so was
I. Why was I so angry? I deflated and just sat there,
remorseful.

“Sorry,” I managed to
say.

She nodded. We sat quietly
for a few minutes, watching the sun setting slowly into the
sea.

“You want to go swimming?”
She asked.

“Yeah…”

Chapter 9

Road tripping through New
Zealand became one of the most life changing experiences of my
life. Learning about the Maori culture, their value of ancestry,
their connectedness to nature, their Whanau, which means Family, –
it all inspired me.

Travelling into the depths
of this breathtaking country, we made many friends or I should say
Joy did. Wherever she went, people were attracted to her. We shared
a hangi, were invited to a Marai to observe and be part of a
ceremony. Watching the Haka being performed, the storytelling of
it, even if I could not understand what they were saying, it
captivated me.

Turning the last page of
my notebook, I sighed. I could not remember the last time I had
written so much. I smiled in satisfaction. Even though my notebook
was more like a travel journal, I felt like an accomplish
writer.

“You sound surprised,”
said Joy.

“Well, they’re just
disparate ideas, thoughts, and feelings, nothing I can really use
to produce anything substantial.”

“What are you talking
about?” she asked, “You just did produce something…”

“Writing is easy, if you
don’t care about the quality of it, but I want to be a Writer, you
know?”

She pushed her hair back,
tying it.

“It doesn’t work that way,
Ben.”

“What do you
mean?”

“You are a Writer, because
you write…”

I smiled. Of course, she
would say that. “You’re a painter, because you paint?”

“It’s not because you
haven’t been published yet, that you’re not a Writer….”

“Well, I think you’d need
to sell a few paintings to be considered in the Real world as a
painter… With the talent you have, I’m sure that’s bound to happen
sooner or later.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, “but
I disagree. I don’t think whether you sell a story or a painting,
should change anything about the way you want to define yourself.
In the end, your Art defines you, because it’s second nature to
you, like breathing. You can’t live without it. You think about it
day and night. Everything you see, you experience is seen through
your Art’s Grid. You think in Words or in Colors, always in
relations to your form of expression.”

I looked at her, a bit
dumbfounded. “I guess,” I managed to say.

“Grand Artists usually
gain fame after they die… Therefore, really… your way of thinking
makes no sense. If you don’t choose who you are now, who does:
Everyone, and Anyone? You want the Public to decide if you’re
Worthy of being a Writer? That makes no sense. You Are a Writer,
whether the World chooses to recognize it or not.”

She went on: “All you need
to do is continue to express what you have to say, in whichever
form you chose to use. Please don’t care about what other people
think of you, and your Art, they’re usually wrong anyway. Only you
know who you are, and most importantly, what you have to
say.”