MY buddy and I collaborate on many projects. He does visual art, I do the writing, and it’s not just any writing as it is not just any visual art.
All throughout, I’d be badgering him to comment on what I’ve written. One writing project would see it being thrown back and forth in email or Facebook Messenger, any writer of lesser caliber would have had his ego bruised and battered by then. There are times when I know the idea is already there, but I also know that it’s not quite ripe yet. So I will send an article or a poem that for the uninitiated would already be his life’s highlight but for me is just the drift... it’s raw, it’s ugly, but the idea is there. After sending it off, I’d badger Kublai for comments.
“It’s bad, but that’s the direction it’s gonna take. Comment please,” I’d say.
Once he’s able to go through whatever has been written, he’d either call or text or chat. I’d listen, give a few clarifications or ask a few questions, grunt or grumble, and then hang up on him or shut him off. I’ve been a writer since grade school days, and I know how big ego writers have. I recognize that ego, and that’s the reason I always call that ego out to get a flogging. Anger me, so that the muse that is so comfortable sipping limoncello and being smug in the knowledge that she’s better than most, will be forced to get up and hit back. Something like, “Ah, ganoon ha! Humanda ka!”
Yes, that’s the reaction I wait for, and if you know the relationship between my buddy and I...the weak-hearted wouldn’t survive. We are brutal with our criticisms. Nothing is ever out oftune, it is “yabag”. Nothing is ever “pwede na” it’s always “mali”. And when the idea is not what the other wants communicated, then it’s said as it is: You didn’t get it.
One project can go back and forth ten times if it needs to go back and forth that many times. To many, if not all, the ego is the downfall. It is what stops development, it is what makes a person lose his steam. Ego can be deceiving, too, and it can make you huff and puff making it appear that the steam is still there when there is nothing left but the huffing and puffing of a bloated ego.
It’s not just him stepping on my ego, I’ve danced all over his in stilettos. As he would often say, we’re so used to his creations we are no longer impressed. And so we take some time off from each other and awe the gullible and pander to our egos before going back and face each other again, swords drawn, battle-ready, but only when there’s work to do. Most of the time, we just
sip wine and think of ways to rule the universe. (saestremera@gmail.com)