A week after, I wonder at how quickly I recovered from the “high” I had up there. But I noted some things have started to change–perhaps for the better.
One of these changes was manifest in something that happened last Friday, after hearing a writer-acquaintance talk about her journey toward autonomy–paradoxically toward communion, it turns out. I was leaving the place after a long night where I had dinner with some other acquaintances.
A bit of background: back when I did not know better, I became acquainted with a group of people who were, as it turns out, the kind of people I should not bother hanging with when it came to the arts scene. Not that they were any bit bad, but they were–how do I put it?–uncomfortable to be with as time wore on. There was also an element of the shady, the has-been, but I would rather be generous now.
So I spotted one of them over at the place and he greeted me. Inner groan. Then he asked what I was doing there. (Well I was transfixed by one of the more inspiring young people in Philippine literature, thank you…) I found that question innocent enough, but he wondered why I wasn’t at this exhibit opening of some artist somewhere. And then I snapped. A bit. “Sorry, but I’m not too keen on doing that anymore,” I said. Then he pressed on, telling me about a new show by a mutual acquaintance the day after at some gallery far away. I politely said that I would be elsewhere.
I think one of the big changes is that I am starting, again, to say no. And I’m more aware as to how my choices fit in the big picture. Perhaps I will lose my good name, or rep–I could very well be dubbed a snob for all I care–but it could no longer matter.
And in making my choice, I had a better time last night at a friend’s show–his first–because I was among people who were, it turned out, healthier for my soul.