Heartstrings in Disguise

Prolouge: Ink-Stained Beginnings

Prologue.

I was blankly staring outside my window. Another day, another chance for me to look for inspiration as a writer. Sa 25 taon kong nabubuhay sa mundo, kailan ko kaya mararanasan ang magandang buhay gaya ng mga karakter na isinusulat ko? I sighed. Sa mga kuwentong ito na nga lang ako nagiging masaya, pero bakit hindi ako makasulat at makatapos ng kuwento? Slowly, I'm starting to feel like maybe writing isn't really for me.

Every day, I would wake up to the familiar sound of my alarm clock blaring beside my bed. Sa maliit kong apartment, nagkalat ang napakaraming papel na may drafts ng kung anu-anong kuwento—mga karakter na naghihintay na mabigyang-buhay. Pero lagi na lang akong nauubusan ng tamang mga salita. Walang sense of direction, walang final page. Just... fragments.

Lately, my life felt like it was made up of those same fragments—disjointed and incomplete. Every morning, I would sit down at my desk, hoping that maybe this time, the words would come, like an old friend who finally decided to show up. Pero hindi, the blank screen in front of me just stared back, taunting me, making me question everything I'd ever believed about myself. I wanted to scream, to throw the laptop across the room, but I knew that wouldn't make the words appear.

Kahit anong gawin ko, I felt like I was losing touch with the very thing that used to give me joy. Parang hindi ko na nakikilala ang sarili ko—parang napag-iwanan na ako ng lahat ng bagay. My friends from college had moved on to stable careers, jobs that gave them security and a sense of achievement. Meanwhile, here I was, barely able to pay rent each month, wondering if I was chasing a dream that was never meant for me.

I remember the exact moment I first discovered Keshi Adler's writing. It was during a stormy night back in college, one of those nights na walang tigil ang ulan. I was curled up in the campus library, looking for anything to escape the monotony of textbooks and assigned readings. A random paperback caught my eye—plain black cover, no title on the spine, just a single name written in delicate gold lettering: Keshi Adler.

Curious, I opened it and started reading. Within minutes, I was hooked. His words felt like they were pulling me into a different dimension, as if every sentence held a secret waiting to be uncovered. Each page felt alive, each line drenched in emotion and honesty. The way he wrote—raw, unapologetic, layered with meaning—made me feel seen, like someone had finally put into words all the things I'd been too afraid to say. By the time I finished the book, I was in tears, the kind you didn't wipe away because they meant something.

Since then, I had been obsessed. I devoured every book he published, followed all his social media accounts, and read every interview he'd ever given. I even subscribed to his blog, where he shared snippets of his life, his creative struggles, his thoughts on writing. In many ways, he became my invisible mentor, guiding me through my own writing journey even though he didn't know I existed.

Keshi wasn't just any writer to me. He was the reason I believed in the magic of words, the reason I kept going even when I felt like giving up. His stories had depth, something that resonated with me deeply, but they weren't the kind of stories that were easy to read. They were layered, filled with emotion and nuance, the type of writing that forced you to confront yourself. And I wanted to create something like that—a story that would make people feel the way Keshi's writing made me feel.

But every time I tried to write something of my own, I found myself falling short. My apartment was filled with unfinished stories, drafts abandoned in the middle of a sentence, characters waiting to be brought to life. Nakakapagod. Sobrang nakakapagod. The more I tried to write, the more it felt like my words were slipping through my fingers, like sand I couldn't hold onto.

And it wasn't just about not finishing a story. It was the fear that maybe, just maybe, I didn't have what it takes. I started second-guessing every sentence, every idea. Minsan, naiisip ko na baka lahat ng mga sinusulat ko ay walang kwenta. Na baka hindi ako talaga meant to be a writer. I would scroll through social media, seeing posts from writers who seemed to have everything figured out. Lalo na si Keshi Adler.

His success haunted me. Nakikita ko ang mga litrato niya, all smiles and confidence, holding his latest book, looking like he belonged to a world I could only dream of. His writing seemed effortless, like breathing. And yet here I was, gasping for air with every word, every line. I wanted to give up so many times, but something inside me—some stubborn little spark—kept pushing me to try again.

My days were repetitive, marked by an unbreakable routine. I'd wake up, stare at my reflection in the mirror, hoping to see some semblance of a writer staring back at me. But all I'd see was exhaustion and frustration. Then, I'd make my way to the tiny desk crammed into one corner of my apartment, cluttered with coffee-stained notebooks and pens that barely worked. There was something tragic about it, like I was clinging to scraps of a dream that no longer belonged to me.

After a few hours of struggling, I'd often take breaks, just to clear my head. On those breaks, I'd find myself scrolling through Keshi's blog, rereading his posts, clinging to his words like they were a lifeline. His advice was always straightforward: "Just write. Even when it's hard, especially when it's hard." But no matter how much I tried to follow his advice, the words still didn't come.

One night, habang nagbabasa ako ng isang article tungkol kay Keshi, I stumbled upon something na hindi ko inasahan—an announcement for his upcoming writer's retreat. A retreat for "writers of heart and grit," as he put it. Pero limited spots lang, at pipiliin lang ni Keshi mismo ang mga papasok. My heart raced. Alam kong ang daming mas magagaling na writers diyan, pero baka...baka ito na 'yung chance na hinihintay ko. Kinuha ko agad ang laptop ko, and I started typing my application letter, hoping to catch his attention with every word.

Pero kahit gaano pa kaganda ang mga salitang pinili ko, hindi ko pa rin mapigilan ang kaba. "Paano kung hindi ako mapili?" Sa gitna ng takot at pag-aalinlangan, I knew I had to try. This was Keshi Adler, the man whose words kept me awake at night, the one who gave me courage whenever I doubted myself. Sighing, I pressed send.

Days turned into weeks. Naging parte na ng routine ko ang pag-check ng email, waiting for a single response. Siguro every hour chine-check ko, just to see if I made it. Sa mga oras na iyon, I felt my self-doubt creeping back. I wondered if my stories had any real depth, or if they were just fragments of my personal fantasies. And if Keshi read my application, did he see right through me?

Mga tatlong linggo na ang nakalipas when a new email finally appeared in my inbox: Congratulations, Madelyn! For a moment, I stared at the screen, disbelieving. Keshi Adler chose me? My hands were trembling as I read and reread the email. Tila mabubura ang mga salita sa screen kakatingin ko.

Dear Madelyn Torres,

I'm thrilled to inform you that you've been selected to join my upcoming writer's retreat! After reading your application, I was deeply impressed by your passion and dedication to your craft. Your writing shows real promise, and I believe this retreat will be a fantastic opportunity for you to grow further as a writer. I'm excited to meet you in person and see the direction your work will take. More details will follow soon, but for now, congratulations again!

Best regards,
Keshi Adler

Pinili niya ako? Pinili niya ako! Hindi ko alam kung matutuwa ba ako o kung matatakot ako. Packing was harder than I thought it would be. Hindi ko alam kung paano ihahanda ang sarili ko for something like this. I sat on the floor of my tiny apartment, surrounded by scattered clothes, notebooks, and pens. I had no idea what to expect from this retreat, but I knew I wanted to bring pieces of myself. I folded a few of my favorite books, stacking them carefully in my bag, like old friends I wanted to take along.

The night before I left, I barely slept. I tossed and turned, trying to imagine what Keshi would be like in person, wondering if I'd be good enough to hold my own in front of him. Then came dawn, and with it, the soft light of a new beginning.