Why I Write- The Importance of Storytelling

This is going to be ridiculously random so stay with me. Really hope you all read this through.

I’ve seen a few of these lately, so decided to do one myself. I had a Tumblr for 4 years called Shooich’s stream of consciousness which was more or less my diary, and I never received any likes or follows. I never tagged anything and read anyone else’s posts. It didn’t matter to me at all, and I was completely fine with leaving it as my diary to share with my closest friends. I quit writing in 2014 because all I could write about was my ex-gf and it just made me more depressed.

Around the end of 2016 I decided to start a new blog. At first it was starting to become like my old blog, but my intentions for this blog were to share my thoughts, gain followers, and connect with other talented writers to improve my own. I don’t have many followers, and don’t get many likes on my posts which is likely due to how much of a cluster fuck my blog is, but I couldn’t be more grateful for the few devout followers that enjoy my posts.

I started by following a few blogs and saw a lot of poetry that inspired me to write poetry since why not? Isn’t writing more beautiful when its ambiguous when we can connect the invisible dots for ourselves instead of having others connect them for us?

And now for the random stream of consciousness before getting back to my overall points and what I’ve learned from what I’ve gotten out of my experience on wordpress:

2016 was by far the worst year of my life as I hit rock bottom mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and financially. I had 3 suicide attempts, and have lately been reverting back into the cave I had emerged from prior to my trip to Barcelona.

Last summer I tore my ACL after having travelled Seoul on my 5th night in Bangkok. I would have left for Krabi the next morning and would have done my CELTA trip here, in Barcelona, in September, gone to Manchester to see Future Sound of Egypt 450 hosted by Aly and Fila, but instead started punching myself in the face (literally) because of how much I hated myself for how much of a repulsive degenerate I considered myself.

Something I’ve realized, and what is likely the source of my depression, is that I’m the most ungrateful person imaginable. I fail as an alchemist and simply fail to let go of everything that has hindered me in the past allowing it to continue perpetuating into the future. Here and now, I admit that I seriously to need to be more grateful for all of the incredible things that have happened to me in the past.

I played poker professionally for 7 years; online, underage live, and inevitably legally live. I met a lot of incredible people I wouldn’t have met otherwise, some of which are my best friends now, but I also met many travelers or successful business people that I’m truly grateful to having met. I made so much money, but splurged it on bullshit like I have been during this trip.

I dated by far the most incredible woman I’ve ever met for a year, and due to my own inadequacies relied on her for my own happiness and our relationship imploded. She, of course, was partially guilty, but I admit that I am far more guilty. I still can think back on it as the happiest time of my life and will never forget her until the day I die. I’ll never forget watching, at the time, all 6 seasons of Big Bang Theory, all sorts of movies, helping each other with our Japanese and English respectively, serenading one another at karaoke for hours, laser tag, and all our hikes at Red Rock and Mt. Charleston.

After returning back to Vegas from Thailand to rehabilitate my knee I had an extremely transformative experience. I was miserable at first sulking and reflecting back on how much I fucked up my life, and thinking about what could’ve been. I’ve had every opportunity my entire life. I’ve had multiple investors willing to give me thousands of dollars to play poker with the hopes that I would save my money, but would always spent the money on alcohol, eating out everyday, and what else I’m in recovery for.

During my experience getting driven to and from physical therapy by my mom since last year I totaled my brand new car and got a DUI, I was humbled greatly. I rarely had visitors from friends and had to find happiness with myself at home alone. At first I smoked weed everyday (2-3 ounces monthly) and played an inordinate amount of Doom and Kill Floor 2, but eventually started reading loads and loads of books, and started this blog.

At first I was reading a lot of books on self-improvement by Tony Robbins and Brene Brown, but inevitably transitioned back into the world of Haruki Murakami. I had previously read Tsukuru Tazaki, South of the Border West of the Sun, and Norwegian Wood, but felt that I needed to re-read Norwegian Wood since I hadn’t embodied it.

In the story Toru is at a time of coming of age and is reliant on external relationships with Naoko and Midori for his own validation. He’s foiled by Nagasawa to show that pointless sex  and an excess of money isn’t what will make him happy long term, but is only a short term fix. He sees that Naoko and Kizuki were co-dependent, and that he couldn’t allow himself to slide down into that world and would have to become happy with himself before he loves himself. He has sex with Reiko at the end, a 53 year-old, because he sees her inner beauty, and knows that even if Midori shouldn’t take him back that he can find love and beauty in all things. Murakami achieves his aim of oneness so perfectly in a story that is very much unlike the rest of his metaphysical works of art, but a work of art nonetheless.

I then read Kafka on the Shore which is my favorite book by far. I’ve never identified more with any character in any movie, book, or video game (its close with Tidus from FFX), than with Kafka Tamura in this masterpiece. Kafka, a troubled youngster, with all sorts of hatred for his mother and sister for abandoning him at an early age, became what he hated most, his father, which likely was the cause of the abandonment. He read every day, worked out, and tried to be the strongest 15-year-old he could, in order to deny his own internal satisfaction.

He inevitably was able to stay in a cabin in the middle of nowhere and go in and out of his metaphysical storm or forest, whichever you prefer, and come out a stronger person at the end. Murakami beautifully depicts that enlightenment can be achieved, but if we’re ignorant to the light within us that nothing will ever change and we will continuously push the stone like Sisyphus for the rest of our lives. I know that I suffer greatly of an Oedipus Rex complex and would love to murder my father for having beaten the shit out of my mother in front of me and leaving her with a bloody face. I would cry and never know whether he would come after me next, but luckily he never did. Despite being physically left intact I was always scarred, and like Kafka Tamura could never able to socialize with other kids. By the end of the story I confirmed that I am responsible for my own actions and needed to find ways to love myself internally, so I could receive love in the external real world despite any past that I can no longer control.

So why am I writing this long monologue?

I, like Kafka, in a very controlled environment was able to manifest the highest version of my internal Pharaoh. I was so happy and ready to re-join the real world that I lost sight of everything I had accomplished while in my moms cave; I’ve started drinking everyday, smoking shisha everyday, eating out and indulging in extremely healthy foods instead of cooking my own meals. I’ve completely abused the Fulltilt money I had been waiting for for 6 years, $2200, and the $1600 my mom has sent me over the last month.

I had lost gratitude for the opportunity to immerse myself in culture, watch football games, and vibe with my classmates. I went back to my old habits and have burnt through money like a rapid fire. The more I spent the more I hated myself, and the more I burnt in order to cope. I have to break the cycle here and now.

I need to be grateful that I’m out of poker, something I had grown sick and tired of, and had lost the extent to which its lucrative, and have the ability to travel and teach while learning how to internally guide myself.

While teaching, I initially wanted to overcomplicate everything, but have seen that when I personalize things on the surface without getting too deep, that others are captivated and are facilitated to share their experiences. When I guide, instead of teach, is when I have my best lessons.

In terms of the real world, I don’t know where I will be headed after the 8 days in Budapest starting Sunday. I will get to see Jason Mraz, have a few conversations with myself, and explore a new city. I will go to a few language schools and see if they would sponsor a visa, and if so, I will stay, but if not I likely will have to return back to Vegas and make the most of The Pharaoh Cave before returning back into the real world.

And back to the point:

I write this blog to express myself and share my experiences through life. Some might be poetic, others in the form of short stories, but I am ultimately here to cultivate our collect-self. I believe that we are all one.

We have empathy for each other’s struggles and we support each other in our writing as we internally guide ourselves. I deactivated my facebook because I need to go back into my cave and figure things out. I’m back in my degenerate path, and will be enabled by mom, but in the end I enable myself to abuse her money like I’ve abused every penny I’ve ever made in poker.

Although I’m here for myself I’m here to learn from you as well. You are all such talented writers and I’m grateful that you’ve helped me improve my poetry and my long random tangents like this.

I’d like to hope that I can practice more gratitude and elevate myself to a higher state of being, so I can increase my time spent outside of The Storm and in-joy in the real world. If you’re still reading thanks for sticking through and I’m grateful for your support.

-Pharaoh Maktuk



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