I hate stories of self-discovery. “What Walking the Appalachian Trail Taught Me About Basketball.” “How the Death of My Childhood Friend Blah Blah Blah.” That kind of thing really annoys me, no matter how well written or informative. And as time has gone on, I’ve realized the reason it annoys me is less that the construction itself is a cheat — that mining personal experiences for a piece is a way to avoid actually entertaining someone with writing — than that I just don’t have comfortable access to that kind of self-awareness. I don’t like thinking about what the saddest movie I’ve ever seen is, for example, so the psychic bravery involved in writing about a real personal loss or meaningful experience or existential wound is terrifying. Anyway, there comes a time in a person’s life when they, in taking stock of where they’re going, want to know more about from whence they came. That is the least lame way I am capable of writing that. So, this is a story of self-discovery. Sorry.
There and Back Again: The Philippines « (via commanderrobot)
