Patreon

Hey everyone, so recently I posted something on my Facebook. The usual rant, my progress in life before I finally perish. It's been a while since I vented my frustration and I had nowhere to confide to, so there you go... I cursed my friends on Facebook with my cry. 

Because of the post that couple of friends suggested that I should perhaps try to set up a Patreon, maybe it can help me financially. Though I was hesitant at the beginning, as I wasn't sure about the content, I finally did!  

On the page, I would from time to time share of what's happening with me. I will also provide you with snippet of works that I'm doing (exclusive). Short stories, article, poem maybe. You will get update on my writing, love and life, general progress, before my time (of death). I will also doodle you (or anything you want) upon your subscribing as a patron for first time.  I will try not to bore you with my content. I mean, be ready for the sexy part! All the weird dates that perhaps I'm gonna do (which I did). Who knows... But also see this as a way for you to support me. Charity for a struggling writer. It's $5 a month... (expensive, I know...). But I promise I would take down the page once my life is settled. Here's the link to the Patreon if you're interested:

Patreon.com/nurilbasri

Anyway, this is my rant on the Facebook:

Years ago during a book fair in Kuala Lumpur, Amir Muhammad, my Malay publisher, picked me up from the venue. I was about to crash in his couch because I had nowhere to stay, and I just didn't have money, okay, that's just my personality. So I got on his car, sat in front and we drove off. We started to talk about this and that, this and that, past buildings and busy streets. 

We had an international guest that time, a writer coming from the UK, but they were Malay. I had heard about the writer. 

"That's where they are staying," Amir said, pointing to a fancy hotel that we passed, it's a five star. "Oh, that's nice," I said. 

And after a few seconds of silence he said: "Someday, you'll stay there too."

I didn't respond to that, but I remember it by heart. I think it was the first time I heard someone have faith in me. Or so how I interpreted it. In my bleak days I often go back to the back of my head to revisit the moment. If Amir could trust me, then I should trust myself as well, that, I will make it someday, staying in that 5 stars hotel as a writer. 

It's been years now since then and there's nothing much has changed. In fact my condition is worst than ever. The other day I went to another part of the city to deliver a book just to find that the purchase has been cancelled. The long return journey in the angkot (a minivan, public transportation) got me thinking, maybe this was mistake. The problem with me is that, I am dreaming too much. I dream of getting a better life, dreaming to find a great adventure, an exciting partner, a friendship breaking the class barriers, I want to get out of this hostile environment, to leave the place where they clipped my creative wings, I want a freedom, a home, I want laughter and honesty, I want love, etc. I want so many things. It was never enough for me, I am greedy. And then I remembered that moment, Amir once trusted me. And then I thought, maybe he was just being nice. And then I realised maybe success is not staying in a five star hotel during a book fair, maybe it's connections with other people. But maybe it's not... That couldn't be, where we live in this hedonistic world. 

Anyway, I read Stephen King On Writing last week, finally, after a decade of longing wanting to know what it is about. Here's a spoiler, Mr King said, in order to write, first you need space on your own and a relentless, if not, a very good support system. That got me hmm... writing is a privileged activity, ain't it right Mr King? Let say you're not going to be able to write anything in a place full of constant scream. And then I realised how of a downer I am as a person, I have so many problem and most not my own. And it made me so stressed lately and why am I doing this? What conviction do I have? It will never happen to me what happened to other people, why am I still dreaming? Why am I still trying? Maybe they're mostly rhetorical, all these questions. and during that angkot ride that I lost my faith in what Amir said.