The Craft

This is another of those lengthy ponderings/ramblings. Consider yourself forewarned. xoxoxo


Words... I love words. I am always interested in how to put things another way, creatively, or to achieve a certain effect or tone or mood. I am always interested in how other people use words to put things in whatever way they wish to put them. I wonder if they merely use words just as they are, in random, or are their sentences carefully constructed, with purpose and meaning that only they and whoever else they told are privy to. I wonder at those whose vocabularies encompass words, phrasings and idioms that mine doesn't, how they had come upon these elements of language in their lives.

Had they constantly rubbed elbows with an intelligent, language-conscious crowd? Did they read widely, on every field of interest, every subject in the world?

I am amazed by such acquisitions, and since I have no immediate answers, I merely believe my own uneducated, purely instinctive guesses into the matter. I try to get my hands on every book that interests me. Indeed, I read every piece of reading material that so much as contains a word or phrase that piques my curiosity. I worry about the action I assume I am missing, thinking there might exist certain circles or groups that I am not aware about, who live and breathe the intricacies of language. I worry that there may be things that I need to know to become better at wordplay that I may never know.

Perhaps there are self-inflicted standards, perhaps it is instinctively knowing that there are higher levels to the abilities at the moment. It is not clear, but there is a drive in me to continually learn about styles and manners of putting things, words upon words, and new ways of looking at things. Stopping or hindering this continuous learning process might lead to mediocrity. I fear of inadequacy and incompetence in this craft that I happen to love, because of what I may not know. And I just find that unacceptable, because I know it in my gut that this is what I was born to do. It is difficult to speak of any other feasible job that I would want to practice as near to perfection as I could deem.

I believe this is what I want to be called as or be thought of. And if others may decline to think so, I hereby and thenceforth proclaim that I am --amateur, but yes, a writer. As a preventive measure to complications arising from differences of opinion, the matter of my being a writer is self-imposed, should other contentions (e.g., natural ability) be deemed inapplicable.

To simplify it all, I am one because I say I am one. The world will agree, or it will respect that declaration. Either way, they will call me a "writer", or by any other term that means the same thing. Self-proclaimed or whatever.

xoxoxo

I don't really know how I will go about life as a writer. I am uncertain of what kind of writer I would go down in history as. I'm quite doubtful about becoming a novelist. The work seems, I don't know, daunting. I fear, though I am a writer (because I proclaim to be, if for no other reason), I am not too fond of intricately twisted or even heart-wrenching plots (with J. Grisham and N. Sparks particularly in mind), unless I myself am the reader. It will cost me too much brooding and too much time. It's still too early, the time is not yet ripe for such decisions. We never know, but we never know.

I'd like to leave further ponderings of my writing career to the near future, but here is one more hopefully helpful insight about what it might be. I do like to put my thoughts down on just about anything that keeps me awake at night, stirs me from my idle lounging on the sofa, or just plain spurs my mind to keep its cogs in good repair. It helps me think about things better. It helps me learn. Most relevantly though, it puts my wordplay abilities to good use.

To articulate one's thoughts and emotions, to aptly match the descriptive term to the mental image or sentiment, is a small but satisfying task, from which I derive a warm pleasure every time.

Which leads me to consider the idea of becoming an essayist. In my partially educated belief, an essay can concern just about anything, anything at all, at the author's personal discretion, and in a formal or informal manner.

So, let's see...

A boundless playing field to attempt to cover. Endless combinations of variations in wordplay.

Sounds like fun. So yeah. Why not.


But that will be the furthest that I will go for now. As of today, such talk is still woven of the very fabric of the future: uncertainty.

Ostentatiously Making Sense

It could be that one creates the ends that come about in one's life, whether one may like them or one may not. The ceaseless naggings of self-doubt wears on one after a while, that one is compelled to choose self-preservation above otherwise important priorities. The rationality of such personal uncertainties does not even substantiate such choice to be chosen. Anxiety is so much a human essence, so embedded into the most basic core of being, that the responses are practically automatisms. Notwithstanding, you learn to frown upon such mechanisms of the human psyche, albeit subconscious and so, involuntary, for the unhealthy outcomes it can create in relationships. When in certain instances you would only aspire for the happy continuance of such intimate connections, the invisible triggers of anxiety and its spontaneous outputs fairly manage to complicate the simplicity of such goals. The road to accomplishing supposedly simple objectives becomes riddled with all manner of hindrances, that the traveler down such road undoubtedly experiences adversities, often in varying intensities. Furthermore, it is often than not that the unfortunate pilgrim is tested beyond his limits and is continually made to confront his imperfections by overcoming them, which does not at all seem uncomplicated, even just by itself. One is hence inclined to sigh both in pity for the journeying fellow and in the stark realization that it is simply the way that all life proceeds, though there is anything but simple about it. Life is intrinsically complicated, arduous, and problematic. All are hopelessly intricately entangled by a pernicious coincidence into its unintelligible tapestry.

Heart or Limbic System or Whatever

Love is so blind, it feels right when it's wrong...


Knowing when something's wrong is fairly easy; it won't feel right. It's knowing if it's right that's somewhat tricky. 'Cause, you know, it might feel right even if it's wrong.

Or...well, I'm confused. Why would something wrong feel right? Cancer hurts because there's something wrong.

Okay, here it is. Right or wrong belongs in the logic department. Use your head to determine right from wrong, wrong from right. Never determine one from the other using your heart, or limbic system, whatever. Tends to confuse the unfortunate soul in such predicament.

And if it's a little too late 'cause you've already used your heart (or limbic system or whatever) to lose your way, use your head to find your way back. It's how the text message goes, and it makes sense.

Correction...

So I discovered a link from a comment on one of my older posts that led me to read, oh, just one or two hate posts about me. I know it was about me, of course, because I happen to know the blog owner (I seem unable to apply the term "blogger"). And there's also the time that she said one of those slanderous words she used against me in her posts, literally behind my back. So perhaps that doesn't leave much room for doubt about who the intended receiver of those electronic hate publications is. I pretty much know the story behind the whole drama, although she pretty much took great liberty at interpreting my whole life, blog, and demeanor for me - in a very malicious and insulting way, I might add. I am the only person who can say what things are for me with certainty, but I guess everyone is indeed entitled to an opinion, regardless of accuracy and truth content.

But that was long ago, though I don't think anyone would forget anytime soon. Amidst the foul effects of her blind rage, she raised a question in my mind that I would like to elaborate on: Am I really that kind of person who does not know how to value friendship? Do I truly use friendship as a tool to achieve my selfish intentions?

I will admit to many things (except to what she had been accusing me of), including being not too friendly and sociable. I make my way in life not picking up a lot of friends as I go. I swim through social situations without making at least one person think of me in a new and enlightened way, or at least make them think again about their initial impressions. But that probably doesn't mean it's because I'm evil, does it? There could be several good reasons, and her best bet could have been psychological. Not having close friends, or just having friends, for that matter, does not automatically make me a poor appraiser of the value of friendship. Not having friends does not entitle me the description "manipulative" (not her own words). I don't think so.

Because I do value friendship. The person who has less of something, makes that person value that thing more, I guess. I do not operate by the statement "I don't need anyone", because simply put, I need others. It's not easy to bottle up emotions all the time, for lack of a sounding board to beat the melodrama away. But I don't know how it would be that simple to open up to someone whom you have not learned to become comfortable sharing your emotions with. There are people I am surrounded by on an almost day-to-day basis, but I don't think I can spill my insides to them. They're the type that first needs...well, pleasing. It's a different thing that you try to please others so that they will accept you and become their friend, from that you become other people's friend because they know and accept who you are, even if they don't totally like you. Whoever said that you have to please people first before you become their friend? Well that's how it is right now, where I am. I do not agree, and I could not bring myself to conform. Plus totally pathetic social skills equals no close friends at the moment.

I value friendship, but I don't think you make friends because you value friendship. You become friends with people. And that's because you can connect with them. It's the connection, not the necessity, that paves the way for friendship to develop and grow. Maybe we've developed our own ideals about friendship that we force them upon ourselves and those people we consider our friends. And we make all these expectations that we think are intrinsic in a friendship, and end up disappointing ourselves and others. And sometimes, we cannot even be blamed, for do we not all wear some type of colored glasses, that we each see things in a different light?

But anyway, maybe I am socially inept. Being that as it may, it still does not translate that friendship is a functional relationship for me. Well yeah, some friendships can be functional. And perhaps everyone has had one or two at some point in their lives. But in the context that was used, I should take issue with that person. But then I guess, no matter how twistedly malicious her point of view was, I saw where she was coming from, so I can say, regardless of the somewhat strong urge to retaliate, I understand. It's one of those instances that you want to indulge your emotions, but you still have enough sense left to realize that there really is nothing to gain in doing so. And you get uneasy from the internal turmoil that you have to let it out somehow. This is what it's all about, I guess.

Fuming

I was doing a marathon of Grey's Anatomy, and I had to stop to go out for a bit to order some take-out. I never got a chance to pick up where I left off. My sister and her boyfriend had to arrive and monopolize the tube. Polite as I am (or maybe just too chicken to demand for the resumption of my marathon), I'm now in front of the PC, albeit unwilling, trying to diffuse the fumes of my uncalled-for anger, or else drowning it out with the music plugged in my ears.

I'm unsociable. I've noticed that long before. I have an apprehension to share who I am with other people. I can't think of anything that could be wrong about opening yourself up to others, but that's just my social behavior. Is that bad? I mean, I can make friends, get to know others if I want to - "if" being the operative word. Even change, the most inevitable thing in the world, disturbs me - sometimes. 'Cause on those other times, it's what I long for in my life. If I can't have my ideal happy ending, there better be a lot of variations, escape routes from ugly/uncomfortable situations, exits to freer positions in life or to better points of view or points to view from. I'm becoming vague here, but I can't really spell out what I'm talking about. Not at this point in time, anyway. Maybe later. Watch out for that.

Meanwhile, I now feel a bit better. Good.

Small

I have a curse, and it will plague me for the rest of my life.

I am substantially insecure of myself, so much so that it affects everything about my life. I am always unsure about what I do, always fearful of being wrong, embarrassed, or thought little of. When at it's best, my insecurity never fails to get the best of me, making certain I feel absolutely the littlest regard for myself. All such feelings only negated and countered when my other perfect flaw, Anger, is stirred and awoken. That's when I feel my best. That's when I know I can do anything. That's when I believe that I have worth and significance just as everyone else - or even more than they do. Otherwise, I'm inexplicably unhappy or feeling totally worthless.

I'm almost certain to be living out my pathetic existence forever seeking the approval of other people, approval that I should have been given in my formative years. Approval tha has been withheld or thought me undeserving.

And that's why I do not doubt misery as an inseparable companion in life. I will be miserable for as long as I live, imprisoned by a constant self-doubt, filled with anxiety and sadness. I will become a recluse, unable to invest emotion or pledge commitment. I will spend all the days that I have been given on this earth in solitude. And perhaps, that is how I shall be found when I am dead...alone -if ever I do get found, and if someone noticed my absence at all. But perhaps, before that even happens, I will have surrendered to the sorrow and hurled myself at some self-inflicted death I will have thought most fitting at that time, when that time comes.

Bound and Broken

I've always pictured myself to be a free spirit. Unbound by the world's conventions, though part of its spiritual fabric. Someone who feels every passion, every desire, every dream, every whim, is to be pursued and everything else is to be left behind. Someone who journeys with the wind, and changes as it does. Someone whose fire dies with her taming, and so must always run in wild abandon. Someone who cannot put down roots and must always be free. This personal visualization gives off a heady and romantic perspective on how I should go about life:

I would always be elusive to everyone who tries to catch me. I would be mysterious, intriguing. So near...yet so far. Otherworldly. I cannot be restricted, and must always run. The only way to keep me would be to set me free.

Maybe that's why I have such a fondness for Miyazaki Hayao movie animations. His characters are often mysterious, ephemeral, fragilely beautiful, and free-spirited. They hit the soft spot of my personal fantasies. They keep you on the edge, waiting, anticipating, and in the end, you yearn and ache for either knowing you cannot have them or for not knowing if you can have them, or when. And you have to watch over and over again, even if it's just to relive those moments with those characters.

I guess I've carried this fantasy over to real life. From what I've learned from friends and classmates over the years, I am indeed somewhat elusive. Elusive in that I tend to hide who I am behind this mask of indifference and seriousness that I had cultivated in my younger years and have now mastered. It takes me a long while to let my guard down. I am a rebel, a nonconformist. I question rules and dislike them (I create my own). I've gone through situations where I bent or altogether broke them. And yes, I have this tendency to run. I run away from situations that make me uncomfortable, make me own up, situations that I don't like, situations that tie me down. When I feel choked and restricted, I want to move where I can be free. And I do believe that I should not be the one to adjust to other people. Rather, they should adjust to me.

But now, I'm not so sure anymore. I've broken my own rules. Years spent having to conform has mellowed me into wanting to be accepted, to be liked, to be approached, to be needed. And those I haven't achieved at all. I still stick out in an odd way not entirely to my liking. I am not needed, not really liked on the whole. Not even approachable. I feel like I am ordinary, mediocre, and boring. I merely exist, without real purpose or meaning. I am not myself. I am not alive where I am.

Hate and Hate Relationship

I have this thing about roaches. I hate them. I think they are the most despicable, most disgusting living things to crawl the face of the earth (thank God it's not my face). I can tolerate rats and mice. Spiders, creepy as they are, can only try (Snakes and other truly potentially dangerous animals are another thing, though). But no other average creepy crawler can make me absurdly apprehensive of them as a cockroach. The mere idea of a cockroach wildly flying about and land on any part of my person makes me cringe. It's not at all comforting to note that they have been around since and even before the time of the dinosaurs - practically unevolved - which only means that they will likely be around for a million more years. Which only means that we who hate them, and the rest of humankind are gonna have to try to live with them while we are alive. Huh, tough.

My aversion to roaches is definitely in the core of my being, that when I dream about them, I wake up hitting the lights on and checking the entire room, the dream still vivid in my mind. During those last moments before returning to an uneasy sleep, I get overly sensitive to the tiniest prickle on my skin that just might be stressed nerve endings or something crawling up on me, or to the tiniest rushing sound that just might be a roach's dark, ugly wings beating and chafing and scraping against each other. And that sound, is the most disgusting and horrifying sound that will reach my ears at night while in bed. That's why I'm here in the first place at five-ish in the morning when I don't usually get up until 9 or 10. Woke up to another cockroach bad dream. What the dream was, to keep it sweetly short, was a cockroach invasion in bed. I just had to get up and keep myself sane. It must have been my subconscious' twisted recollection of an actual occurrence when I was younger. We were all sleeping and were waking up to cockroaches crawling over our beds. There were 6 casualties that night, an already horrendous number to have for company.

Believe me when I say that they smell awful. I had Entomology class. It is a signature smell, and I will know if they have been around things like clothes 'cause they leave their weak but unmistakable stink behind. Our labs smelled dreadful when it was cockroaches on the dissecting pan, and I had to rely on my groupmate for the dissections. I didn't want to have to touch the things. People who have studied them actually like them and respect them. I've seen some such people on National Geographic. They may have to forgive me for begging to differ. I fear I may never be dissuaded from my irrational (?) dislike for their pet creatures.

The sight of them...the sight of them is discomfiting, even just in video footage and pictures. If I see one in my room that seems unafraid or unaffected by my presence, I instantly see it as a cocky gesture on its part. Because if I didn't see it, I would never know it was in my room. And I will never know what parts of my room it trailed its hairy legs on. There it was on my door once, poised in its repulsive moment of glory before I picked up a slipper and squashed its ego inside out. But sometimes, I do miss and the vermin scurries away, or worse, hides further in the room and I had to wait for it to come out again. It happened one late night when I was in high school. Needless to say, I didn't get enough sleep.

Once I was at some friends' business joint where there was a nearby a sewer opening. There they were, issuing forth from that damned hole and scurrying in that frenzied way that is theirs. Before anyone could say "Squash that bug!", some of the lot were flying and landing on the walls, and on my friend who was sitting outside. I saw everything from indoors, fortunately, the window and door being made of glass. However, I had endured a similar experience fairly recently.

I thought it was a less ominous insect that landed on my neck. Nevertheless, my hand instantly shot up to brush it away. I cannot forget the feelings of disgust and helplessness that surged through me the moment I touched it and realized what truly happened. It shouldn't happen to anyone who hates it or to just plain anyone, but well, shiznit happens. Good thing my friend brought disinfectant alcohol with her. I'm more than thankful nothing as horrible as it landing on my face or squirming into my clothes has happened, and I sincerely supplicate to my God that neither instance ever does.

Despite my irrational (?) loathing, I do know a few things about cockroaches. I absorb trivia about them from time to time. I've long since learned that there is no sure-fire way to exterminate the planet of them. There really are just a few species of the 3500 that belong to their kind that are considered pests. I know that there are others apart from the disgusting household kind that are, um, less disgusting. I've seen some of them in the wild during a field trip for that Entomology class. The kind I've seen are actually much more gentle-looking and not as menacing as our household Duprees, but that was probably because they were a smaller species. I am yet to meet a Madagascan hissing one, though. That would be interesting. But I thank my God once more that the common ones don't hiss at all. In the meantime, I should try to be less resentful of the unsettling (and somewhat poisonous) household centipede. They are reportedly the most effective predators of the pests at home.

I have no idealistic and unrealistic hopes of seeing a cockroach-free world. They are indeed a hardy species (check out info at Wikipedia), and I seriously believe that they will "inherit the earth", together with bacteria and the rest of the evolution-hardy bunch, once we humans fulfill our long-doomed extinction. They were here long before we came, and they will be here after we are gone. Survival of the fittest is just what it is. I will give the cockroaches that much, but I will not have them infesting or even just occasionally stealing into my house, into my room, or any such other place I consider my sanctuary. They are definitely not welcome!


P.S. What is the scientific term for fear of cockroaches?


Take Dr. Phil's Test

Ahh, life...

When I think about it, I've known a number of people in my life. Others may have known a much bigger number, but my number is big enough so that it becomes difficult to catch up with each one. And there are a lot that I would ideally want to catch up with on a daily basis.

I've noticed that I'm a different person to each group that I've become acquainted with, and that it's impossible to unite these different versions of me at one time, so that I can become just one person to all of them. I've imagined, that were all these people to meet with me at the center, what they would think.

But well, I think that it's still the same me they will be talking to. Even if I may act differently around the different groups, these groups will still find some common threads that lead to the same person.
***

There's this girl on my friends list that I think is so lucky. I would like to envy her, but there's just no point at being so. I wouldn't go anywhere near where she's at if I do. I would gain nothing in being envious. This girl reminds me of the things that I would have loved to pursue, had I the resources I need. I would have loved to be up-to-date with owning the latest gadgets, the latest books, the latest everything I'm interested in. That would be like having every material want at least, almost at my every whim. And that isn't bad, anymore. In fact, that's already great. It's just that I would not like to spend above which I find reasonable in the financial circumstances I think I'm in. I would have loved to watch the Incubus concert in Manila last 2004, for example. It was well within geographical reach but well above financial means.

That girl is in the U.S. now, and she already saw Chelsea FC when they came there. That only means that Europe isn't too far away for her now, which is also one of her aspirations. And the greatest of mine.

We don't talk much, this girl. We're only acquaintances at best. But somehow I'm drawn to check regularly on her account, see what she's been up to. And, I just think, she's having a ball where she is. Where I am, I have to put in effort to deserve that description about my life. But really, it's okay. There's nothing I could do. One could change his stars I guess, but it's not going to be as enjoyable as how William Thatcher (A Knight's Tale) did it.

P.S. Does this make me a stalker? Even if I'm not lesbian??? *cringe*

Sunday Reprieve

Just woke up after a kind of long night. I woke up to an empty house (well, my mum talked to me when I was still in bed, but let's just count that out for a more dramatic post, shall we), and that's fine really. Lately, there's not much great company to look forward to with the people in the house, so it's kind of a relief. A sad relief. After all, no one really wants that kind of thing going on in one's established comfort zone. It kind of removes the comfort, and you're left with...well, zone.

But nevertheless, I welcome the silence. I've always enjoyed being alone in the house, having it all to myself. The weather's great today, not too humid or too hot. Our garden's been looking nice, and we have two little dogs that I can't get enough of playing with.

It's Sunday, and people are supposedly out and about in the malls, in one way or another making church the initial excuse to be out. I better prefer this sort of therapeutic silence going on around me right now, over the hustle and bustle and bright lights of shopping malls. I feel deep here. I am encouraged to think randomly and to write, whereas, I only encourage my human materialistic tendencies when I'm wandering in SM or Lim Ket Kai.

I feel content... with what I have, with who I am, even though I have yet to take my bath. I'm not exactly happy, or devoid of problems and worries. This is just sort of a respite, from the world and from reality, yet while still being in reality. It's not something anyone can immediately comprehend, but no one has to really. I am not even trying to understand what this is I am in, but merely letting the sensations, the experience flow through. It's like a lazy-day-in-a-hammock kind of feeling, you know? Or maybe I'm just going slightly beyond my lunch hour.

We're never gonna survive unless.....We get a little crazy.

The Art of Imperfect Hair

Somebody recently sent this old picture of me (click for bigger image) to another person through MMS. The receiver, who's seen me a few times, had to wonder who it was for a bit, before realizing it was me. What made me momentarily unrecognizable? She said it was because my hair was neatly in place, and well, it was often the opposite in person...Hahaha.

Everybody would love to have great, perfect-for-her/him hair. I don't think anybody would pass up that chance if God suddenly offered them better locks than the one they already have (given that there is no catch, but just a plain, uncomplicated, honest-to-goodness offer) --I'd daresay even the ones with seemingly flawless hair. Well, I would. I'd trade my hair up for something much low maintenance than it is and forever will be. You know, perhaps something like that of Korean women typically seen in these, um, Korean movies, like that Sassy Girl's hair. Or perhaps, a totally wavy one, which is sometimes worn by Penelope Cruz or naturally found on many Latina heads.

My hair has a veeery fine texture. It's not totally straight nor totally wavy, and mostly on the limp end, being not thick at all. It easily gets damaged by just a little wear and tear. A slight wind would already mess up 20 minutes' (or even an entire day's) worth of painstaking, loving combing. So I can't really help it if not a strand is in place on my head. Or if I decide to start combing only when I'm walking my way out of the subdivision (Hahahaha, yep). I mean, it wouldn't really make a difference, believe me. I've checked. And I wouldn't want to spend on products and treatments that I'm not sure what would do to my hair. I've not at all jumped on the hair straightening/relaxing/rebonding bandwagon for fear of ending up with stiff, coarse hair not unlike a broom. Oh, you never know if price even justifies quality. Trial and error would be too horrifying an option that leads to more dismal ones: a) chop off your 5-year old hair; b) just simply chop off your hair; c) get a skinhead.

So basically, maintaining this hair type that I have would take a lot of fuss. And being the kind of person that doesn't like to fuss too much on hair, it's positively hairsplitting. There are certain situations where I don't like to be in the middle --in playing soccer and with hair type. Why couldn't I have been on the straighter or wavier end of the hair spectrum? You know? Either way, I'd comb less and not worry. Who worries with straight hair? With wavy hair, I have an excuse as to why it's askew *cough*. With my type of hair though.... Ugh. Fussy.

However, enough of the fuss. You're just gonna hafta to rein in your innate desire to behold perfection around me and my hair. It'll be the way it is, and this'll be the way I decide to (not) fix it, until I find what best solution I can approve for it. The best coiffures I might be seen with would probably only be on dress-up occasions, heat-styled days and on days that luck has struck. Hahahaha. As for this picture, hmm...It seems to be enjoying positive critique so far...Perhaps I'll spread it around... Ahahahaha.


Photo credit: Me. I did it.

Politically Flavored (May not suit your taste)

Consider the specified posts from the following blogs:

Liquid-Packets ("Why We Are Not Out in the Streets")
Musings of a Muse ("SSSSSShhhhhhhhh" to "Virus in My Brain")

Reading posts like the ones in those blogs above always make me think. I think about the superfluousness of my life --and even my posts --that I go a-frolicking when perhaps I should be doing something more substantial or be part of something pivotal. My life is shallow really, and merely pleasure-driven, when I set it beside the lives these people live, dedicating them to a worthy cause as seeking for the country's emancipation from the pitfalls of Third-World status. And I get compelled to sit in a silent corner in my mind and ponder once more on this complicated and twisted political mess that is my country and the forces that are constantly shaping and shifting it. I wonder who are really on the side of the people and true economic progress and who are really just self-indulgent and power-hungry, and who are the fronts and the pawns and who are the true players and movers in this never-ending game. I had been narrow-minded and perhaps somewhat naive to believe the one side of a probably polygonal conundrum.

I was immersed in that world for a while, and I slowly became convinced that theirs is the righteous cause. It all seemed to fit in a logical way, the pieces of information I was given. I learned to despise capitalism and its extreme manifestation, imperialism. It seemed true that my country is a slave of the capitalists, a mere pawn in the cutthroat world of competitive free trade. It is exploited of its resources ever so cheaply and made to buy the finished products at a far more expensive price, under the protection of the label "imported". At the microcosm, the laborers and other low-class workers are being paid too disproportionately to the toil that they wield; the masses, deprived of the most basic rights that the government is mandated to provide and protect. I was far from completing the puzzle, but the pieces were making logical sense as they were handed to me.

But my single-minded determination to get to the ominous bottom of the matter was to be cut short. I was shown a different angle of the story, perhaps not as polemic as the other, but one that still made me pull my head back out of the crimson waters and consider. It seemed to proclaim a far more encompassing reality: that not everyone can ever amass wealth in colossal proportions and live in comfort, that in this world, there will endure an economic hierarchy, an affluence gradient, which will preserve the words "rich" and "poor" indefinitely.

However, that does not bid bad news apparently, since anyone, anyone can and by all means transcend their economic situation if they put in the necessary effort. For had not a lot of people started from nothing and came out millionaires, or if not, at least living more comfortably in the end? I took a look at certain prominent figures in society with such backgrounds and at the backgrounds of some of the people around me. I looked at my own family, and sure enough, we had similarly undergone the hardships of striving for a more economically secure life.

One supposed reason why there exists an economic low class, why there are impoverished people, is these pe:ople's attitude towards their state of living. Some blame fate or leave it up to fate for their luck to change. Some make unwise and lazy decisions, for instance, selling their land in order to grasp a fleeting sum of money in a more effortless manner, instead of breaking sweat to till and eke out a small, but sustainable and sustaining living. Then there are those who incite their ambitions and attraction to the modern life that they flee their relatively secure but uneventful lives in the countryside and venture into the unfamiliar cities and end up broke and penniless.

Ambition and attitude are the culprits of poverty, I was told, not the government. The government, flawed as it is, does its job nevertheless, serving the people's interests to the best of its imperfect abilities. It does reach out to the farthest recesses of the islands to build schools and roads and bridges. Not the best quality education it could give, but gives education it does. I was told off to stop focusing on the negative aspects and give more credit to the little good things that do happen. The repatriation of foreign workers from Lebanon, is a good thing, is it not? The media may present unbiased information, but it is a big business enterprise, nevertheless. Bad news seems to have higher viewer stats, and they capitalize on those figures for profit. That could be one of the main reasons why one mostly hears of bad news, not because it's all that ever happens in the world, but because it is what the media plays up, however subtly or unsubtly.

And there's some more, quite disturbing this time. Activism and countryside rebellion against the government is a front, another perspective says. It is a front used by certain opposition figures to stir unrest or to unsettle the government for their political agendas. Where do these activists obtain their funds? Where do the rebels get their guns? The common people, too, are said to be also using activists' cause for their personal intentions. Say a guy named Procupio is complaining of being landless, so he joins demonstrations demanding for apportionment of land to certain aggrieved citizens. But then, Procupio was allotted a piece of land, so he goes home, happy. When his activist friends invite him to another street rally for the cause, Procupio was not to be seen again.

I, exposed to be truly ignorant of the real issues by this time, have no answers. I am at a loss now as to who is really on the honorable end. And I may try, but I know I can never tap into the core and find out the truth for myself. What little I may know is likely to be already wrapped in layer upon layer upon layer of distortions of the truth. It has come to the point where I don't anymore know what to believe. Is democratic socialism really the solution? Should we move to change the economic system of the country? Or should we learn to cooperate with the government this time than continue to go against it?

I do not discount the idea that capitalism contributes to poverty. It probably does. All Third World countries are testaments to that. All Third World countries are exploits of the world's richest and most vicious capitalists. Capitalism encourages some degree of freedom in the acquisition of wealth, but it tends to eliminate the small-time players out of the picture. Democratic socialism rewards each according to his labor and control the state's assets and wealth. That's about what I know about it. Will it transcend communism, which just about failed to hold in most countries that established it (North Korea, an existing exception)? I have yet to be enlightened.

There is some credence to cooperating with the government to achieve progress, but what if that government is really not aiming for that and is really just submitting to its capitalist masters and pinching from the coffers while putting up a circus of endeavoring to steer the country economically forward?

It's basically a this-or-that situation, and then some. But in the end, what all of us really want is to see this country haul itself out of its miserable economic hellhole. In the face of ongoing and extensive brain drain and rampant colonial mentality, I still believe that nationalism and patriotism has not totally died in the hearts of the people. We merely want a substantial reason or a handful to be proud of the country. And no, boxing conquests and international beauty pageant crowns are NOT substantial reasons to feel nationalistic pride. These victors and queens are merely citizens or else descended from the bloodline and have not at all achieved anything more substantial that can contribute to national progress.

No. True national pride emanates from the transcendence of national crises. The end of Third-World status. The end of poverty. The end of illiteracy and unemployment. The reign of justice. The successful conservation of natural resources. The extensive encroachment of modern technology. These are the true victories that should stir national pride. Celebrating anything lesser in the name of national pride is farcical.

There is one more achievement that should be on the list: true national unity. We have been tolerating our national discord for too long a time. We have allowed our mentalities to become as archipelagic as our islands. It's not a bad idea to try working together for once, even if it's just to get a feel for once of what unity is like. Then things might get a little easier. Then it might become a lighter and happier burden to toil for progress. Then we can be truly proud of ourselves and of this country. It's a big dream, but if we share it in manageable pieces, it just might become reality.

Have A Cup

I've always felt a happy, intense rush whenever I drank coffee. Yup. It's not even sip, it's downright guzzling it down. I've been dictated by my head a few times to at least savor the aroma, or the taste of it. But well, you know, I've only been drinking instant coffee. It's not like it's some special brew. But no matter, though. When the coffee's had time to circulate in my system, I get a feeling of power, that I can do anything I set my mind on. And my mind gets filled with ideas about a lot of things. Ideas, ideas, ideas. I feel a lot of things, too. I'm ecstatic, then nostalgic. I feel every song I hear, and I'm basically an undernourished bundle of energy while it lasts.

But that was the upside, of course. Finally, when the power rush begins to subside, I get a little bit too jittery than is personally comfortable. My heart beats still faster, but now heavier, too, this time, as if forcibly making its presence felt. Fingers uncontrollably fidgety, feet jiggling irrepressibly, are what becomes my composure. Not to mention the inset of the diuretic effect that's characteristic in coffee drinking (good thing, really, that the toilet's just a few steps away). And when all the caffeine has been flushed out, all that's left of me is a drained mass of flesh, tired, glum, and sapped of spirit.

Still, when the morning comes, I crave for yet another cup. But the trip has led me to say that you're really only truly happy when you have the energy. Or rather, I have come to agree to a statement that says so.

Raging Against....

I'm rebelling.... And I know it. I am angry, much as I don't really want to be. I've been exercising much of my newfound patience for people, stretching it when I thought I couldn't it stretch it that far anymore. Maybe I actually became tired of being angry all my life in an unconscious part of my head. Maybe I realized that bursting out every time you felt like it just was unbecoming of me, or of anyone who deep inside just really wants to be a good person, to achieve a true peace with his/her brethren and with him/herself. But then.....I get provoked to the point of going insane. Lately. And for what? Because I wanted to create my own path, move away (or just stray a bit, really) from under their wing. I am not being ungrateful. I have more than my whole life to be grateful for to them. I only wanted to try things out for myself. But instead of being supportive, they put me down and criticize every little thing --no, more like blowing up every little thing that they could find something wrong with! I totally see where they're coming from. And I am ready to go into an explanation to make them understand. But that's just the point there. They do not. Will not. Cannot. Why can't they? I admit, at some point, I was being selfish. Because what they really want is to see me off a relatively promising path in life. I know that. And I want to accomplish that for them. And I think I will. I sincerely don't want them to be anymore worrying about me. But they must understand that pushing me to do something I'm not ready to partake in will only lead to mine and their disappointment. I know my capabilities, and I know how much time I need to have. They need to be understanding sometimes. Sometimes, it feels like they're running a boot camp. Everything they want to happen should get done. No buts. No ifs. No consideration of the person's feelings or state of mind, whatsoever. Plus the fact that I've felt rejected, or at least, less wanted, by them. By any of them. Perhaps they don't know that. All they see is me seemingly aloof, indifferent, uncaring. When the truth is, I care a damn lot. Even when I don't want to, didn't have to. Even more than each of their "favorites". There could only be so many instances that I would have liked to run away, get away from this place, this situation. It's so stifling. Stuffier than the eternal fires of the theological hell might make it to be. And it's so obvious they're playing favorites, no matter what they say about being equally loved and judged or whatever. And I'm the one left in the middle, not wanted....not really. I'm fine with it now. I've accepted that I'm nobody's favorite. Got that. What I will not accept is that I'm being unfairly treated. I have a strong proud streak, and it's partly their doing that made me this way. And that pride is demanding that I at least be given the same privileges as the rest of us. I can live with being the odd one out. I'm okay with odd. I'm a nonconformist, anyway. Or trying to be. Trying to be, 'cause I've been blessed to be chicken shit, notwithstanding. 'Cause sometimes, I really only feign to be brave, when I'm already dying to collapse and cry. Because there's no one to collapse into, no arms outstretched, nobody to have my back. All I have is myself. Just like now. I don't want to keep this anger a second longer. But I....I feel I have to. For me, I believe. It's just that I don't want to feel I'm weak anymore. When you are weak, you are strong? Ha ha. Run that to me again, wouldja please.

Okay... I'll think about it. I am not yet cold-hearted.

Night Over Day (repost/edit)

Reposted from my Friendster blog

"Your soul don't go very far in the daylight 'cos it stops where you can see.... The nighttime is better. It stretches your soul right out to the stars. And that...is a very long way. " (Anna)

"The daylight is for the brain and the senses. The darkness is for the heart and the wits." (Old Woody)

-excerpts from "Mister God, This Is Anna"

I share these very statements. The words that I could only feel about the night.... I don't feel the potential danger that lurks in the fold of darkness and discomfits the hearts of my parents.... what I do feel is a profound sense of being one with the world at this hour. There is something wonderful about daytime and daylight....but still there is something more enthralling to the night than could be fathomed....A hidden mystery, a spellbinding delight... An enchantment that is irresistible, but fades into quiescence when the sky softens into another day...

The night brings to life all mystical stories that would seem preposterous in daylight... Faeries, unicorns, hobbits, the fair elves of Rivendell, Harry Potter, magic, witchcraft, mermaids, princesses who dance into the night till they bore holes into their shoes... My imagination spins with these stories... And I am that starry-eyed child again... Pure, untainted, dreaming only of these mythical places and how I might go there... I long to stick my nose into a magic book again and not care about anything else...

Sad, how I had to strip off my shimmering fairy dress and stash away my wand...Sad how my pretty cottage by the enchanted woods had to be demolished, the woods flattened to barren dirt, to make way for this modern international empire called Growing Up... Only the night safekeeps the golden key to those fading memories... I am a night owl for a reason....I thrive under an endless canopy of stars, hoping to revel once more in that world that I so loved, beyond anything and everything.

Just so you know

Just so you know, I'm taking a liking to this new template... I think it's... nice.


Just so you know.

A Lengthy Contemplation

If anyone would like to give me the slightest chance to choose what I want most to do with my life, right now, I would like to take up Creative Writing at the University of the Philippines, if you please. It doesn't even have to be in Dilliman. UP Mindanao will already be satisfactory. I reeeaaallly want to learn how to write, and write well. I don't know. It's been bugging me ever since I was shown the possibility of choosing what to do with my life. That was during my first year as a fourth-year student in my current course. And now it's bugging me every waking moment.

I'm already in supersenior status, faced yet again with the situation to tackle the one remaining subject that's kept me from holding a graduation diploma - that is, if I do decide to embark again. Yes, I know. It's one measly subject. A one-unit subject at that. What the hey! I would have already been legally out of school long ago, you might say. Yeah, you or someone else might. I'm not entirely sure what the matter is... I only know that I can't seem to think of the easiest topic that I can experiment on and get college over with. I'm also lazy, perhaps. Perhaps... Or perhaps, this just isn't the right course for me, after all. I mean, I passed the rest of the subjects, but that was because I had friends and batchmates to go through the whole ordeal with. And now that I'm alone... I have no one to run to or keep me going now. Now, the final test of application of all the subjects taken up (Bio Thesis) has become a huge road block.

Biology is interesting, to be honest. I loved what I've learned - what I did learn, hehehe. And I wouldn't have met this fun bunch of people - classmates and teachers - and I wouldn't have had the fun that I had if it weren't for Biology. But still... I am no good with the "kuti" procedures. No patience, no enthusiasm to get them right whatsoever. When I had to do the "kuti" stuff, I suffered.

They were the most boring, most pleasureless moments in my life. I was so close to falling asleep or cutting class during those moments. I wouldn't even have cringed if the professor glared at me and gave me a degrading reprimand. I would have silently thanked him for breaking the boredom and waking me up. (Yes, a "him" came to mind. He's the scariest of them all when he's mad/unconvinced with your answer/skeptical you learned anything, and his 4th-year subjects were the most esoteric, thus, the most boring. I honestly didn't learn anything. There's nothing in my head from either Physio class.)

I'm supposed to be doing something about this thesis subject during this very time period (1st sem), in order to catch up with the graduating batch next sem, but.... here I am. Online and doing nothing helpful. Supposed to be working, too, at that.

But like I said earlier, give me the smallest chance to get myself to U.P. and I'll pounce on it. I deeply want to nurture this long-ignored desire of writing. I have been met with the practical questions about what future writing's going to hold for me, or where to get the money for tuition and lodging and books and such whenever I broached the subject... But you can't force me to do what I have no passion for doing, either.

The biggest example right now, is this web editing job. Do you see what I'm doing? This is me spending what time I could've spent to reach my job quota for doing something else, something less contributory. All I could maintain thinking of when I place my fingers on the keyboard is writing..... writing..... writing.

How would I fare if the professor made us write a short story? A novella? Or some literary piece? Thoughts like that. I'd like to learn how to write poems or a play script, try working on one literary form under a certain theme. Things like that are likely to happen, because someone I know took up that very subject (her written works and some such are with me) and I downloaded the entire prospectus from the U.P. Min web site.

And lately I've been thinking about actually writing to the school's Admissions department and inquire. I am more than ready for this. I don't want to wait for an opportunity or when I'm more financially secure. It may never come. I want to act now. And there are other perks. My enthusiasm to play is dying here, and Davao is one football-active place. I might get an opportunity to rekindle it back to life there. Wouldn't that be a deal? My dream and my two passions all in one place. I only have to bring my spikes.

And it's not like I'm not coming back, anyway. How many years will it just be? Two? Three? And Davao is just 8 hours away, max. It's a long, ugly bus ride, but it's near enough. I can say that I can handle this.

Something -er, someone - is keeping my two feet here, though. And he's making me seriously hesitate. He makes me think so hard about going through with this. With my family, I know, somehow, by just pushing the right buttons, I might have a chance to get what I want. But it is different with this one. Entirely.

Because it's a "we", one must think in terms of "we", or at least with the other in mind. Wanting to pursue one's dream would be thinking only of one's own life's direction. We have our own separate lives, too, right. We can certainly continue to exist without each other and still also be happy, perhaps. But we would not like to lead lives separately, of course, if it could be helped. So I am also then at a point from which I must decide another path I could tread: we or me. Could the "me" path intersect the "we" path somewhere down the road? Or will the "me" path forge an altogether different, totally new life for me once I'm on it? Or is it more complex than just these two paths?

O, di ba. It certainly makes you sit down and think. If it's the real thing you'd want to keep it. But then, now is not the time to settle. Now is the time in which to try to reach to your potentials and enrich your life. Something has to give or be made to make this one work. And it will not be easy. There will be nothing easy about it. Whatever I may come down to, there will be difficult choices to face shortly up ahead.

I've written about this before and I've said some things, but then, this desire must be stronger than I initially estimated it to be. Maybe, it's my life's calling. My Personal Legend. My one true responsibility in this world. I am not certain that if I heed it, the rest of my life will follow. I do not know if everything comes out all right in the end. I do not know if the people I want to be in my life will be in it if I leave all familiarity and choose the path I haven't traveled. I know that the unknown and the uncertain should be faced bravely and as best one can, but I don't know if I should go looking for them. I only know that I cannot be content with my life yet, with so little in it. I have not yet enriched my life in the way and with the things I want it to be filled with.

And that's where destiny comes in. I believe that destiny also has a share of control with life's reins. Destiny handles the things you can't forever control or have no control over. If something or someone is meant to be in your life, destiny will put it or that person back in the circuit. I believe that. But I don't believe that just so I can have a reason to do what I want to do. I'm stating it because it's true for me. Because, there is a force working alongside you as you make decisions. Perhaps, it's why, even though if things in life happen because you did something to make them happen, some things still happen without your help or your permission.

So leave it all to destiny, hmm..... it's only so easy to speak about it, than to be actually in the situation when you have to let go...

Well, well, well.... That's my answer, isn't it? Let go and let destiny take it from there... There's something transcendental about destiny, isn't there? Divine, even. It might very well be God, one manifestation of his presence in this world.

I know another purpose for dreams now. They are motivations to seek for more, for fulfillment, for a more content later life, if one is destined to reach that age. They build and/or strengthen character, because if you follow them, you will inevitably be faced with unfamiliar situations that give you two options: sink or swim. Walk away and be cowardly, or press on and come out a much braver person. And maybe that's why God put them in every person he created. And that makes for a more interesting world, actually. Combinations of possibilities, that with every combination is a different outcome, a different world that ensues. And results vary greatly, widely, perhaps even endlessly. But somehow, from these possible combinations, there's one that made the world what it is now... And maybe, it's part of the grand design that the world is following right now...

(Yes, I believe in a "grand design", too. If you believe in destiny, you would, inevitably.)

I don't know if I'm exactly being intelligible right now. It's complicated. It's better illustrated with an algebraic/statistical lesson that I remember but can't quite execute (You know, permutations?). It's more complicated than I am capable of putting into understandable words right now, but somehow, I find it comprehensible. Amazing... God is. Infinitely amazing, infinitely the smartest, infinitely the most insightful, infinitely everything.

But.......back to what this is all about. I can see better where I can go, which paths I can tread. And I know my options, and it's possible for a Plan B and maybe a Plan C, in just-in-case scenarios... Basta... Whatever... I have a clearer idea of what to do now. But everything only works at the right time and while there is still time. If I want what I said I want, I have to get moving.

an admirer admiring Admiration

Admiration
Could you move in slow motion?
Everything goes by so fast
Just slow down a little
Save the best part for last

You speak in riddles
Your intentions turn me on
I'm yours forever
Will you love me when I'm gone?

You're an unfenced fire
Over walls we travel
It's you I admire
My living example

Your eyes are an undiscovered ocean far away
Any minute now keeping
Both poets and priests at bay
Don't get ahead of me
Could we just this once see eye to eye?
What you offer has me
Ask me how it feels to vie

You're an unfenced fire
Over walls we travel
It's you I admire
My living example

It's a photograph discovered a decade after
It's a cannon blast disguised as a firecracker
It's enough to bring a brick wall to its knees
And sing, please

Could you move in slow motion?
Everything goes by so fast
Just slow down a little
Save the best part for last

You're an unfenced fire
Over walls we travel
It's you I admire
My living example




Why...

Why...

Why, why, why.....

Why is this man so enchanting! So talented, so gifted, so... he's so many things! If his lyrics aren't beautiful, his voice is enough so, that you'll like the song (and him!) - for a while, at the very least. This is entirely speaking on my behalf, but Brandon Boyd is perhaps the most talented musical artist out there. Beyond compare. He can draw, he composes, he plays one instrument at least, he has a lovely, lovely voice, and he's heavenly, just heavenly. A celestial combination of talents equals an irresistible, godly being..... Ahh, I'm exagerrating, but all of these attributes makes one want to be the subject of his love songs, or, more ambitiously, the object of his affection. Because - one should listen closer (or DL the lyrics) - he sounds like he's in love and not at all afraid to let the world know about it. Guys should do that more often - be more expressive, I mean. Anyway, this is the latest piece of music I've heard from the band, "Admiration". The lyrics, the voice, the music..... sigh. It's a musical gem. But! Feel free to differ. It's just a personal opinion. Just don't try convincing me to think otherwise. Hahahaha.

usahay....ikaw ra na (reposted)

usahay maka ingon ka
sa kalibutan ga inusara
nga wala'y mabalaka
kung ma unsa ka na

ang maong pahalipay (sus kaluoy)
tingog ra intawon ni brandon boyd
nga hapit na mapagaw
sa sige mong paminaw

kay hain man ang mga tawo
anaa sa imong kinabuhi kuno
ga limod, dili makit-an
busa ikaw hilak nalang

grabe gyud ning kalipay
walay pagka kanunay
dili mahuptan sa pag hinay-hinay
dili makit-an sa pag baklay-baklay

hantod nalang usa ka adlaw
samtang sako ikaw
sa internet naglinamlam
naa kay nakaplagan

may nagpatimbaya
usa ka duol nga amiga
hay! makapahimuot gayod!
ang kalaay mo gi abog

sunod mag bantay-bantay
ayaw dayon pasubo kay
hinungdan sa pagmahay
usahay...ikaw ra man diay

Hats Down and Hands Ready for Clapping

If I had the slightest doubt about Roger Federer's being World No. 1, it's gone now.

I just read an interview with him on his loss to Rafael Nadal in the Monte Carlo Masters (clay), and it's not hard to see how single-minded he is about winning all his matches, most especially Grand Slam titles. And from that, you are almost correct to assume that he's the kind of athlete who knows that he's very good and is confident he can come back from a loss to his nemesis, beat him to a pulp, and never look back. He seems to only become smarter with every loss and gets to know his opponents with every shot and effort they put in. His mental framework is robotic. It's jaw-dropping, and you cannot help but respect but also dislike the man.

He has, ever since I've come to show interest in his tennis, impressed on me an arrogance that only comes from being self-opinioned. I'm almost certain he is cocky - but elegant, classy cocky. He really has class, in his playing style, in his bearing. Even his reactions to the happenings on court says classy. Nadal's yells and bicep-bunching tells of his youth; Baghdatis' are just extensions of his ever-cheerful disposition; Marat Safin's exude his quiet confidence; James Blake's hint of overconfidence; and those of the rest just say they're glad they got points (but I guess I'm being partial, so...).

Federer's most recent win over Nadal in Wimbledon only showed his determination to not only stay on top of everyone else, but also to reduce the possibilities of losing at all, slim as they already are, as I see it. And they are only at their widest with Nadal. Nadal can, in all certainty, beat Federer. Given a few improvements and more focus, his lefty play and his reservoir of sheer on-court brilliance, he can defeat all-too-perfect Federer. But I pin it to his youth or to that child-like quality that he seems to exude, why it would be more difficult for him. More difficult, because Federer is already hard to beat, as it is.

When he knows he'll be playing Nadal, he practices with a lefty coach. He implied in that Monte Carlo interview that he treats his matches with Nadal merely as venues for improving his game, to beat Nadal and the rest of them lined up behind him. He says the more he plays Nadal, the easier it becomes to defeat him. Or maybe, that's just how he wanted it to look, so as to make that loss less disappointing.

Either way, Federer is one hard-core competitor. Competitive to the max. But happily, Nadal is not so far behind in the ranking. Federer cannot sit as kingly as he would have liked. And I like that. I like the idea that someone makes Federer fidget, and tennis becomes more exciting as that happens. I would agree that there is at last, a true rivalry in Open-Era tennis. And I will try to follow the happenings as they come to see if Federer retains the throne, or if eventually, Nadal - or someone else, for that matter - finally dislodges him. And for how long. Whatever may happen, all my hats are already laid down and my hands are ready for clapping. Not since the World Cup has sports entertainment been so exciting. This is history in the making, and I will be watching when it unfolds.

proof of neurosis

First of all, I must be crazy to be putting this in here. It's exxxtreeeemely personal. But I don't know, I feel it such a waste to be sending it to oblivion. Maybe I'm vain. Maybe I want to be understood. To be misunderstood is a suffering...

So here goes. (Names removed to retain some semblance of privacy)

Mon 07/10/06

I am neurotic. This morning, I had an attack of extreme pessimism, if there's such a thing. It felt as if I was leading a pointless, disappointing and unfulfilled existence. It was as if I merely existed all this time just to feel insecure and depressed and unhappy in my life. My head was a mess, I couldn't come up with one rational thought. All I kept thinking about was that I was alone because my friends don't want me around, that I was inadequate, especially in comparison with this girl -and I thought I was over that. And even though he was there, I felt I was still by myself, because he may just be leading me on and will probably leave me one day, if not soon. He would be better without me, anyway. And he's got lots of friends and girls at his feet...he wouldn't miss a thing like me. I am alone and am meant to be alone.
That was how deep my unresolved confidence issues could go and how small I could make me feel. And I only found this out today. They've been there for most of my life, hovering in my subconscious, and resurfacing every now and then. When I stepped into college, i lost some of the intensity of these feelings. Confidence came with being able to have my way and getting to do things as I pleased. Yet some things were never done the right way still -or, what was the right way in my twisted and tainted opinion -that I never totally overcame insecurities. I really thought I was well on the way towards moving on from the issue with this girl, but it must have been all on a theoretical level. Last night was the first-ever venue for application, and with all certainty I failed on that first test. I guess I'll need a few more similar instances to really gauge where I am on the issue. (So technically, I'm still troubled, though not as much.)
I also realize that my insecurities are really that deep-seated and will take some years of work and an establishment of confidence in a trusted someone (i.e., finding a "best friend" -cliched and so true) to zap them. They're that embedded that they can tap into my emotions and make an instant mess out of me. During that pessimism attack, I actually seriously considered finding a real shrink to examine my head. Looking back on that, it's still not a bad -or crazy - idea. I do need to achieve a broader, fuller understanding of my mental framework, and a psychologist is the best professional bet to do that. It is also a step towards that coveted peace of mind.
I do have a better appreciation and acceptance of myself at present. I already have the power to say that things are what they are to me because this is simply who I am. This is how I see things and so this is how I do them. But there are still confusing moments when I question what I really want, or when I am still undecided about things. These moments are anxiety provocateurs, and I would like to stop feeling distressed. I want to be certain of who I am, of what I want. I am not yet worried about where I'm going with my life, but when I start to be, I'd like to have just that one complication and not be additionally burdened with identity and self-esteem issues. I'd like to be behind the wheel and completely in control for once. Not being steered around at the whim of my jumbled emotions.