Butterflies and Kites

(words inspired by the Tori Amos song)


I wouldn't have held on to the tail of your kite had you not led me to believe I could. I wouldn't have, and I would not again. It is never an intention of mine to hold you back or tie you down. Perhaps it needs your understanding that the situation you placed yourself in makes that inevitable. It has become logical to me to say that to pursue love would be to let go of a good many things. But I guess that sort of statement is not easily comprehensible to you who feel the urge of flight and freedom, tainted by the views of the world as it is. You are not getting blamed for that, as I am doing no such thing. It is only lamentable that for such a person who can think outside the box, you are so much in one. (I am sure I am inside several of boxes myself, none of which are relevant at the moment. I am only pointing to that which concerns this mutuality). Lamentable still, that it is a box which divides our views irreconcilably. For something that has endured over years, there is a substantial lot left unsaid, unexplored, and undiscussed. Surprising though how it could endure when it started and kept starting on the wrong foot. But something founded on the wrong things will always be wrong. But stay and fight and try to straighten it out. That's a guarantee only of a rough road, and I'm sure flight is more compelling. There is an exhilaration to it, an almost boundless freedom. No, regrettably, I cannot hold the string while you fly your kite. I am a butterfly who flies on her own wings to pursue her own compulsions and ambitions. Lose your string and gain your wings. My freedom was not meant to buy you yours.

You must also see, we are right now creatures of flight. To pursue our path will eventually lead to staying aground. It may seem untimely to shed my wings when I've only just gained them. So will you get your tail pulled from behind you should you proceed in such similar fashion as you do now. We, all of us, feel that urge to be cared for and be paid attention to by someone, when everyone else has their concentrations on some other thing or person. But don't you think it rather selfish of us? To only want a someone for their exclusive attention on us when the world is ignoring us, and then when we have all eyes back on us again, we have them totally out of mind. For what do you propose is the reason for seeking such personal connection as this? Are you having marriage in mind? What more do you need to learn of a person after all those years to not be thinking of marrying? Yes, maybe I have changed my point of view, which in all honesty, I feel many times better having done so. I feel purer, less tainted, though I am nothing holy. Scoffing and mocking will lead you nowhere, tightening only my resolve. I propose that it is not the means you use to persuade me from this, if you do intend such a thing.

This is not to say I feel nothing or care any less. This is a consideration for practicality and an evaluation for direction. Where is it going? Where do you intend should this go? I do not desire to go with the wind, or with the moment. I intend to have a purpose there in your life, beyond than what meets your needs at this time. Well, that is one expectation this has brought about. And there are and will be many more. So think. I have places to go; my heart is almost ready for the unknown, to take on adventure. I don't think you'd want to move away from where you are now. I won't pull your tail again. I won't push you, the acrobat, seeing as you don't have a net. So tell me if you want to fly your kite. I am not in charge of the string, hand it to someone else. I am a butterfly, I did say. You can keep having someone hold the string for you, or you can join me on your own wings. Only then will I acquiesce to let the wind blow me. Until then, maybe you might finally metamorphose. Maybe. In the meantime, I am almost there. Join me or we'll see each other again one day. I do believe in destiny, after all. Don't you?

Birthday Post

Maybe one's birthday is indeed one's (special) day. For one day, you get to have some attention (if you're not at all the center of attention). For one day, you get to feel how special you are to others, or at the very least (which is not at all less), to your Maker who made you happen. Not only are you special because you are alive , you get to feel special as well, at least once a year.


This must be vague. I can't quite find the words to perfectly describe the wonderful set-up God has created around each one's creation, birth, and birthdays. I'll get back on this when I get it right.

An Invitation To Come

Come. Stray, wander. Cultivate pleasant fountains where you find them. Linger where you will, there is no hurry in this endeavor. Stray ever south, for more pleasantries lie in impatient waiting. Don't hesitate at the door; come right in, for you are awaited. You have been invited for something warmer than tea, to soar on a rush more intense than caffeine. Once joined at the hip, hesitant of parting, let's pursue the elusive excitement of touching every star. And when we've wearied, let's rest a bit and regain the vigor we would need, before long. But as I stir early and head for the southerly pole, the ride begins anew.

A Woman

I am a woman. You cannot expect me to be like you. I am a woman, with a brain and a heart. You cannot sever either one from my being. I can think for myself, and I feel even more. I am a woman, in touch with my emotion; do not presume I can be so cerebral and invariably logical. I am emotional, even if I do not seem so. I am a woman. I feel the need to be beautiful and feminine, sensual and romantic, the essence of what I am. No matter what I may do or say or appear to be, I go back to my fundamental core, a woman. I am a woman, unique, with my own senses and perceptions. Do not dictate on me what I am supposed to become and just let me be...a woman. I am a woman. I am strong. No matter if you say you are stronger. I am a woman, made to be me, not made to be made into what someone else would want me to be. I give of myself because it is what I want or feel, not because it is what you want. Love me for me, what I am - a woman.

Because the Night Belongs to Lovers

A love stronger than death... Gothic and eerie, almost supernatural... or even already that...

The moon is an unearthly glow of a hundred stars...I'm playing that song...It seems to come from a distance...I am somewhere else, on another night like this...The notes echo in that gaping emptiness where you used to be ...Could you hear me where you are, I wonder...Can you still the wrenching inside me...It feels like you're here somehow...I'll keep playing for a while...

My love...I am here...Our love is an endless song in my lonely, forgetful hereafter...Bringing me back from the dark folds of moon shadow...to remembering...to you...Feel me beside you, ethereal but aching...Play the melodies that beckon me to life...On this silver night, we are one...

Feeling (v.)

if this seems irrational, it's not, just non-rational. the brain cannot process that sort of things.




you would think that life was perfect because you have it all...or almost all of it that you want in your life. a guy, a job, graduation, euro trip...or whatever it is that you have and think you love right now...


are those really touching movies realistic? are they common occurrences in the world? surely they didn't mean for us to despair?

think spirited away. there wasn't even a kiss that was shared but the emotions were so infectious that there's no question it was... l'amour...

or those korean movies and TV series. one thing about them is that they know how it should be.. walking the talk, or even no talk at all. a flutter of the heart here, a rush of anger there...and there's heaven. and the best part is, they didn't even have to shed anything. and the guys get angry and affected! i like that. i think i have a peeve about guys that think emotions are for women. when you love, i don't think you could be anything else but jelly. there is dignity in love, contrary to their ideas.

i want... to be swept away, to go through a rollercoaster ride - of emotions, of happenings, of the senses. i want to feel. to experience everything through my senses. i'm tired of the thinking brain. i feel like i will only be needing that area to interpret my emotions into words so i can write them down.

better yet, pictures. snapshots remind you better of sensations. snapshots of what i did, where i went, who i was with. they let you remember better, communicate faster. words tend to delay the transmission to the core of emotions.

yes, because i really want to feel. i feel i've stopped feeling with too much thinking. i've been rationalizing and i want to stop.

if i am with someone, i don't want to think. i want to just feel my way through the time we spend together. guard down, cards on the table. just feel... and it won't work if he just keeps thoughts. no thoughts. just sensations.

i may never be good at exchanging wits. okay, okay. i'm as slow as i may as well be. but i actually feel i'm better off feeling.

this city is dull, overflowing with westernization and americanism, like skin without exfoliation. i want to go someplace and be shocked back to feeling and living. japan. or the european country - the lands of my idealized dreams. no, no america. someplace where ideals are not scoffed at but held in esteem, someplace untouched or barely tainted by business, money, and worldliness. someplace, where i would like to spend my life in because i like it there.

i have no japanese animations to evoke these sentiments in the midst of my dreary existence. i can only aspire and dream, waiting to see if the universe has meant for me to have this, this small ambition to be free from the wearying sophistication of the times, and just live simply to feel...to pursue beauty. to live to pursue beauty...wouldn't that be lovely.

God is in the beautiful things... that Paulo Coelho is really clever.

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.