Image credits here.
For 4 years I have committed my life to finishing a course I don’t have the passion with – in the beginning at least. Unexpectedly, I developed an inveterate sense of affection and respect for what I have been studying.
But affection and respect are different from passion.
Some people find their passions in discovering things. Some on putting things together. Some on collecting things. Some on destroying things. And undeniably, some on controlling things.
Mine was to create.
It is my passion to create something beautiful to add to this world – although I have accepted the fact that it would be sublime for some, refuse for others. I have this naïve belief that the world is still a beautiful place and we people only need a reminder of that, seeing as we have been forced to eat nihilism in the hands of the all-powerful media (watch the TV and you’ll get I’m saying).
Thus, as the stars and my own selection would have it, I have been creating: modest ideas to share with others, music to soothe their senses (and massacre others’ tympanic membranes), ”edible” food (though the only person willing to eat it was yours truly), a better, imperfect person within to be a blessing for others (and yeah, a curse for a few)
You see, I have this odd opinion that sharing what you can to others, even yourself, is both a gift to give and a reward in itself. When you know you have made something that conjures even a micro-inch more of a smile in them, you can’t help but believe hope still exists.
Still, still there are people who are so difficult to bridge you’d have more luck in attempting extraterrestrial communication.They have been hardened by time and circumstances; they need more than just another little song, quote, picture, movie, event, or least of all a piece of petty writing from someone who “didn’t have a taste of hell yet”.
But well, the greatest transformations needed more than just a single effort.
And a big thanks to The Magnificent Mother Nature (and greedy politicians) for the law of accumulation – because we can be at ease knowing that every little, insignificant, and petty BUT good, beautiful and true things they have ever experienced are sure to sum up and become one giant ice cream of goodness that they surely cannot resist for long.
I know I should have entitled this “Idealism at Its Finest”.
So that’s my rant for the day. And yes, all is well.
*Evil Brother and Despicable Cousin (yep, that’s a RAT’S TAIL on his head :< ) discover the portal to the El Mundo Magnifico of The Ice Cream Land!!!
I must have been a weird kid. The first time I can remember having someone I can call as more-than-just-another-dirty-kid from school (no, not a FRIEND yet) was in my third school back in first grade.
The first argument I’ve ever had though was in my first school in kindergarten – that was with a small girl with long, thick, unruly hair coupled with big, accusing, Gollum – like eyes who gave a high – pitched declaration that MY yellow book was hers simply because she has a picture of a frog holding a yellow square something (it’s NOT even a book!) plastered on her back pack. The memory was vague, but the fact that I felt like squeezing and shoving her tight inside the lockers and permanently joining those blabbering lips together, was remarkably clear.
But with great misfortune, a teacher stopped that idea from actualization. I don’t remember how she tore us apart, but I did get my yellow book back. Maybe she did what I was thinking herself.
I couldn’t hope for so much though.
The next events in my life were full of mystery. Maybe my body was possessed by another spirit. Or maybe I just happened to experience what they all call growing up. I gained many acquaintances; a number of what I do consider as friends, and my own share of mortal opponents. But what was common in all those relationships though was the ever persistent, stalking shroud of Insecurity – and though not obvious, it did seem to emanate from all of us.
It has the notorious potential to prevent acquaintances from ever becoming friends, turn mortal opponents into lifetime rivals, and end rather “Timon and Pumba”-esque friendships.
It was a phenomenon not limited to the walls of kindergarten and grade school classrooms, since much heavier bouts of insecurity flooded one from high school to college.
Is it really such an imperishable human trait?
But worry not, incorrigibly insecure creatures! The cure for such a cataclysm is now available for all – “The Growing Up Capsule”!
It has such indisputable effects that you cannot find one single critic in the international pharmaceutical market. Although, one must sadly say it is a rarity that exceeds the likes of Ali Baba’s cave of gold, the city of El Dorado, or a video of Lady Gaga singing in front of the pope. “The Growing Up capsule” is that rare that even normal, successful 40-year old “man” beings have still failed to uncover its whereabouts.
But yeah, still, all is well. ;p
Once there was a Stick Man who lives in Stick Country with all his Stick Friends.
The Stick Man likes to walk around in Stick Country and stick his nose in all kinds of stick – y stuff.
In one of these nose – sticking hunts, he found a ‘Magazine’ with non – stick-y people on the pages.
He was so jealous of these non – stick-y people and all their shapes and curves that he vowed to do all in his power to stop being stick-y and start being like those magazine people – shape-y.
So he started his non – stick-y quest…
And set out on a journey to “Magazine Country”!
After 48,000 years…
As he entered its gates,
He went back to the gates and saw a sign posted:
And so, with a great incredulity, the stick man found out that the object of his desires…
*The original image of Chloe (girl with the blue-green hair) courtesy of http://lickthestranger.wordpress.com/
“It’s so much easier to mock everything than to discuss our true feelings.”
I couldn’t have started this better than with the preceding quotation. It was spoken by Ali, a character from Black Gold – a movie that has touched me lately, and led me to this writing.
It led me to yet another staring-at-the-notebook session and from there I have come up with the idea that the people who suffer most in life turn out to be either of two things: 1.)cynical and depressed individuals; mostly with antisocial tendencies, 2.)the most light-hearted, easy – going people in the world. The former one chose the easier path, the latter chose to go against what fortune, or lack of it, wanted him to become.
No, I don’t have any formal education in Psychology, nor will I claim to have gone through hell and its branches in my twenty years of existence. So there’s no watertight reason why you should believe this. Rather, this is a personal need for me to achieve the balance that is so remote these past few days.
It has been my refuge to convince myself that happiness is what you make out of life and not some destination, nor loot we should all seek to find. Like a hidden treasure we should make all the preparations to discover. And so I try, with ease fortunately, to face life with as light a demeanor as I can manage.
But life is a trickster.
Once you’ve found an effective way to adapt, it then changes its strategies and forces you to doubt people, their intentions, and your whole new outlook on life. Do we really cover up issues that need to be faced when we choose to sweeten it all up with a satirical approach? Is it wrong to focus on the positive side of things and ignore the depressing events around you which there really is little you can do about? Is it a futile feat to try to make a new path different from what most clouded souls follow? Would it do a person better if he tries to live as what society dictates to be a productive individual – one that has a stable job in a stable institution who pays stable taxes in these oh-so-stable governments?
I have already met so many cynics, and I admit I couldn’t blame them for how they’d turn out. The insults, abuses, prejudice, and mockery you could get from the world around you is enough to make one a cold – hearted individual. I used to respond to these people with a temper I would do my best not to come up with again today. But if I dig deeper, I know that what I really wanted was to scream until my larynx dries up from an inch of these people’s faces. Yes, I am not so different as to not possess that violent streak that every human being was bestowed with from birth.
But I choose not to use it. As long as I can help it.
And yet again, like YOU, I have limitations and that’s why I have written this piece of melodrama. I made a decision to keep this blog with a mood as light as it can be – not to the extent as a 4-year old can relate to because I don’t have that pure a mind.
But yes, like YOU, I am someone who exists, and yet asks what’s the point of all of this.
Image courtesy of http://www.cherrybam.com/sad-quotes.php
Last night, I was so hungry I hit the bakery and ordered a dozen of cheap, delicious bread. While the irritable bakery lady was getting my order, a dirty child approached two of the customers dining in and begged for bread repeatedly. The two ladies just kept on talking as though they were deaf to the world. I couldn’t hate or curse that they may rot in the depths of hell because if I should be honest, I behaved just like them more times than I can remember.
How often have you turned a blind eye to the misfortunes of others when it was supposed to be in your power to help easing the burden they carry? 20 times? 100 times? A million times?
No, I am not about to preach that we should all take care of one another because every person in this earth is our brother or sister. Nor would I help you to become a better person. I have enough shame on my pants not to do that. Rather, I would like to discuss why it is so hard for us to SHARE – our time, money, food, skills, boyfriends, services, among others – without getting anything in return
But why is it, really?
Theory no. 1: We have been raised to become selfish.
I love my parents and all the adults who helped in molding me to become the ridiculously self – righteous person I have become. They have all done their best to produce an individual the whole world could be proud of (read: a RARITY). But could you remember those times they told you to keep your toys to yourself and to your brothers/sisters because that (insert neighbor’s name here) child breaks anything he ever puts his hands on? Or those moments when they told you finishing education is a must (which it is) because only then could you be a successful person? At a young age, they have already unconsciously wired us up with the-world-is-selfish/there’s-no-such-thing-as-free-lunch anthem. Not that we could blame them.
Theory no. 2: We are scared.
Scared of what? Scared of being taken advantage of, perhaps? Maybe we are thinking that there are so many con artists and syndicates today behind homeless beggars that the thought of helping them and picturing those goons enjoying your loot is just too much to handle. Maybe we are so scared that if we do something to help people, they might milk us out until we cannot even help our own sorry selves. Maybe we are so concerned of what the noble, jealous, and insecure citizens of the world might think of our every actions that for the dread of being labeled as
good people phony philanthropists (a.k.a. someone feigning higher, humanistic, ENDANGERED principles), we prefer not to make any action at all. Maybe you have your own list of secret fears that keep you from lending a helping hand to the oppressed, lonely, hungry, hopeless people in this sad, dreary, miserable world. Yeah, probably that…or maybe
Theory no. 3: …we have simply become numb.
I should have made this my theory number one. I write according to what my head dictates at the spur of the moment and this didn’t come first. However, I have a very strong gut feeling this must be the reason we have ceased to pursue the carrying out of deeds for the greater good. The access to cosmic amounts of information (no, I am not condemning the Internet to eternal damnation) leads us to be knowledgeable about the bad news happening everywhere and anywhere that we have unavoidably become cynics – unfeeling cyborgs of the information age. The world is suffering from too much lack of money, food, savings, genuine friendships, toiletries, waterproof roofs, respect, originality, compassion, and tolerance that the act of GIVING out more of one’s self already seems to be a herculean task.
It seems that as I write, I have discovered that being good really means being generous with the things you can give that will be useful to the feat of the receiver becoming a better person. Becoming a person worthy of a space in this overpopulated planet is difficult when you have a gnawing stomach. Think about it, even forgiveness is something one gives to another which in its own could very useful for the other’s achievement of inner peace.
Ahhh…Inner Peace. Wouldn’t that be bliss?
Image courtesy of Google Images
So here’s my theory! Hahaha XD (Read: Michael Jackson, Death Dance, and a Delightfully Awesome Researcher)
A voice coach once said to me that singing the right notes is 10% voice and 90% ear – and I couldn’t help but agree. Even if you have the most beautiful voice quality in the world, if you can’t listen, identify, and hit the right notes, you wouldn’t have much of a singing career (OKAY, so maybe that’s not 100% true, judging on the singing superstars we have in the industry these days, but yeah, moving on).
Hitting the right notes + appealing voice quality are not the only ingredients into becoming a good singer. You also have to have that Rhythm.
Like many of the beautiful things in the world, such as Audrey Hepburn and a mug of hot coffee, rhythm is subjective. True, every aspiring musician must have it, but rhythm, like beauty, is different for each individual. Yiruma’s rhythm is in a very much different scale than that of Justin Bieber’s. That’s why we have the different genres. AND that’s why there really is no point in comparing one musician against the other. Taste is a person’s own business.
But even though rhythm differs from one musician to the next, each of them can’t call himself a musician unless they have it. I believe that anyone can call himself a musician if he can create music – and that does not include certain people (Read: DJ) “switching buttons and playing other people’s patented sh*t” (thanks, Leo! –check out his music here–). And yet, music, like rhythm, is subjective. Screaming Belting artists’ music might be considered eardrum killers for someone inclined to listen to the sedative form of music.
It’s only right then that the point of music is not to create something which appeals to everyone’s taste, but to create something another soul could identify with and make him feel he belongs to something, to anything…to nature, be it his own or the world’s.
Being a lover of music inSOME of its forms (I admit I can’t tolerate much of Metallica’s raucousness. Sorry, fans), it is inevitable to think and ponder where it all began. Personally, I feel good when I lose myself into the depths of the intangible world, as I am NEARLY doing now, but I’ll try to fight it and finish this…yes…
So where did it all began? Music, like communication and the earliest attempts of it, started with Man. When Man is, Music also is (if that EVEN makes sense!).
I can imagine Man gaining consciousness of what he is, of where he is, and found himself listening to the sound of the leaves brushing against each other, of the wind making melodious gushing with everything it meets, of the tree creatures making their hoots in the night, and the calming effect of a brook’s glide with the rocks in its path.
Oh yes! I can imagine how intoxicated Man must have been with his first taste of music.
It is something that cannot be taught; rather, it’s something that happens. Like feelings and the birth of a star, pollination, and male erection.
So are we right to say that Music started with Man’s communion with the world around him? With Nature?
Partly. Because there’s still another form of music that started a bit earlier – Man’s awakening to the music within. The Inner Nature. The one you hear on a night when you’re all alone, with the world against you in a 1000 to 1 odds, and the future looking darker than any black hole ever discovered.
I totally lost myself there.
Have you ever felt the same way?
*Image courtesy of http://koroitfourfive.wordpress.com/megan/
Whoever first said that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and related it to parent – child relationships clearly doesn’t know my parents. Fine, that is an exaggeration. I do have some qualities possessed by…
…okay, moving on, ehem, I wanted to share the misfortune that has befallen the pathetic existence of my friend, Joan (sorry, Jo).
Joan had the
revoltingly despicable perfect guy (if you’re not picky) for, say, 5 months now until she learned yesterday that he planted his seed on her best friend’s birth canal. I mean, wow, that guy must have secretly hated Joan. Or maybe the male specie just can’t control their hormones upon sight of a flirtatious human being with two protruding frontal milk reservoirs.
But whatever the reason is, I consider it an Oddity.
By definition, an Oddity is something that one either dreads to occur (occur, for it is in fact a calamity. Maybe I should have used calamity on the title. Nah, too lazy for that now…) and if it does it is impossibly difficult to dissect the mystery as to why you have allowed excess idiocy to pop up when you let it happen/did not see it coming.
Well, here is a list of the phenomena I consider as Oddities (in no particular order):
1.) BF planting seeds on BFFs V – zone
2.) Rents telling you you’re adopted (after you’ve convinced yourself that your chinky eyes are just a manifestation of some psychosomatic disorder rooted on guilt over your porn stash)
3.) The worst hairstyle of the century (yes, on your head)
4.) Darwin’s Theory of Evolution (so obvious, I don’t know why they had to wait for Darwin to patent it)
5.) Gas explosion in the middle of a sermon (mmm – hm, from your A – hole)
6.) YOUR cat’s reign over the furniture (I am NO guilty in owning a cat – I’ve seen too much of that anomaly)
7.) Herpes (need I say more?)
8. ) Snot – bubble in the middle of laughter (…hopefully not in front of your boss)
9.) Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore being gay (I SHOULD have seen that coming!)
10.) Falling in love (that, dear friends, is a CALAMITY)
So there you go, my first ten list of Oddities.That’s it. I’m done here. Now I have to inspire myself.
*All images courtesy of Google search
***P.S. Feel free to add to this list! :p
I read something about what someone somewhere said about Michael Jackson and rhythm. MJ “supposedly” once said that blacks stand out from other singers simply because they have that earth rhythm – that unmistakable beat they possess which is passed on from one black to another, thanks to Genetics and constant jam sessions.
That someone has this theory that since the black people’s forefathers lived/wandered in the desert paradise we now know as Africa, they have expressed their oneness, their gratitude, towards nature (which was all they have ever known
before they were forced to slavery back when they were still untouched by the exceptionally ugly white foreigners) through songs and dances in almost every aspect of their lives.
They have songs and dances for hunting, gathering goose eggs, a honey song, cooking song, marriage song, chasing bees dance, Death dance – and I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a writing song, although I have my doubts on the necessity of writing back in those days.
Now this way of living, which started from possibly the very first black nomad, was passed on to each of every tribe’s offspring – and so is the rhythm with which they lead their lives. Thus, The Rhythm‘s existence was secured to last for eons.
With this ultra mega useful background knowledge (I know, I know, I’m a great researcher! Pfft..) at hand, I can’t help but form yet another theory of my own farce. I call this “The Oneness of Rhythm, Music, and Nature“.
—to be continued. :p
*Image courtesy of Google search
There was once a lady with a human mind – one that wants something so badly one moment, and desire the exact opposite the next. HUMAN.
She woke up all cranky and ugly, answering the people who greeted her with the enthusiasm fit for the day of one’s meeting with the Grim Reaper. Despite of the efforts exerted by the people around her to cheer her up (or maybe because of it), she remained as Little Miss Stormy the whole day. And the root of it all was the failure of her prince charming to greet her on the first second of her birth date.
And so this person, who’s disputably the perfect embodiment of the word
shallow sensible, went on making everybody’s day as depressing as it could be. She never went out of the room regardless of the calls of her mom, grandma, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, and pet dog. She wallowed in self – pity as she stared for minutes on end at that seemingly overpowering speck on her ceiling.
Boy, that was the best birthday of her life! Or it could have been…
It could have been, if she only went out the door enough to see the banner, with all the greetings and wishes the people she ignored the whole day, made for her.
It could have been, if she have bothered to respond to all the people who greeted her via text message, posted in her online accounts, personally shouted (they have to since the door was an unrelenting opponent) their greetings to her, and those that even tried to call her.
It could have been, if she had been humble enough to open that door and taste the source of the stimulating smell coming from the world beyond her door that she had been savoring for hours. But pride kept her.
It could have been, if she only appreciated the effort her prince charming gave out to compensate for his “fault” by sacrificing being the object of his boss’s tirade only to woo and try to get her to smile and open her door to the world.
It could have been, if only she hadn’t been so silly and frivolous.
It could have been the perfect birthday celebration, if she just tweaked her attitude. Even for just a little.
But she didn’t. And so she remained the cranky, old woman the whole day of her 20th birthday, and lived to write about it.
Image courtesy of Google Search
(The last sentence was not meant to imply that old people are generally cranky. Only some of them are. Some are perfect little angels. Others remain to be nasty demons behind wrinkled masks.)
We find ourselves more comfortable when we’re alone but deep inside we yearn for someone out there, just a single stranger to understand.
Do you find yourself in a situation where you just want to avoid all the people you know and have an honest talk with just about anything you could ever think of with a total stranger? I do. Lots of times.
What’s so enviable about it is that you can talk with someone who doesn’t have previous knowledge about you that he can use as tools for prejudice. It so often happens that we can’t help but hope for an outsider’s opinion once in a while. Your future is often predicted by the way you have screwed up in the past that there’s no point at all in saying what you have to say. And it just isn’t right nor is it fair. But it seems that trusting that people could turn out to be much better than how they have been is a lost skill.
It is very tempting to write in all caps now. Really it is.
It’s just so infuriating how some dumb, horny males NOT of the Filipino race could stereotype all Filipinas as cheap, horny women who constantly look for dying, foreign, and rich male to juice up for all their dollars.
I MEAN, COME ON REVOLTINGLY SMELLY AND UN – LAYable HORNY MEN!!! Do I even have to explain myself here?!
Image Courtesy of Google
I learned one new fact of life today.
It seems that as you age you continuously experience new stages of self – discovery. What you think of yourself when you were 18, however certain you were about it at that point in your life, will almost never be the same when you turn 25.
Some people say they have been self – assured early in life, but I don’t believe it. Because life changes you, it is a factory where we are all products that need to be upgraded and enhanced regularly. And those that cannot be changed turn out to be inappropriate and are sure to belong in the bin labeled
So it’s surprising to me how, say, a piece of literature with a theme concerning self – discovery could be limited only to a category of teen/young adult literature. Ironic, since you can see middle – aged individuals certainly still uncertain about their own identities.
But why do I concern myself with these things?
You see, I plan to experience different things from what I have always been doing – it simply fails to give me a sense of happiness. I am not so proud as to want happiness per se, I merely want a sense of it. There was just no passion (yes, that’s the right word) in what I am used to do.
And lack of passion (or excess of it) is in fact deadly. It has ended the lives of many notable men, and women of course.
That is why I am about to make this blog a sort portfolio of the things I would love to AND would do – pictures, stories, social commentaries, rants, random idiocy – and it doesn’t mean it would be in a chronological order. I’m so bored with chronological.
*An image I particularly like one googling session. Courtesy of thingsweforget.blogspot.com (obviously :p).