Again, music saved me.
Listened to this and I know I have to get out of this rut.
A new day begins.
Again, music saved me.
Listened to this and I know I have to get out of this rut.
A new day begins.
(Or why you are not meant to tap your own back)
Hiya No. 1!
I didn’t think you could do it, never expected you to. Why, you tried it only once before and it sucked and I know why you think you shouldn’t do it again. I do, too. But you decided to just do it; decided to just get on and write that stupid short story – that one about some baby from hell type of flippertwit.
Again, idiocy reigned.
And blast me twice, but you’ve really finished what you set out to do this time. Why, you even made an awful series out of that rubbish!
I know this wouldn’t sound much of a success to anyone but you, now don’t give me that face you know it’s the truth! But well, yes, I believe it was really an achievement for you. And I’m proud of what you’ve done. Oh come on, I mean it! I know how you didn’t have enough guts to do it; all for a number of stupid reasons if you ask me.
They’re not stupid? Pfft! Not having an English degree, not being a native speaker, inability to fluently describe what an adverb is or to distinguish who from whom, too lazy to be any good with deadlines – how are these reasons not stupid enough?! And don’t even tell me you believe those bona fide writers really know what’s different from who to whom except the letter M.
Now you believe me? Well, of course I’m proud of you, moron. I know it’s not easy to let the world know how much of an idiot you are. And it really wasn’t so bad, was it? I mean the whole experience. After all, it made you happy. And it’s great fun to stop pretending to be smart and sensible and just let out the idiocy within sometimes.
So there you have it. I just wanted to say, “Well done!” and “Don’t get used to it because I know what you have to do come the third week of this month!”
*Evil laugh time*
Mm, is this the part where I say, “It’s not you, it’s me”? No? Fine, fine.
How about bye, then?
Your amazing-er self,
“Now, now you heard it,
Tales most far from sweet,
Her music gentle, clear,
Yet each note hides a tear,
From Great West to Far East,
Rough North, Treach’rous South,
Where songs begin, nurtured,
Melody she sings to you now.
You may or may not believe,
She only speaketh what she sees;
No friends, enemies, allies, or foes,
The Wind simply exists -
To collect mem’ries long forgotten,
Tales without her would’bin lost,
An’ when End arrives she’ll bring it,
To Time, waiting on his post.
But End still lies in slumber,
The World sees not his face,
But you, m’dear, have met him,
Now you must leave this place.
So hold my hand now, don’t fear,
For I am only Death,
To other worlds we’ll venture,
A new tale you must set.”
The day the sun rose again, the flowers bloomed, I sang, I didn’t wake up screaming, I danced, I kissed, I pooped without straining, I wasn’t hit by a truck, mom didn’t scream even once, he told me I’m beautiful, the TV wasn’t turned on, a 2-year old grinning nephew woke me up, my ear log book didn’t have politics signed up, I turned 20, I laughed, I didn’t find him naked in bed with a naked girl (or guy), I bear hugged him, my phone was on silent mode, bought 4 ooh la la books, had enough time to lie supine for hours and do nothing (in daytime), had a 2-second passing thought that all men must have some goodness inside or once had, I breathed, I existed.
Boy, was that a beautiful day!
And oh yes, that was the day I was born here in the blogosphere, too.
Great day. Great day.
“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/
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).