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If the Universe as we know it had really just sprung up spontaneously – less likely started as a fantastic, utterly complex blueprint of a project of some powerful albeit crazy maker but rather had the origins of something like a spur-of-the-moment such as a fart – then less complex beings such as you, and I, and the Andromeda galaxy, and the growth of a fetus in the womb, and the unexplained intricacies of the brain, and Love are just mere accidents; concepts that are by-products of an unplanned existence, not really a whole lot different from being illusions.

Insignificant. Purposeless.

And simply because of that (or maybe because of wounded pride to have the same status as a fart) that I am more than willing to believe otherwise – that everything is with purpose, planned, and not just an emission of a swirling chaos the size of, say, a Universe. There may be no proof of our “planned” existence or the seemingly purposeless, heinous offenses happening in this plane of existence, and I remain to have doubts if proof could ever be found or if we could even recognize it if it is displayed in front of our eyes.

But sometimes, sometimes blind faith can defy logic at its prime. Sometimes blind faith seems to be the only thing that could make sense of our seemingly chaotic lives.

Now stone me to cyberdeath.

The equivalence of my existence

The equivalence of my existence

(My brother just told the whole world how much he hates me. And instead of giving him my 2640-word worth of demons, I release them here.)

***

In a land where the sun rises not, where the moon never leaves the sky, there lived the ones whom we simply refuse to believe.

Not that they prefer it any other way.

They have ceased to call themselves angels for they could no longer find their way back where they used to call home. Nor were they demons for they have never pledged loyalty to the fallen prince.

For naming’s sake, let’s call them In-Betweens.

In that sunless world there lies an inn, a public house whose bar these folks often frequent. And here small groups would gather every seventh moon to exchange the sort they consider priceless, but what humans no longer hold as objects of value.

This is tradition.

This is fact.

Another mug of moonbeam, please, Leirum”, muttered a small figure covered in a cloak the same hue as the shadows. He was a lone figure in the bar…yet.

As you wish dear Leug”, replied the bar maiden, a figure with such beauty even Aphrodite could envy, and she has; still does. She gave the small cloaked figure what we call an innocent smile before she vanished.

The inn does not boast of any exquisite structure but of wooden stools and rounded tables, a large and comforting fireplace that has not yet ceased to give the inn life for as long as anyone could remember; and of course, the bar. Behind it is a place where knowledge lies only on the beautiful Leirum and mortal guests who could no longer give us their own accounts.

Here’s your freshly harvested cold mug of moonbeam, eh, just the way you like it!

Ah, thanks, Leirum.

So, what interesting business have you lately got yourself into, Leugarahp? And don’t tell me nothing much again or you’re not coming back to this inn.” And she laughed to let the other one know she doesn’t mean it.

It really is nothing much, Lei, just a minor role in preventing a planet-wide revolution in Uruk-Patel. Those green people really are a riotous bunch.

Wouldn’t you be if you live in a planet as miserable?

Touché. They were a noble race but they wouldn’t last long now. Pretty soon, you would have to meet them. At least they’ve been able to make interesting memories to last a lifetime.

Our lifetime?

Indeed.

She then busied herself with wiping her ivory mugs for the upcoming guests, a task she was fully obliged. “Tell me, Leug, have you been there when their first planet-wide revolution started?

With the Uruks? Played a major role back then, I say. Why, it was a mistake I never intend to do again! You wouldn’t believe thinking beings would be able to be responsible for such gore.

Hm, just as I suspected. You do have your smell in it.

Oh well. It won’t be long now ‘til those people die. Their second moon has just exploded, their life source greatly diminishing. The two queens, both formidable as you well know, have not yet reached a compromise. The people are getting restless and before we knew it they would start killing each other. You have my word in it. It would be so much gore, they like it that way. But they won’t know what they’ve done until it’s too late. They won’t be able to replace their losses now. The two queens only lay about a thousand eggs every moonrise. Not all of them would even be able to survive. Dying, that’s what they are, I tell you.

They wouldn’t be alone, in that case.

The voice came from the newcomer they haven’t noticed. As he rose from the farthest stool in the shadows, he pulled down his hood to different welcomes from the two figures in the bar.

I’m glad you made it, Lesaran.

You just don’t change do you, giant?

Lesaran laughed as he joined them in the bar, giving Leugarahp a patting in the back which send the little one scurrying on the floor, “Just as likely to change as you’re likely to grow, midget.

All three laughed. Even the fire joined to welcome the cheerful new guest.

What would you have this time, Les? And no, I still don’t have any whiskey. I simply refuse to befoul my bar with a drink as inferior as that.

Pfft, you and your standards. Just give me whatever this midget’s having then. Make it a full bottle this time.

Lovely. Now don’t you go telling any tales ‘til I come back, you.

Lesaran just smirked and turned to Leugarahp who, from his fall, was still shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but not with any contempt to the pusher, as was their way.

Is it true Uruk-Patel’s dying?

True as we are, brother.

She agrees?

You really think I know?

They sat in silence as Leirum came back with a bottle of newly harvested moonbeam and a plate of what looked like peanuts but were really dried Human Wishes, a favorite delicacy of Lesaran.

Here’s your drink and some munchers for you both. Where have you been for so long, Les? I’ve missed you. Everyone missed you.

Been to a couple of worlds, but mostly to my favorite spot. You know the place, you two.

You mean they’re the dying breed?” asked Leugarahp.

Everyone always seems to be dying, but only some really do. Sometimes I wish I could.

Silence.

Leirum broke it by asking, “So where have you been then except Earth?

Lesaran was about to answer, but just then the doors opened. Two people entered – one a young man in his early twenties, the other a middle-aged woman in a smart-looking business suit, both looking terribly confused why they end up in such a place.

Hello! This is the Angels’ Inn. Do you wish a room for the night?” came the sweet and inviting voice of Leirum, with a spark in her eyes different from which before the new guests arrive.

Is this what you call this place? Rather gloomy to be an inn for angels, but it will do. Yes, I’d just like a room for the night, please.” answered the middle-aged woman as she crossed towards the bar, and sat beside Lesaran.

You dress awfully old-fashioned in here, don’t you? Do we have a party or something? Lord knows I’m up for a party. It’s been dry, work-filled days all week! Even God needed a breather, didn’t he?”

Oh yes, he did”, answered a smirking, bemused Lesaran.

The young man just remained standing in the center of the room and muttered in a small voice, “Um, I’d like a room, too, if you please.” He sat in one of the stools surrounding a nearby table.

Leirum answered, “Very well, then, two rooms for the new guests. I should go and prepare your rooms, but not before you two warm up and have your drinks. Now I suggest Hope’s Dregs for this awfully cold night, what do you say?

I normally don’t drink anything with dregs in them. Is that any good?” the woman asked Lesaran.

Very – it warms you up from within and leaves you a quite contented feeling. You should try it.” he said with the most charming of smiles to the woman beside him, who blushed before she said to the bar maiden, “Fine. One Hope’s Dregs for me then.

Lovely. How about you, young man?

The young man appears to be slightly surprised to be addressed and just nodded.

All right, two dregs of hope coming up. Oh I could feel this would be one of them good nights…

The woman turned to Lesaran and Leugarahp, who still had his cloak half-covering his face.

What are you folks drinking?

Just the old-fashioned moonbeam, same as here Leug’s having.” said Lesaran.

Moonbeam? Weird names, these drinks. But what do you expect from a bar named Angels’ Inn?” then she gave a laugh everyone knows to have no real trace of mirth.

All kinds of things, madam, all kinds of things,” replied Leugarahp, who chose that moment to pull down his hood.

The woman wasn’t able to utter a reply, and the man in one of the tables made a small gasp as they looked at what the hood has hidden until now. It was a face as old as time itself, and in it you could never really see true traces of beauty, especially if you have the human eye.

Hey, what’s the silence about? I thought my bar was known to be the source of all tales? But then again I guess everything just has to change, don’t they?” said Leirum, still with a smile as she served the woman and the young man their drinks.

Not really, sister. You know that too well.” was the reply from Lesaran.

Leirum looked at his brother for a moment before going back to the counter.

I think the silence was brought about by the usual reaction from the sight of me. Thank goodness there was no blood shed this time”, said Leugarahp, whose voice echoed a truth to his words.

Oh, you’re always a welcome sight to me Leug”, said Leirum.

The woman, too uncomfortable and embarrassed with the conversation, said, “So you three know each other well?

We’ve known each other a long time now. But you, why, we’ve only seen you now. How did you come to our place? Do tell us”, said Leirum, with a manner that even the most stone-hearted man could not say no to.

Now, this is most peculiar. I can only remember coming home from work, getting ready to change my clothes to go out to some bar, you know. The next thing I know, I’m out in the cold, standing outside your door with that young man over there”, she lowered her voice before saying, “He really is in bad shape, that lad. He looks as if every little noise frightens him. Thank this awfully delicious drink I’ve found better company.” finishing the statement with another sip from her mug.

Interesting story. Don’t you think you’re just in a dream?” asked Leugarahp.

A dream? My life’s been mostly a dream, you see. No real meaning. I won’t be surprised if this is another one.

Oy, you fellow! Care to join us here? It’s rather lonely down there in your spot, I say. At least here you can have close view of my sister. Isn’t she a sight?” said Lesaran with a laugh joined by the others except Leirum, who tried to look annoyed without success.

The young man, who thought he really has no choice on the matter, just as he always thought about all things his entire life, stood up and joined the rest on the bar.

Don’t mind him. He really is a joker, my brother.” said Leirum, as the young man approached with a nervous smile.

It’s okay. This is some drink, by the way. Never tasted anything as good before.

Leugarahp, who was sitting beside the young man, nudged him, “You won’t find a better drink anywhere in your world, lad. Even the finest wines you’ve got down there couldn’t compare to the water we have in this inn.

Once a humbug, always a humbug”, muttered Lesaran so that only Leirum and the woman could hear.

Leugarahp, who was now in a talkative mood after his second mug of moonbeam, asked the boy, “So what’s your story then?

Huh?

I mean how’d you end up here?

Oh…well, I was just in my room, you know, thinking of, of a lot of things. Life. Then I had this really weird thought, see. I never really intended to do it. I can’t remember now if I did. The next thing I know, I’m standing outside your door. She’s right by the way”, he looked to the woman beside Lesaran before saying, “I really was frightened. It’s so weird, you see?

Hmm. A lot of weird things happen to us in the course of existence, young man. Remember that. But tell me, would you rather have these weird things currently happening, or your plain, monotonous, uneventful life that you so wished to end back in that lonely room of yours?” said Leugarahp.

How did you…? It doesn’t matter. You’re right anyway.”

Silence, once again broken by Leirum.

Now, now, gentlemen. Our guests must really be tired from a long, long day. I think it would be right to send them now to their rooms. Why, I’ve made them as comfortable as only an Angel’s Inn room could be.

Really tempting, that one. Oh well, I guess I’m getting old. I do feel tired now you said it. I’m afraid I have to say good night to you, gentlemen.” said the woman in the business suit.

Good night to you, madam. May you sleep in peace.” replied Lesaran with the smile that made the woman felt certain it would be a good night’s rest indeed.

How about you, young man?” asked Leirum.

I think I should also go. I’m sorry, but I do feel really exhausted.” And he really looked as if he is.

Then Leugarahp said to him, “That’s fine, lad. You shall have your rest now. Good night.

Good night.

And with that, the beautiful Leirum escorted the two human guests to their bedrooms; rooms from which no other soul have yet seen, rooms from which their bodies will never see another light of day.

When she came back to the bar, her brothers were still there.

Drinking.

Waiting.

You’ve brought them here, you know.” she said.

Aye.

But unknowingly. Unwillingly.

That’s how it must work, brother.

Aye.

Silence.

I think we should call it a night.” It was Lesaran’s voice who broke it this time.

Yes, I think so, too. I have to get back to Uruk-Patel. They need me now more than always.” said Leugarahp, to no one’s dissent and to Leirum’s full agreement as she looked at her brother with a smile.

Lesaran said, “And I must be getting on. I like Earth, but there are still worlds I have yet to be friends with. I think I should go to one of them.

You really should, brother”, said Leirum, also in full agreement with her brother’s choice.

Each of the men kissed her on one cheek before they put on their cloaks and went out to the night.

Then Leirum closed the Inn’s doors, never locking it for she well knows anyone might turn up needing rooms or just a drink at any time here in their land.

She sat in front of the fire for a few minutes, the kind of minutes highly different from man’s world. She contemplates how the Uruks’ fate lies in the mercy of her brother Pharaguel, the Angel of Destruction. And how her brother Narasel’s unquenchable taste for all the things the worlds have to offer would influence more people’s ends, he being the Angel of Desire. She reflects on all of these, among other things such as the ends of all the worlds and the event that would follow, before walking behind the bar, waiting in the shadows to serve another In-Between, or to prepare rooms to dying beings.

For such is her duty, the fallen beauty Muriel, otherwise known to her siblings as the Angel of Death.

 

What do you see when you close your eyes?

I see nothing.

Yet I see everything.

Open – eyed, I see you look away from me; see you look at no one. Making a point of it, perhaps? And when I close my eyes, I see that I exist.

At least I think I do.

But I need you to look at me. With that you’ll show me that I do, you know, exist.

Will you look at me?

I know you need it, too.

Thanks.

You can look away now. Or you could close your eyes. I rather enjoy the latter, but it’s up to you. Look away and you still exist in this world, close your eyes and you may end up in other worlds.

Escape…you like that, eh?

I know. I know.

Anywhere, whatever situation we may end up in, we would always want to get out of it. All that in due time. It’s a built -in mechanism, I suppose – one we can do without, but can’t.

I wonder now.

In heaven, would we still feel the urge to escape? Was it what Lucifer felt?

Just wondering.

Let me tell you a story.

This story may be about a demon or me or you, but that doesn’t matter really.

Why?

***

He walked the earth but his heart was not there. It was engaged in the place where your thoughts often wander, especially if your heart is not keeping up with what you do.

Yes, like all demons, Michal does have a heart.

Though to say it is a good or pure heart would be to go too far. It still is fact that Demon hearts do not fill with blood but with the agony inflicted upon mortals – the more agony produced, the stronger the heart becomes.

And Michal, our demon, has indeed a very strong heart. But as you already know, now it is not with him but in the nameless-place-where-hearts-often-wander.

There, his heart met The Question.

Why?

And now as he prowls the earth looking for willing puppets, them of the agony-inflicting type, The Question continuously takes root in his heart.

Why do I exist? Am I really meant to be here? To be doing what I’m doing? And if I am, if I am no accident, then who or what intended for it? What…who is my creator? Why?

The Question – it mutually seeks out all hearts and meet them all in due time. It captures yours in unexpected moments, and from then on, never really leaves.

Appeased, ignored, suppressed, but still there.

Still is.

And it leaves no body, no being out – Living, Dead, In-betweens, Angels, Demons, Guardians – all of their hearts The Question will meet.

For all of them will take part in the event.

The Event.

That which everything that was, is, and about to happen are mere necessities, preparation perhaps, all leading to the one reason why anything at all exists.

The Demon already knows this but cannot recall it. Like everyone else, it is vital for his being that The Knowledge should not interfere with the present, hence the overshadowing by present trivialities.

But one always needs to be reminded, thus the constant seeking of the answer to the purpose of one’s existence.

And in that nameless place where all hearts eventually wander, we all find our reminder – consciously or otherwise.

The Question.

***

So that’s the story.

It is as much about me as it is about Michal or you or the queen of the damned or the president of the Jews.

Why?

Why, I think you know.


“Final Kiss” by Landix (Click to view full image)

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.”

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There are people you notice, and there are those whom backgrounds just tend to swallow. Perhaps if in one particular background a crime took place in which you happened to bear witness, then asked by the authorities to describe in full detail what you have seen, you would unintentionally left out these people from your …

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If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us. -Hermann Hesse (1877 – 1962), Demian I stand here in the balcony and weep, not for any cause, woes, and hurts noble but for mine and mine alone. The one time I …

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This is a happy post. AND I am a red elephant.

We people always have a tendency to loathe what we understand little about or not at all. Some extremely more than others – a thing I always think makes a person rather inferior to one that is otherwise. A stubborn refusal to acknowledge what’s happening before one’s eyes is plainly RIDICULOUS. On a closer look, with a pinch of not-so-common sense, me’s realized the bigger picture says the world needs these people for balance. It’s always been about balance. However, that doesn’t stop me from avoiding these people. Maybe within I’m self-righteous and narrow-minded, too. Why not? All people are hypocrites.

-Red Elephant, The

Image Sources here.

Can’t decide what’s the fittest title.

“………..”

Do you believe that anything is possible?

I guess I do – if “possible” means a chance that things are going to happen/be proved happening/happened. Keyword: chance. ONLY a chance and it doesn’t really mean it is an indisputable fact.

Possible.

Is it possible that I have a mental disorder?

Yes.

If you thought of something perverted while looking at this image then I beseech the Fates to not let us cross paths. Ever.

Now before you come into conclusions, let me elaborate. That was really a random thought. It’s not that I’m not feeling myself lately. In fact, I feel delicious! I’d say good but the delicious is the best good word, so it fits in better. Not that I’m thinking of food/sex always. Not really.

See, I think there is a very fine line between sanity and the world beyond. There are so many categories of mental disorders these days that a seemingly normal person might actually be diagnosed with one if he consults with a psych – ologist/iatrist.

It scares me.

I mean, who decided first on what is normal or not anyway?!

*!!!OMG, help!!! I can feel my brain turning into jellybeans! Focus! FOCUS!!!*

Where were we? Right, I really think life is either one big mystery or a very bad joke it’s funny. Maybe both. And it’s because of these things we call Differences.

Yes, Differences.

It’s because of Differences that man’s life went on as it is. When we first realized we were different from the other two – legged freak, we saw this as something that separates us, causing us to feel a myriad of emotions – shock, confusion, curiosity, fear – but fear, being the prince of the Emotions, reigned and led us to sought a solution to fix the “Difference”. So we naturally look for other people who share the “same” interests with us and pounce on that being who is “different”.

It’s a big joke, right?

For no two humans are always alike. Elementary. We’ll always find differences with anything and anyone. But we whine it’s too difficult to live with that. So instead of living with our differences in peace, wars started, labels multiplied, groups of people broke up and regrouped with others only to do so continually but with different sets of people.

Is it stupid? A bad thing, so to say?

Maybe it depends on the kind of difference that caused it all.

We can say a “Good Difference” is one where no moral code is violated, and the “Bad Difference” violates something.

Right???

So is it a Good Difference between I, a “perfectly normal” person, and someone who wears a neon green cape for daily use? It doesn’t violate anything except my highly intolerant, aesthetically-inclined eye which I guess doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make him/her a bad person.

So is it?

Probably, but not for that Batman – wannabe since he may just have guaranteed himself a spot in an asylum because shrinks call him “histrionic” at the least who has an inclination to butcher gay people.

And is it a Bad Difference between I, again a “perfectly normal” person, and a human being who kills another human being without the common sense of being a cop or a soldier or a doctor first?

I guess it is.

But what if he kills a person who is planning to kill hundreds of other people to gain a.) Power b.)Money c.) Both d.)Nothing, he just likes killing?

Is it still a Bad Difference?

Sometimes I think I have ADHD. But no (Denial phase! Watch out for Anger!), not really. I just need someone to have a stimulating discourse with, but I guess a lizard could be inadequate for that. So next option is (no, not self-talk since I have enough of that. Enough!) to write and hope to disturb the unfortunate reader/s’ beliefs and ideologies. Truth is I don’t even know what that word means.

Wow.

It is inevitable for me to end with a conclusion that life really is one big ginormous barrel of joke. I am so done trying to make sense of it. I leave that to ye, oh noble mind doctors (but I’m ready to bet you’d pass the curse to the nearest person after a few more years or so. But no fear, I won’t be telling anyone except THAT malicious monkey reading this, so you can go proceed with your practice).

I guess the point of survival living is not to make sense of everything but to find the ability to remain complacent without anything making sense.

Yes, that should be it. (Big grin)

Now, I could sleep.

Oh Lord, you really are a joker. Good one. Good one.

P.S. I shouldn’t be a nurse. I’d infect my patients with the JellyBean Brain Syndrome before they could even shout for help.

P.S.S. To any mind doctor with the misfortune to read this, can you give me a diagnosis? Of course, I couldn’t pay you but you might be stupid and kind for all I know.

Image Courtesy of Google Images

(But really, it’s written about a year ago. I’m a worse writer then. You can back out now.)

Who am I?

A question that continues to haunt man since time immemorial. But what is it that keeps him from finding the answer to that ever daunting question?

It asks not only your name or age but what makes you an individual, a separate entity and not just a statistic in an ever expanding society. If I tell you ʽI am Jenny, 19, and still a student’, can you say that you already know me?

No.

So the question remains – who am I? I am me. But another question follows. What makes me me? That is the most difficult part. For you see, I can say that I am a daughter, a son, a student, a Christian, an artist, an atheist, a Democrat, a Republican, a Muslim, a Russian, an anarchist, a loyalist, a scholar, a rebel, a doctor, an actor, a goth, a homosexual, blah, blah, and blah…

Those are things that you can also say for about a hundred million other people. It does not define you as a separate being. They’re merely labels. And the truth about labels is that they are used not with individuals but to categorize people.

Or divide. Maybe both.

Now one may argue that he can be a Christian and a Goth, while another could only be the former and not the latter. So that defines him from another person, eh? Having a label that the other person does not share. But that is all too generalized. Can that person say with conviction that he is the only Goth Christian in the planet? Not.

And so the question remains, what makes a person an individual? How do you answer the question ‘Who am I’?

The easiest and the laziest way to answer would be to say that you are a nobody, which is an utter lie in itself because a person is always a somebody to someone else, even if it’s not for everybody. Even a tramp that society labels as a nobody is a somebody to someone else – a long-lost friend, a mother, a son, a lover.

Specifics. Yes! At last, you say to yourself, I have already found the right way on how to answer that question. I’m going to flood them all with specifics about myself.

I am Juan Miguel Madrid y Saavedra, 21 years old, 5’8” tall, 158 lb, a junior mechanic. My parents are Ricardo and Cecilia Madrid and my two older sisters are Anastacia and Isabella Madrid. I have lived all my life in Havana and I don’t plan of moving anywhere else. I am in love with a girl working in a paladar near the shop where I work and I plan to marry and have 2 children with her. I am and will be a mechanic for the rest of my life because that is all that I ever know how to do. I was born on the shores of this land and this is where I intend to be buried. So there, now you know me and you cannot say that there is another person on this planet who can say the same words as I have. Now you know who I am.

True, there may not be another Juan Miguel Madrid y Saavedra the Mechanic in the planet, but is that all there is to it with that person? Is that all he is? A resident of Havana who plans to have a family and be a mechanic for the rest of his life and after which reside six feet under his birth soil – is that all?

Why not?

Why do we have to complicate everything? Why do we have to force him to say more about himself if that is his own understanding ?

I must find a truth that is true for me . . . the idea for which I can live or die” as Søren Kierkegaardthe first writer to ever call himself existential (Wiki says!), has stated. Yes, it may pertain to a discussion about morality but it also rings true to a question of identity. It is never the society’s task to define a person but only the person’s own. The question who am I can only be answered by the individual because it is he who experiences his life. Society may set traditions and norms, but it is up to the individual to follow or head the other way.

For one, an environment in which a person lives in may be brutal and unforgiving, and yet it does not necessarily mean that the people living in such a place would turn out to be the same. One person may turn out to be an adapter – cold, harsh, and eternally suspicious, while the other may be a dissenter – warm, gentle, and trusting.

Choice.

That is what sets the two apart, their own choices. One chooses to survive in his environment by means of adaptation, he can only survive if he takes in the characteristics that his environment requires. If I live in an environment where everyone is hostile to one another and is constantly judgmental and only seeks personal gratification and individual advancement, then I cannot allow to be swallowed whole by the situation. I have to be cold so their hostility could not affect me, nor could their judgments. I would not care less. And in a milieu where everyone seeks to trample and rise above the other, I should be suspicious to anyone’s actions. That is the only way to survive.

The other however disagrees with conforming and chooses to do the opposite – he dissents. If I am surrounded with people who treat everyone as an opponent, as a threat, then I have to be warm and live without competing with them. If I do that, then eventually they would see how I am not a threat. And eventually, if all goes for the best, then they would stop treating everyone as a threat. Yes, it may not always be true with everyone but you can’t help but influence one or two or more people because of how you treat and interact with them. I chose to be different because I want change. And I can’t just wait for it to happen. If no one would, then I will start with myself. And it will show to the people I meet. Maybe they will follow and maybe they will not. But I can’t just stand and live in a world that repulses me. If I want it to change then I have to do something. That is the only way I can truly say I have lived.

Both have made a choice, though similar they are not. But it is clear they have decided on a certain course of action for which they can live with, and it will reflect on the kind of person each would turn out to be.

So would it be safe to say that what shapes a person is his own choices? Perhaps.

But like everything else, it is subject to the big C. CHANGE.

So back to the question: “Who am I?”.

Personally, I am yet to discover that. But the good thing is I know where to look for the answers. And even with that knowledge I still can’t find the ultimate answer in the present because the place where I look for is constantly changing, trivial or otherwise – myself.

And even then, one must be open to the possibility that he may never achieve a satisfactory answer to that question for as long as he may live. But tell me, do we really have to know? Or do we just have to accept the idea that there are things that exist which are beyond one’s understanding and the best way to deal with it is to just live and savor the experience while it is still there? If meaning is what we sought after, then searching might be futile if we only limit ourselves to that which is tangible, to that which tries to explain, to human reasoning. Shouldn’t we then accept the idea that there are things our human minds will never understand, that are reserved only for the understanding of a higher sort?

Ah, Life. I can’t help but agree with the character Alyosha when he says, “We must love life more than the meaning of it”. Why can’t we just live without questioning everything? Or rather, live and question, but never despair if you won’t find the answer? Do we question the meaning of our lover’s existence or do we just continue on loving them?

I believe we may find the greatest experience of bliss in the latter.

Questions, questions…sometimes these things are enlightening. But it is faith even amongst unanswered questions that really sustains.

So who am I? I am me, but what makes me me I can’t tell you yet. I do know one thing though. I choose to live. And as much as possible, I choose to be happy.

Look at the choices you’ve made, and think about the ones you’re about to make, then maybe you will find the answer as to who you really are. Or maybe not.

But at least you will know what you want.

Image Sources here.

That I am not an intellectual. An intellectual is someone who loves to learn, tries to learn, and actually learns a lot. I got 2 out of 3. I just never seem to learn a LOT – if not any less than I do 15 years ago.

15 years ago I learned…

*To do unto others only what I want others do unto me.

(Now I do, did, probably will still do unto others what I’d offer my savings account, mini library, and promise to make a twitter account for them not to ever do the same to me. And vice versa.)

*To listen when a person speaks in front.

(So when a blabbering buffoon is on your side and trying to get as close without resorting to sticking a pole inside any orifice, um, you are excused, right?)

*To eat only nutritious foods. And only when you’re hungry.

(A lesson I have happily un-learned! Unless you don’t count eating a large chunk of chocolate when you’ve just had dinner against it.)

*To respect the elderly.

(With all due honesty, I have tried to uphold this for as long as I can remember. But there are tempting times Satan prepared himself  by hiding in the guise of a septuagenarian lady, making me want to grab her cane and use it to whack Satan out of that innocent body.)

Aww…that face! :)

*To say sorry when you hurt someone.

(But after a decade and a half, I have de-evolved from a human into a chicken for I find myself too much of a coward to utter even this two-syllabic word without the aid of dagger looks and a terribly messy situation.)

*To not speak nor go with strangers.

(I blame the one who said “strangers are merely friends you have yet to meet”. I wonder if that person ever had the reward of meeting and having a little chat with Mr. H. Lecter.)

Tell me you’re not tempted to run when you look behind and see this face 2 inches from yours.

*To mean what you say and say what you mean.

(This time I blame the books written in the style of beautiful, subtle sarcasm. And politics, of course.)

*To never tell lies.

(Ha! Now who would I blame? You? You? Or you?)

Fifteen years is quite enough time to have forgotten all these lessons. I am certain I learned a whole lot more back then. But due to lack of practice/application of these lessons poor memory, I only have these eight to share.

Let me make it clear that I am not saying the older you get, the dumber you’ll become. Fact is that there’s a turning point somewhere in the age line (they say it’s different for everyone…I do wonder who “they” is/are) when Fate itself drives you toward the long lost fountain of wisdom.

But until you reach that point, you have no right to say you are wiser than a 5 year old.

This kid knows it all. He does. Oh come on, he really does!

Any lessons to share?

Images courtesy of Google Images

It feels like a huge, dark, dead body is constantly growing inside my chest. It keeps struggling to occupy space meant for gas exchange. This is anger. This is resentment. And once again they’ve decided it’s already time to visit me.

Can you change what you are?

I mean, is it that hard to believe a person is bestowed with more than just his physical traits upon birth? I believe I was born with boiling blood. In my younger years I find it so easy to hate anyone or anything. I could always find a reason for enmity.  It took me quite a long time to realize what I hate the most is not any person or any other thing but this trait to hate so easily itself.

Although it is not without valid reason, every time I hate a person, I also have this notion that I am hating myself. Do I hate myself because I allowed them to hurt me? Do I hate myself for feeling? For caring? Do I hate myself because this hate has spread and now it involves and risks hurting people I care about?

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Hate only brings hurt…resentment. And this, well this breaks you. This even brings the worst sort of crying. It’s the kind that brings tears that never comes out of those eyes.

Then you’d go thinking, “Oh, I would do anything just to make this hate go away!

But would you, really?

I would. Still, pride is holding me. Like it’s hate’s conjoined twin. Or better yet its puppeteer. And more often than not, he’s the worse to beat between the two.  And it keeps you from forgiveness – both asking and giving. I was assaulted, but I fought back. I fought hate with hate. This only brought more hate – the one thing I hate the most. Makes sense? I don’t know. I know it’s hard to find better words.

In the back of my mind, I know I should’ve kept my cool. That was the right thing to do. Thing is, the back of my mind is so much smaller than the dominating center. And at that moment this bullying part shouts “FIGHT BACK!“. I would give all ten fingers and a tongue if it’s a lie when I say I wish I kept my cool.

But like people who get in trouble, emotions got the better of me.

That leads to how awful I am feeling now. But as I dig deeper, as I force myself to face the truth, I heard a thought saying, “If I haven’t fought back, would it spare me this rotten, gnawing sensation?“.

The answer was no.

See, even if I haven’t reacted in the offense, I would still hate myself for not even having enough guts to protect myself. Maybe it’s just in a different angle, but the result would be the same – hating me.

I would give out a front tooth (and I intend to keep it; can’t even imagine what the hell you would do with it…unless you have a weird tooth fetish making me less than glad to find you reading this) if I could find a single THINKING person who has not hated himself once in his entire lifetime. I could not, that enough I know.

Will it be right to say then that all thinking people are broken because of this past/present self-loathing? I believe it is. Yet it would be another thing to say that these broken little things will never, ever be happy. Or whatever you call that sense of being alive, really living, and loving it. I know I call that happiness.

And I will be happy again.

For I am just a broken little thing, but in the name of my slightly broken right front tooth, why, I am far from destroyed.

*image credits here*

Sunrise at White Island, Camiguin, Philippines

I’m a speck in the sand

But still I am something

Weathering the sun,

Resisting the waves

Oh yes, I exist

The beatings I’ve had

It does make me mad

Though I labored to forgive

It’s not easy to give

All I thought was escape

Even nonexistence I sought

I almost went with the waves

Once I’ve always tried to fought

But the sun still shines,

People kept coming,

A child was born,

Reminding us of morn

Where love is pure,

Efforts are blessed

Affections returned

And the sun and the sea meet

*audio here*

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