Onward, melancholy, onward!

Sep. 25, 2003

During the lowest point in your lives, you will be absolutely alone. You won't have friends trying to console you, because if you had, then it won't be as low as the lowest, would it? And it'll be damned tiring! YOu won't be doing anything but it would still be as if you were trying to keep two mountains from squishing you between them. Ordinary people aren't as blessed with strength as mythological Bernardo. We can only try to cope. But the things which trouble us are, surprisingly, precisely much like mountains that are squishing us between them. They cause us confusion. And then we look to family and friends for support but pride often gets in the way of our reaching out. For, some things we don't want to share with anyone else. It's like falling into a hole and we try desperately to climb out. We shout out for help but we are also afraid of anyone finding us in the predicament we're in.

Sadness, despair, melancholy... we call these upon ourselves. Our lowest points are when we realize we can't do anything about something. A lot of times, it's about love. But generally, it can be about anything. When we're at the rope's end, when we run out of options, and when it seems there's nowhere else to go, that's when we feel our worst.

One of the most difficult things in life is de-focusing and seeing the rest of what's already out there. We are only left with options that we see, those that we have thought of or planned for. But there are other things that could also take us out of the ruts we get into. There are a lot of other things to focus on just so that you won't get sad or depressed about not-so-successful ventures. Not to say that it's not ok to be sad about anything. It's perfectly normal to feel bad. But nothing beats feeling rosy and good about yourself and the things around you.

Wine women song

Oct. 04, 2002

You lose your senses when you're drunk. A few people lose their virginities. A lot suddenly lose all inhibition and think they are the greatest lovers or the best singers when, inebriated, they have trouble getting it up. The microphone too. Makes for a ton of laughs. Step into a karaoke bar and you'd hear new lyrics to old favorites. Listen in on 'hired help' and they have stories of men knocking on the wrong door. Getting drunk is fun? Well, discovering you're home on your bed and unharmed but sporting a gargantuan headache when the last thing you remember is trying to stand up from where you were seated in the bar after downing a keg is kind of magical. And a suddenly expansive vocabulary is farcical-- if what you just said wasn't a real word, it should be, you murmur under dead-fish-smelling breath.

I've been drunk once. After half a liter of gin, I was on my back. That wasn't good I later found out. Not that I lost my virginity. Damn! My dinner wanted out. And I was babbling, telling my friends I loved them and asking them if they loved me too. Well, I wasn't really really drunk. It was a ploy to get to say I love you to a close friend. Was I bad? Regurgitated food is, I can tell you that.

Oh! And you have heard of jokes about women looking much better to your sullen eyes after a couple of rounds. Be careful. It's widely known juniors spring from rhum and vodka and beer. I mean offspring. You had a condom on? Which finger? Try the remote. And if nothing happened, no one will believe you anyway. Use it to promote your machismo? Have you no shame? Right, you're drunk.

Drinking occasionally is ok, I guess. At parties, it's ok to drink then. Just don't tell me you go to parties everyday. Every other day? Get rehab. Or try iced tea. Long island. Just don't get drunk. Too much. And don't get on with drugs. It's always better when you're conscious of what you're doing or what's happening around you because then you won't get played. You won't put just anything in your mouth. And nothing icky or stupid will pour forth from it either.

Good better bestfriends

Oct. 03, 2002

I'm so lucky to have really great friends. I've, like, known them for centuries! And though at rare times, we lose touch, I know they're there. And they're behind me. And they genuinely appear to be astonished at my feats. And they're at my face when I've done something bad. And they're like the brothers I wish I had. And you know how siblings are -- they fight and they scream and scratch at you but most times you make up in the end because you realize they're family. They're a part of you, a part of who you are. And you can't stay angry with a part of you, right, because that would be like, self-something -- you get my point.

They don't start out as bestfriends. It has to follow a path, obviously. And it starts down there in the level of strangers and from there, if fate lets it, shoots up, up and away. A lot of friends come from school-- it's where we spend most of our early years. Your seatmate and cheatmate could become a good friend. Your clique of nerds or bullies (whichever group you were part of) could stay your friends even after the study groups and the pranks you play on the nerds, respectively. Someone from the next classroom who you go to the library or have lunch with. Anyone, anywhere can be your friend. But events lead up to that. You can call anyone you meet and who you interact with your friend but it's not just a term anymore. It's not as simple as that. It never was. It has always been a relationship you keep and nurture.

Keep and nurture doesn't mean constant and consistent gift-giving or phone calls. You don't have to always be there too. It can take even one really heart-felt act and that's that -- you've bonded for life. You just don't know your friend is there, you can feel it. Much like twins who even in separation can somehow feel each other. It's how you've touched another life that keeps you attached to that life. And real friends have touched you in a way no one else has. They've shared a part of you and therefore have become entangled in you. It's a most difficult knot to untie.

But it happens. Friendships unravel. Even siblings disown another. But the ties don't completely straighten out. It just becomes loose. Sometimes, it remains loose and sometimes, it becomes tight again.

I just thought of how a boy and a tree can be great friends. The boy can play and rest and have conversations with the tree. And for a period in that boy's life, he had a friend in the tree. Sound pathetic? But their friendship was as true as any real one between people. Even if that tree was no longer standing, I'm sure the boy keeps happy memories of his 'friend'. That's how friends really are. They may not be there beside you but you know, you feel they're beside you. And they stay.

Season of gists

May 06, 2003

It definitely feels like something's ending again. May ushers in the rains. And I for one am glad that there'd be a chance things will be less hot and humid. Sometimes it's so hot, one begins to sweat even after just stepping out of the shower.

So that's good, as most other endings are, in my opinion. Endings should prove getting from a starting point to another, further. And most of the time, just as soon as one thing ends, something else begins.

That kind of thinking may come with age. I recall wanting things I was attached to to never cease from being with me. As kids, we wanted our favorite toys to never leave our grasp or to never be destroyed even as we play with them with world-war intensity. We had wanted our bestfriends-- be they human, canine or whatever-- to always be there too. But they don't and we see newer toys we like even more, we go to different schools where we meet new friends, and at some point in our lives, we see things very differently from how we used to.

And things are really different from how they were years ago. The pace has upped and everything seems to be in a rush, to not get into a rut, and yet, more people are. The speed in which things go determine how many endings there are. And by the growing number of people who've discovered some joy in the live-by-the-day idea, endings have no end in sight. And it can be seen as one that lessens the quality of each experience or increases the chances of living better ones. And suddenly, an example flashes into mind and I type it before I can rationalize and find flaws to the logic and not type it afterwards- It's just like how collectors either choose each prized purchase or buy in bulk and get that one or two rare items among the ho-hum rest that would eventually get displayed en masse in the less brightly lit corner or room, two right-turns past the second-floor toilet. And as that image ends, another thought-- of an old man hunched before a small mountain stream, a metal plate and his dreams of a better life in both hands, sifting for gold.

Make each day count, some say. Quality, not quantity, others exclaim. My two-cents: how many beginnings and endings we get or how much time between the two, we may not have direct control over but how we get from every start to every finish, that's what's worth looking back at near our last finish line.

Soliloquy for the lovelorn

Nov. 29, 2001

With each passing day, I am morE convinced I love you for the more I tRy to supress what I'm feeling, the more I am enamored. I am enliveNed by the thought that maybe even in the smallest degree, you considered me; I am envigored by the possibility that we are meant for each other; I am enchanted by the Way you look at me, the way you smile that unknowing smile. I wonder if you have a clue as to what I feel for you. I love you, I am certain... It's strange that not until after a month and a few encounters did it hit me; like a brick, it did. And in the beginning, I was trying so hard not to fall, not to become weak, not to think about you too much. But I failed and all I could think of was you. At home, at work, everywhere, it's your face I see. I may close my eyes at night to sleep but you invade my dreams and I Just lie awake waiting for a beep announcing an incoming message from you. And I think of reasons so I could send you a message myself. It's easy to lose consciousness of everything else but you. You're under my skin and it tingles with anticipation. When will I see or speak to you again? And it's not like I fall in love a lot because I don't and you're the first person I felt this way about. I really feel that you would be good for me and that you deserve how I can be good to you. All I can really offer is my sincerest love and loyalty and I swear I will make it last. But then fear sets in. And I feel infinitely empty. And it feels like I haven't eaten for a week; and I realize I really haven't eaten much at all-- a piece of bread in the morning, a bite of cheese for lunch, three pieces of siomai at midnight. I overcome hunger by thinking of you. If I have you, I would have everything I need to survive. I would share my life with you. Everything I am would be for you. That is, if I would be fortunate enough to deserve this chance to love this lifetime. I'm not very lucky at that which is why I am stumped at how to go about telling you-- that despite barely knowing you, I've grown to love you; and despite discovering that you may be just like the others ephemeral-distractions-wise, the feeling is welling-up inside me; and you may not exactly fit how I had envisioned my preferences, but you override them all. And that's how I know I truly am in love. I am ready to do what I have to do. My love will not expect but rather will endure. My love may be forced to let you go, but will never leave you. My love is yours, no matter what the cost to me is. I am thankful just to have learned this feeling with you. Sincerely,

The solitary bird

Nov. 21, 2001

"The condition[s] of a solitary bird are five. First, that it point(s) its beak skyward. Second, that it (flies) to the highest point. Third, it (does) not suffer for company; not even (for) its own kind. Fourth, that it sing(s) very softly. Lastly, that it has no definite color."

To experience true love is probably the best feeling in the world. Some describe a feeling akin to having butterflies fluttering inside one’s stomach, the constant smell of the sweetest flowers, being sure that life is wonderful, that you are safe and that everything will be alright. Many have sworn to this. And many more will swear; but sadly, promises are knowingly broken and love oaths become loathing.

And so a few ‘solitary birds’ exist -- they who cannot see love as anything other than extraordinary. To them, love can never be contained, limited, degraded by human frailty and base desires. In this quest, they may opt to seek their ideals alone, often with little or no fanfare. And there is no distinguishing them from other birds for there is no one type of solitary bird.

But alas, their flights are visited by pain and exhaustion. They are strong and are able to fly very long distances without stopping to land and rest. (This helps develop their endurance, ironically) But they would have to land somewhere, sometime, especially when fierce winds blow on every side. They on occasion just glide above clouds and sometimes are still, surveying the peaks worth flying to next.

the solitary bird (ee cummings)

it may not always be so; and i say that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch his heart, as mine in time not far away; if on another's face your sweet hair lay in such a silence as i know, or such great writhing words as, uttering overmuch, stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
if this should be, i say if this should be- you of my heart, send me a little word; that i may go unto him, and take his hands, saying, Accept all happiness from me. Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

It's soft and clear.
True love harkens yet is out of reach.
Still.

Sweet sorrows

Nov. 18, 2001

Saddening-- some good things never last, some don’t even start, and some we never notice.

It’s frustrating how things we eventually hold dear or begin to love or would want to keep, we lose or give up. There always comes a time when we have to make a choice or worse, when we have none at all. Nothing lasts. Everything dies or is destroyed. And by this knowledge, one either picks at everything in the path or chooses which is truly worth cherishing. Both aspire for happiness and contentment but they are as ever-changing as the wind’s direction.

The ‘sampler’ tries everything or at least almost everything at least once because one’s life is inversely proportional to the multitude of new things to discover. To the ‘sampler’, there can be no failure in life because lessons are learned from all experiences. In contrast is the ‘seeker’ who tries to find only the things and events that are instinctively, almost perfectly suited. In that, there can also be no failure for the quest in itself honors one’s life greatly.

And then, some things are given no chance to be realized at all, even for the smallest amount of time. Circumstances would not permit it. One may long for a love or for a toy or for other desires but these things will remain something to long for. One gains insight to the fact that however hard one labours, no fruit shall be borne. It would seem like quitting to stop trying but there are instances when it is wiser to just move on. To displace the intense feeling over the object would be difficult but at least it offers some room for growth versus a situation wherein one tries to endure a self-inflicted, prolonged agony over an unattainable goal.

Finally, there are things that we do not even notice are there for our eyes are focused on other things. We are distracted into not seeing some things which could prove to be more useful to or more fulfilling for us. Throughout our lives, we develop preferences for things we want and completely disregard the possibility for other things. In this blindness, we lose rare and more precious items forever.

Love, life, nothing lasts but we can cherish things we have while they are ours to have, we can move on from staring at or pushing against immovable walls, and we can open our eyes to the rest of the world, learning as we go or going as we have learned.

Fermenting the truth

Nov. 16, 2001

Interestingly, a symposium for the greeks in old times, meant a day or night of drinking and of intelligent conversation. It does not follow, however, that truths flow like wine during the revelry, only that inhibitions to its flowing are contained, controlled. Whatever anyone under the influence utters should be considered diluted unless that person is not really intoxicated and may just be using the situation to let out stuff that would be difficult to let out when one is sober. But then, the means used to speak what was supposed to be true diminishes its worth. There are two ways to handle truths and they should be both clear and unwavering: understanding and belief.

Alcohol has various effects. It can be a sedative-hypnotic, a stimulant, and vasodilator or vasoconstrictor. Under its influence, the brain experiences impairments in multiple regions that causes one, some, or all of the following:
a) loss of reason, caution, inhibitions, sociability, intelligence
b) loss of some motor skills, slower reaction time, shaking
c) slurred speech, impaired hearing
d) blurred vision, poor distance judgement
e) lack of muscle coordination and balance
f) loss of vital functions.
It is unlikely, therefore, that such a person with these impairments, especially when reasoning is affected, would spew out truths, not to say that all statements declared during unguarded moments or when unconscious of consequence are less true. But these statements at these moments, situations where it is believed that people are less inclined to be insincere, are as questionnable as any other time when people can be knowingly untruthful. And if validation of the statement would be undertaken when the speaker is no longer intoxicated, why bother pondering over how much of that statement was true when the speaker was drunk?

Attendees to symposia today aren't drunk. (It should prove to be wild though if they were.) These exchanges of ideas, discussions, experimentation, etc... lead to the discovery and acceptance of some truths; and if they help us live our lives better, then that would definitely be something to drink about.

Romance in three worlds

Nov. 11, 2001

In this practical world, romance flounders. To actually see one sincere case would probably bring me to tears. For by definition, it is usually short-lived and champions an idealised love, an unusually high endeavor, and could be graphically represented nowadays by the blinking lights that adorn the pubs and bars where short-time, non-committal, primarily physical love is brought to fore. Meanwhile, being the sub-culture that it is, the virtual world inherits the characteristics of its parent except, in this world, the modem lights do the blinking and romance can be measured by how much time one spends online. Romance flourishes like unsorted garbage-- it's everywhere, in the crannies of the wired world, but like any other possession, is discarded for newer, hotter eye-candy. Only in dreams, hopes, and our imaginations does romance last and remain true.

There are so many couples who have remained faithful and loving throughout their relationships. But it's alarming how much there are too of relationships borne out of shallow situations. But who's to say a situation is shallow or otherwise? Given that a couple would work on it, the relationship can grow into something beautiful and rewarding. And yet it's uncomfortable to exert so much effort into something you should be enjoying more. Putting in the effort now will necessitate accounting for it later. And that is totally unromantic. But by that time, the love would have flitted away anyway. No discussion on consciously ephemeral love-simulations.

Speaking of which, we log on to the virtual world. X is smitten with Y and they chat and they become lovers and they meet and they could continue being lovers. Then again, they may not. Computers and the internet may have been designed to aid humans in their work but for it to be used in aid of being human, in feeling, in working with human emotions, may be letting it do too much. Our bodies have their own electrical circuitry to detect and transmit romance. We should use it properly. A few would still insist that romance in the virtual world is possible. But is it crash-free?

Nothing lasts, one can argue. Love should. The problem lies in our being so conscious of everything else that love has no chance to survive and last. Romance is diminished to activities in getting something we desire -- a physically attractive partner to flaunt, financial stability, etc... --preferences. And then we try to learn to love. We try to manipulate love into being. It's so much more complicated than the i-like-you-hope-you-like-me-too-let's-make-it-work maxim; but it works, too. That has been working for the longest time and the general populace has been none too bright to notice that we all have come to accept a lower standard because it's difficult to reach for the higher one. It's become alright to learn to love someone we like, someone we could live with, someone we could lose eventually. Rather than stay alone. We dream of a true love, we hope for the one who completes us, we imagine the love who may not be what we want but is mysteriously still the one true cannot-emphasize-enough real love that is meant for us.

And then we settle for something else. It's enough, we say. It's still love, we defend. The sex is good, by the way. It's alright. Just tragic.