I advance in the darkness
I advance in the gloom.
For reasons I do not know,
And for things I cannot do.
Whether it’s the sound of crying
Or simply the sight of despair,
I’d respond to their calls
With no intention of repair.
The night time would have been proud
As I cast a shadow on the world in a hurl.
Enlightened by moonlight, empowered by rage,
No peace in sight, not even the face of a baby girl.
I advance in the darkness
I advance in the gloom.
On my own volition
And my own heartbreak too.
The gods would have been pleased with me
As I unleashed Pandora’s box
Engulfed in pain and sorrow,
The world was put in shock.
Is that the Earth I see crying?
What a sight to behold!
As she struggled to fix herself
Not to die as she was told.
Where would I fit in?
Would I have to die too?
But you see, a deal was made with the shadows,
Now I am to be used as its tool.
There I will stand.
Pensive,
Masochistic,
Solemn and sarcastic,
I advance in the darkness,
I advance in the gloom.
The world outside will be vexed,
And my very own be in bloom.
-J
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
When Nature Calls. Seriously?
So one day, my friend says to me, "I need to go poo."
Seriously? What's up with that? I mean yeah, we all need to spend some quiet time doing our thing, but since when was it okay to just publicly announce it? It's everywhere lately, even facebook.
Anonymous friend no. 1: After i take a dump, I'm going on a date.
Anonymous friend no. 2: I need to go pupu first.
Okay, if I have to be perfectly honest, I find the word "pupu" really hilarious. But still. Come on people, we have limts, it's like:
A: Oh hey, what's up with you these days?
B: Could you hold that thought? Because i can't hold my--
A: Yeah, okay, just go.
See, i'd honestly feel better if everyone would just try to pretend that everyone isn't basically a sack of dung. Dung-carriers. Do you see the image in your head? Because I freaking do.
So what are the other various names for nature's children. The top 100 off the top of my head:
#1: Nature's Children
#2: Doodie
#3: Pupu
#4: Crap
#5: The "S" Word
#6: Shit
#7: Business
#8: Poo
#9: Dung
#10: Human gold
Seriously, not to even mention the fact that in the airport, my sister kept reading "Duty Free" as "Doody Free" and then added the tagline "That's why they call it business!"
It's like we're all in this new era where we all feel this need to break out and explore new boundaries, and we all feel like we've cemented this position in the world where we set the standards.
The problem is, nobody really has the same set of standards. So the next time you see someone rallying at the food court, telling you that you have to strip yourself of your clothes in order to free yourself, walk away. Or then again, try something new. Let me know how that turns out.
So in class, this guy was asking people if they had tissue, and one guy actually had the gull to ask why.
What do you MEAN why?
Weirder still, the guy asking for tissue said "Because I need to go to the toilet to shit."
Ironic that it was biology lesson.
I was feeling adventurour that day, so I tried to get into the wohle "It's okay to talk about anything" fad.
My friend went to the washroom, and my other friend goes "Where's he going?" and I nonchalantly go like "Oh yeah no he went to go and crap."
It was weird.
After about two minutes, the guy comes back from the washroom. I lean over and say to my friend, "Well, look at that, he's done crapping."
I still didn't get the gist of all this, so I stopped. Maybe it's just me, or maybe other people feel the same way, but sometimes I like to believe that secrets you makes with the toilet are kept between you and the toilet, kinda thing kinda thing.
-J
Seriously? What's up with that? I mean yeah, we all need to spend some quiet time doing our thing, but since when was it okay to just publicly announce it? It's everywhere lately, even facebook.
Anonymous friend no. 1: After i take a dump, I'm going on a date.
Anonymous friend no. 2: I need to go pupu first.
Okay, if I have to be perfectly honest, I find the word "pupu" really hilarious. But still. Come on people, we have limts, it's like:
A: Oh hey, what's up with you these days?
B: Could you hold that thought? Because i can't hold my--
A: Yeah, okay, just go.
See, i'd honestly feel better if everyone would just try to pretend that everyone isn't basically a sack of dung. Dung-carriers. Do you see the image in your head? Because I freaking do.
So what are the other various names for nature's children. The top 100 off the top of my head:
#1: Nature's Children
#2: Doodie
#3: Pupu
#4: Crap
#5: The "S" Word
#6: Shit
#7: Business
#8: Poo
#9: Dung
#10: Human gold
Seriously, not to even mention the fact that in the airport, my sister kept reading "Duty Free" as "Doody Free" and then added the tagline "That's why they call it business!"
It's like we're all in this new era where we all feel this need to break out and explore new boundaries, and we all feel like we've cemented this position in the world where we set the standards.
The problem is, nobody really has the same set of standards. So the next time you see someone rallying at the food court, telling you that you have to strip yourself of your clothes in order to free yourself, walk away. Or then again, try something new. Let me know how that turns out.
So in class, this guy was asking people if they had tissue, and one guy actually had the gull to ask why.
What do you MEAN why?
Weirder still, the guy asking for tissue said "Because I need to go to the toilet to shit."
Ironic that it was biology lesson.
I was feeling adventurour that day, so I tried to get into the wohle "It's okay to talk about anything" fad.
My friend went to the washroom, and my other friend goes "Where's he going?" and I nonchalantly go like "Oh yeah no he went to go and crap."
It was weird.
After about two minutes, the guy comes back from the washroom. I lean over and say to my friend, "Well, look at that, he's done crapping."
I still didn't get the gist of all this, so I stopped. Maybe it's just me, or maybe other people feel the same way, but sometimes I like to believe that secrets you makes with the toilet are kept between you and the toilet, kinda thing kinda thing.
-J
Thursday, September 16, 2010
The Beauty of A Facial
A lot of people have the misconception that a facial is a relaxing spa treatment that one can sleep through.
Anyone who’s had a facial knows that pain is beauty.
When I went to the Philippines, I was to get a facial. If you’ve ever heard of people having a facial, you’d imagine it was a relaxing experience for cleansing the face. However, do you actually know the process of having a facial? To answer that question, I go to Pinoy Spa to find out.
What is the idea behind facials?
In fact, facials are needed to remove whiteheads. Whiteheads are hardened globs of oil that are stuck in the pores of one’s face.
Mariselle, a facialist at Pinoy Spa, says, “A lot of people are open-pored. When exposed to dust, it enters the pores and becomes trapped there, also resulting in whiteheads.”
What are the procedures of having a facial?
“The procedure is simple,” says Mariselle. “First comes the facial scrub for cleansing the face of dirt. Then, we need to open the pores by steaming the face. That takes about fifteen minutes.”
Mariselle takes me to one of many spaces closed off by curtains. There is a bed, and a very dim light. She asks me to lie on my back and begins to apply a sort of cream onto my face. She then wipes it off and does it again. She then wipes that off, again.
She applies another sort of cream onto my face, which I can tell because it feels heavier than the first one. She then turns a steamer to my face and it gets a bit difficult to breathe through my nose, so I do so through my mouth. About fifteen minutes later, Mariselle switches the steamer off, switches a huge lamp on and shines it at my face, and begins to wipe off the cream.
When they wipe the cream off your face, they use a smooth sponge, like what women use to put make up on. It is NOT comfortable. My face was feeling really weird and I badly wanted to touch it but I couldn’t, right? I felt like there was something blocking my whole face, but I couldn’t reach up and touch it.
“The next part,” says Mariselle, “is a really painful part. This is where we begin to remove whiteheads, using a small scraper. The whiteheads sometimes stick to the skin, so we need to dig hard to scrape it out. Plus, we have to do this all over the face, so you can imagine how long and painful it will be. Sometimes when it really doesn’t want to come off, we use this small hook to try to prick it.”
While Mariselle was busy working on my head, I was in excruciating agony. It’s like having injections on your forehead, in a straight line, in and out, in and out, and then when one line’s done, continuing on to the next line. Yup, that’s right. It’s exactly like getting botox. When she was working on my forehead, I wanted her to work on something else. I guess she noticed my nose, because she started pricking everything there. Now THAT was definitely excruciating. She begins to work in the areas surrounding my eye. A tear trickled involuntarily, because she kind of jolted my nerves.
“It’s ok to cry,” Mariselle says. “A lot of people cry during facials.”
A while later, Mariselle notices my struggling and assures that this is really just how it goes, for first-timers.
“The whiteheads really stick in the pores and the face is not accustomed to pricking,” she says.
To stop from thinking about the pain, I ask her what are the next things that will happen.
“The last thing to do is we have to close the pores,” she says. “This can be done by putting on another cream and wait, or have it vacuumed shut.”
Note that the vacuum is specifically for the closing of pores in the face.
She notes that there are a lot of very small whiteheads all over my face. She puts down her scraper. She decides to use a scrubber to see if that would work. I was relieved. At least she wasn’t pricking my face anymore. After the scrubbing proved unsuccessful, she was back to scraping. The memories that suddenly seemed so long ago came back, and this time, I couldn’t help but say I wanted out.
It was good to know that there was an option of stopping that part of the procedure.
Mariselle laughs. “A lot of people say that they never want to come back here again because it’s too painful. First-timers are what we call ‘facial virgins’.”
She applies another wave of cream on my face and leaves me here for about ten to fifteen minutes. She then wipes the cream off my face.
“You are not advised to wash your face until tomorrow morning,” says Mariselle.
After taking a few minutes to take in all that has happened, Mariselle answers a few of my last minute questions.
“People are actually required to have facials once or twice every month,” she says. “Or else, their faces will become clogged and dirty again. It’s painful for first timers, but if you come frequently, it won’t be hard to take out the whiteheads, as there won’t be a lot on your face since the last time you had a facial.”
So. Don’t forget to stop by a facial centre and try it out for yourself.
-J
Anyone who’s had a facial knows that pain is beauty.
When I went to the Philippines, I was to get a facial. If you’ve ever heard of people having a facial, you’d imagine it was a relaxing experience for cleansing the face. However, do you actually know the process of having a facial? To answer that question, I go to Pinoy Spa to find out.
What is the idea behind facials?
In fact, facials are needed to remove whiteheads. Whiteheads are hardened globs of oil that are stuck in the pores of one’s face.
Mariselle, a facialist at Pinoy Spa, says, “A lot of people are open-pored. When exposed to dust, it enters the pores and becomes trapped there, also resulting in whiteheads.”
What are the procedures of having a facial?
“The procedure is simple,” says Mariselle. “First comes the facial scrub for cleansing the face of dirt. Then, we need to open the pores by steaming the face. That takes about fifteen minutes.”
Mariselle takes me to one of many spaces closed off by curtains. There is a bed, and a very dim light. She asks me to lie on my back and begins to apply a sort of cream onto my face. She then wipes it off and does it again. She then wipes that off, again.
She applies another sort of cream onto my face, which I can tell because it feels heavier than the first one. She then turns a steamer to my face and it gets a bit difficult to breathe through my nose, so I do so through my mouth. About fifteen minutes later, Mariselle switches the steamer off, switches a huge lamp on and shines it at my face, and begins to wipe off the cream.
When they wipe the cream off your face, they use a smooth sponge, like what women use to put make up on. It is NOT comfortable. My face was feeling really weird and I badly wanted to touch it but I couldn’t, right? I felt like there was something blocking my whole face, but I couldn’t reach up and touch it.
“The next part,” says Mariselle, “is a really painful part. This is where we begin to remove whiteheads, using a small scraper. The whiteheads sometimes stick to the skin, so we need to dig hard to scrape it out. Plus, we have to do this all over the face, so you can imagine how long and painful it will be. Sometimes when it really doesn’t want to come off, we use this small hook to try to prick it.”
While Mariselle was busy working on my head, I was in excruciating agony. It’s like having injections on your forehead, in a straight line, in and out, in and out, and then when one line’s done, continuing on to the next line. Yup, that’s right. It’s exactly like getting botox. When she was working on my forehead, I wanted her to work on something else. I guess she noticed my nose, because she started pricking everything there. Now THAT was definitely excruciating. She begins to work in the areas surrounding my eye. A tear trickled involuntarily, because she kind of jolted my nerves.
“It’s ok to cry,” Mariselle says. “A lot of people cry during facials.”
A while later, Mariselle notices my struggling and assures that this is really just how it goes, for first-timers.
“The whiteheads really stick in the pores and the face is not accustomed to pricking,” she says.
To stop from thinking about the pain, I ask her what are the next things that will happen.
“The last thing to do is we have to close the pores,” she says. “This can be done by putting on another cream and wait, or have it vacuumed shut.”
Note that the vacuum is specifically for the closing of pores in the face.
She notes that there are a lot of very small whiteheads all over my face. She puts down her scraper. She decides to use a scrubber to see if that would work. I was relieved. At least she wasn’t pricking my face anymore. After the scrubbing proved unsuccessful, she was back to scraping. The memories that suddenly seemed so long ago came back, and this time, I couldn’t help but say I wanted out.
It was good to know that there was an option of stopping that part of the procedure.
Mariselle laughs. “A lot of people say that they never want to come back here again because it’s too painful. First-timers are what we call ‘facial virgins’.”
She applies another wave of cream on my face and leaves me here for about ten to fifteen minutes. She then wipes the cream off my face.
“You are not advised to wash your face until tomorrow morning,” says Mariselle.
After taking a few minutes to take in all that has happened, Mariselle answers a few of my last minute questions.
“People are actually required to have facials once or twice every month,” she says. “Or else, their faces will become clogged and dirty again. It’s painful for first timers, but if you come frequently, it won’t be hard to take out the whiteheads, as there won’t be a lot on your face since the last time you had a facial.”
So. Don’t forget to stop by a facial centre and try it out for yourself.
-J
Monday, September 6, 2010
Let's Conspire to Reignite (All the souls that would die just to feel alive)
I am easily inspired by people. I had a friend who was in the same class as me in Delia. His name is William. He entered my class in Primary 2, and left in Primary 5. All that I remember of him when I think about our time together in primary school was that he always looked so angry, and so depressed. At that time, I never really knew what it meant to be angry, and depressed, all I was was that boy that always laughed at anything. But William, he and I were close friends, but he was never that good in his academics. I lost contact him when he moved away to Canada. But after I discovered facebook about 3 years ago, I found and reconnected with him. We chat online. But after that first week, we became stagnant.
On the day that my friend Nicky told me that he got into this school, I was kind of in a state of shock. It was sad that Nicky was leaving, and it was also sad that he was leaving to this school. But on that very day, William started talking to me online. Now, I believe in signs, and I wondered whether this could be a sign. William was so different. He always stood out to me because at that time he was the most motivated person I’ve ever seen. He was different in the sense that, he found release and he found a way to be happy in his life. I was inspired by him, really. I remember he would always repeat a few phrases. “Never give up.” “Practice.” “Nothing is impossible.” “If you want something, go for it.”
Every topic that we were on, he would always find a way to interject these few phrases. And it was really inspiring because even though I knew these phrases by heart, it had so much more meaning when he said it. I continued to believe this was a sign, a sign that I should never give up on what I wanted.
After chatting with him for the first two hours, I began to wonder why he had so much time to gain all the abilities he had. He could dance, he could play card tricks and he tried a lot of different martial arts. I asked him how school was, and he told me something that kind of shocked me, but I also kind of knew it was coming. He told me that he was a rebel, and that he did not believe in the school system of today. He firmly believed that in summer school, which is a month long, we learn everything there is to learn in a year. Why do we have to go to school for so long? “Live your life,” he said. “Don’t hold back, we can always settle down later on in life, but we’re only young for so long.”
It was at that moment I realized that here we were, two people who coincidentally knew each other from a chance encounter, at the same school, in the same class, who were now talking about the same things, but actually wanted something completely different from each other. He was running away from the modern schooling, because he believed it was right, and it was made him happy. I wanted to get into the best school in Hong Kong, because I believed it is what would make me happy.
William was so wrong. It’s obviously untrue that what we learn in school can be learnt in a matter of a month. Aside from the fact that it would be extremely difficult to be able to learn and apply the different theories of each subject in one month, there is something else that we learn in school that can only be learned with patience, and time. This is the ability to socialize with your peers, as well as to be able to develop and grow into someone better, a better person. School is not just about learning chemistry or biology, it’s also about getting experience being able to observe how much in life there is to be done, to be able to gain experience on your own, not to have it crammed down your throat. School is one big life lesson, to expose your mistakes to everyone around you so that you know how to correct them, to prepare yourself for the unjust world outside.
Then again, he was so right. He told me not to hold back. He told me to go for what I wanted. He told me that I should do what I can to get what makes me happy. I believed him, and I was so inspired by him. I told him he was absolutely right, and that I should definitely go after my dreams. Dreams were made not just so they make life easier, as a getaway when life isn’t so great, but they were made to be gone after.
I am perfectly convinced that that conversation I had with William was a sign. I have to find a way to motivate myself in any way possible, but the good thing is, people inspire me. And there are just so many people out there (I mean we’re even facing overpopulation) that it’s just so impossible for me not to be inspired by someone. Everyone is different. Everyone has their stories to tell. It’s important to be able to express yourself, because when you’re gone, your thoughts die with you. To express yourself, it is so easy, by going for what you believe in, you show who you are, because it’s about your decisions that show who you are, even simply by writing them down, people know who you are, and I believe that is one of the most important things to be able to do in this day and age.
-J
On the day that my friend Nicky told me that he got into this school, I was kind of in a state of shock. It was sad that Nicky was leaving, and it was also sad that he was leaving to this school. But on that very day, William started talking to me online. Now, I believe in signs, and I wondered whether this could be a sign. William was so different. He always stood out to me because at that time he was the most motivated person I’ve ever seen. He was different in the sense that, he found release and he found a way to be happy in his life. I was inspired by him, really. I remember he would always repeat a few phrases. “Never give up.” “Practice.” “Nothing is impossible.” “If you want something, go for it.”
Every topic that we were on, he would always find a way to interject these few phrases. And it was really inspiring because even though I knew these phrases by heart, it had so much more meaning when he said it. I continued to believe this was a sign, a sign that I should never give up on what I wanted.
After chatting with him for the first two hours, I began to wonder why he had so much time to gain all the abilities he had. He could dance, he could play card tricks and he tried a lot of different martial arts. I asked him how school was, and he told me something that kind of shocked me, but I also kind of knew it was coming. He told me that he was a rebel, and that he did not believe in the school system of today. He firmly believed that in summer school, which is a month long, we learn everything there is to learn in a year. Why do we have to go to school for so long? “Live your life,” he said. “Don’t hold back, we can always settle down later on in life, but we’re only young for so long.”
It was at that moment I realized that here we were, two people who coincidentally knew each other from a chance encounter, at the same school, in the same class, who were now talking about the same things, but actually wanted something completely different from each other. He was running away from the modern schooling, because he believed it was right, and it was made him happy. I wanted to get into the best school in Hong Kong, because I believed it is what would make me happy.
William was so wrong. It’s obviously untrue that what we learn in school can be learnt in a matter of a month. Aside from the fact that it would be extremely difficult to be able to learn and apply the different theories of each subject in one month, there is something else that we learn in school that can only be learned with patience, and time. This is the ability to socialize with your peers, as well as to be able to develop and grow into someone better, a better person. School is not just about learning chemistry or biology, it’s also about getting experience being able to observe how much in life there is to be done, to be able to gain experience on your own, not to have it crammed down your throat. School is one big life lesson, to expose your mistakes to everyone around you so that you know how to correct them, to prepare yourself for the unjust world outside.
Then again, he was so right. He told me not to hold back. He told me to go for what I wanted. He told me that I should do what I can to get what makes me happy. I believed him, and I was so inspired by him. I told him he was absolutely right, and that I should definitely go after my dreams. Dreams were made not just so they make life easier, as a getaway when life isn’t so great, but they were made to be gone after.
I am perfectly convinced that that conversation I had with William was a sign. I have to find a way to motivate myself in any way possible, but the good thing is, people inspire me. And there are just so many people out there (I mean we’re even facing overpopulation) that it’s just so impossible for me not to be inspired by someone. Everyone is different. Everyone has their stories to tell. It’s important to be able to express yourself, because when you’re gone, your thoughts die with you. To express yourself, it is so easy, by going for what you believe in, you show who you are, because it’s about your decisions that show who you are, even simply by writing them down, people know who you are, and I believe that is one of the most important things to be able to do in this day and age.
-J
Sunday, September 5, 2010
A Small Note
(This site's been closed for like two months.)
Yeah um, summer's finally ended, so I'm back to my blog :D It was kinda closed for maintenance but it's all good now.
Oh, and I'd like to wish good luck to my friends who are entering university right now. You guys are the pioneers, and one of you may even be a pinoyer, and yeahh I totally wish you guys luck because it's going to be really scary, but it's a make or break situation, but I know it will definitely make you, make you into "something more". Get it? Get it? :)
-Chaaaysuun
Yeah um, summer's finally ended, so I'm back to my blog :D It was kinda closed for maintenance but it's all good now.
Oh, and I'd like to wish good luck to my friends who are entering university right now. You guys are the pioneers, and one of you may even be a pinoyer, and yeahh I totally wish you guys luck because it's going to be really scary, but it's a make or break situation, but I know it will definitely make you, make you into "something more". Get it? Get it? :)
-Chaaaysuun
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Three
I thought I loved what you taught.
All year long, I’d listen to you when no one else would.
I loved it when I found out that the septum separated the heart into two,
and when commensalism meant benefits for two parties.
When exams came along, I thought I’d be ok.
I thought I understood, I only needed the passion for the subject.
I mean, all year long, I had listened to you when no one else would.
It was the subject that brought everything together.
Every chapter made sense in the next topic learned.
It was then that I died in exams.
How the hell was I supposed to know what Dark Reactions were?
It was like some kind of fucking Star Wars extract or something.
This subject was a mess to me.
The numbers were Arabic, the lectures in Chinese.
There was a simple goal that I needed to achieve.
Don’t fail your ass, or you’re not getting back in next year.
And I listened to you with open ears, which closed for a while, a few times back.
And unfortunately, that’s where the cracks began to appear.
To apply what you differentiate, yes I knew there were rules.
Like that silly chain rule, who would have thought it could be all that tricky.
And on top of that, factorials were a bitch.
I tried my best to differentiate the problems.
What was it that I needed to understand?
Two for the road, and yet again, I died.
My final explosion was due the week after.
It was like a silent attack, like the ones they give to stop your breathing in your sleep.
I was stressing out, wondering why I needed to take this exam,
But I was also wondering why Jack was becoming so annoying on Lost.
Yeah, I was slipping away, giving up on the concepts of Mole.
I wasn’t going to be finding out “Percentage Purities” anytime soon.
Hell, I didn’t even know what a Hydrogen Fuel Cell is.
And that was a nine mark essay question.
What I was so fixated on, was why it was so hard to gain understanding.
Why this subject just wasn’t my element.
But for the whole “redox” thing, I guess I was ok.
But still, I think I died anyway.
-J
All year long, I’d listen to you when no one else would.
I loved it when I found out that the septum separated the heart into two,
and when commensalism meant benefits for two parties.
When exams came along, I thought I’d be ok.
I thought I understood, I only needed the passion for the subject.
I mean, all year long, I had listened to you when no one else would.
It was the subject that brought everything together.
Every chapter made sense in the next topic learned.
It was then that I died in exams.
How the hell was I supposed to know what Dark Reactions were?
It was like some kind of fucking Star Wars extract or something.
This subject was a mess to me.
The numbers were Arabic, the lectures in Chinese.
There was a simple goal that I needed to achieve.
Don’t fail your ass, or you’re not getting back in next year.
And I listened to you with open ears, which closed for a while, a few times back.
And unfortunately, that’s where the cracks began to appear.
To apply what you differentiate, yes I knew there were rules.
Like that silly chain rule, who would have thought it could be all that tricky.
And on top of that, factorials were a bitch.
I tried my best to differentiate the problems.
What was it that I needed to understand?
Two for the road, and yet again, I died.
My final explosion was due the week after.
It was like a silent attack, like the ones they give to stop your breathing in your sleep.
I was stressing out, wondering why I needed to take this exam,
But I was also wondering why Jack was becoming so annoying on Lost.
Yeah, I was slipping away, giving up on the concepts of Mole.
I wasn’t going to be finding out “Percentage Purities” anytime soon.
Hell, I didn’t even know what a Hydrogen Fuel Cell is.
And that was a nine mark essay question.
What I was so fixated on, was why it was so hard to gain understanding.
Why this subject just wasn’t my element.
But for the whole “redox” thing, I guess I was ok.
But still, I think I died anyway.
-J
Friday, May 14, 2010
I heard and I saw and I imagined and I re- imagined
I cannot explain the reasons that brought me to succumb to fear, for the very first time. I do not know why I begin to sweat, at the very sound of what isn’t, even after all this time, and after everything I’ve read, watched or listen to. I do not want to know whether these things exist or not, but I used to know what was real and what isn’t. I used to know.
I woke up.
I realized that what I thought I was seeing was just part of my dream. The more that I adjusted to my room setting, the more I forgot about my dream. My room had this antique-esque theme to it. There were wooden masks here and there, and wooden bowls for my little things. There was a sepia painting of Paris on the top left corner of my room, and outside my window were trees. About a few hundred meters away was a highway.
His eyes begin to adjust to his surroundings.
What was I dreaming about? It didn’t matter. I checked the clock. It was 2:45 in the morning. I fell asleep a few hours ago, when I wasn’t supposed to. I left a small light just about my headboard on. The whole room was bathed in a small eerie yellow glow. I’ve been doing that for a while now. Drifting off to sleep, I mean. Since it was a Friday night, I was kind of hoping that I could relax and fix my guitar, which needed restringing. Then I thought I’d watch a movie or something. Tough luck.
Jayson begins to stare at the ceiling and let his mind drift off.
I narrate my life. I’ve been so accustomed to reading, that I do the same for my life. It’s also a good exercise to practice writing in my head. It’s really helped me a lot. I want to be known as a writer because it’s my passion, and I want to say I’m good at it. And it’s never happened that I read a book and the narrator says something and the character doesn’t follow what he’s supposed to do. It’s like the narrator dictates every move, and it is followed to the end. Of course, I control my own body, my life, and so I narrate it. Or so I thought.
The night had a big impact on me. Everyone knows what three in the morning means. Jesus died at three o’ clock in the afternoon. Of course, there’ve been lots of discussions about what that means, and now the inverse of that is supposedly the hour of which the supernatural is strongest.
I was just daydreaming in bed when I actually realized what time it was. It was fifteen minutes to three. I realized that I was beginning to feel nervous about it. Which also kind of surprised me, since that’s never happened to me before. I decided to just close my eyes and go back to sleep.
Now here’s the problem. I couldn’t go back to sleep. First off, I wasn’t all that sleepy anymore. Second, my mind just started coming to life. Things were just finding their way into my mind.
And suddenly Jayson felt a presence in the room.
I felt a chill run down my spine. What? Where did that come from? No, I didn’t. No, I didn’t. No, I didn’t.
The air changed, became heavier. It was like something was watching Jayson. Like there was something evil out there.
No, there wasn’t. I couldn’t stop myself. Words just kept forming in my mind. I closed my eyes. I was scared that what I was saying was actually going to happen, even when logic opposed it. But what was logic? Was it really just paranoia working on my abilities? And what if there was a presence in the room? What would logic do? What would the greatest men of power, who put their minds to good use, do?
And I realized that closing my eyes was a big mistake.
Jayson was afraid that once he opened his eyes, he’d see something right in front of him.
My mind took me to a hotel room a few months ago, where I had vacation. The place was not important. What was important was what happened one night.
That night, my transition from my dream to reality was very smooth. I didn’t suddenly open my eyes. I remember my mind going from a dream to saying “Oh hey, you’re awake but you haven’t opened your eyes yet.” Right before I opened my eyes, I was able to see a faint outline of a weirdly deformed, smiling face. I told myself that I was letting my imagination run wild, and my mind deemed it “A face of a demon”. I rolled my eyes behind shut eyelids. And then I opened them. I was staring at a blank wall, about thirty centimeters away from me. And the face was still there.
What Jayson wrote off as part of his imagination was still lingering there.
I frowned. I reached out to try to disperse it. My hand went right through the translucent shimmer of lines. It was still smiling.
Huh.
I immediately closed my eyes, and thank God, I went right back to sleep.
I came back to my room. My eyes were still closed. I held my breath. I was scared of leaving them closed now.
Open your eyes, disperse your thoughts, or else.
I opened my eyes. I could have sworn a second earlier, I would have seen something reaching out to me.
There was nothing there. Or was there?
I ignored my thoughts. I got out of bed and I planned to get my cat. The light cast disconcerting shadows all over my walls.
And suddenly, Jayson saw a shadow that didn’t belong to any of his belongings.
No, I didn’t. Did I?
I opened my door. It opened with a creak. Now that just sucked. I rolled my eyes.
Remember how the skeptic always goes first?
I frowned. Again.
You don’t believe me?
I was made to recall countless movies that were true to that statement. I knew they’d all come back to bite me someday.
I ran out and I looked down the long hallway. I was scared that something was going to just come flying at me. I recalled a few other movies with that scene. I looked away. Coward. I forced myself to walk down the hallway. I found my cat asleep on the floor on one side of the living room. I started to make my way back to my room.
And Jayson saw something sitting on his bed.
I wasn’t scared of that.
I entered my room. There was nothing there. Of course there wasn’t. I put my cat at the foot of my bed, and then I jumped back into it. I waited to settle into my beddings. Then the loud silence became quieter as I began to search for something to listen to.
Static.
It became louder and louder. It was this semi-high frequency that just appeared out of nowhere.
Jayson caught sight of something by his window.
I forced myself not to look in that direction. And that was when my head started to play tricks with me. I had visions of some guy and his son waving at me from the highway. I didn’t want to see them.
I could hear little moans from the street and the faint traffic. And then silence. I felt like the sound of the faint cars would make me go deaf. It just felt so loud to me.
Silence. Car screech. Silence. Silence. Motorcycle. Silence. More silence.
I remembered stories of highway accidents and things you’re not sure you see while on the highway late at night. Death beckoned me to join them.
Then I remembered stories about how people would close their eyes and pray to drive away bad thoughts, but then when they opened them again, their bad thoughts just materialized and started praying along with them. The story would usually end there for the reader to imagine the ending.
I didn’t want to live those stories.
My mind took me back a few days ago, when I went to confession. I told the priest that lately since I’d been falling asleep without noticing, I hadn’t been praying at night. I told him that I felt a little more distant to God. I didn’t want that, but I couldn’t help myself with the whole falling asleep thing.
Jayson began to see something materialize in front of his eyes.
I didn’t know what to do. If I left my eyes open, I was scared something would come out. If I closed them, I was scared I’d see something else.
You can already hear it, breathing slowly.
My mind replayed sounds from the movies, and it was so real. It was so real. I could hear them as if it were really there. Was it really there? No, I knew it wasn't. But it was so, very real.
I checked the clock. It was 2: 55. Five minutes away. I closed my eyes. I told myself to sleep.
But I couldn’t. I waited for sleep to come, but it didn’t. The static became heard again, and this time it became louder and higher pitched.
With my feet, I reached out to touch the fur of my cat.
And slowly, Jayson realized that it wasn’t his cat.
That particular sentence, I ignored. I just ignored it. Did three o’ clock pass already? Was it already a minute past? I didn’t want to know what the time was. I wanted to wait till I was sure it was past three.
And that’s when the clock outside began ringing. It rang three times.
Damn. I was now certain it was three.
I breathed slowly, and I closed my eyes. For the next few minutes, I just waited there. I felt myself falling, as I closed my eyes, even though I knew I was not moving. I tried distracting myself with the usual daily matters, but all that seemed a distant memory as…
as you struggled to remain sane?
As I struggled to remain sane? Was that it? No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be as dramatic as that. I realized that a while must have passed, as the bell struck once, indicating it was half past. I open my eyes, and I see my cat staring at me. He stares. I stare.
“What are you looking at?” he says.
He wasn’t talking. I could see that his mouth made no movement. Then again, cats can’t speak.
“I’ll kill you,” he threatened.
NO, HE’S NOT. It was just my imagination. It was just my imagination.
I looked at my cat some more. I forced myself not to give in. Unfortunately, like everyone else, I gave in. I looked at the ceiling. I cannot take this anymore.
People say I bite off more than I can chew. They say sometimes the things I research may end up consuming me.
The truth is a fact,
And now you’re the fool for believing.
Static is the sound of silence. It’s there when nothing else is. Or has it always been there? Is it some part of your imagination that you later re-imagine countless times? The static was almost guiding me, through the long minutes as I struggle to fall asleep.
I lie in wait.
For sleep,
For death,
And I waited most of all for time to eventually go quicker. Sometimes you hear the static when you try listening to it. Because static is the sound of silence. It’s there when nothing else is. It marks the time when the mind comes alive, and when things begin to happen.
And as Jayson was busy thinking of these things, footsteps can be heard outside the door.
It wasn’t something that I wanted to hear. But of course, I heard it anyway. I closed my eyes.
The inexplicable entity entered the room without making a sound. The air changed again.
I was determined not to let my mind beat me. Now I know what millions of people see at night, or rather, feel. I know what makes them look back in an unsure road, to make sure nothing is there. Now I know that if you just fight it, you’ll realize that there is nothing there.
Better safe than sorry.
Well, I’m sure I’m safe now.
Then what is this heavy feeling you have in your heart, at the back of your mind, and more importantly, on your chest?
I didn’t know. But I had to fight it.
Things began to move in the room.
No, they’re not.
The force was getting closer and closer.
There was nothing there.
Better safe than sorry, it’s coming closer. Hurry! Open your eyes! Dispel the evil!
There was nothing there.
Closer. It’s almost here.
There was nothing there. And just when I thought I had won, I finally realized. The truth. Whatever it was that was out there, it touched me.
I told you so.
I cannot explain the reasons that brought me to succumb to fear, for the very first time. I do not know why I begin to sweat, at the very sound of what isn’t, even after all this time, and after everything I’ve read, watched or listen to. I do not want to know whether these things exist or not, but I used to know what was real and what isn’t. I used to know. I used to know that man is afraid of one thing. Fear itself. Never challenge what you don’t know. After all, what proof do you have that it really isn’t there? Am I dead? Or have I finally proven, after so much time spent battling... myself? The darkness? Had I really won?
Static. I opened my eyes.
-J
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Why I like the 1950s, part of the Disenchantment Era
I’ve always wanted to live in the 1950s. I consider people who were born in the 1980s or 90s unlucky because look at the world today. Look at the last decade. I don’t know what to think of it. I mean, it was declared “Hell’s Decade”. From 2001’s 911 crisis to the Financial Tsunami near the final years, this whole decade’s been a complete mess. Of course, the final years also made way for what could possibly be the beginning of a better era. Or not. Who knows, right? Barack Obama, the first American Black president, was elected. Stay tuned to see what that really means for the future. So far, we’ve got health reform.
Ok, back to why I’m writing this piece. I’ve always wanted to live in the 1950s. It was the time when the world was all for conventionalism. The time after they were beginning to realize that it was really uncomfortable watching horrendously fantastical stories, and then having to seriously make us believe, that we can make those stories relate to the general public of the time. Seriously?
The 1950s was well known, in cinema history, for having been very adept in characters and realistic films.
Now, I read extensively. Most of the books I read are well in my range of understanding, but of course I try to challenge myself with something that I can almost barely keep up with. I love any kind of story, because in reality, we only get to control one life. Our own. But story tellers, authors, they get to control whole worlds and characters, and how they interact with each other. That is why I’ve always wanted to become an author.
I’d read well known classics like To Kill A Mockingbird, Lord of the Flies, and my personal favourite, The Catcher In The Rye. Of course, I’ve read “indie” stories, less well known stories. Usually short ones, like Jeffty is Five, which tells the story of a kid who doesn’t follow our normal timeline. In other words, he will always remain five years old. It’s waaaay sci-fi. Of course, you can imagine what could possibly happen.
But one story that hit home was a very short story that we actually studied in school, Lamb to the Slaughter, written by Roald Dahl in 1953. It tells the story of a pregnant woman who waits for her husband to come home, and she realizes that he’s cheating on her. So, she kills him with a frozen piece of meat. I know, right?
Mary, having commit a crime of passion, has to find away to slip past the police. Fortunately, she has something that places her in a very good position. She’s a woman. Using this fact, she talks and plays the part of “unsuspecting pregnant woman” outstandingly, and, who wouldn’t believe her? The police, as well as a lot of people at the time, wouldn’t suspect that if you look like that, you’re probably a good person.
The 1950s was a time when it was a conventional practice that men were the breadwinners and women were the ones who sit and smile at home. It was the time when there were only black and white films, and jazz was today’s rock. It was a simple era.
Personally, I think I started to lose interest when the Digital Era began, somewhere around the 1990s. The 60s to 80s were also cool, the Music Revolution.
To me, the 1950s was when they found out it was possible to break free from the conventional, to twist reality. It was, in reality, a time of recovery from the second World War, and the time of the Cold War. It was a gloomy period, but hey, I'm a gloomy person sometimes. All that was what makes the 50s real. But the idea of twisting reality through writings, and then having it have an impact on society, is something I will always aspire to do. I mean, now we have feminism.
On a side note, I’ve always been a fan of detective stories. If I couldn’t live in the 1950s, I would have chosen to live in the 20s or the 30s, when it was known as the Golden Age of Detective Stories. Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers, Ngaio Marsh, Margery Allingham were known as the Queens of Crime. And they were women.
But I still believe that the 1950s was a very satisfying result of the earlier times.
To me, the 1950s will always be remembered as a very important point of what I love to call, the Disenchantment era.
Disenchantment is a visually beautiful word. Never have I come across a word that looks amazing, but is so full of crap. Ok, maybe I’m a bit harsh.
Disenchantment, a term coined by Max Weber, refers to cultural rationalization and devaluation of mysticism of modern society. It refers to a society where scientific understanding is more highly valued than belief, and where processes are oriented toward rational goals.
To me, the essence of the 50s is the idea that it finds another way to let out the part of you that does not want to believe in reality. You can see why I am not a fan of disenchantment.
To me, the 1950s will always be remembered as a very important point of the Disenchantment era. What separates ancient history from today is the fact that we don’t know what actually happened before. This is how theories and myths were born. That is ancient history.
What separates later history from today is that they used to be content with believing in the unknown, making up stuff from thin air.
What makes the 1950s special is that it was a clear period which proves that there is always a way to meet something in the middle, where your head can be up in the clouds, but your feet firmly glued to the ground.
The 1950s. Mmhm.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
The Hong Kong Haiku
Within the city
There is a fine kind of art
Like a child’s scribbles.
Throughout the city
There are many Chinese words
Like little drawings.
Beautiful drawings
That make up a whole language
Being used daily.
Showing impressions
That gives you ideas
Of what the word means.
Throughout the city
There are lots of graffiti
On the alley walls.
They talk of the youth
That speaks for rebellion
But silenced by fear.
Throughout the city
Quotes are held in high regard
Which inspires me.
All over this place
Taller than any other
Are the skyscrapers.
This art is unique
Like the drawings of a child
Who draws from his heart.
There is a fine kind of art
Like a child’s scribbles.
Throughout the city
There are many Chinese words
Like little drawings.
Beautiful drawings
That make up a whole language
Being used daily.
Showing impressions
That gives you ideas
Of what the word means.
Throughout the city
There are lots of graffiti
On the alley walls.
They talk of the youth
That speaks for rebellion
But silenced by fear.
Throughout the city
Quotes are held in high regard
Which inspires me.
All over this place
Taller than any other
Are the skyscrapers.
This art is unique
Like the drawings of a child
Who draws from his heart.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
WttP: Welcome to Tagaytay Highlands
Every year, my extended family and I always have to go on some "posh" trip. Ther treat. For them, it's all about resorts, islands, high- class hotels, and living in luxury. I'm game.
This year, we headed out to the highlands of Tagaytay, where there was an exclusive resort and all that.
But really, the most interesting thing happened, when we were on our way to the resort. We stopped at a gas station. I should tell you what I was wearing at this point. Ok, I was wearing a blue Michael Jackson "This Is It" shirt. I'm a total fan. But I guess a much much bigger fan would have to be my mom. She loves him. I don't know how much I can emphasizes the word "love" here. She LOVES him. She LOOOVES him. Remember Abbey, my black and white cat? She would have been called MJ. Then my mom would be all like, "Ask me why that's her name. Go on." and after you ask her, she'd go, "It's because it's no matter if you're black or white." Yeah, I know right?
So anyway, while we were at the gas station, we decided to get something to eat. Some wanted the Pancake House, some wanted good old McDonalds. I wanted Starbucks.
So there we were in McDonalds, right, and I finished off my pancakes long before the others did. I decide to go to the bathroom. I headed for the bathroom. And walked passed it. I walked into Starbucks.
Now, in Starbucks, it was a little bit empty. There was no queue, so I just stood in the middle of the place, taking my time, when I notice the barristas staring at me.
"Where DID you get that shirt?" one of them asks. I say "Oh, this thing? Hong Kong."
She replies with, "Are you a superfan? Beacuse I"m a superfan, and my best friend is also a superfan."
I"m like, "That's nice. My mom's a fan too. You have no idea."
And then another onslaught of questions.
"Have you listened to Childhood? Apparently, you must have listened to it if call yourself a superfan.
"Do you dance, sir?"
"No, seriously, where DID you get that shirt?"
I was actually very intrigued at this point. Not at the fact that they were talking about Michael Jackson, but the fact that they could talk like that at all. People here are really friendly. And they will say what they want.
I told them something. "You know who you should quiz? My mom. She couldn't get out of bed for a few days after hearing Michael died. Wait here."
Like they were gonna go anywhere. So after a little convincing, my mom walked straight up to Starbucks.
I told her, "They say if you're a superfan, you have to have listen to Childhood."
She quickly responds with, "Oh, please. Let me talk to them."
She quickly asked me to point out who were the people talking to me. Immediately she asked, "When did the King win most grammy awards? How many did he win?"
And we had the barristas saying "Oh no, please," and so begins her conversation with her new buddies. Finally, we were able to leave.
Leave Starbucks, leave the gas station. Headed to Tagaytay Highlands. A little bit of horseback riding, bowling, swimming, souveneir shopping, and of course, my review of the place.
Yeah, nothing beat what happened at Starbucks. Oh, and the answer to that question my mom asked? He won eight grammys in 1984.
-J
This year, we headed out to the highlands of Tagaytay, where there was an exclusive resort and all that.
But really, the most interesting thing happened, when we were on our way to the resort. We stopped at a gas station. I should tell you what I was wearing at this point. Ok, I was wearing a blue Michael Jackson "This Is It" shirt. I'm a total fan. But I guess a much much bigger fan would have to be my mom. She loves him. I don't know how much I can emphasizes the word "love" here. She LOVES him. She LOOOVES him. Remember Abbey, my black and white cat? She would have been called MJ. Then my mom would be all like, "Ask me why that's her name. Go on." and after you ask her, she'd go, "It's because it's no matter if you're black or white." Yeah, I know right?
So anyway, while we were at the gas station, we decided to get something to eat. Some wanted the Pancake House, some wanted good old McDonalds. I wanted Starbucks.
So there we were in McDonalds, right, and I finished off my pancakes long before the others did. I decide to go to the bathroom. I headed for the bathroom. And walked passed it. I walked into Starbucks.
Now, in Starbucks, it was a little bit empty. There was no queue, so I just stood in the middle of the place, taking my time, when I notice the barristas staring at me.
"Where DID you get that shirt?" one of them asks. I say "Oh, this thing? Hong Kong."
She replies with, "Are you a superfan? Beacuse I"m a superfan, and my best friend is also a superfan."
I"m like, "That's nice. My mom's a fan too. You have no idea."
And then another onslaught of questions.
"Have you listened to Childhood? Apparently, you must have listened to it if call yourself a superfan.
"Do you dance, sir?"
"No, seriously, where DID you get that shirt?"
I was actually very intrigued at this point. Not at the fact that they were talking about Michael Jackson, but the fact that they could talk like that at all. People here are really friendly. And they will say what they want.
I told them something. "You know who you should quiz? My mom. She couldn't get out of bed for a few days after hearing Michael died. Wait here."
Like they were gonna go anywhere. So after a little convincing, my mom walked straight up to Starbucks.
I told her, "They say if you're a superfan, you have to have listen to Childhood."
She quickly responds with, "Oh, please. Let me talk to them."
She quickly asked me to point out who were the people talking to me. Immediately she asked, "When did the King win most grammy awards? How many did he win?"
And we had the barristas saying "Oh no, please," and so begins her conversation with her new buddies. Finally, we were able to leave.
Leave Starbucks, leave the gas station. Headed to Tagaytay Highlands. A little bit of horseback riding, bowling, swimming, souveneir shopping, and of course, my review of the place.
Yeah, nothing beat what happened at Starbucks. Oh, and the answer to that question my mom asked? He won eight grammys in 1984.
-J
Friday, February 5, 2010
Welcome to the Philippines
I was born in the Philippines. I stayed there till I was a year old and then moved to Hong Kong. Ever since I was eleven, I’ve been going to The Philippines every summer. The problem was, it always rained. It rains for days in the summer, and it doesn’t leave you with much to do.
So like, I went to the Philippines this year in February, which happens to be my birth month. Yes, I’m spending my birthday here. . But we also wanted to do other things.
I was on the plane from Hong Kong, and I was looking out through the window. I remember that every time I got on the plane, I ended up throwing up. There was this one summer when I got sick on the plane and recovered about two weeks later. The day after that, I was on my way back to Hong Kong. On a plane. Yes, life is tough, I know.
Then, one summer, I found something that saved me. Music. It’s amazing, it’s like, the whole journey I didn’t feel a thing, and ever since then, I’ve been listening to a lot of music.
I remember my sister’s first flight. It was hilarious, it was like, you know that thing where you’re descending and then you can’t hear anything, and people always say things like “you gotta chew gum, you gotta chew gum” and all that? Yeah, and so we’re descending and my sister was new to that feeling and she was screaming at the top of her voice saying “I cannot hear! I cannot hear!” and my parents were either telling her it’s ok, and grinning apologetically at the neighbouring passengers. I was laughing all the way. God, that was funny.
But that was a long time ago. This time, I was staring out the window, my sunglasses on, my earphones plugged in, my sister chewing gum. I say to her mockingly, “I cannot hear!” She rolls her eyes and turns her head to the other side and she chews faster. As if I didn’t see that.
About fifteen minutes before we landed, the captain addressed us. I did not realize this until I took off my earphones and heard, “We are now flying over Pampanga. Thank you, that is all”. For some reason, I thought about epitaphs. Those words engraved on tombstones. I saw my name, and I saw “Died February 5, 2010. Crashed 30,000 feet into the province of Pampanga.” I did not like it. Worse yet, they’d be suing me for damages to their streets.
I had conversations with my mom involving car accidents. She says that if you’re going to get hit by a car, you’d better get hit by something cool.
“Who wants to have “Hit by a taxi” as their epitaph?” she says with a look of horror. “It’s only worth it if you get hit by a Lexus.”
And I remembered my sister and I one day. We were walking on the street when she stopped and said, “Look it’s Naruto!” and started to walk in the middle of the road. I've never watched Naruto before. Her epitaph would have been something like “Died looking for Naruto”.
So anyway, we finally touched ground. We entered the open air. Charming locals. The smell of burning leaves to drive away the endless onslaught of mosquitoes and flies. My mom really loves that smell. This was the Philippines. Mmhm.
-J
So like, I went to the Philippines this year in February, which happens to be my birth month. Yes, I’m spending my birthday here. . But we also wanted to do other things.
I was on the plane from Hong Kong, and I was looking out through the window. I remember that every time I got on the plane, I ended up throwing up. There was this one summer when I got sick on the plane and recovered about two weeks later. The day after that, I was on my way back to Hong Kong. On a plane. Yes, life is tough, I know.
Then, one summer, I found something that saved me. Music. It’s amazing, it’s like, the whole journey I didn’t feel a thing, and ever since then, I’ve been listening to a lot of music.
I remember my sister’s first flight. It was hilarious, it was like, you know that thing where you’re descending and then you can’t hear anything, and people always say things like “you gotta chew gum, you gotta chew gum” and all that? Yeah, and so we’re descending and my sister was new to that feeling and she was screaming at the top of her voice saying “I cannot hear! I cannot hear!” and my parents were either telling her it’s ok, and grinning apologetically at the neighbouring passengers. I was laughing all the way. God, that was funny.
But that was a long time ago. This time, I was staring out the window, my sunglasses on, my earphones plugged in, my sister chewing gum. I say to her mockingly, “I cannot hear!” She rolls her eyes and turns her head to the other side and she chews faster. As if I didn’t see that.
About fifteen minutes before we landed, the captain addressed us. I did not realize this until I took off my earphones and heard, “We are now flying over Pampanga. Thank you, that is all”. For some reason, I thought about epitaphs. Those words engraved on tombstones. I saw my name, and I saw “Died February 5, 2010. Crashed 30,000 feet into the province of Pampanga.” I did not like it. Worse yet, they’d be suing me for damages to their streets.
I had conversations with my mom involving car accidents. She says that if you’re going to get hit by a car, you’d better get hit by something cool.
“Who wants to have “Hit by a taxi” as their epitaph?” she says with a look of horror. “It’s only worth it if you get hit by a Lexus.”
And I remembered my sister and I one day. We were walking on the street when she stopped and said, “Look it’s Naruto!” and started to walk in the middle of the road. I've never watched Naruto before. Her epitaph would have been something like “Died looking for Naruto”.
So anyway, we finally touched ground. We entered the open air. Charming locals. The smell of burning leaves to drive away the endless onslaught of mosquitoes and flies. My mom really loves that smell. This was the Philippines. Mmhm.
-J
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The Importance of Being
This week's been a pretty tight week, and a lot of stress was to be handled. I've been busy handling all that stress, but this week has meant more to me than any other weeks I spent, but somehow it felt like it all went down the drain. I was on the bus when I started writing this.
I considered it pretty good luck to have started a blog, done some difficult writing related tasks, and joined multiple wrtiting competitions. None of these things were forced on me, I went after them, seeking them. I said yes to all the tasks that needed writing, and I joined every single competition there was. It's not the first time I've been stressing, but it's the first time that I've had to do so much work that I actually wanted to finish, instead of whatever random subject homework or something. The stress was building up, but I told myself that if I could get through this week, I could prove that I could make it. I had what it took, and all that jazz.
What I realzed in that week, was something that I didn't want to go away. In working on so many things, I began to be important to the people revolving around that work, they depended on me to finish, and I thought I could deliver. So, I was stoked, really.
This week, I had three things to hand in on the same deadline. I did little by little every day of the week, but I somehow miscalculated the time or something, and ended up rushing to finish stuff. On deadline day, I was still just "almost finished" with practically everything. But I was prepared to do something about it, or accept the consequences or whatever. By the end of the day, I was... unmarked by the deadlines. What happened was, one deadline was postponed to the next month, which left me with an "O" shaped mouth going on there, and the next one was postponed voluntary by the person in charge. The last one however, was not postponed. Instead, someone else reached my deadline for me. I did not like that.
After a while though, I started thinking about it. And I kind of knew that I wanted that to happen, I wanted to postpone the deadlines, or have someone reach them for me. In some strange and bizzare way, I even knew that that "mutation" of deadlines were going to happen. I could feel these things happening, you know?
And then, I started to feel all weird inside. I didn't want to be the guy who wanted to need to postpone deadlines, if that even makes any sense. I simply wanted to be that person who could take a deadline and reach it. Which I will be doing, from now on.
Now here's the other thing. Being that person who is involved in a lot of things means getting noticed by the people surrounding your work, as I already mentioned. But it's like a temporary gig, you know? When it's all over... it's like, they forget, or something. You go back into the darkness, and you're left with yourself. That's what I was thinking of in the bus. I spent my whole week thinking about all the work I needed to finish, that I was able to forget my thoughts. Even on the bus, I had to think of the work that needed finishing. But now, I really had nothing that needed thinking, just a want to think or daydream. And the thing I was left with was, I was the guy who simply thinks.
"Don't leave me with yourself," I heard myself thinking. God, I was depressing. Can you believe it?
There I was, on the bus. I was left alone, no deadlines to reach, nothing to work with. I was left with... my thoughts. And I wondered what it would be like, to be left alone like this for a very long time.
-J
I considered it pretty good luck to have started a blog, done some difficult writing related tasks, and joined multiple wrtiting competitions. None of these things were forced on me, I went after them, seeking them. I said yes to all the tasks that needed writing, and I joined every single competition there was. It's not the first time I've been stressing, but it's the first time that I've had to do so much work that I actually wanted to finish, instead of whatever random subject homework or something. The stress was building up, but I told myself that if I could get through this week, I could prove that I could make it. I had what it took, and all that jazz.
What I realzed in that week, was something that I didn't want to go away. In working on so many things, I began to be important to the people revolving around that work, they depended on me to finish, and I thought I could deliver. So, I was stoked, really.
This week, I had three things to hand in on the same deadline. I did little by little every day of the week, but I somehow miscalculated the time or something, and ended up rushing to finish stuff. On deadline day, I was still just "almost finished" with practically everything. But I was prepared to do something about it, or accept the consequences or whatever. By the end of the day, I was... unmarked by the deadlines. What happened was, one deadline was postponed to the next month, which left me with an "O" shaped mouth going on there, and the next one was postponed voluntary by the person in charge. The last one however, was not postponed. Instead, someone else reached my deadline for me. I did not like that.
After a while though, I started thinking about it. And I kind of knew that I wanted that to happen, I wanted to postpone the deadlines, or have someone reach them for me. In some strange and bizzare way, I even knew that that "mutation" of deadlines were going to happen. I could feel these things happening, you know?
And then, I started to feel all weird inside. I didn't want to be the guy who wanted to need to postpone deadlines, if that even makes any sense. I simply wanted to be that person who could take a deadline and reach it. Which I will be doing, from now on.
Now here's the other thing. Being that person who is involved in a lot of things means getting noticed by the people surrounding your work, as I already mentioned. But it's like a temporary gig, you know? When it's all over... it's like, they forget, or something. You go back into the darkness, and you're left with yourself. That's what I was thinking of in the bus. I spent my whole week thinking about all the work I needed to finish, that I was able to forget my thoughts. Even on the bus, I had to think of the work that needed finishing. But now, I really had nothing that needed thinking, just a want to think or daydream. And the thing I was left with was, I was the guy who simply thinks.
"Don't leave me with yourself," I heard myself thinking. God, I was depressing. Can you believe it?
There I was, on the bus. I was left alone, no deadlines to reach, nothing to work with. I was left with... my thoughts. And I wondered what it would be like, to be left alone like this for a very long time.
-J
A classic modernized letter
DEAR SIR,
With all due respect, I find the art of voicemail completely disregardable. However, in the turn of circumstances, I would be obliged to check it, lest I wish to have bestowed on me the honour of my father personally beheading me with his bare hands. As such, it will be of high regards and pleasure for you, sir, to know that as of this moment in time, I shall be checking my voicemail from time to time, and if I should have the favour of receiving such a kind message from you, it would be the least I could do to try to return a message half as wonderous.
How is your daughter? I have been informed of a certain recent mishap involving the father of her child. It has been confirmed that she IS with child, is that right? Dear, dear, if you ask of me an opinion, I would be inclined to say that she was a little bit too wreckless in-- I hoped to avoid this-- sleeping around with all the young officers of the county. If a young woman who is not even of one and twenty years wishes to act on her human instincts, please remind your daughter that condoms have been and still are quite commonly used nowadays. Do take my opinion in the matter, for I have much experience to part with.
Regards, Mr. Albano
With all due respect, I find the art of voicemail completely disregardable. However, in the turn of circumstances, I would be obliged to check it, lest I wish to have bestowed on me the honour of my father personally beheading me with his bare hands. As such, it will be of high regards and pleasure for you, sir, to know that as of this moment in time, I shall be checking my voicemail from time to time, and if I should have the favour of receiving such a kind message from you, it would be the least I could do to try to return a message half as wonderous.
How is your daughter? I have been informed of a certain recent mishap involving the father of her child. It has been confirmed that she IS with child, is that right? Dear, dear, if you ask of me an opinion, I would be inclined to say that she was a little bit too wreckless in-- I hoped to avoid this-- sleeping around with all the young officers of the county. If a young woman who is not even of one and twenty years wishes to act on her human instincts, please remind your daughter that condoms have been and still are quite commonly used nowadays. Do take my opinion in the matter, for I have much experience to part with.
Regards, Mr. Albano
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The consequences of not having your cat spayed.
Ugh. The consequences of not having your cat spayed? Uh oh. It's that time of month again. PMS much? Which got me round to thinking. Is it really a good idea to hop into bed with a hormonal creature of the opposite sex? My answer is no, god, NO. Anyway, let's continue.
You know, it's really adorable sometimes when you hear a cat purr or coo. Three out of four weeks, they practise their mating calls. On the last week, they belt it out 24/7 and it gets really annoying, and you're like, "Make her stop, pleeease!" That's what it's like for me and lil' Abbey. It was really very entertaining and pitiable to watch. I'm sorry, but it's true. I have another cat, Snowball, who has been neutered. (Thank God). He despises Abbey. To have a better understanding of the situation at hand, the situation is sort of like the beginning of Pride and Prejudice, where Mr. Darcy doesn't like Elizabeth. S is regal, classy, a little bit arrogant, and a bit stiff. A is playful.
Now, in my story, Abbey is in need of a partner. Snow, the only male cat in sight, seems to be the only conceivable choice. So, she begins the long and hard war of love, much to Snow's being oblivious and indifferent. Multiple attempts of action have been made on her part. Pointing her posterior in his face, as if offering himself to him, rolling on the floor in front of him, playing with his tail. Of course, all this ends up with her getting multiple swipes in the face... and backside. One time... multiple times... Snow tries to drop heavy objects on poor Abbey's head. She narrowly escapes death three times per day. And she still wants him. That's love right there. Or the poor thing's really just having her period. As for the mating call... did I mention Snow was deaf?
See how that would work out in my version of P&P? Elizabeth is flinging herself at Mr. Darcy, doing dances of seduction in front of him, and bending over. And she wonders why he does not like her. Seriously, you can imagine herbeing all like "Mr. Snow, I sense that you have been rejecting all my sexual designs, yet I fully believed it in your person to tend to a young girl's needs!" and the reply would be something like "What? I can't hear you! No, I did NOT drop something, stop bending over for goodness sake!". And he tries to throw his books at her, hoping to stop her in her dance number.
Anyway, Abbey slowly begins to sense that Snow might not like her. What gave that away? Can you believe what she did next? Ok, I was working at my table, when Abbey jumps on it, and yes, points her backside at me. I'm going.. "..." in my mind. Flattered? No. Creeped out? HELL, YES! Let us not go into detail any further. I really need to book the vet.
Oh, and I heard there was a video of some psychopath murdering a poor innocent kitten on facebook. Her reason? She broke up with her boyfriend. People like that do NOT deserve sympathy, and honestly, I don't get people like that. Luckily she was found and is probably gonna be prosecuted for Animal Cruelty. Oh, yeah.
-J
You know, it's really adorable sometimes when you hear a cat purr or coo. Three out of four weeks, they practise their mating calls. On the last week, they belt it out 24/7 and it gets really annoying, and you're like, "Make her stop, pleeease!" That's what it's like for me and lil' Abbey. It was really very entertaining and pitiable to watch. I'm sorry, but it's true. I have another cat, Snowball, who has been neutered. (Thank God). He despises Abbey. To have a better understanding of the situation at hand, the situation is sort of like the beginning of Pride and Prejudice, where Mr. Darcy doesn't like Elizabeth. S is regal, classy, a little bit arrogant, and a bit stiff. A is playful.
Now, in my story, Abbey is in need of a partner. Snow, the only male cat in sight, seems to be the only conceivable choice. So, she begins the long and hard war of love, much to Snow's being oblivious and indifferent. Multiple attempts of action have been made on her part. Pointing her posterior in his face, as if offering himself to him, rolling on the floor in front of him, playing with his tail. Of course, all this ends up with her getting multiple swipes in the face... and backside. One time... multiple times... Snow tries to drop heavy objects on poor Abbey's head. She narrowly escapes death three times per day. And she still wants him. That's love right there. Or the poor thing's really just having her period. As for the mating call... did I mention Snow was deaf?
See how that would work out in my version of P&P? Elizabeth is flinging herself at Mr. Darcy, doing dances of seduction in front of him, and bending over. And she wonders why he does not like her. Seriously, you can imagine herbeing all like "Mr. Snow, I sense that you have been rejecting all my sexual designs, yet I fully believed it in your person to tend to a young girl's needs!" and the reply would be something like "What? I can't hear you! No, I did NOT drop something, stop bending over for goodness sake!". And he tries to throw his books at her, hoping to stop her in her dance number.
Anyway, Abbey slowly begins to sense that Snow might not like her. What gave that away? Can you believe what she did next? Ok, I was working at my table, when Abbey jumps on it, and yes, points her backside at me. I'm going.. "..." in my mind. Flattered? No. Creeped out? HELL, YES! Let us not go into detail any further. I really need to book the vet.
Oh, and I heard there was a video of some psychopath murdering a poor innocent kitten on facebook. Her reason? She broke up with her boyfriend. People like that do NOT deserve sympathy, and honestly, I don't get people like that. Luckily she was found and is probably gonna be prosecuted for Animal Cruelty. Oh, yeah.
-J
Friday, January 22, 2010
The last thing you do, before the whole city sleeps.
Everyone's on their paths, everyday, doing things in life, we do them separately, but somehow, we're still doing the same thing. We do it for our lives. We are all subjected to retiring to our beds, at night. But tonight, I couldn't sleep. I mean, I didn't want to sleep yet, because I was looking out and seeing the lights go off in peoples' apartments. Which got me to thinking.
I called one of my friends. He was still awake, and we just got to talking. We talked for a while, while the rest of the world around me was sleeping.
At that moment. It's like, one of the most secure feelings I ever felt, I felt right before I went to bed, at that moment. It was very late at night, early morning. Everyone was sleeping. I felt like there was nothing more to wait for, you know? If everyone's there already, they're in that place, sleeping, dreamland or whatever. There was no more thinking. There is only one last thing to do. Sleep. Was I ready? Of course.
The only thing that was stopping me, no, it wasn't my friend. The only thing that was stopping me was my silent contemplation on how I was listening to the city, and being the last one to close the door, it felt really good. My friend and I, we were working towards the ending of our day, last of the people to do so. It was quick and silent, and it was secure.
I said on the phone, "We're probably like the last two people up at this time of night."
"Yeah," he replied. "You ready to go to bed?"
"More than I'll ever be," I said.
We both sleep, and the rest of the city sleeps, and in that moment, it's like a sort of crossing the finish line thing. Towards where everyone probably was. It was like, back when everyone was awake, the city was alive, it was bustling, it was not the best time to take a nap, there's so many things to do. Back when everyone hasn't crossed that "finish line", everyone was running about in all different directions, and it's like, you don't know what to do.
But then, they all cross that "finish line" , at night, and you decide to wait. Being the last ones to cross, you look back and it's all quiet, and empty, aside from yourself. What have you got to lose? So you get that feeling, like you know exactly what to do, no more decisions, no more hesitations, nothing left behind. Just a few minutes of contemplation to understand the beauty of the moment.
What's tomorrow at a time like this anyway?
-J
I called one of my friends. He was still awake, and we just got to talking. We talked for a while, while the rest of the world around me was sleeping.
At that moment. It's like, one of the most secure feelings I ever felt, I felt right before I went to bed, at that moment. It was very late at night, early morning. Everyone was sleeping. I felt like there was nothing more to wait for, you know? If everyone's there already, they're in that place, sleeping, dreamland or whatever. There was no more thinking. There is only one last thing to do. Sleep. Was I ready? Of course.
The only thing that was stopping me, no, it wasn't my friend. The only thing that was stopping me was my silent contemplation on how I was listening to the city, and being the last one to close the door, it felt really good. My friend and I, we were working towards the ending of our day, last of the people to do so. It was quick and silent, and it was secure.
I said on the phone, "We're probably like the last two people up at this time of night."
"Yeah," he replied. "You ready to go to bed?"
"More than I'll ever be," I said.
We both sleep, and the rest of the city sleeps, and in that moment, it's like a sort of crossing the finish line thing. Towards where everyone probably was. It was like, back when everyone was awake, the city was alive, it was bustling, it was not the best time to take a nap, there's so many things to do. Back when everyone hasn't crossed that "finish line", everyone was running about in all different directions, and it's like, you don't know what to do.
But then, they all cross that "finish line" , at night, and you decide to wait. Being the last ones to cross, you look back and it's all quiet, and empty, aside from yourself. What have you got to lose? So you get that feeling, like you know exactly what to do, no more decisions, no more hesitations, nothing left behind. Just a few minutes of contemplation to understand the beauty of the moment.
What's tomorrow at a time like this anyway?
-J
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Spoken, never heard.. ever.
Ok. So like, let's say in the 17th century, maybe there was this guy called Barney Brown, and this girl called Melissa Focker, and they probably had their own problems with the world. Who doesn't? Maybe at one point their lives intersected and they discovered that the other thought deeply. Maybe they did share conversations that made more sense than any other conversation that other people could ever have, conversations that could benefit anyone who decided to listen, decided to change. Maybe those two existed at a point in time, but they're most likely dead now, and that conversation is almost non-existent, except for the fact that those words were once spoken by some people, and those words respoken by the new era. My poin is, I don't want to be a Barney Brown, ok? I want peple to hear what I have to say, so that those words don't go floating around the world and sinking back to the earth around us. I wan them to find a place in everyone because that's where it's meant to be, and that's the future I really want to be headed towards.
-J
-J
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The Will to Death
I was looking at my drawer from across my room. There was a gun in it. The drawer wasn’t locked. And my mind took me back to the times I had stood near the edge of a cliff, or by a bridge. I thought about something that scared me out of my wits. Was it because I was afraid of heights? Or was this why I had that fear? I would stand there, and imagine. I thought of things like, “What is keeping me up here?” and looked at the bridge’s defense. The rails. Those weren’t going to keep me on the bridge. Because I knew I could jump. I could jump off the bridge, and fall. And that scared me. It scared me so much, and the more I thought about it, the more frightened I got. Because the more I thought about it, the more I felt like I couldn’t help myself from jumping. It was the same as the Cliffside story. What was stopping me from propelling myself over the edge to my demise? Nothing.
Then again…. Was it really nothing? Was something stopping me…. from killing myself? Stopping me from…. doing something entirely stupid? I wonder. Sheer will power. Was that what it took for someone like me? Did other people feel this way? I really didn’t know.
I was back in my room, I was back to focusing on that gun. What was stopping me from taking it, and shooting myself in the head with it? Again, nothing. I then had an idea. Lock the drawer. But something in my mind was telling me, “Do not lock that drawer, Jayson. Do not lock that drawer.”
Do not lock that drawer?
I thought about it, and I wondered. Then I realized, that in many cases, once a locked drawer has been unlocked, it’s so much easier to get the gun and shoot yourself with it, than when it was never locked in the first place. Why?
Visualize yourself. And then put a circle around yourself. That represents your sheer will power. Now see the gun. Outside the shield. The possibility of dropping your defense is low. Now, imagine what happens, when you visualize a second shield, one that represents the lock on your drawer. This shield encompasses your first shield. Now you have two defenses. Then what do you see happening to your first defense? It starts to break down. It breaks, because you believe that that lock will save you from the gun, but what is it that you’re really trying to save yourself from? The answer, I believe, is yourself. You are they one holding the gun, and you’re the one who decides to pull the trigger. You have the lock… to save you from yourself? I don’t think so.
And besides… it is so much easier to break through things that you can plainly see, such as that lock. It is so much harder, to get back the will to not do something stupid, because you have the ability to. We all have the ability to do things, and we sometimes find ourselves asking, “Why aren’t we doing things because we can?” But the reason is, the sheer will to do what’s right and what’s not, always has a significant say in what we do. A moral compass comes with the ability to do things within your reach. Do what’s right.
Oh, and for those of you who really can't help yourself from doing crazy stuff, there ARE things like hand-gliding and bungee jumping, or skydiving, or cliffdiving, and all that.
-J
Then again…. Was it really nothing? Was something stopping me…. from killing myself? Stopping me from…. doing something entirely stupid? I wonder. Sheer will power. Was that what it took for someone like me? Did other people feel this way? I really didn’t know.
I was back in my room, I was back to focusing on that gun. What was stopping me from taking it, and shooting myself in the head with it? Again, nothing. I then had an idea. Lock the drawer. But something in my mind was telling me, “Do not lock that drawer, Jayson. Do not lock that drawer.”
Do not lock that drawer?
I thought about it, and I wondered. Then I realized, that in many cases, once a locked drawer has been unlocked, it’s so much easier to get the gun and shoot yourself with it, than when it was never locked in the first place. Why?
Visualize yourself. And then put a circle around yourself. That represents your sheer will power. Now see the gun. Outside the shield. The possibility of dropping your defense is low. Now, imagine what happens, when you visualize a second shield, one that represents the lock on your drawer. This shield encompasses your first shield. Now you have two defenses. Then what do you see happening to your first defense? It starts to break down. It breaks, because you believe that that lock will save you from the gun, but what is it that you’re really trying to save yourself from? The answer, I believe, is yourself. You are they one holding the gun, and you’re the one who decides to pull the trigger. You have the lock… to save you from yourself? I don’t think so.
And besides… it is so much easier to break through things that you can plainly see, such as that lock. It is so much harder, to get back the will to not do something stupid, because you have the ability to. We all have the ability to do things, and we sometimes find ourselves asking, “Why aren’t we doing things because we can?” But the reason is, the sheer will to do what’s right and what’s not, always has a significant say in what we do. A moral compass comes with the ability to do things within your reach. Do what’s right.
Oh, and for those of you who really can't help yourself from doing crazy stuff, there ARE things like hand-gliding and bungee jumping, or skydiving, or cliffdiving, and all that.
-J
Monday, January 18, 2010
The Fun in the Scary
So I was with some friends, and I was all like "Oh hey, I'm gonna go watch that movie. You know. THAT movie."
And they were all like, "WOAH man, THAT movie? Are you SERIOUS?"
And I was all like, "Yeah?"
And they got all self- righteous and all, and said "I'm not gonna pay for a movie that will scare me." And walked away.
And I was just standing there and I was thinking "Wait. What just happened?"
So later on, I was talking to my other friends, and they were like "Oh hey, you wanna watch Paranormal Activity?"
And I was like, "HELL YES I WANNA WATCH PARANORMAL ACTIVITY!"
And at that point I suddenly remembered the guys I was talking to before, and I was talking about it to my friends, and it was basically all like:
Ok, you don't go to a movie house all alone, and get scared out of your wits, you know? It's like you go there with friends! Yes, friends! And then you scream together and everyone's all like "OH MY GOD THAT WAS SO FREAKY BRAH" and laugh? I mean THAT'S the fun in it all, you experience something together, and have fun with it!
I remember a few years ago, I watched Rose Red with some people, and the movie was like 6 hours long right? It's about this manor called Rose Red, and it's haunted. Scary. And then you know you get this freaky feeling right, what with the long history of the house, and the descendants and everything, but then the movie was over just like THAT, and I was thinking "Oh man, we've GOT to do that again" cuz like, that's what it's all ABOUT. You chill with your friends, you do something together, laugh, cry, be scared, all with a people friendly beer and popcorn in hand. Now, I'm thinking of doing a full 13 ep. marathon on Harper's Island. Mmhm. Care to join?
Because yeah, that's what it's all about.
-J
And they were all like, "WOAH man, THAT movie? Are you SERIOUS?"
And I was all like, "Yeah?"
And they got all self- righteous and all, and said "I'm not gonna pay for a movie that will scare me." And walked away.
And I was just standing there and I was thinking "Wait. What just happened?"
So later on, I was talking to my other friends, and they were like "Oh hey, you wanna watch Paranormal Activity?"
And I was like, "HELL YES I WANNA WATCH PARANORMAL ACTIVITY!"
And at that point I suddenly remembered the guys I was talking to before, and I was talking about it to my friends, and it was basically all like:
Ok, you don't go to a movie house all alone, and get scared out of your wits, you know? It's like you go there with friends! Yes, friends! And then you scream together and everyone's all like "OH MY GOD THAT WAS SO FREAKY BRAH" and laugh? I mean THAT'S the fun in it all, you experience something together, and have fun with it!
I remember a few years ago, I watched Rose Red with some people, and the movie was like 6 hours long right? It's about this manor called Rose Red, and it's haunted. Scary. And then you know you get this freaky feeling right, what with the long history of the house, and the descendants and everything, but then the movie was over just like THAT, and I was thinking "Oh man, we've GOT to do that again" cuz like, that's what it's all ABOUT. You chill with your friends, you do something together, laugh, cry, be scared, all with a people friendly beer and popcorn in hand. Now, I'm thinking of doing a full 13 ep. marathon on Harper's Island. Mmhm. Care to join?
Because yeah, that's what it's all about.
-J
Sunday, January 17, 2010
I Want To Inspire You
I've always had a certain attatchment to writing... When I think of something, I whip out my IPod, and I start writing as fast as I can, whatever it is that's in my mind. That way, I feel like it's more real, and I feel more real than any other time in my life, as long as I am writing.
Quote from the late Michael Jackson,
"Who wants mortality? Everybody wants immortality. You want what you can create to live. Be it sculpting, painting, music composition. That is why to escape death, I attempt to bind my soul to my work. Igive my all to my work because I want it to just live and just give all that I have."
Of all the quotes I love, this one really just had that directness, that yearning, that human touch that I love to look for in the people that I know and love, in family or friends, even strangers. This is why I chose to name my blog I Want To Inpire You, because I believe that it is simple and direct. I'm out. I'm looking to inspire. I believe that I have what it takes, and I want to be heard.
I'm really kinda hoping that I'd be able to bind as much as I can to my writings, hoping to one day be successful, you know?
My writings can take the form of anything, anything I write about, like essays or stories, or even just ideas. Anything that I need to put what I want up here. I will try abstract ideas, or articles, anything I can try. I might even put up conversations, and then after reading them, talk about what I think is going on.
This is how I think I can put as much of myself into this as I can. Direct, not changed into single forms of writing.
I will try writing in different ranges of genres, but I have a tendency to write about interrelationships (not just love) and how they impact us. BUT I can also write about other things =P
So.. yea. I guess that's all I got to say as of now.. Please read whatever I may post up here, I'm a first time blogger, and I'm really into writing. Simply put, I want to inspire people, I want to inspire you.
-J
Quote from the late Michael Jackson,
"Who wants mortality? Everybody wants immortality. You want what you can create to live. Be it sculpting, painting, music composition. That is why to escape death, I attempt to bind my soul to my work. Igive my all to my work because I want it to just live and just give all that I have."
Of all the quotes I love, this one really just had that directness, that yearning, that human touch that I love to look for in the people that I know and love, in family or friends, even strangers. This is why I chose to name my blog I Want To Inpire You, because I believe that it is simple and direct. I'm out. I'm looking to inspire. I believe that I have what it takes, and I want to be heard.
I'm really kinda hoping that I'd be able to bind as much as I can to my writings, hoping to one day be successful, you know?
My writings can take the form of anything, anything I write about, like essays or stories, or even just ideas. Anything that I need to put what I want up here. I will try abstract ideas, or articles, anything I can try. I might even put up conversations, and then after reading them, talk about what I think is going on.
This is how I think I can put as much of myself into this as I can. Direct, not changed into single forms of writing.
I will try writing in different ranges of genres, but I have a tendency to write about interrelationships (not just love) and how they impact us. BUT I can also write about other things =P
So.. yea. I guess that's all I got to say as of now.. Please read whatever I may post up here, I'm a first time blogger, and I'm really into writing. Simply put, I want to inspire people, I want to inspire you.
-J
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