the "Joyce Dialectic"

Lately I have been reading blogs of people linked to my own. Save from the fact that a considerable number of them hold considerable amounts of statements or stories that implicates ideas I myself disdain, their contents are, in overall, OK. Coincidentally, it's a good thing that most of them write in their blogs as if they're writing in their diaries. These narratives give a view of what they think about what is going on in their environment, and it helps for me to read, if only to know them better, at least triangulation-wise.


Now...

Many of you know that I am currently in progress-- and stalling-- of writing a memoir. This work, if you might want to acknowledge, is not solely about the author (which is what a memoir is essentially about), but also of a person who has preoccupied me during my last days in the university. I would also like to acknowledge that yes, there are perhaps too many memoirs being written by different people so this is not something new, and yes, writing about REAL people and REAL events as opposed to kind-of-made-up ones is shameless and wrong and vile and evil and corrupt. But then again, we could all do worse, like, say American government or that lying bitch in Malacañang.

For all my bluster elsewhere, the memoir is not entirely a work of non-fiction. There are considerable amount of its contents that are being, and has been, fictionalized. Although in the course of the work, I am trying to channel the thoughts that I had during my last days in UST, I have taken certain liberties especially with what I was thinking on certain instances in the narrative. For example, usually, when I am thinking of something while in a certain situation in the memoir, its not that I'm actually thinking of that thought that time. More often than not, those thoughts occurred to me after the situations or events happen, and I only insert such and such for the sake of appearing and sounding articulate because frankly enough, I do not have the skill to write such a work so I have to do such in order for it not to be sooooo boring. Moving on...

The Joyce Dialectic: she being both an inspiration and impediment to the writing of this... this memoir.

The inspiration concept is easy enough, but the impediment... I really can't see a reason reasonable enough for her not to have her name on it. I thought that she liked the idea before, when I let her read the draft. The reason why I let her read it is for APPROVAL, but now that she knows that it might be published this February, she wants none of her real name on it. I thought that it would be OK for her, she extending the meaning of the word generosity and courage by letting her name on it. I am thinking that if that's the case, I would abandon it already. What's the point of writing a memoir if its not based on actual accounts? Oh well... What could be the synthesis of this dialectic?

I cannot write anymore, that's all for now...

Arbeiten und Lieben

September 18, 2007 2:20 am


I was about to sleep, and I was thinking of what I could do that time to induce sleeping, and it occurred to me that I WAS NOT DOING ANYTHING GOOD LATELY. Then, in a flash of pure truth-seeking, I felt that I was worthless. I began to sob, then cry. I went outside of our house and sat beside my three dogs, still crying.

I was certain that night, or morning, that no one needs me. That I was worthless.

Yes, I always sought for simplicity, but what I found was emptiness, a void that sucks everything. Its that sinking feeling you have in the pit of your stomach, only in intercontinental scale.

Fuck it, am I too old for this?

It all seemed senseless. It seems that all the sacrifice that I made when I was still studying for the knowledge that I have now, it all seems to be for nothing. All the hardships, the stinginess, the skipped meals in exchange for photocopied materials, the almost-spoiled pork adobos and paksiw na galunggong for weeks, it seems that nothing's paying off these days.

What's wrong with this world? What I'm facing now is eerily close to indifference. I really think that if next semester, I'm still unemployed, I'll go crazy. E kung mamundok na lang nga kaya ako tulad ng binibiro ng mga kabarkada ko sa akin?

Sigmund Freud once said that the key to happiness is arbeiten und lieben, work and love-- and I have neither at the present.

What is worse than being able to see what you can in this world is being unable to do something about it, and fuck, its better doing something you might suspect that is wrong, but believing in it anyway. At least there's a chance that history would absolve you if ever you mistook something.

And it doubles, triples when you know no one's out there for you. Napakahirap ng walang pag-aalayan ng kung anumang gusto mong gawin. At the moment, I feel like I'm making a fool of myself, and there's nobody who would think I've done a temporary job. To wit: ako na lang ang hindi pa nakakaranas na magkaroon ng romantic relationship sa barkada namin. But then again, trabaho muna hahanapin ko.

Where shall my blood be spilled?

LSE

It has been 5 months, and still I don't have any work yet. I am beginning to lose my self worth.

For all my bluster elsewhere when I was still in college, I begin to realize its really hard looking for a career nowadays. A lot happened last summer, all of which seemed to be conspiring to prevent me from being employed. I don't know what is wrong, and nobody gives me a worthy advice yet as much as my convictions are concerned.

Oh well, I really hope I'd be getting a job this month.