HANDOUT IN EU104
Value: Property of objects representing their degree of importance; something that makes an object worthwhile.
Propriety: The quality of being appropriate.
Oughtness: The state of being as a thing ought to be; rightness.
Objective Values: Those that are outside the individual and are not dependent upon perception or belief.
Morality: Ideal code of conduct and belief which would be preferred by the sane person under specified conditions.
- knowledge of right and wrong
- involves free will
- freedom to choice to follow or not
Characteristics of Moral Values:
1.) Reasonable and freely chosen
2.) Pre-eminent over human values
3.) Absolute
4.) Universal
5.) Obligatory
Aesthetic Value: Value which causes an object to be beautiful or to be a work of art.
"Pagkatao": The meaning of being human.
Personal Value: Developed from early life and evolve from circumstances with the external wold.
Cultural Value: Commonly held standards of right and wrong in a community or society.
Work Value: Set of values and beliefs based on hard work and diligence; belief in the moral benefit of hard work to enhance character.
Phenomenology: Philosophy that states that bias should be suspended in experiencing phenomenon to arrive at an accurate description of reality and/or truth.
Experiential Knowledge: Based on experience.
Conceptual Knowledge: Based on second-hand concepts.
Faith: Confident belief or trust in the truth or trustworthiness of a person, idea or thing. It involves future context, is transcendental and is beyond reason.
- The object of faith is its realization, a greater understanding of God.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Prelim Handout for HRM1F (eu100b)
HANDOUT IN EU 100B
Personality: Embodiment of feelings and behavior which makes man the unique person that he is.
Components of Personality:
1. Habits – Actions so often repeated at regular intervals until they become fixed characteristics.
2. Attitudes – Certain ways of viewing things as acquired through years of exposure.
3. Interest – Natural inclination to focus one’s concern towards a specific area of work.
4. Values – Ways of upholding certain priorities in accordance with hierarchy of needs.
5. Principles – Guides to a person in making judgments.
6. Intellectual Capacities – Innate faculty of the mind which gives the person power to discern, recognize and comprehend.
Developing One’s Personality
1. Self Awareness – Indicates what kind of person you are.
2. Assessment of Personal Assets and Liabilities – based on intelligence, talents, resources, flexibilities and attractiveness.
3. Personal Effectiveness – Means how useful you are to yourself and other people.
Reasons for Developing Personality
1. Self Satisfaction
2. Self Confidence
3.To keep ourselves on the job.
Foundations of Personality
1. Mental – Intellectual Capacity .
2. Social – How well a person conducts himself with other people.
3. Physical – The physiological structure of individual.
4. Emotional – Emotional makeup.
5. Moral – Awareness of right and wrong.
6. Spiritual – Consciousness of higher values in life.
External Attributes of Personality
1. Physical Health
2. Hygiene
3. Grooming
4. Accessories
5. Make-up
6. Posture
7. Use of Color Combinations
Physical Health
1. Brain 2. Exercise 3. Nutrition 4. Skin
Good Grooming: Appropriate clothes on appropriate occasions.
Essentials in Buying Clothes: Good fit, Good workmanship and Good Materials.
Accessories: Jewelry, shoes, bags.
Good Posture: State which enables the body to function to the best advantage.
Personality: Embodiment of feelings and behavior which makes man the unique person that he is.
Components of Personality:
1. Habits – Actions so often repeated at regular intervals until they become fixed characteristics.
2. Attitudes – Certain ways of viewing things as acquired through years of exposure.
3. Interest – Natural inclination to focus one’s concern towards a specific area of work.
4. Values – Ways of upholding certain priorities in accordance with hierarchy of needs.
5. Principles – Guides to a person in making judgments.
6. Intellectual Capacities – Innate faculty of the mind which gives the person power to discern, recognize and comprehend.
Developing One’s Personality
1. Self Awareness – Indicates what kind of person you are.
2. Assessment of Personal Assets and Liabilities – based on intelligence, talents, resources, flexibilities and attractiveness.
3. Personal Effectiveness – Means how useful you are to yourself and other people.
Reasons for Developing Personality
1. Self Satisfaction
2. Self Confidence
3.To keep ourselves on the job.
Foundations of Personality
1. Mental – Intellectual Capacity .
2. Social – How well a person conducts himself with other people.
3. Physical – The physiological structure of individual.
4. Emotional – Emotional makeup.
5. Moral – Awareness of right and wrong.
6. Spiritual – Consciousness of higher values in life.
External Attributes of Personality
1. Physical Health
2. Hygiene
3. Grooming
4. Accessories
5. Make-up
6. Posture
7. Use of Color Combinations
Physical Health
1. Brain 2. Exercise 3. Nutrition 4. Skin
Good Grooming: Appropriate clothes on appropriate occasions.
Essentials in Buying Clothes: Good fit, Good workmanship and Good Materials.
Accessories: Jewelry, shoes, bags.
Good Posture: State which enables the body to function to the best advantage.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sociology
Marami ako'ng nalimutang sabihin noong Biyernes. May paoutline-outline pa akong nalalaman sa kapirasong papel, hindi ko rin naman pala masusunod. Nag-alala kasi ako na baka masyadong mapahaba ang sasabihin ko noon, kaya tuloy, nawala ako sa wisyo.
Titiyagain ko na mailagay dito ang iba sa mga yon.
Binabawi ko na ang sinabi ko noong nasa kolehiyo ako, na hindi ko tiningnan ang pag-aaral ng Sociology dahil sa trabaho nito, na lagi ko lang muna iniisip na pag-aralan ang lipunan. Lingid pala sa nalalaman ko, lagi kong iniisip ang magiging trabaho ng nasa disiplina ko. At ang trabahong yun ay talagang gusto ko, kaya naman sabi ko nga nung Biyernes, talagang nagtiis ako ng isang taon na walang trabaho para mapapunta sa ninanais kong karera. Tatlo lang talaga ang gusto kong puntahan, at yun ang tatahakin talaga ng isang Sociology major: pananaliksik (research), community development, at akademya. Naroon ako ngayon sa ikatlo. Sa totoo lang, sulit ang paghihintay ko. Pati na ang pangungutya ng ibang tao, pati na ang pagdududa sa sarili. Hindi sa pagmamayabang kahit kilala akong mayabang, sa tuwing makikita at mararamdaman ko ang pagkamangha ng estudyante sa klase ko dahil sa pagpapaliwanag ko ng teorya, problema sa lipunan at kahit pagbibiro, pawi na ang pagod ko sa pagdidikta ng mga depinisyon at kung anu-ano pa. Paalala itong hindi talaga ako nagkamali.
Siyempre, bukod pa ang sinabi ni sir Batoon nung PTSA na tama naman talaga, kahit saan kami pumunta ay may trabaho kami. Sa isang banda, nakakatuwang isipin na kami na inaaral ang masasamang dulot ng division of labor ay hindi naman talaga napapasailalim nito, dahil sa totoo lang, hangga't may tao, may kakalagyan ang socio. Kung ang isang taga-Nursing ay magiging nurse, accountancy ay magiging accountant, hindi kami ganun, LAMPAS kami sa ganoong sistema.
Tuwang tuwa talaga ako sa batch ng 4th year ngayon. Dati, medyo banas talaga ako sa kanila. Medyo hindi ko talaga sila trip. Hindi ko pa sila masyadong kilala, iilan lang. Si Rap, joker. Si Roxy, mataray. Si Kat na magaling mangatwiran (yak, shifter). Si Harry, maangas noon (maldita na ngayon). Payat pa si Aika dati, crush ko pa sya nun (yiiiii F na F!). Si Ms. Agoncillo, akala ko dati Mr. Si Danzel, akala ko mukhang yosi at volleyball lang. Hindi ko nga kilala noon ang PM nila ngayon na si Claire na pseudo-ex pala ni...
Pasintabi lang po. But in all this bluster, I'm saying this with all the love in the world.
Pero noon yun, 3 years ago. Nakakahiya, ako itong nabigyan ng pagsasanay sa pananaliksik at namuhunan ng malaki sa teorya ng phenomenology, ako pa ang may angas na magkaroon ng bias noon. Sabi kasi nila noon, salitan ang batch na magagaling, kaya ngayon, mali ako. Lalo na noong Setyembre, nung pumunta ako sa TBS nila. Ang pinangangambahan kong pagka-OP (hindi order of preachers) ay hindi halos nangyari. May birtud yata ng pakikisama ang mga yun, kaya naman madali ko silang nakatrabaho bilang biglaang facilitator. Tuwang tuwa ako, isa iyon sa pinakamagagandang TBS na nangyari sa kasaysayan ng USTSS ngayong dekada. At ang PTSA na sinimulan namin noong 4th year kami at freshmen lang sila, maganda din. Sana mas maraming Alumni next time.
Sa mga alumni, lalo na sa mga ka-batch ko, alam kong may ilan sa kanila na ayaw pumunta dahil sa isang dahilan: nahihiya. Nahihiya dahil hindi nila pina-practice ang disiplina namin. Ok lang yan guys, tyagaan lang. Wag lang hayaan ang sariling mapako sa kinalalagyan at masaya tayong lahat. Sa may mga determinasyon, hindi maaaring hindi matupad ang pangarap; nauudyot lang.
Ipinagmamalaki ko talaga ang karera kong hindi naman masyadong malaki ang kita SA NGAYON (ayan ha, caps lock). Ang ikinaangas-angas ko noon sa AB, binawasan ko na muna ngayon kasi wala akong napalang maganda kung hindi ko tatabasan ng kaunti. Kung babanggain mo ang isang istraktura, konkreto man o ideya, malamang-lamang ikaw ang babagsak, masasaktan, mabibigo. Hindi naman ako tinuruan ng ganoon sa Community Development. Ang sabi nga ni Alinsky, work within the system, not against it. Nagpakumbaba ka na, nasa stratehiya ka pa. Two-for-one sale. Kung may ibabagsak, siguraduhing may itatayong panibago mas mainam. Kung hindi, para ka rin lang nang-giyera ng mahinang bansa dahil taliwas sila sa pinaniniwalaan mo. O kaya, rebeldeng walang napala at napatunayan.
Panalo talaga ang limang gabing pagbubuno ko ng final paper ko sa Trends in Social Development sa ilalim ni Ka Puroy noon. Huling semestre ko na noon sa kolehiyo. Tulpok sa keyboard, kutos sa sarili, kamot sa ulo, tulpok uli. Limang gabi ba namang pag-isipan ang tatahakin mong landas pagka-graduate, kundi ka ba naman lumabnaw ang utak at dadgain sa dibdib. Dagdagan pa ang pagbibigay ng isang teorya na susuporta sa kukuhain mong trabaho, tapos isi-synthesis. Matapos ang limang gabi, naipasa ko na ang limang pahinang laman ang Theory of Communicative Action ni Habermas at tatahakin ko sa akademya. Kung susumahin, parang mas maipagmamalaki ko pa iyon kaysa sa thesis ko. Dapat talaga, binibigyan ng ganoong paper ang 4th year taon-taon, para magising sila sa katotohanan at harapin ito.
Sabi ko kasi sa sarili ko noon na gusto ko ring sabihin sa mga dumalo ng PTSA noong Biyernes (kaso hindi ko nga nasabi), kundi ko makikita ang personal na karakter ko sa propesyon ko, ang pagkatao ko, binalewala ko lang ang labing-anim na taon kong pag-aaral sa pormal na edukasyon. Nag-utuan lang kami lahat ng mga nakasama ko sa pamantasan, kaklase ko, propesor, guidance counselor, kaibigang manunulat, seniors at lower batch, librarian at student assistans dahil sa pangungulit ko lagi sa Social Science at Journals section ng Central Library, nina manong guard, mga nagtitinda ng pagkain para kina manong guard (mura lang, P25 busog ka na), mga nagbasa ng sinulat ko sa publication, manggagawa sa Nestle, kabataan at katutubo sa Maligcong, magsasaka sa DRT at Laguna, Aeta sa Zambales, at higit sa lahat, ng sarili ko.
Marami nang nagyayaring utuan sa paligid ko sa dumaang dalawang dekada kong nabubuhay. Ayaw ko nang sumali pa. Sarili ko rin lang ang una't huli kong lolokohin, kaya hindi na lang.
Sa mga nasa larangan ng Sociology, makasama ko sana kayo sa salimuot ng lipunan at pagka-makulay ng ating disiplina. Hangga't mahigpit ang hawak, hangga't hindi bibitaw ang timpi. Ang inyong pagpupursige ay siya ko ring pagpapatuloy.
Titiyagain ko na mailagay dito ang iba sa mga yon.
Binabawi ko na ang sinabi ko noong nasa kolehiyo ako, na hindi ko tiningnan ang pag-aaral ng Sociology dahil sa trabaho nito, na lagi ko lang muna iniisip na pag-aralan ang lipunan. Lingid pala sa nalalaman ko, lagi kong iniisip ang magiging trabaho ng nasa disiplina ko. At ang trabahong yun ay talagang gusto ko, kaya naman sabi ko nga nung Biyernes, talagang nagtiis ako ng isang taon na walang trabaho para mapapunta sa ninanais kong karera. Tatlo lang talaga ang gusto kong puntahan, at yun ang tatahakin talaga ng isang Sociology major: pananaliksik (research), community development, at akademya. Naroon ako ngayon sa ikatlo. Sa totoo lang, sulit ang paghihintay ko. Pati na ang pangungutya ng ibang tao, pati na ang pagdududa sa sarili. Hindi sa pagmamayabang kahit kilala akong mayabang, sa tuwing makikita at mararamdaman ko ang pagkamangha ng estudyante sa klase ko dahil sa pagpapaliwanag ko ng teorya, problema sa lipunan at kahit pagbibiro, pawi na ang pagod ko sa pagdidikta ng mga depinisyon at kung anu-ano pa. Paalala itong hindi talaga ako nagkamali.
Siyempre, bukod pa ang sinabi ni sir Batoon nung PTSA na tama naman talaga, kahit saan kami pumunta ay may trabaho kami. Sa isang banda, nakakatuwang isipin na kami na inaaral ang masasamang dulot ng division of labor ay hindi naman talaga napapasailalim nito, dahil sa totoo lang, hangga't may tao, may kakalagyan ang socio. Kung ang isang taga-Nursing ay magiging nurse, accountancy ay magiging accountant, hindi kami ganun, LAMPAS kami sa ganoong sistema.
Tuwang tuwa talaga ako sa batch ng 4th year ngayon. Dati, medyo banas talaga ako sa kanila. Medyo hindi ko talaga sila trip. Hindi ko pa sila masyadong kilala, iilan lang. Si Rap, joker. Si Roxy, mataray. Si Kat na magaling mangatwiran (yak, shifter). Si Harry, maangas noon (maldita na ngayon). Payat pa si Aika dati, crush ko pa sya nun (yiiiii F na F!). Si Ms. Agoncillo, akala ko dati Mr. Si Danzel, akala ko mukhang yosi at volleyball lang. Hindi ko nga kilala noon ang PM nila ngayon na si Claire na pseudo-ex pala ni...
Pasintabi lang po. But in all this bluster, I'm saying this with all the love in the world.
Pero noon yun, 3 years ago. Nakakahiya, ako itong nabigyan ng pagsasanay sa pananaliksik at namuhunan ng malaki sa teorya ng phenomenology, ako pa ang may angas na magkaroon ng bias noon. Sabi kasi nila noon, salitan ang batch na magagaling, kaya ngayon, mali ako. Lalo na noong Setyembre, nung pumunta ako sa TBS nila. Ang pinangangambahan kong pagka-OP (hindi order of preachers) ay hindi halos nangyari. May birtud yata ng pakikisama ang mga yun, kaya naman madali ko silang nakatrabaho bilang biglaang facilitator. Tuwang tuwa ako, isa iyon sa pinakamagagandang TBS na nangyari sa kasaysayan ng USTSS ngayong dekada. At ang PTSA na sinimulan namin noong 4th year kami at freshmen lang sila, maganda din. Sana mas maraming Alumni next time.
Sa mga alumni, lalo na sa mga ka-batch ko, alam kong may ilan sa kanila na ayaw pumunta dahil sa isang dahilan: nahihiya. Nahihiya dahil hindi nila pina-practice ang disiplina namin. Ok lang yan guys, tyagaan lang. Wag lang hayaan ang sariling mapako sa kinalalagyan at masaya tayong lahat. Sa may mga determinasyon, hindi maaaring hindi matupad ang pangarap; nauudyot lang.
Ipinagmamalaki ko talaga ang karera kong hindi naman masyadong malaki ang kita SA NGAYON (ayan ha, caps lock). Ang ikinaangas-angas ko noon sa AB, binawasan ko na muna ngayon kasi wala akong napalang maganda kung hindi ko tatabasan ng kaunti. Kung babanggain mo ang isang istraktura, konkreto man o ideya, malamang-lamang ikaw ang babagsak, masasaktan, mabibigo. Hindi naman ako tinuruan ng ganoon sa Community Development. Ang sabi nga ni Alinsky, work within the system, not against it. Nagpakumbaba ka na, nasa stratehiya ka pa. Two-for-one sale. Kung may ibabagsak, siguraduhing may itatayong panibago mas mainam. Kung hindi, para ka rin lang nang-giyera ng mahinang bansa dahil taliwas sila sa pinaniniwalaan mo. O kaya, rebeldeng walang napala at napatunayan.
Panalo talaga ang limang gabing pagbubuno ko ng final paper ko sa Trends in Social Development sa ilalim ni Ka Puroy noon. Huling semestre ko na noon sa kolehiyo. Tulpok sa keyboard, kutos sa sarili, kamot sa ulo, tulpok uli. Limang gabi ba namang pag-isipan ang tatahakin mong landas pagka-graduate, kundi ka ba naman lumabnaw ang utak at dadgain sa dibdib. Dagdagan pa ang pagbibigay ng isang teorya na susuporta sa kukuhain mong trabaho, tapos isi-synthesis. Matapos ang limang gabi, naipasa ko na ang limang pahinang laman ang Theory of Communicative Action ni Habermas at tatahakin ko sa akademya. Kung susumahin, parang mas maipagmamalaki ko pa iyon kaysa sa thesis ko. Dapat talaga, binibigyan ng ganoong paper ang 4th year taon-taon, para magising sila sa katotohanan at harapin ito.
Sabi ko kasi sa sarili ko noon na gusto ko ring sabihin sa mga dumalo ng PTSA noong Biyernes (kaso hindi ko nga nasabi), kundi ko makikita ang personal na karakter ko sa propesyon ko, ang pagkatao ko, binalewala ko lang ang labing-anim na taon kong pag-aaral sa pormal na edukasyon. Nag-utuan lang kami lahat ng mga nakasama ko sa pamantasan, kaklase ko, propesor, guidance counselor, kaibigang manunulat, seniors at lower batch, librarian at student assistans dahil sa pangungulit ko lagi sa Social Science at Journals section ng Central Library, nina manong guard, mga nagtitinda ng pagkain para kina manong guard (mura lang, P25 busog ka na), mga nagbasa ng sinulat ko sa publication, manggagawa sa Nestle, kabataan at katutubo sa Maligcong, magsasaka sa DRT at Laguna, Aeta sa Zambales, at higit sa lahat, ng sarili ko.
Marami nang nagyayaring utuan sa paligid ko sa dumaang dalawang dekada kong nabubuhay. Ayaw ko nang sumali pa. Sarili ko rin lang ang una't huli kong lolokohin, kaya hindi na lang.
Sa mga nasa larangan ng Sociology, makasama ko sana kayo sa salimuot ng lipunan at pagka-makulay ng ating disiplina. Hangga't mahigpit ang hawak, hangga't hindi bibitaw ang timpi. Ang inyong pagpupursige ay siya ko ring pagpapatuloy.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Meaning
Admit it. We are not getting any younger.
***
The search for meaning occurs in every sane, and perhaps insane, person. It gives significance to what individuals do, especially those that they have already been doing for some time. As Weber suggests in his Verstehen, meaning takes time. Understanding the complexities of how meaning occurs is one of the cornerstones of comprehending what it is to be human in its most basic, yet most significant context: the world.
***
I have always found it imperative that sociology majors--and every individual who eschews stagnation for that matter--read and practice Mill's Sociological Imagination. It enables the identification of one's own problems into communal, social and global context; that they are not only personal, but is somehow shared by many in other parts of the world. The immediate goal here is a realization of a broader perspective in life. My Art Appreciation professor once told us that those who don't travel usually are narrow-minded, their world only that of their own minute sphere where everything is wishfully revolving around them, ONLY them. I have always been an outgoing person. My mother always laments that I am so "layas", even in college, even though she knows very well that community exposure-immersions are an essential element of my beloved major. These trips made me appreciate the readiness and smallness of similar things, that what binds uniformly all phenomenon is diversity itself. Hence, the inability, or rather the refusal, to appreciate diversity results in a painfully narrow horizon slimmer than that of a liver cancer patient's chance to survive.
***
The human genome is practically 99.9% similar, and that .1% results in the diversity of races all over the world. With that in mind, it is pretty safe to assume that the diverse problems of all humanity fall into just a few fundamental things. And so, losers, on a literal level, are they who spend a lot theirs and other people's time brooding on trivial matters, say, fashion trends, cellular phones and facebook connections.
***
Admit it. We are not getting any younger.
***
I totally agree with Rizal when he chastised his colleagues who were just gambling in Madrid way back 1800s. He said that youth is too precious to be wasted, to be spent on trivial and impractical matters. Boredom, when one is in his/her age of flowering youth, is obscene. It is sickening to know that many youth of today (people below, say 40) spend their time lolling about in the mall, farting around playing online games, pursuing jobs and not careers. What's more appalling is that most of the youth are already and willingly part of the system, of the lack of consciousness, of institutionalized oppression, of this culture of "utuan." This is a result of people not finding meaning in what they do, not knowing what they ought to do, of stagnation that is spreading through osmosis. What's depressing is that these people do not even resist the status quo and are willingly taking part on the perpetration of such abomination.
In a developing country like ours, we cannot afford feckless pluralism in such a scandalous scale, of not having a clear-cut goal of what to achieve as a community. Scattered activities are their appearances: like trash in the streets. There is almost no difference in having a false, conceited dream and not having any at all. Again, a paradox: that the realization of meaning or function is that you cannot attain one without the other. Doing something is not really meaningful if it has no real and beneficial purpose; having a purpose is not enough if it is not meaningful. Empty are the souls who go to work everyday and eventually hate everything and everyone in it because they get no real satisfaction from what they are doing. Its your work, your labor, and it's a very significant portion of human dignity. So if your work is meaningless, what does it say about your life? Do the math.
***
Its your life. When was the last time you did something meaningful for the first time? If its not now, when would you start to find meaning? Death is a possibility that is not only probable, but is sure to come. Anytime. Amidst the gamut of possibilities, we must find meaning, the would-be summary of our lives. Are the things that we do--in our youthful prime--serve a meaningful purpose? Do we really want the things we are doing? If yes, what kind of person are we then?
Life is short. Live it.
Admit it. We are not getting any younger.
***
The search for meaning occurs in every sane, and perhaps insane, person. It gives significance to what individuals do, especially those that they have already been doing for some time. As Weber suggests in his Verstehen, meaning takes time. Understanding the complexities of how meaning occurs is one of the cornerstones of comprehending what it is to be human in its most basic, yet most significant context: the world.
***
I have always found it imperative that sociology majors--and every individual who eschews stagnation for that matter--read and practice Mill's Sociological Imagination. It enables the identification of one's own problems into communal, social and global context; that they are not only personal, but is somehow shared by many in other parts of the world. The immediate goal here is a realization of a broader perspective in life. My Art Appreciation professor once told us that those who don't travel usually are narrow-minded, their world only that of their own minute sphere where everything is wishfully revolving around them, ONLY them. I have always been an outgoing person. My mother always laments that I am so "layas", even in college, even though she knows very well that community exposure-immersions are an essential element of my beloved major. These trips made me appreciate the readiness and smallness of similar things, that what binds uniformly all phenomenon is diversity itself. Hence, the inability, or rather the refusal, to appreciate diversity results in a painfully narrow horizon slimmer than that of a liver cancer patient's chance to survive.
***
The human genome is practically 99.9% similar, and that .1% results in the diversity of races all over the world. With that in mind, it is pretty safe to assume that the diverse problems of all humanity fall into just a few fundamental things. And so, losers, on a literal level, are they who spend a lot theirs and other people's time brooding on trivial matters, say, fashion trends, cellular phones and facebook connections.
***
Admit it. We are not getting any younger.
***
I totally agree with Rizal when he chastised his colleagues who were just gambling in Madrid way back 1800s. He said that youth is too precious to be wasted, to be spent on trivial and impractical matters. Boredom, when one is in his/her age of flowering youth, is obscene. It is sickening to know that many youth of today (people below, say 40) spend their time lolling about in the mall, farting around playing online games, pursuing jobs and not careers. What's more appalling is that most of the youth are already and willingly part of the system, of the lack of consciousness, of institutionalized oppression, of this culture of "utuan." This is a result of people not finding meaning in what they do, not knowing what they ought to do, of stagnation that is spreading through osmosis. What's depressing is that these people do not even resist the status quo and are willingly taking part on the perpetration of such abomination.
In a developing country like ours, we cannot afford feckless pluralism in such a scandalous scale, of not having a clear-cut goal of what to achieve as a community. Scattered activities are their appearances: like trash in the streets. There is almost no difference in having a false, conceited dream and not having any at all. Again, a paradox: that the realization of meaning or function is that you cannot attain one without the other. Doing something is not really meaningful if it has no real and beneficial purpose; having a purpose is not enough if it is not meaningful. Empty are the souls who go to work everyday and eventually hate everything and everyone in it because they get no real satisfaction from what they are doing. Its your work, your labor, and it's a very significant portion of human dignity. So if your work is meaningless, what does it say about your life? Do the math.
***
Its your life. When was the last time you did something meaningful for the first time? If its not now, when would you start to find meaning? Death is a possibility that is not only probable, but is sure to come. Anytime. Amidst the gamut of possibilities, we must find meaning, the would-be summary of our lives. Are the things that we do--in our youthful prime--serve a meaningful purpose? Do we really want the things we are doing? If yes, what kind of person are we then?
Life is short. Live it.
Admit it. We are not getting any younger.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Yawning Gap
I really don't know what happened.
Far is that day in August when, after years of not being able to talk to each other, we enjoyed a meal together, catching up like we haven't seen each other twice as much as we really didn't. After that, the agreement a month later.
What I really do not understand is why someone would back out of an agreement wherein there would be no risk to that person, much less an investment. Worse, flaking out, unannounced to an agreement--a promise--is one of the most unethical thing a sane person would do to a friend.
I really believe that suspending, if not cutting, communication abruptly with another person amidst a small conflict is waaaaay off the line. One terrible thing really comes from that, the conflict escalates.
I really don't know what happened.
I don't know why since that meal at that fast food chain, you disappeared. It's still a puzzle for me whether you faded away slowly, like the ceasing early morning fog against the imposing sun, or just disappeared just like the same sun on an eclipse, warranting not only awe, but scorn. Scorn caused by such a mystery a sane person would not dare think about it, knowing all too well that its a waste of time.
People usually tell me that my pride's off the roof, but I respond with determined indignation, stating that this is only using my common sense. When you want different results, you obviously should do things differently, because doing the same deed would only produce similar off-shoots. And that is what I am doing. Knowing well enough that those insane (yes, they are) mood swings repeatedly and successfully caught me off guard since high school, I am not reacting to them the same way I did before: asking you what's the matter, saying sorry even if I'm clueless if I did something wrong, showing concern even if its not my problem anymore, but yours, as obvious as the floods in Manila earlier. And so I kept quiet, because in all honesty, like I always am to you, I'm tired. And modesty aside, I am true of heart.
I really don't know what happened.
What surprised and dismayed me is after all this time--a year, to be exact--you never talked to me. No message in any form, medium, venue. No excuses given (like you always do), much less a reason, for flaking on me that time. Our friends told me some things about you by then, but I just wish you tell that to my face, knowing all too well that they're not involved in this. They said you were in deep shit, and I also just hope you'd tell me that, because after all, we are/were friends by then. They told me "maybe this, maybe that", but really I'm fed up with maybes, with almost everything you do definitive of nothing but your indecisiveness, your decisions changing as skin cells are replaced, unabatedly.
Nobody, and that subset includes me, likes things hanging like this. It sure is a little bit exciting, even fun, when some things hang for only a short time, say, a dunk replay. But when when time passes by, you can't help thinking that that something you thought was hanging maybe isn't there anymore. And what's more inevitably appalling is that maybe it wasn't there hanging in the first place. That only you yourself thought it was, and what you did was painfully less than hopeful, but only wishful thinking. Nobody, except some Taoist hermits up the Szechuan mountains, like things hanging like this. Because when these things happen, these things break your heart.
I really don't know what happened.
I mean, I do know, more or less. I have pieces of the puzzle all together so I have the overall picture. Everybody lies, and so I'm concentrating on things that cannot lie. What I'm hoping for is that something happened beyond that, something more significant, meaningful. And after a year, I was hoping it would surface, since meaning takes considerable time. In all this bluster, I am believing that what happened, or lack thereof, was more meaningful than it appears to be. I take solace in that thought. And I really hope that I am right, because the only alternative is: what came to pass is like cheap crackers, painfully and plainly meaningless.
I don't know if I did something that hurt you, but that's so improbable, since it is you who walked away. But as I said, I'm tired of figuring you out. This time, if its not more productive, at least it's less painful figuring out what I really think rather than imploring what you are. There's hesitation finding out answers because lately when I do, the ones that turn up are more appalling and ridiculous than I expected--a bear tearing up a hive only to find that its full of wasps, not honeys and bees.
Honestly, I'm tired. Modesty aside, I am true of heart.
Far is that day in August when, after years of not being able to talk to each other, we enjoyed a meal together, catching up like we haven't seen each other twice as much as we really didn't. After that, the agreement a month later.
What I really do not understand is why someone would back out of an agreement wherein there would be no risk to that person, much less an investment. Worse, flaking out, unannounced to an agreement--a promise--is one of the most unethical thing a sane person would do to a friend.
I really believe that suspending, if not cutting, communication abruptly with another person amidst a small conflict is waaaaay off the line. One terrible thing really comes from that, the conflict escalates.
I really don't know what happened.
I don't know why since that meal at that fast food chain, you disappeared. It's still a puzzle for me whether you faded away slowly, like the ceasing early morning fog against the imposing sun, or just disappeared just like the same sun on an eclipse, warranting not only awe, but scorn. Scorn caused by such a mystery a sane person would not dare think about it, knowing all too well that its a waste of time.
People usually tell me that my pride's off the roof, but I respond with determined indignation, stating that this is only using my common sense. When you want different results, you obviously should do things differently, because doing the same deed would only produce similar off-shoots. And that is what I am doing. Knowing well enough that those insane (yes, they are) mood swings repeatedly and successfully caught me off guard since high school, I am not reacting to them the same way I did before: asking you what's the matter, saying sorry even if I'm clueless if I did something wrong, showing concern even if its not my problem anymore, but yours, as obvious as the floods in Manila earlier. And so I kept quiet, because in all honesty, like I always am to you, I'm tired. And modesty aside, I am true of heart.
I really don't know what happened.
What surprised and dismayed me is after all this time--a year, to be exact--you never talked to me. No message in any form, medium, venue. No excuses given (like you always do), much less a reason, for flaking on me that time. Our friends told me some things about you by then, but I just wish you tell that to my face, knowing all too well that they're not involved in this. They said you were in deep shit, and I also just hope you'd tell me that, because after all, we are/were friends by then. They told me "maybe this, maybe that", but really I'm fed up with maybes, with almost everything you do definitive of nothing but your indecisiveness, your decisions changing as skin cells are replaced, unabatedly.
Nobody, and that subset includes me, likes things hanging like this. It sure is a little bit exciting, even fun, when some things hang for only a short time, say, a dunk replay. But when when time passes by, you can't help thinking that that something you thought was hanging maybe isn't there anymore. And what's more inevitably appalling is that maybe it wasn't there hanging in the first place. That only you yourself thought it was, and what you did was painfully less than hopeful, but only wishful thinking. Nobody, except some Taoist hermits up the Szechuan mountains, like things hanging like this. Because when these things happen, these things break your heart.
I really don't know what happened.
I mean, I do know, more or less. I have pieces of the puzzle all together so I have the overall picture. Everybody lies, and so I'm concentrating on things that cannot lie. What I'm hoping for is that something happened beyond that, something more significant, meaningful. And after a year, I was hoping it would surface, since meaning takes considerable time. In all this bluster, I am believing that what happened, or lack thereof, was more meaningful than it appears to be. I take solace in that thought. And I really hope that I am right, because the only alternative is: what came to pass is like cheap crackers, painfully and plainly meaningless.
I don't know if I did something that hurt you, but that's so improbable, since it is you who walked away. But as I said, I'm tired of figuring you out. This time, if its not more productive, at least it's less painful figuring out what I really think rather than imploring what you are. There's hesitation finding out answers because lately when I do, the ones that turn up are more appalling and ridiculous than I expected--a bear tearing up a hive only to find that its full of wasps, not honeys and bees.
Honestly, I'm tired. Modesty aside, I am true of heart.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
What Keeps Me Going
I haven't been blogging for weeks now, and because of what happened earlier in school I thought would be worth mentioning here, here I am creating this post.
Most of you know that my salary is not at par with my needs, as I am tax-exempt from my profession of being a college instructor. Me still teaching here in Quezon is kinda far fetched, but still some things keep me going, and here is a short list.
***
1.) The respect. Even if the owner of the school or that lying bitch in Malacañang would be talking to me, they'll still be calling me "sir."
2.) It's fun being with young people, amidst the cacophony of stupidity and insecurity, I still find some students whom to challenge their beliefs with mine.
3.) Modesty aside, the awe that students express (mouths agape) when you pull of a kick ass explanation for something mundane or previously thought as insignificant. Its a good reminder of how good you are--and the weight loss and neurodermatitis you had to achieve that.
4.) Students telling you how tiresome the 3-hour subject can be at siesta hours but you can still tell some jokes to lighten the mood up.
5.) Students telling you how weird you are, in a good way, and they love it.
6.) Cute teenage girls saying "Nakakahiya namang tumabi kay sir, ang bango kasi!" out loud. Nuff said, haha.
7.) The same students that would surprise you by saying "Ayan sir, mabango na ako" after greetings during dismissal.
8.) Whole classes wanting to extend the class, even though its already dismissal time, and if possible via drinking sessions, because of your sociological and philosophical outpourings about religion and love life.
9.) The feeling that whatever success those young people you teach would achieve in later years, in whatever aspect, you somehow contributed to it.
10.) That feeling and knowledge that you are somehow at the same level, however trivial or ephemereal, with those professors you are idolizing in college. And that they call you "sir."
:-)
Most of you know that my salary is not at par with my needs, as I am tax-exempt from my profession of being a college instructor. Me still teaching here in Quezon is kinda far fetched, but still some things keep me going, and here is a short list.
***
1.) The respect. Even if the owner of the school or that lying bitch in Malacañang would be talking to me, they'll still be calling me "sir."
2.) It's fun being with young people, amidst the cacophony of stupidity and insecurity, I still find some students whom to challenge their beliefs with mine.
3.) Modesty aside, the awe that students express (mouths agape) when you pull of a kick ass explanation for something mundane or previously thought as insignificant. Its a good reminder of how good you are--and the weight loss and neurodermatitis you had to achieve that.
4.) Students telling you how tiresome the 3-hour subject can be at siesta hours but you can still tell some jokes to lighten the mood up.
5.) Students telling you how weird you are, in a good way, and they love it.
6.) Cute teenage girls saying "Nakakahiya namang tumabi kay sir, ang bango kasi!" out loud. Nuff said, haha.
7.) The same students that would surprise you by saying "Ayan sir, mabango na ako" after greetings during dismissal.
8.) Whole classes wanting to extend the class, even though its already dismissal time, and if possible via drinking sessions, because of your sociological and philosophical outpourings about religion and love life.
9.) The feeling that whatever success those young people you teach would achieve in later years, in whatever aspect, you somehow contributed to it.
10.) That feeling and knowledge that you are somehow at the same level, however trivial or ephemereal, with those professors you are idolizing in college. And that they call you "sir."
:-)
Monday, May 18, 2009
To Reiterate Identity and Attraction
When I woke up this morning, after thinking of heating two large cups of leftover coffees last night, l browsed my inbox and read something appallingly stupid, or stupidly appalling. A student-friend of mine forwarded a text message and it goes a little something like this:
Types of boyfriends:
[Unsettling and idiotic part deleted for the sake of sanity and purity of my blog and all]
Forward this to your friends to give their boyfriend a lesson (something to this effect).
Reflexively, I deleted the darn message. For those of you who know me well enough, I really find stupidity offensive, and the last thing that I want to see after waking up with our pitbull puppy beside me is some smart-ass, utterly stupid quote implying their backward view of how non-marital romantic relationships should go.
The content of the message was a list of 5 offenses that boyfriends allegedly commit on a usual basis. The author of that text was obviously painfully preoccupied with the task of making her boyfriend's life miserable by making herself the guy's ONLY preoccupation. This is not a reality check, this is truth revealed: Unless you're a respirator, dialysis machine or a pacemaker, YOU CANNOT BE THE FREAKING LIFE OF SOMEONE ELSE. When I was in elementary, I watched this movie with Goofy and his teenage son. As you all know, teenagers almost always antagonize their parents for a myriad of things. The enlightening conversation was:
Son: Can't you see, Dad? I have my own life now!
Goofy: I know! I just want to be a part of it. [Silence ensued]
To those people who think that they are the life of their significant other vice-versa, get lost. If what you believe and what you are doing implies that your life is not your own, or God's, you might as well inject concentrated potassium chloride into your jugular vein. Go hurl yourself to the mouth of mount Krakatoa and burn, after transferring half of your property to me, and half to charity. You're wasting good, water, air, space. You're wasting not only your time, but other people's too, by dragging them into your black hole of low self esteem instead of letting them live their lives fruitfully, free from your pathetic excuse of a life. Get a life, or else be eaten by crows.
When your boyfriend doesn't show up to your sudden and unnanounced date, with you assuming that he's an on-call doctor when it comes to you, which he is not, and instead plays basketball with his peers, do not get angry. You have every right to get annoyed, but not nagging. You are not his mother. He was certain that this day he's free and decides to come to that game with his friends, knowing all too well that his social circle is diminishing unabatedly because of YOU. So he's giving himself and his friends a break, to catch up with one another, to play ball, to be with them. Because after all, they are his friends, his support system, and they were there, presumably a decade ago, before you got into the picture. Go get a life.
When he's texting with another girl, it might be that, duh, he's got a cellphone and enough credit. It doesn't mean that he's flirting, it might be that someone is flirting with him, but before you are certain that he's reciprocating it, do not flood the Yangtze with your tears. Come to think of it, you haven't made the wrong choice, because when someone is trying to flirt with him, its a validation that he is indeed a fun guy to be with. Or just plain good-looking. You said you trust him, right? So show it. Go get a life.
When someone tells you that you are their life, back off and leave that person. Because that entails that unreasonable demands would ensue, demands that are uncalled for, dumbfounding, vicious and inhuman. Love is a wonderful and meaningful thing, and meaning is derived from wanting something even if you don't need it. And by this I mean significant wanting, not capricious ones.
Love is liberating, not restrictive. Rid yourself of old conventions about such things and seek and experience the real deal.
Types of boyfriends:
[Unsettling and idiotic part deleted for the sake of sanity and purity of my blog and all]
Forward this to your friends to give their boyfriend a lesson (something to this effect).
Reflexively, I deleted the darn message. For those of you who know me well enough, I really find stupidity offensive, and the last thing that I want to see after waking up with our pitbull puppy beside me is some smart-ass, utterly stupid quote implying their backward view of how non-marital romantic relationships should go.
The content of the message was a list of 5 offenses that boyfriends allegedly commit on a usual basis. The author of that text was obviously painfully preoccupied with the task of making her boyfriend's life miserable by making herself the guy's ONLY preoccupation. This is not a reality check, this is truth revealed: Unless you're a respirator, dialysis machine or a pacemaker, YOU CANNOT BE THE FREAKING LIFE OF SOMEONE ELSE. When I was in elementary, I watched this movie with Goofy and his teenage son. As you all know, teenagers almost always antagonize their parents for a myriad of things. The enlightening conversation was:
Son: Can't you see, Dad? I have my own life now!
Goofy: I know! I just want to be a part of it. [Silence ensued]
To those people who think that they are the life of their significant other vice-versa, get lost. If what you believe and what you are doing implies that your life is not your own, or God's, you might as well inject concentrated potassium chloride into your jugular vein. Go hurl yourself to the mouth of mount Krakatoa and burn, after transferring half of your property to me, and half to charity. You're wasting good, water, air, space. You're wasting not only your time, but other people's too, by dragging them into your black hole of low self esteem instead of letting them live their lives fruitfully, free from your pathetic excuse of a life. Get a life, or else be eaten by crows.
When your boyfriend doesn't show up to your sudden and unnanounced date, with you assuming that he's an on-call doctor when it comes to you, which he is not, and instead plays basketball with his peers, do not get angry. You have every right to get annoyed, but not nagging. You are not his mother. He was certain that this day he's free and decides to come to that game with his friends, knowing all too well that his social circle is diminishing unabatedly because of YOU. So he's giving himself and his friends a break, to catch up with one another, to play ball, to be with them. Because after all, they are his friends, his support system, and they were there, presumably a decade ago, before you got into the picture. Go get a life.
When he's texting with another girl, it might be that, duh, he's got a cellphone and enough credit. It doesn't mean that he's flirting, it might be that someone is flirting with him, but before you are certain that he's reciprocating it, do not flood the Yangtze with your tears. Come to think of it, you haven't made the wrong choice, because when someone is trying to flirt with him, its a validation that he is indeed a fun guy to be with. Or just plain good-looking. You said you trust him, right? So show it. Go get a life.
When someone tells you that you are their life, back off and leave that person. Because that entails that unreasonable demands would ensue, demands that are uncalled for, dumbfounding, vicious and inhuman. Love is a wonderful and meaningful thing, and meaning is derived from wanting something even if you don't need it. And by this I mean significant wanting, not capricious ones.
Love is liberating, not restrictive. Rid yourself of old conventions about such things and seek and experience the real deal.
Mimosa Pudica
I'm not really known for my rarely awkward moments, since I'm more known as someone who does that to other people. My nasty tendencies towards other people's object of fondness, and by this I mean those that are stupidly trivial and conventional, makes me shameless and other people shameful. I'm not really sure if I treasure these rare moments, yet I am weirdly fond of them. To wit: It is any day after having my daily workout, with friends opting for many drinks because of someone leaving two days away, and so calls for decent pulutan in the form of barbecued pork belly.
Since I am the most accustomed to cooking, we set off to buy meats and liquor on a nearby mall. There is some protest regarding the bought meat, prompting the following exchange:
Guy-with-the-Gs: Nakabili na kayo ng liempo?
Me: Oo.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Sarap nyan, yung may marinate na.
Me: Hindi yung may marinate ang binili ko. 230 yung meron eh, 180 lang to.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Ha?! Eh magkano lang ba ang difference nun?
Me: Cincuenta. Marami na tayong mabibili nun, exempla garati: isang 2 liter na soda.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Ang korni naman eh, nagtitipid masyado. Nabili mo na ba?
Me: Oo nga.
Guy-with-the-Gs: OK na yan.
Me: All the more reason this debate is pointless.
We leave the grocery, heading out to our friend's car outside. With approximately 6 meters before the door, someone comes out of a boutique with, presumably, her sister. Wearing a sleeveless shirt whose color is somewhat in the shade of yellow, her long hair tumbling down her shoulders, the girl looks at me. We lock eyes for about 3 seconds, then she smiles, waves. Since I was cut short on laughing on a friend's joke that time, I was already smiling, conveying a see-I'm-happy-to-be-with disposition. I waved back, exchanged greetings with her and continued to walk. The name's Kimi.
My friends were a little excited and asked me how old the pretty girl is. They always reflexively ask me that whenever they see me talking, greeting, dancing, or even just chatting in YM with someone pretty, since it's an inside joke within us, because of my profession. I told them she's 16, and someone almost immediately said something apalling: "Penge naman ako nun!" I just rolled my eyes and answered inquiries about what school, how and why we know each other blahblah.
Then, in a flash of pure truth-seeing, I recognized something: I'm wearing crappy clothes, those that are good for playing basketball in the street, but inappropriate for malls.
This is not something new. I usually wear shorts and t-shirts, especially when I go out to the gym. I always wear these things, after thinking what to wear, then remembering not to think what to wear, wearing what I have worn have I not thought of thinking what to wear, the look of no look at all. What's new is me being conscious about it. I felt awkward, having to meet her, at the mall, with me like I've been in the public market.
I don't know if this is a case of me being awkward in front of someone pretty. But then again its not really a bad thing, the girl's darn pretty by objective standards anyway.
Tinatablan na ba ako ng hiya ngayon sa mga hindi naman nakakahiyang bagay?
But then again, maybe that's not the case, because I'm still brutally honest. If I weren't, I wouldn't be here, writing this post.
Since I am the most accustomed to cooking, we set off to buy meats and liquor on a nearby mall. There is some protest regarding the bought meat, prompting the following exchange:
Guy-with-the-Gs: Nakabili na kayo ng liempo?
Me: Oo.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Sarap nyan, yung may marinate na.
Me: Hindi yung may marinate ang binili ko. 230 yung meron eh, 180 lang to.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Ha?! Eh magkano lang ba ang difference nun?
Me: Cincuenta. Marami na tayong mabibili nun, exempla garati: isang 2 liter na soda.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Ang korni naman eh, nagtitipid masyado. Nabili mo na ba?
Me: Oo nga.
Guy-with-the-Gs: OK na yan.
Me: All the more reason this debate is pointless.
We leave the grocery, heading out to our friend's car outside. With approximately 6 meters before the door, someone comes out of a boutique with, presumably, her sister. Wearing a sleeveless shirt whose color is somewhat in the shade of yellow, her long hair tumbling down her shoulders, the girl looks at me. We lock eyes for about 3 seconds, then she smiles, waves. Since I was cut short on laughing on a friend's joke that time, I was already smiling, conveying a see-I'm-happy-to-be-with disposition. I waved back, exchanged greetings with her and continued to walk. The name's Kimi.
My friends were a little excited and asked me how old the pretty girl is. They always reflexively ask me that whenever they see me talking, greeting, dancing, or even just chatting in YM with someone pretty, since it's an inside joke within us, because of my profession. I told them she's 16, and someone almost immediately said something apalling: "Penge naman ako nun!" I just rolled my eyes and answered inquiries about what school, how and why we know each other blahblah.
Then, in a flash of pure truth-seeing, I recognized something: I'm wearing crappy clothes, those that are good for playing basketball in the street, but inappropriate for malls.
This is not something new. I usually wear shorts and t-shirts, especially when I go out to the gym. I always wear these things, after thinking what to wear, then remembering not to think what to wear, wearing what I have worn have I not thought of thinking what to wear, the look of no look at all. What's new is me being conscious about it. I felt awkward, having to meet her, at the mall, with me like I've been in the public market.
I don't know if this is a case of me being awkward in front of someone pretty. But then again its not really a bad thing, the girl's darn pretty by objective standards anyway.
Tinatablan na ba ako ng hiya ngayon sa mga hindi naman nakakahiyang bagay?
But then again, maybe that's not the case, because I'm still brutally honest. If I weren't, I wouldn't be here, writing this post.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
OK, this is not about Taylor Swift
Program 3, 25 minutes. There.
***
I envy Lyndon. He doesn’t jog, run on the treadmill or sweat in a stationary cycle but he’s already lean. He doesn’t look like someone who lifts weights for a living but he’s twice as strong as me, and to think that he was thin back in college. But then again, he rarely drinks, and so he manages his weight and physique like that. Unfortunately, that won’t work for me, not now, not here in Quezon where, it should be mentioned, that drinking is part of our way of living, or at least my peers, and so I am ostracized whenever I bail out of drinking sessions or leave early because I hate to lift weights the next day, post-drunk. Here I am, sweating my ass off this treadmill, wishing I could resist those fish nuggets for lunch, knowing it would be futile, but then again comforting myself that I should not be on a slimming diet because I don’t want to be found bloody and dismembered one day on the bench because of collapsing while lifting that 105-pound
barbell, the plates smeared with goo.
***
We were both young when I first saw you
I close my eyes
And the flashback starts
I'm standing there
On a balcony in summer air
***
I should cover this screen. Running in this machine seem to take forever when I see these digits. I’ll cover everything but that heartbeat thing. There. Why on earth is Manuel playing this song, on loud speakers? This is too cheesy. But then again, I love the singer’s immaculate nose, she looking like an angel, would be ideal if we would be married 5 years from now. Ho-hum…
***
That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles
And my daddy said stay away from Juliet
And I was crying on the staircase
Begging you please don't go, and I said
***
20 minutes, 5… is this kilometers per hour?
***
A writer-friend once told me that surrealists have “night journals” where they write whatever they remember of their dreams immediately after waking up. It’s kind of hard to do, really: an attempt to put on paper the contents of your subconscious that were depicted in your dreams the night before. Dreams, dreams, dreams.
Speaking of which, that one last night was weird, not really affecting though, just… entertained, sort of. To wit: it is a day in our subdivision where suddenly I’m on a couch with someone who is not cute, not hot, but beautiful. And she’s wearing that short black dress, kind of shiny too. She’s Psyche chased by Cupid, a clear lake beneath the floating mist, a bloom on a blanket of grass.
She’s Nami.
***
We were drinking, me, Paul, Lyndon and her. It is implied in the dream that something is happening between us, as evidenced by frequent giggles and moments of damn-I’m-melting-don’t-look-at-me-with-those-kay-rikit-sa-singkit-eyes-but-I-love-them. And then we were out of beer, and so we bought some more, going to the store side by side. Me shuffling and she gliding. As we arrive at the store she tells me that she has something to say, like something more important than the revision of neo-classical economics, whatever. I ask her what, but then again as she starts to talk, I wake up.
Though I have a disclaimer: Last night, I read her reply to my comment on her new album posted in multiply,com, and so that offers an explanation why the dreamed dawned on me while I was sleeping, given the fact that I wasn’t thinking of her or anything related to her before I sleep.
***
15 minutes, 6 kp/h: jog!
Look at that. My heartbeat’s over 110, and I think it’s because of this song, this tachycardia-causing tune. Haha.
***
Do I have to stop this? I know she has a boyfriend, and I have an idea that they’re already over a year now. Mas madaling hulihin ang manok na nakatali, but then again there’s the fact that I’m sort of friends with the guy, the horrible karma and most of all, it’s not the right thing to do. When she talks and I listen, it always dawns on me that this is my definition of wow, and I haven’t met someone like her before. That brain of hers is sexier than Cindy Kurleto, and that smile’s just a sight for sore eyes. The way we make fun of each other tickles me more than her fingers poking my ribs. She even called me up, when I was in Olongapo en route to Zambales a week ago, saying sorry, thinking I was mad because of a smart-ass comment she quipped. And my friends laughed at me because I was stupidly grinning the whole time. Think, think, think.
Perhaps I’ll just enjoy this for a while.
***
That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles
And my daddy said stay away from Juliet
And I was crying on the staircase
Begging you please don't go, and I said
***
10 minutes, 8 kp/h: run run run!
***
I wonder if Nami remembers our first meeting, there in an event held by our organization in a small bar in Timog. I wonder if she knows me as the guy who, while drowning in the blaring juxtaposition of banging instruments, held up a phone in front of her, pointing to the screen where the words “naiintindihan mo ba yung tugtog?!” were typed since I’m not sure if she’d hear me. Come to think of it, we were sitting side by side back then. That simple gesture, born out of irritation and boredom, paved way to conversations with her and her friends, who were really n-i-c-e. I wonder if she thought what I thought back then, that it was odd, strange that instead of the usual exchange-of-numbers routine that people do, what we gave each other was, get this: blogs. Yes, url addresses of our respective blogs. Weird because we were sharing a common fondness about something as ephemeral as, say, literary works in blogs. I wonder if she knew that I was rolling my eyes when I saw someone in the crowd trying to hit on her, the poor fellow, not knowing it was over quickly. I wonder if she knows or if she has an idea about what I think, and if she knew about this work—
Anyway, privacy’s overrated and cheap, so I won’t hide this from her and other people.
***
There, finished. My shirt’s wet with sweat, feels good.
Oh, what would the mind be if not these cerebral exercises from time to time?
***
I envy Lyndon. He doesn’t jog, run on the treadmill or sweat in a stationary cycle but he’s already lean. He doesn’t look like someone who lifts weights for a living but he’s twice as strong as me, and to think that he was thin back in college. But then again, he rarely drinks, and so he manages his weight and physique like that. Unfortunately, that won’t work for me, not now, not here in Quezon where, it should be mentioned, that drinking is part of our way of living, or at least my peers, and so I am ostracized whenever I bail out of drinking sessions or leave early because I hate to lift weights the next day, post-drunk. Here I am, sweating my ass off this treadmill, wishing I could resist those fish nuggets for lunch, knowing it would be futile, but then again comforting myself that I should not be on a slimming diet because I don’t want to be found bloody and dismembered one day on the bench because of collapsing while lifting that 105-pound
barbell, the plates smeared with goo.
***
We were both young when I first saw you
I close my eyes
And the flashback starts
I'm standing there
On a balcony in summer air
***
I should cover this screen. Running in this machine seem to take forever when I see these digits. I’ll cover everything but that heartbeat thing. There. Why on earth is Manuel playing this song, on loud speakers? This is too cheesy. But then again, I love the singer’s immaculate nose, she looking like an angel, would be ideal if we would be married 5 years from now. Ho-hum…
***
That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles
And my daddy said stay away from Juliet
And I was crying on the staircase
Begging you please don't go, and I said
***
20 minutes, 5… is this kilometers per hour?
***
A writer-friend once told me that surrealists have “night journals” where they write whatever they remember of their dreams immediately after waking up. It’s kind of hard to do, really: an attempt to put on paper the contents of your subconscious that were depicted in your dreams the night before. Dreams, dreams, dreams.
Speaking of which, that one last night was weird, not really affecting though, just… entertained, sort of. To wit: it is a day in our subdivision where suddenly I’m on a couch with someone who is not cute, not hot, but beautiful. And she’s wearing that short black dress, kind of shiny too. She’s Psyche chased by Cupid, a clear lake beneath the floating mist, a bloom on a blanket of grass.
She’s Nami.
***
We were drinking, me, Paul, Lyndon and her. It is implied in the dream that something is happening between us, as evidenced by frequent giggles and moments of damn-I’m-melting-don’t-look-at-me-with-those-kay-rikit-sa-singkit-eyes-but-I-love-them. And then we were out of beer, and so we bought some more, going to the store side by side. Me shuffling and she gliding. As we arrive at the store she tells me that she has something to say, like something more important than the revision of neo-classical economics, whatever. I ask her what, but then again as she starts to talk, I wake up.
Though I have a disclaimer: Last night, I read her reply to my comment on her new album posted in multiply,com, and so that offers an explanation why the dreamed dawned on me while I was sleeping, given the fact that I wasn’t thinking of her or anything related to her before I sleep.
***
15 minutes, 6 kp/h: jog!
Look at that. My heartbeat’s over 110, and I think it’s because of this song, this tachycardia-causing tune. Haha.
***
Do I have to stop this? I know she has a boyfriend, and I have an idea that they’re already over a year now. Mas madaling hulihin ang manok na nakatali, but then again there’s the fact that I’m sort of friends with the guy, the horrible karma and most of all, it’s not the right thing to do. When she talks and I listen, it always dawns on me that this is my definition of wow, and I haven’t met someone like her before. That brain of hers is sexier than Cindy Kurleto, and that smile’s just a sight for sore eyes. The way we make fun of each other tickles me more than her fingers poking my ribs. She even called me up, when I was in Olongapo en route to Zambales a week ago, saying sorry, thinking I was mad because of a smart-ass comment she quipped. And my friends laughed at me because I was stupidly grinning the whole time. Think, think, think.
Perhaps I’ll just enjoy this for a while.
***
That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles
And my daddy said stay away from Juliet
And I was crying on the staircase
Begging you please don't go, and I said
***
10 minutes, 8 kp/h: run run run!
***
I wonder if Nami remembers our first meeting, there in an event held by our organization in a small bar in Timog. I wonder if she knows me as the guy who, while drowning in the blaring juxtaposition of banging instruments, held up a phone in front of her, pointing to the screen where the words “naiintindihan mo ba yung tugtog?!” were typed since I’m not sure if she’d hear me. Come to think of it, we were sitting side by side back then. That simple gesture, born out of irritation and boredom, paved way to conversations with her and her friends, who were really n-i-c-e. I wonder if she thought what I thought back then, that it was odd, strange that instead of the usual exchange-of-numbers routine that people do, what we gave each other was, get this: blogs. Yes, url addresses of our respective blogs. Weird because we were sharing a common fondness about something as ephemeral as, say, literary works in blogs. I wonder if she knew that I was rolling my eyes when I saw someone in the crowd trying to hit on her, the poor fellow, not knowing it was over quickly. I wonder if she knows or if she has an idea about what I think, and if she knew about this work—
Anyway, privacy’s overrated and cheap, so I won’t hide this from her and other people.
***
There, finished. My shirt’s wet with sweat, feels good.
Oh, what would the mind be if not these cerebral exercises from time to time?
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Roadwork Thoughts
While jogging around Pacific Mall this morning, I was having random thoughts, so as to take my mind off my tiring body..
***
1.) A lot of [rich] people wonder why German Shepards die of heat stroke. Duh. Those dogs evolved in cold European climate, and their dogs are in the Philippines, what do they expect?
2.) I envy boxers' discipline. They wake up at around 4, and run and run and run. If you take that time studying something, what would your grades be?
3.) Another reason I envy them is that it's hard enough to jog, and its damn harder if your ribs ache like what mine did earlier. Your stamina would be HALVED. Imagine having to spar today, suffering from body blows or even strained muscles in your torso, then run tomorrow morning. It's hell.
4.) I wish I ate banana before doing my roadwork.
5.) Muscles are like toffee, you warm them up a little, then stretch. They're brittle if you stretch without warming up.
6.) Most old people here at this time make jogging look like a joke, theirs is jittery. Unlike one gray-haired jogger I saw who looks like he's a regular marathon runner, muscles firmer than mine, even the glutes. Haha.
7.) I will not be like these old people, who, because they are compelled by their doctor, family, or rheumatoid arthritis, exercise in their life too late.
8.) This wind is annoying, I can't feel my sweat because its evaporating too fast.
9.) So is this throat.
10.) And that doberman who shamelessly defecated in front of me, unmolested.
11.) Why are there people who bike around here, a place for jogging?
12.) I'll bring my jacket tomorrow as a warmer.
13.) Arvin is a no-show.
14.) Practicing boxing drills in front of a glass door brings people to stop--young people's mouth agape, busty women stop, religious people fall to their knees.
15.) I am really against weight control solely by reducing food intake. Having exercise is better, is pleasurable, since NO ONE would take pleasure in limiting their eating habits. You don't enjoy, become really healthy, and don't meet new friends because of just dieting.
16.) Speaking of diet, my ideal is a high protein, high fiber, high carbohydrate BUT low fat one.
17.) Stupid are those people who, in a trip to somewhere really far from their usual residences, say, something exotic, unusual and unfamiliar, look for fast food when they become hungry when really affordable and wonderful local cuisine is around.
18.) It's really hard limiting your drinks, especially when your peers have weekly ethanol-loving sprees.
19.) I'll have omelet later, with lots of peppers.
20.) I should get new running shoes. Mine's OK for the treadmill, but it won't work for shit on concrete or asphalt.
***
1.) A lot of [rich] people wonder why German Shepards die of heat stroke. Duh. Those dogs evolved in cold European climate, and their dogs are in the Philippines, what do they expect?
2.) I envy boxers' discipline. They wake up at around 4, and run and run and run. If you take that time studying something, what would your grades be?
3.) Another reason I envy them is that it's hard enough to jog, and its damn harder if your ribs ache like what mine did earlier. Your stamina would be HALVED. Imagine having to spar today, suffering from body blows or even strained muscles in your torso, then run tomorrow morning. It's hell.
4.) I wish I ate banana before doing my roadwork.
5.) Muscles are like toffee, you warm them up a little, then stretch. They're brittle if you stretch without warming up.
6.) Most old people here at this time make jogging look like a joke, theirs is jittery. Unlike one gray-haired jogger I saw who looks like he's a regular marathon runner, muscles firmer than mine, even the glutes. Haha.
7.) I will not be like these old people, who, because they are compelled by their doctor, family, or rheumatoid arthritis, exercise in their life too late.
8.) This wind is annoying, I can't feel my sweat because its evaporating too fast.
9.) So is this throat.
10.) And that doberman who shamelessly defecated in front of me, unmolested.
11.) Why are there people who bike around here, a place for jogging?
12.) I'll bring my jacket tomorrow as a warmer.
13.) Arvin is a no-show.
14.) Practicing boxing drills in front of a glass door brings people to stop--young people's mouth agape, busty women stop, religious people fall to their knees.
15.) I am really against weight control solely by reducing food intake. Having exercise is better, is pleasurable, since NO ONE would take pleasure in limiting their eating habits. You don't enjoy, become really healthy, and don't meet new friends because of just dieting.
16.) Speaking of diet, my ideal is a high protein, high fiber, high carbohydrate BUT low fat one.
17.) Stupid are those people who, in a trip to somewhere really far from their usual residences, say, something exotic, unusual and unfamiliar, look for fast food when they become hungry when really affordable and wonderful local cuisine is around.
18.) It's really hard limiting your drinks, especially when your peers have weekly ethanol-loving sprees.
19.) I'll have omelet later, with lots of peppers.
20.) I should get new running shoes. Mine's OK for the treadmill, but it won't work for shit on concrete or asphalt.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Distemper
I just wasted 450 pesos, not to mention Johann's time and mine, on an ill-planned and ill-advised outing yesterday.
We were supposed to have this picnic at Villa Del Prado in Sariaya yesterday with my students, and the assembly time, take note, is 10:00 am. And so I woke up early, bought a kilo of chicken lollipops and cooked it, sweet and chili. My primary contact, a student-friend of mine, proposed to meet me 10:00 am at a waiting shed near the house of another student of mine (we were supposed to go there to COOK FOOD for this... this outing.) I arrived at the suggested meeting place at about 10:20, so as to give allowance if ever she would be late, too.
11:55 AM
See that? That's when she arrived. I was fuming, since she was clearly not displaying any appreciation and respect of my valuable time. And there she is, in a dressed-up-to-kill attire, telling me "Wala na akong load sir."
I did not speak, because I was cautioning myself not to explode, to wave my fist, to bang my head on the concrete, telling her pretty face that everything's supposed to be PULLED TAUT. That this time, time is money, is mana. Mind you: she did not apologize, and I don't know if she's thinking of doing that in the future. So I didn't talk to her, the whole picnic.
When we arrived at the house, her friends there (also my students) are not yet ready, haven't started cooking yet or even buying stuff to cook. There was some problem with money, which clearly they did not collected early. Since they are not prepared, are not anxious enough to arrive early and get things done especially when their p-r-o-f-e-s-s-o-r is with them, I asked for a glass of cold water to drink, to cool my head. And because I was hoping that things will get fine, I didn't leave.
Then stuff were bought and cooked (the latter by me). Because of other self-conceited-VIP-people, we got off at, again, take note of the time, 5:30pm. Can you imagine that?
12 hours later I realized something; that we have no food already and no money, so I told Johann that we'd have to go because it would be meaningless and impractical, not to mention downright stupid, to stay. And still no apologies made. So we left the resort at 5:30am this morning. The sunrise was immaculate, and the morning breeze the best I had in months.
There are times that impatience is a virtue.
We were supposed to have this picnic at Villa Del Prado in Sariaya yesterday with my students, and the assembly time, take note, is 10:00 am. And so I woke up early, bought a kilo of chicken lollipops and cooked it, sweet and chili. My primary contact, a student-friend of mine, proposed to meet me 10:00 am at a waiting shed near the house of another student of mine (we were supposed to go there to COOK FOOD for this... this outing.) I arrived at the suggested meeting place at about 10:20, so as to give allowance if ever she would be late, too.
11:55 AM
See that? That's when she arrived. I was fuming, since she was clearly not displaying any appreciation and respect of my valuable time. And there she is, in a dressed-up-to-kill attire, telling me "Wala na akong load sir."
I did not speak, because I was cautioning myself not to explode, to wave my fist, to bang my head on the concrete, telling her pretty face that everything's supposed to be PULLED TAUT. That this time, time is money, is mana. Mind you: she did not apologize, and I don't know if she's thinking of doing that in the future. So I didn't talk to her, the whole picnic.
When we arrived at the house, her friends there (also my students) are not yet ready, haven't started cooking yet or even buying stuff to cook. There was some problem with money, which clearly they did not collected early. Since they are not prepared, are not anxious enough to arrive early and get things done especially when their p-r-o-f-e-s-s-o-r is with them, I asked for a glass of cold water to drink, to cool my head. And because I was hoping that things will get fine, I didn't leave.
Then stuff were bought and cooked (the latter by me). Because of other self-conceited-VIP-people, we got off at, again, take note of the time, 5:30pm. Can you imagine that?
12 hours later I realized something; that we have no food already and no money, so I told Johann that we'd have to go because it would be meaningless and impractical, not to mention downright stupid, to stay. And still no apologies made. So we left the resort at 5:30am this morning. The sunrise was immaculate, and the morning breeze the best I had in months.
There are times that impatience is a virtue.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
To Sociology Majors
I have been reviewing some key philosophical ideas for the past months, thanks to the following persons for being my inspiration:
- Dominic Gonzales and Adrian Alcala, ex-seminarian friends
- Mr. Jay Aureada, ex-seminarian and co-faculty of mine
- Tracy Llanera, the summa cum laude of our batch
They're all philosophy majors.
I taught that subject, Philosophy of Man, last semester, and have been astonished because of a fairly obvious thing: that the key for understanding Sociological theories is to have a firm grounding on the basic concepts of philosophy, be it classical or modern (I am not acquainted with post-modern thought just yet). This is a thing that I wasn't aware of long ago, because I'm a moron. My last semester's Socio-Anthro class was rather boring, since they were only 11 students, and were rather passive ones, and so I preoccupied myself with my 2 philosophy classes. And so I spent hours on the library couch reading this and that book, exclaiming "aha!" much to the surprise of the librarian many times, getting scolded because I was not in the faculty room during my consultation hours because I was studying somewhere else.
When my philosophical interest was reawakened, it set-off a series of I-am-such-a-fool-to-think-that-such-and-such chain of events so horrible to even mentio--
I was reacquainted with the 3 Giants of Greek Philosophy, which strengthened my grip on Comte, Sorokim, Durkheim, Weber and Marx. Concepts that were unknown and unclear to me years ago were now crystal. Leafing through pages of Kierkegaard, Sartre, Husserl, Nietzsche and Heidegger enabled me to understand and interpret more the theories of Phenomenology, Ethnomethodology, Structural Functionalism, and Communicative Action. A clearer glance at postmodernism, too. What surprised me is the strengthening of my faith when I read Aquinas and Augustine. Not to mention conversations about the basis of the Roman Catholic Faith while drinking every Thursday after the novena mass. I remember joining the TWG years ago to get my hands on more academic and creative pastiche. It helped me a lot.
Then a painful regret dawned on me: that its too bad I never bothered to consolidate my philosophical knowledge to understand sociology more.
This exactly why I was vomiting in the PICC restrooms two years ago, I don't want to graduate yet because of my inadequacies in my academics.
I would've excelled more on my academics, got higher grades in PolDy and LRT, not to mention a better thesis. I regret not knowing Tracy earlier, and not talking to my batchmate Leonel, her classmate, about these stuff not (really?) knowing that it'll be helpful to all of us. I was a fool forgetting that my inadequacies in Sociological theories is a result of my loose grip on philosophy. No wonder why Emanovich Batonivsky, that ex-seminarian who once slapped my own incompetence to my face 3 years ago, is so damn good. I envy those people, their academic rigidity to stay focused in these things. They are the people who would change the very face of the world, the people who, two decades from now, would be taught to all schools.
Sociology people: learn from them and let them learn from us. Learn from our professors in the university as much as you can, and use the skills in other subjects to complement the major ones. Remember what Vision and Mission means, what theory and practice is, because without the sufficient amount of both our 4 years in college would be futile. Never fall into that trap of learning more and more about less and less.
Sociology majors have been looked down upon for the past years, LET US NOT GIVE THEM REASONS TO DO THAT AGAIN.
- Dominic Gonzales and Adrian Alcala, ex-seminarian friends
- Mr. Jay Aureada, ex-seminarian and co-faculty of mine
- Tracy Llanera, the summa cum laude of our batch
They're all philosophy majors.
I taught that subject, Philosophy of Man, last semester, and have been astonished because of a fairly obvious thing: that the key for understanding Sociological theories is to have a firm grounding on the basic concepts of philosophy, be it classical or modern (I am not acquainted with post-modern thought just yet). This is a thing that I wasn't aware of long ago, because I'm a moron. My last semester's Socio-Anthro class was rather boring, since they were only 11 students, and were rather passive ones, and so I preoccupied myself with my 2 philosophy classes. And so I spent hours on the library couch reading this and that book, exclaiming "aha!" much to the surprise of the librarian many times, getting scolded because I was not in the faculty room during my consultation hours because I was studying somewhere else.
When my philosophical interest was reawakened, it set-off a series of I-am-such-a-fool-to-think-that-such-and-such chain of events so horrible to even mentio--
I was reacquainted with the 3 Giants of Greek Philosophy, which strengthened my grip on Comte, Sorokim, Durkheim, Weber and Marx. Concepts that were unknown and unclear to me years ago were now crystal. Leafing through pages of Kierkegaard, Sartre, Husserl, Nietzsche and Heidegger enabled me to understand and interpret more the theories of Phenomenology, Ethnomethodology, Structural Functionalism, and Communicative Action. A clearer glance at postmodernism, too. What surprised me is the strengthening of my faith when I read Aquinas and Augustine. Not to mention conversations about the basis of the Roman Catholic Faith while drinking every Thursday after the novena mass. I remember joining the TWG years ago to get my hands on more academic and creative pastiche. It helped me a lot.
Then a painful regret dawned on me: that its too bad I never bothered to consolidate my philosophical knowledge to understand sociology more.
This exactly why I was vomiting in the PICC restrooms two years ago, I don't want to graduate yet because of my inadequacies in my academics.
I would've excelled more on my academics, got higher grades in PolDy and LRT, not to mention a better thesis. I regret not knowing Tracy earlier, and not talking to my batchmate Leonel, her classmate, about these stuff not (really?) knowing that it'll be helpful to all of us. I was a fool forgetting that my inadequacies in Sociological theories is a result of my loose grip on philosophy. No wonder why Emanovich Batonivsky, that ex-seminarian who once slapped my own incompetence to my face 3 years ago, is so damn good. I envy those people, their academic rigidity to stay focused in these things. They are the people who would change the very face of the world, the people who, two decades from now, would be taught to all schools.
Sociology people: learn from them and let them learn from us. Learn from our professors in the university as much as you can, and use the skills in other subjects to complement the major ones. Remember what Vision and Mission means, what theory and practice is, because without the sufficient amount of both our 4 years in college would be futile. Never fall into that trap of learning more and more about less and less.
Sociology majors have been looked down upon for the past years, LET US NOT GIVE THEM REASONS TO DO THAT AGAIN.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Envy
To whom? To TWG members / alumni.
I can't write, not even a single relevant or significant post in my blogs since January 25, much less something of literary value. This academic year's been a bitch for me. Although I got to work as a college instructor (modesty aside, in a ho-hum, so-so institution), it seems that since then, I have been in a sort of writer's block. Block, as in mental block in writing. Everytime that I get an idea of what to write, which also rarely happens since then, my pen would just end doodling on the paper. My eyes would just get watery staring at the screen in an attempt on changing the very face of the world with my text.
Worse, when I finally wrestled with myself into writing anything, usually in the form of a poem, or say a blog post like this, it'll just get butchered, not expressed even as a sigh, but a yelp. Instead of cooked sausages for breakfast, it'll be served looking like a mashed spam.
Pathetic, because everytime I see pictures of TWG alumni members in an activity like a workshop, forum, or just drinking beer, the more I refuse to succumb to the fact that the reason I cannot write is because I am not with them, although it seems that its obvious as the sun in midday. I cannot write because, it seems, as I am isolated from them, so am I isolated from literary practice. And to think that just after my graduation I have been hoping to improve my poetics, tch. So much so that when I imagine myself being with them in this or that event and the topic would be literature, I wouldn't be able to understand, much less keep up.
This year I don't remember writing anything with literary content, much less published on anything. Even managing to pass applications for workshops weren't done. I am not sure if this is to be blamed on my situation, or just my lack of organization and "talent," whatever that may be. I am thinking of being "invisible" from TWG people until I can write anything worthy of serious thought, but am not sure if this could be accomplished, or what would be accomplished by doing it.
As if being abused and degraded by my co-workers is not enough.
Fuck. I so hate this self doubt.
Was I really able to write?
I can't write, not even a single relevant or significant post in my blogs since January 25, much less something of literary value. This academic year's been a bitch for me. Although I got to work as a college instructor (modesty aside, in a ho-hum, so-so institution), it seems that since then, I have been in a sort of writer's block. Block, as in mental block in writing. Everytime that I get an idea of what to write, which also rarely happens since then, my pen would just end doodling on the paper. My eyes would just get watery staring at the screen in an attempt on changing the very face of the world with my text.
Worse, when I finally wrestled with myself into writing anything, usually in the form of a poem, or say a blog post like this, it'll just get butchered, not expressed even as a sigh, but a yelp. Instead of cooked sausages for breakfast, it'll be served looking like a mashed spam.
Pathetic, because everytime I see pictures of TWG alumni members in an activity like a workshop, forum, or just drinking beer, the more I refuse to succumb to the fact that the reason I cannot write is because I am not with them, although it seems that its obvious as the sun in midday. I cannot write because, it seems, as I am isolated from them, so am I isolated from literary practice. And to think that just after my graduation I have been hoping to improve my poetics, tch. So much so that when I imagine myself being with them in this or that event and the topic would be literature, I wouldn't be able to understand, much less keep up.
This year I don't remember writing anything with literary content, much less published on anything. Even managing to pass applications for workshops weren't done. I am not sure if this is to be blamed on my situation, or just my lack of organization and "talent," whatever that may be. I am thinking of being "invisible" from TWG people until I can write anything worthy of serious thought, but am not sure if this could be accomplished, or what would be accomplished by doing it.
As if being abused and degraded by my co-workers is not enough.
Fuck. I so hate this self doubt.
Was I really able to write?
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Lactic Legs
As some of you know, this semester started with me weighing 142 lbs. However, since my birthday, students and friends of mine have been treating me to a lot of stuff (beer, food, beer)and so that fairly OK weight has turned into a whopping 155 lbs. Before I get dismayed with my general health, I took things into my hands: Common-sense-less-carbohydrates-and-more-veggies diet and exercise.
My good friend, Manuel, has been bugging me to start working out again. I took the opportunity, and so for the past 2-3 weeks we have been into a sort of a gym-cardio-gym-cardio workout schedule. I go to his house thrice a week, run that semi-dreadful treadmill programs, stretch and work my ass off to shed some weight and tone my, uhm, physique. It's good, really, even though so many are the times that I can't reach my back to scrub it while bathing because of the pain and strainon my shoulders and arms.
Yesterday, a Saturday, is also included in our schedule. So I sweated my way out of that treadmill program # 3for 30 mins, stretched, and worked my way through bench presses, lat machine exercises, hammer and dumbell curls. After a gruelling 2-hour workout, I decided to warm down by doing some stretching again, shadow-boxing routines and working my legs.
I decided to do some boxing stuff by doing some hook-ducking footwork while carrying that 1.5kg medicine ball. The drill goes like this:
Your partner delivers slow hook punches, one at a time, while you carry that medicine ball with both hands in front of your chest. You duck a little and bend your knees a good deal to evade the hook while simultaneously working on a V-shaped footwork alternately to where your partner's punch came from. He steps back, then you two repeat the same procedure several times. 1 set consists of 40 repititions; 20 reps forward and 20 reps backward. I did 3 sets. Do the math.
I decided to do another set, a one-for-the-road thing. Then that's where the funny thing began.
When I bent my legs the first rep of that set, I froze. I can't move my legs, they were stiff and in GREAT PAIN. I think of lactic acids rushing to my leg muscles, busy overloaded trains jamming on a Dusseldorf station, people cursing the operators to their graves as if they just skinned babies.
Push 2 milligrams ativan. Stat!
My legs turned to wood, painful hardwood.
Wincing every second, I inched my way to a chair in a half-squat position. After taking some deep breaths and praying, I labored to stand up straight. Beads on my foreheads. Then I calmed myself, sat down, and massaged my thighs.
hehehehe... hehe...
Now I can't get up easily from bed, er.. bedding, since I sleep on the floor; can't quickly stand up from a chair, much less on a toilet seat; I canNOT freaking bend my knees without laughing painfully. Everytime my vastus lateralis flexes, fire shoots up to my gluteus maximus. Hopefully, on Tuesday, I can climb up the stairs to conduct my classes to room 301 of 2 different building in the campus.
This is insane, and I like this. I could use this stuff from time to time.
My good friend, Manuel, has been bugging me to start working out again. I took the opportunity, and so for the past 2-3 weeks we have been into a sort of a gym-cardio-gym-cardio workout schedule. I go to his house thrice a week, run that semi-dreadful treadmill programs, stretch and work my ass off to shed some weight and tone my, uhm, physique. It's good, really, even though so many are the times that I can't reach my back to scrub it while bathing because of the pain and strainon my shoulders and arms.
Yesterday, a Saturday, is also included in our schedule. So I sweated my way out of that treadmill program # 3for 30 mins, stretched, and worked my way through bench presses, lat machine exercises, hammer and dumbell curls. After a gruelling 2-hour workout, I decided to warm down by doing some stretching again, shadow-boxing routines and working my legs.
I decided to do some boxing stuff by doing some hook-ducking footwork while carrying that 1.5kg medicine ball. The drill goes like this:
Your partner delivers slow hook punches, one at a time, while you carry that medicine ball with both hands in front of your chest. You duck a little and bend your knees a good deal to evade the hook while simultaneously working on a V-shaped footwork alternately to where your partner's punch came from. He steps back, then you two repeat the same procedure several times. 1 set consists of 40 repititions; 20 reps forward and 20 reps backward. I did 3 sets. Do the math.
I decided to do another set, a one-for-the-road thing. Then that's where the funny thing began.
When I bent my legs the first rep of that set, I froze. I can't move my legs, they were stiff and in GREAT PAIN. I think of lactic acids rushing to my leg muscles, busy overloaded trains jamming on a Dusseldorf station, people cursing the operators to their graves as if they just skinned babies.
Push 2 milligrams ativan. Stat!
My legs turned to wood, painful hardwood.
Wincing every second, I inched my way to a chair in a half-squat position. After taking some deep breaths and praying, I labored to stand up straight. Beads on my foreheads. Then I calmed myself, sat down, and massaged my thighs.
hehehehe... hehe...
Now I can't get up easily from bed, er.. bedding, since I sleep on the floor; can't quickly stand up from a chair, much less on a toilet seat; I canNOT freaking bend my knees without laughing painfully. Everytime my vastus lateralis flexes, fire shoots up to my gluteus maximus. Hopefully, on Tuesday, I can climb up the stairs to conduct my classes to room 301 of 2 different building in the campus.
This is insane, and I like this. I could use this stuff from time to time.
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