Made for someone that matters.
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Stoikiy Muzhik
 |
| Colonel Abel and James Donovan in Bridge of Spies |
There is nothing new in my question. It has been brought up numerous times in books and movies. Just like in The Matrix Revolutions when Neo constantly gets back up. Agent Smith asks him why he keeps standing. Is it freedom, truth, peace, love? Neo finally replies because he chooses so. It is an exceptional answer. It is an answer that emphasizes the greatness of a subject that is man, the ability to choose. But it is not the kind of answer that I currently want to write. Right now, I want to write about something that in the perspective of spiritual enlightenment, goes a bit lower. I want to write about the reason that comes not from the inside, like the ability to choose, but starts from outside the person, something that deeply mesmerises him to go beyond his usual strength, something like an ancient overplayed concept, something like a simple love.
I have a friend that I haven’t seen in a while. There are many things about him, but one thing that stands out is his experience with a girl he loved. He once loved this girl so much that he kept chasing her for more that twelve years. Mind you, I never thought of him as a standing man. I would think that the reason that drove a standing man would have to be something greater than mere infatuation. It would have to be humanity, or peace, or something similar. It couldn’t be love.
 |
| John Keating in Dead Poets Society |
Still I think, the rough patches he must have gone through. Twelve years must not have come easy. Happiness in love comes and goes. It can’t be the only thing that sustains him. Then I think that perhaps he managed to go through because for him, the whole deal was who he was. There are things that have put me in pain and distress, and one of those things is having to do something that contradicts my honest being. Maybe it was harder for him denying his heart than going through the twelve years. Maybe at least when he’s with her, he is at peace within his own self, and everything makes sense. It is something that I can only suspect, remembering that when he’s with her he was the most vibrant and giving person I know.
Poetry, beauty, romance, love are what we stay alive for. For the Stoikiy Muzhik in my life, it's what kept him standing. It is what matters. I imagine if I had asked him to pick between living pain free without love or having the chance to pursue a great love, I would have known the answer.
My choice would have been the same.
Monday, November 2, 2015
A F*cking Toast
Here's a toast to the relentless stupidity and misguided romanticism this f*cking creature embodies!
F*ck you WALL-E!
F*ck you EVE!
F*ck you life!
And to quote another miserable character I happened to watch last night, Erica Barry,
"Do you know what this is? This is heartbroken."
Saturday, August 22, 2015
Save an Arrow
As I rest my eyes upon her
and present myself to her presence
Cupid appears before me
and lifts up his bow and arrow
You can go home today, I said
Save yourself an arrow, I continued
The thing you want for me
That thing I already am
*written on a train ride because of reasons
and present myself to her presence
Cupid appears before me
and lifts up his bow and arrow
You can go home today, I said
Save yourself an arrow, I continued
The thing you want for me
That thing I already am
*written on a train ride because of reasons
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Most Happiest
Today I had lunch with a friend. She was telling me about her love life when she said something about how she picked a significant other. She only picked someone whom she thought would make a good companion. She wasn’t bothered much about his status or wealth. A good companion... That was her criterion.
There’s nothing revolutionary about the above paragraph. However, like most old, overused ideas, its sense of weight only grows larger as I grow older. I too, can’t agree more. A good companion... That is also what I’m looking for.
Being understood is a great pleasure for me too. And also of course, if I may add, understanding someone. Perhaps it’s because secretly, I’m afraid of loneliness. Perhaps it’s because like the thinking behind The Celestine Prophecy, I’m an incomplete person, looking for completeness in the soul of others, making it some kind of a defect that I have.
I don’t know.
Although, sometimes I think it’s simply because deep down, I believe that happiness doesn’t mean a thing unless it is shared.
I don’t like people in general, so that is an odd thing for me to say. I’m a quiet extrovert though, so it kinda makes sense. And although I’ve often times said that I hated people, it amazes me that almost all my fondest memories always involve someone. May it be a moment with friends or lovers, I’m happiest when I’m with someone. It’s funny.
When the film Into the Wild was released, my friend warned me not to watch it. I had always shown a tendency of doing things alone that he was afraid it would make me worse. I think he was dead wrong. The film was about a young man who was disgusted by people and the social structure and so lived his life in the wild in isolation. It didn’t work out for him. His supplies ran out and he was forced to eat plants, accidentally eating the poisonous one. In the last moment of his life, he wrote his realization in his book, “Happiness only real when shared.”
I guess the theme resonates in a lot of hearts, because a lot of films seem to adopt it. After having a great success without the presence of his wife, Jerry Maguire said, “Our little company had a good night tonight. A really big night. But it wasn't complete, it wasn't nearly close to being in the same vicinity as complete, because I couldn't share it with you. I couldn't hear your voice, or laugh about it with you.” Even Barney Stinson of How I Met Your Mother said, “Whatever you do in this life, it’s not legendary unless your friends are there to see it.”
I’ve always wanted someone. I guess I’m one of those miserable people who were born to share. There’s hardly anything grander for me than a true and honest connection. It's a must have for me. We may come into this world alone and leave it alone, but I think... it doesn't always have to be that way.
There’s nothing revolutionary about the above paragraph. However, like most old, overused ideas, its sense of weight only grows larger as I grow older. I too, can’t agree more. A good companion... That is also what I’m looking for.
When I wrote Encounters, I was talking about how although it doesn’t seem likely, people do meet and connect. It is this kind of bond that I crave, a relationship where you truly see and be seen. I remember when Patrick Jane, the protagonist of the series The Mentalist, spent his days in seclusion somewhere in Central America, he had no one to talk to. Everyone was speaking Spanish, a language he’s still adopting. One day, he met a woman at the beach. She was an American. Patrick Jane eagerly tried to start a conversation with her, anything he could think of. It had been a long time since he talked in English and he missed it. “Being understood is an underrated pleasure,” he said in a reflective tone.
Being understood is a great pleasure for me too. And also of course, if I may add, understanding someone. Perhaps it’s because secretly, I’m afraid of loneliness. Perhaps it’s because like the thinking behind The Celestine Prophecy, I’m an incomplete person, looking for completeness in the soul of others, making it some kind of a defect that I have.
I don’t know.
Although, sometimes I think it’s simply because deep down, I believe that happiness doesn’t mean a thing unless it is shared.
I don’t like people in general, so that is an odd thing for me to say. I’m a quiet extrovert though, so it kinda makes sense. And although I’ve often times said that I hated people, it amazes me that almost all my fondest memories always involve someone. May it be a moment with friends or lovers, I’m happiest when I’m with someone. It’s funny.
When the film Into the Wild was released, my friend warned me not to watch it. I had always shown a tendency of doing things alone that he was afraid it would make me worse. I think he was dead wrong. The film was about a young man who was disgusted by people and the social structure and so lived his life in the wild in isolation. It didn’t work out for him. His supplies ran out and he was forced to eat plants, accidentally eating the poisonous one. In the last moment of his life, he wrote his realization in his book, “Happiness only real when shared.”
I guess the theme resonates in a lot of hearts, because a lot of films seem to adopt it. After having a great success without the presence of his wife, Jerry Maguire said, “Our little company had a good night tonight. A really big night. But it wasn't complete, it wasn't nearly close to being in the same vicinity as complete, because I couldn't share it with you. I couldn't hear your voice, or laugh about it with you.” Even Barney Stinson of How I Met Your Mother said, “Whatever you do in this life, it’s not legendary unless your friends are there to see it.”
I’ve always wanted someone. I guess I’m one of those miserable people who were born to share. There’s hardly anything grander for me than a true and honest connection. It's a must have for me. We may come into this world alone and leave it alone, but I think... it doesn't always have to be that way.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
Slip vs. Skip
While most people may lose some sleep over contemplation on grave matters, Sleeping Sixty lost hers because she’s busy pondering the difference between the word slip and skip.
Sleeping Sixty is a 28 year old woman with the enthusiasm of an 18 year old and gullibility of an 8 year old. She is an expert snoozer and is always on the six of all things tasty, hence the name Sleeping Sixty (so sixty is not how much she weighs). Her mind is sadly clouded with paraphasia, a type of language output error. That means she can say cupang (hickey) while what she means is cuping (lobe), two very different things. She can also say towel or milk while in fact she’s trying to say antibiotics, proving the severity of her condition. I once read her message in horror when we were talking about a spirit haunting the laboratory. She told me to whisper her regards into the apparition’s dens caninus (fang) when she really meant auricula (ear). I, for one, certainly don’t want to be anywhere near the ghost, let alone her fangs.
It is not strange then to have Sleeping Sixty awake in the middle of the night thinking about slip vs. skip. She knew that both words were very different, yet she couldn’t figure out why they felt eerily similar. She tried to come up with different examples on how both words could be used interchangeably, but ended up empty handed. Sentences like “We just skip this night” vs. “We just slip this night” or “The meat slipped between her teeth” and “The meat skipped between her teeth” crossed her mind but they just didn’t work.
I, who happened to be an innocent bystander messaging her at the time, was also unenthusiastically dragged into the problem. Slip usually means “to fall” (she slips over the puddle of water, the profit slips in November) or “to move quietly” (he slips through the night). Skip, on the other hand, usually means “to hop” (he skips on the road when he is happy) or “to omit” (she skips breakfast). In a glance, there’s really nothing in common about the two, yet I too secretly felt what Sleeping Sixty felt. There’s a sense of similarity between the words.
It wasn’t until the next day that I found out an example where the two words could actually be used interchangeably. It is for describing the word attention. For instance, "The matter slipped my attention" vs. "The matter skipped my attention." In it, the word slip and skip may have different meanings (“to move [out] quietly” vs. “to omit”) but the end result is the same. Both sentences mean that one matter is devoid of my attention.
Sleeping Sixty turned out to be right. There are times when the words bring out the same meaning. Another example, although basically the same, is for describing the word mind. For instance, "Sleeping Sixty rarely slips my mind" vs. "Sleeping Sixty rarely skips my mind." It’s a terrible example, I know, but you’ve got the point.
Sleeping Sixty is a 28 year old woman with the enthusiasm of an 18 year old and gullibility of an 8 year old. She is an expert snoozer and is always on the six of all things tasty, hence the name Sleeping Sixty (so sixty is not how much she weighs). Her mind is sadly clouded with paraphasia, a type of language output error. That means she can say cupang (hickey) while what she means is cuping (lobe), two very different things. She can also say towel or milk while in fact she’s trying to say antibiotics, proving the severity of her condition. I once read her message in horror when we were talking about a spirit haunting the laboratory. She told me to whisper her regards into the apparition’s dens caninus (fang) when she really meant auricula (ear). I, for one, certainly don’t want to be anywhere near the ghost, let alone her fangs.
It is not strange then to have Sleeping Sixty awake in the middle of the night thinking about slip vs. skip. She knew that both words were very different, yet she couldn’t figure out why they felt eerily similar. She tried to come up with different examples on how both words could be used interchangeably, but ended up empty handed. Sentences like “We just skip this night” vs. “We just slip this night” or “The meat slipped between her teeth” and “The meat skipped between her teeth” crossed her mind but they just didn’t work.
I, who happened to be an innocent bystander messaging her at the time, was also unenthusiastically dragged into the problem. Slip usually means “to fall” (she slips over the puddle of water, the profit slips in November) or “to move quietly” (he slips through the night). Skip, on the other hand, usually means “to hop” (he skips on the road when he is happy) or “to omit” (she skips breakfast). In a glance, there’s really nothing in common about the two, yet I too secretly felt what Sleeping Sixty felt. There’s a sense of similarity between the words.
It wasn’t until the next day that I found out an example where the two words could actually be used interchangeably. It is for describing the word attention. For instance, "The matter slipped my attention" vs. "The matter skipped my attention." In it, the word slip and skip may have different meanings (“to move [out] quietly” vs. “to omit”) but the end result is the same. Both sentences mean that one matter is devoid of my attention.
Sleeping Sixty turned out to be right. There are times when the words bring out the same meaning. Another example, although basically the same, is for describing the word mind. For instance, "Sleeping Sixty rarely slips my mind" vs. "Sleeping Sixty rarely skips my mind." It’s a terrible example, I know, but you’ve got the point.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Mad Max: Fury Road, 'the' Eye Candy
Mad Max; Fury Road is an eye candy so sweet, it's deemed to give you diabetes. It has one of the simplest plots in a movie: let's take our heroes in a ride, race them with baddies, and see what happens. But the same seemingly senseless plot acts as a plate to serve what it really aims, a full-time visual spectacle.
It has diverse gimmicky characters, from the horrendous ventilator-assisted grandpa, to the wacky fiery guitarist, and finally to the war-cyclist grandmas. It's as if all the characters in Mortal Kombat, or Kill Bill, or The Raid decided to do a destructive car chase.
And the car chase, oh my... There were trucks, armored cars, motorcycles, god-knows-what scrapped vehicles, hooks, chains, poles, and obviously spilled gasoline. Try imagine them in one picture, and that's what you get.
Sometimes there is meat hidden in the dressing, but in Mad Max: Fury Road, the main course 'is' the dressing. And it is a beautiful one. In the midst of movies with hidden meanings and heavy plot, this is a welcome break. Sometimes all we need is a movie where you can scream, "Holy sh*t!"
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Sunday, May 3, 2015
Natuna: A Brief Account on Accidents
Three things happened to me while I was in Natuna. I didn’t lose my life, I met an old man, and I lost something dear. All of them involved accidents. Only one is still giving me aches. Two I will write.
The first case is when my life failed to escape me. It had something to do with a car, stumbling backwards, out of control, and down a hill. The engine was dead and the brake was loose. On the car’s right and behind was a cliff. After that, it was a descend of several hundred feet.
There were five of us. We were going out. I remember my glasses were thrown out of the car through the open window. I remember thinking that that was it.
And I remember the car finally stopped before plunging into the ravine.
The accident left us with a broken nose, a torn up upper lip, four disoriented people, and one badass. The badass wasn’t me. It was the first time my legs couldn’t stop trembling, something that I thought had something to do with the steep ground but turned out to be purely hormonal. I was filled with adrenaline.
So no, the badass wasn’t me. The badass was a woman-friend, someone who could see and examine a new patient while we were still admitted to the emergency room, despite the presence of other active-duty doctors, someone who turned out having a habit of snoring on the floor like an exhausted Viking after a raid, and someone who after that said sleep, rose full alert like a Viking on raid day. And she didn’t get hurt in the accident either, which hinted her Vikingly constitution (I’m sorry for the references, I’m hooked with the History Channel show).
Anyway, the experience should count as a near death experience. And as it should, it made me grateful to be alive. It got me to be more cautious, though. I had always been a naive-everything-will-turn-out-fine kind of person. But after the event, even the view of brewing rain before a flight disturbed me. Not to the point of Final Destination visions, but still disturbing. It is a good disturbance I think. It will keep me from doing anything stupid.
The second case didn’t really involve an accident in the sense of the vehicular one. It was only a thing that happened by chance. We (the same culprits involved with the car crash) were visiting a beautiful spot on the beach that had immense round stones scattered around. Out of nowhere, out of darkness, we were greeted by an old man. This is not a ghost story and he was certainly not a ghost. We just didn’t see him because he was standing on a lower level. He turned out to be the owner of the place who was by chance visiting to inspect the place.
He showed us around and told us his visions about the place, what he wanted to do to make it better. I loved hearing what he had to say. I didn’t know it then but now I think I liked his stories because he represented what I had wanted in life. He was working a project he loved by heart, he seemed to love his wife, and he was filled with gratitude and respect for the realities. He looked like an idealist and yet he looked content. It almost seemed contradictory, the idealism and the real world. But he seemed to pull it through. I want that. I do.
The third case doesn’t have anything to do with vehicles but rather with chances too. It is also the one with aches. However, as I said above, it is a story for another time.
In short, Natuna was great. It’s got its drawbacks but generally it was good. I like how you don’t need to go far to find natural landscapes. I like how everything goes pitch black in the night. I like how the place is not packed with people. I even like how I could see the blue ocean line behind my lodge, peeking through the tight branches of trees. Although of course, after the Viking woman told me that it was actually someone’s blue-colored roof, the view had been a turn-off.
Still, I’m grateful.
Glad I got to experience everything.
I just wish I didn’t have all these deadlines choking me the minute I got back.
The first case is when my life failed to escape me. It had something to do with a car, stumbling backwards, out of control, and down a hill. The engine was dead and the brake was loose. On the car’s right and behind was a cliff. After that, it was a descend of several hundred feet.
There were five of us. We were going out. I remember my glasses were thrown out of the car through the open window. I remember thinking that that was it.
And I remember the car finally stopped before plunging into the ravine.
 |
| Minutes before the crash |
The accident left us with a broken nose, a torn up upper lip, four disoriented people, and one badass. The badass wasn’t me. It was the first time my legs couldn’t stop trembling, something that I thought had something to do with the steep ground but turned out to be purely hormonal. I was filled with adrenaline.
So no, the badass wasn’t me. The badass was a woman-friend, someone who could see and examine a new patient while we were still admitted to the emergency room, despite the presence of other active-duty doctors, someone who turned out having a habit of snoring on the floor like an exhausted Viking after a raid, and someone who after that said sleep, rose full alert like a Viking on raid day. And she didn’t get hurt in the accident either, which hinted her Vikingly constitution (I’m sorry for the references, I’m hooked with the History Channel show).
Anyway, the experience should count as a near death experience. And as it should, it made me grateful to be alive. It got me to be more cautious, though. I had always been a naive-everything-will-turn-out-fine kind of person. But after the event, even the view of brewing rain before a flight disturbed me. Not to the point of Final Destination visions, but still disturbing. It is a good disturbance I think. It will keep me from doing anything stupid.
The second case didn’t really involve an accident in the sense of the vehicular one. It was only a thing that happened by chance. We (the same culprits involved with the car crash) were visiting a beautiful spot on the beach that had immense round stones scattered around. Out of nowhere, out of darkness, we were greeted by an old man. This is not a ghost story and he was certainly not a ghost. We just didn’t see him because he was standing on a lower level. He turned out to be the owner of the place who was by chance visiting to inspect the place.
 |
| The old man |
He showed us around and told us his visions about the place, what he wanted to do to make it better. I loved hearing what he had to say. I didn’t know it then but now I think I liked his stories because he represented what I had wanted in life. He was working a project he loved by heart, he seemed to love his wife, and he was filled with gratitude and respect for the realities. He looked like an idealist and yet he looked content. It almost seemed contradictory, the idealism and the real world. But he seemed to pull it through. I want that. I do.
The third case doesn’t have anything to do with vehicles but rather with chances too. It is also the one with aches. However, as I said above, it is a story for another time.
In short, Natuna was great. It’s got its drawbacks but generally it was good. I like how you don’t need to go far to find natural landscapes. I like how everything goes pitch black in the night. I like how the place is not packed with people. I even like how I could see the blue ocean line behind my lodge, peeking through the tight branches of trees. Although of course, after the Viking woman told me that it was actually someone’s blue-colored roof, the view had been a turn-off.
Still, I’m grateful.
Glad I got to experience everything.
I just wish I didn’t have all these deadlines choking me the minute I got back.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
The Burning Meadow
The meadow was on fire. Flames started abruptly, anywhere, in various patches. Their color wasn’t yellow, it was white. The meadow had several stones laid down on it, forming a path and a small sitting area. Flames would form on the grass between the stones, but never on the stones themselves. The sky was dark, and everything was tinted in blue.
I ran as fast as I could, collecting my items scattered across the grass. The grass was green, bluish green with the light, but yet I thought to myself, “This may be an event of spontaneous combustion considering how dry the plants are.” I picked up my laptop cable which was already in a small flame. I panically tried to extinguish it by tapping the cable to the ground. “I hope it’s not broken,” I said to myself. I couldn’t find my laptop.
Suddenly I noticed a soldier in the viccinity. That soldier again, I had met him before. His uniform indicated he was a World War II soldier. The soldier was going to a log cabin that protruded from the hill. The door was large and round, and it had red and blue checkered pattern on it. The soldier knocked the door hardly, but nothing happened. It stayed shut. Somehow I knew, he was looking for his lover.
The log was above my level area. So there was nothing I could do. I wasn’t permitted to go inside yet. To open it, one had to acquire the key from the gnomes who lived in the next cabin. The cabin was just like the first, but less colorful. It was the cabin I was headed to, all running and panicking. I wanted to put my burned items there before I searched for more.
The soldier had to know that the gnomes in my cabin held the key, because after failing, he went straight to it. He arrived before I did, and knocked the round door hardly. It opened, and showed that its inside was divided into two levels, a higher half of circle and a lower one. A gnome was standing on the higher half. To my surprise, he was large, maybe even larger than me. He’s just shaped like an ordinary gnome. He wore long pants with straps and a shirt with long sleeves and vertical stripes. His clothes looked old, and they looked like something a lumberjack would wear in children’s stories.
The gnome parted his mouth but didn’t produce any sound. Perhaps he was about to say something to the new guest before the soldier stopped him. The soldier had pulled out his small caliber gun and put it up, right in front of the gnome’s face. “Where is the crystal key?” he asked. “I need to find my girl!”
I ran as fast as I could, collecting my items scattered across the grass. The grass was green, bluish green with the light, but yet I thought to myself, “This may be an event of spontaneous combustion considering how dry the plants are.” I picked up my laptop cable which was already in a small flame. I panically tried to extinguish it by tapping the cable to the ground. “I hope it’s not broken,” I said to myself. I couldn’t find my laptop.
Suddenly I noticed a soldier in the viccinity. That soldier again, I had met him before. His uniform indicated he was a World War II soldier. The soldier was going to a log cabin that protruded from the hill. The door was large and round, and it had red and blue checkered pattern on it. The soldier knocked the door hardly, but nothing happened. It stayed shut. Somehow I knew, he was looking for his lover.
The log was above my level area. So there was nothing I could do. I wasn’t permitted to go inside yet. To open it, one had to acquire the key from the gnomes who lived in the next cabin. The cabin was just like the first, but less colorful. It was the cabin I was headed to, all running and panicking. I wanted to put my burned items there before I searched for more.
The soldier had to know that the gnomes in my cabin held the key, because after failing, he went straight to it. He arrived before I did, and knocked the round door hardly. It opened, and showed that its inside was divided into two levels, a higher half of circle and a lower one. A gnome was standing on the higher half. To my surprise, he was large, maybe even larger than me. He’s just shaped like an ordinary gnome. He wore long pants with straps and a shirt with long sleeves and vertical stripes. His clothes looked old, and they looked like something a lumberjack would wear in children’s stories.
The gnome parted his mouth but didn’t produce any sound. Perhaps he was about to say something to the new guest before the soldier stopped him. The soldier had pulled out his small caliber gun and put it up, right in front of the gnome’s face. “Where is the crystal key?” he asked. “I need to find my girl!”
-April 18th, 2015-
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Love Me Hardly
In the light of Fifty Shades of Grey movie coming out, I had a talk about sadomasochism with a girl-friend. She had a thing with sadomasochism videos and I wanted to know what the practice truly meant, at least for her. The only thing I knew at the time was that it meant a love for inflicting/receiving pain in a sexual activity. However, what she revealed next got me thinking.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)