Entries for June, 2010


June 1, 2010


deathcabforcutie


empathy

 

It's 4:40 in the AM and I told myself I'd take a break from deciphering Kant to cut my neurons some slack and do something pointless. Naturally, I turned to Facebook. Then, wishing to regain mental consciousness, I ambled for my iPod for some e-book reading.

 

Leo Tolstoy is the kind of writer that flourishes in making connections. I've been reading Anna Karenina in disjointed sittings for some time now, which can hardly be blamed on just lack on time simply because it is freakishly long. What felt at first like a vain and stumbling attempt to expand my intellectual reach began to steady into a constant curiosity for what's coming next; I catch myself more times than I should sneaking some chapters into the day now.

Anyway, the feeling I've been getting recently from reading the novel is akin to that of--who'da thought--learning to whistle. I've been trying to learn how ever since I can remember (tell me if you know someone who hasn't) from people's descriptions of how to do it. Just now though, after a long night of alternating between Philosophy, a really good book, prolonged staring, and subconsciously resuming my attempts at whistling, it occurred to me no one's really tried describing to me the feeling of it. Interpreting the experience and the transition from air movement to sound. Assuming that's possible.

I'm still as clueless about it as I was 10 years ago despite my brothers' disgruntled ventures at teaching--but just because it's yet an alien sensation, doesn't mean I'm incapable of familiarizing with it when someone illustrates it well enough and leaves me to figure out the rest.

 

Tolstoy would probably reap great success in putting up a whistling school, just because he does this (describe, not whistle) so effortlessly. And it isn't only in imparting knowledge on things I know absolutely nothing about that he gets on so well. Reading his work made me realize learning something new has as much significance as recognizing that which you forgot you knew--if that makes sense.

Curious about being swayed into yearning for the poor peasant life? Want sympathy for the desire of holiness that is in a losing battle with the human whim? Pick up Anna Karenina

 

 

So, anyone care to have a go? (No going on about tucking your tongue behind the lower teeth, please.)

 

 


deathcabforcutie
roadkilled at 04:39 AM












June 4, 2010


deathcabforcutie


turn and face the strain

 

Last Saturday marked the first year passing since our move to the True North (strong and free!).

 

I'm not very good at remembering things like that... anniversaries, milestones, events, what have you. My own birthday sneaks up on me sometimes. It was hard, though, to ignore what last Saturday's occasion meant for me as both an immigrant and as a person still trying to figure things out (whatever that phrase may mean) because of some queer timing.

You know larger Forces are at work when this 1-year anniversary comes up during a long-awaited reunion, and it did strike me as such when I realized the coincidence. Some of my closest cousins visited from Manila for two weeks, an awfully bizarre time from when they emerged from customs until our moseying around at departure, trying to delay the inevitable. This was a family that I'd grown up with, cousins privy to nearly the whole spectrum of my personality. They were there during the buck teeth, during wild hysterics in Christmas presentations, during my strange fixation with the role of CEO playing office...

It couldn't be helped that in every place we brought them to it was always at the back of my head to wonder about what they're witnessing now. Not the wet, new land the ___-es are in, but what this wet, new land has done for (or to) the ___-es. Here was a chance to step back from my tired point-of-view and survey things with new eyes, new appreciation. It put forward the very question of how much I might've changed in the year we were apart.

 

A friend asked me the same thing on my pseudo-birthday. How different did I feel since the time I turned 19?

So many valid answers, but I gave none. At the time, all I could think of were changes of adaptation, those I necessarily had to go through to find my footing in the new setting. What I felt he was asking for though were changes of resolve, those from lessons learned and from genuine knowledge of self, which I felt I didn't have.

 

 

The last two weeks forcefully brought up those changes of adaptation to mind. I could now navigate the public transportation system with relative ease. I can manage at least some small talk. I walk faster. I am now able to go through the motions of those that brought us around last year.

But what kind of changes have I gained from resolve?

 

This is a list I'll be adding to as I go along figuring them out.

 

 

 

  1. Realized I'm the only thing keeping me from my God.
  2. Begrudgingly admitted to myself that I do not know anything. At all.
  3. Stopped caring for middle ground. Acknowledged there's always a side that needs to be picked.
  4. Can almost tangibly feel my limits (in all of its aspects: mentally, physically, emotionally, etc.). A terrifying idea that gives me the willies.
  5. Takes greater effort (with varying degrees of success) to be more honest to others and to self.

 

 

 

 

(Note to self: Noticed some changes in the cousins too, of course, but was immensely glad that in them, I can always be home again. Although, I'm wary to use the word "home" anymore... but that's for another time.)

 

 


deathcabforcutie
roadkilled at 05:13 AM












June 12, 2010


deathcabforcutie


epicurious

 

I'm still reeling from a fiction novel* I just finished that depicted the rise of a wizard born with extraordinary powers. It's a story set in an alternate universe, in a world with its own geography, cultures... one where dragons exist and talk and where each aspect--living and non-living--had a name (in the Language of the Creation) unique to itself that didn't just serve the function of naming it, but in a way was the named itself.

I find this a very intriguing idea which I'd totally want to look into. Not today, though.

The author wrote the book in a very epic style--the genre epic, not "epic" used in everyday speech today. Despite the radically different setting, it still sort of mimicked the Pre-Columbian period of our history and made use of cultural snippets of various races of the time, adjusting for how it would be if magic was possible. The hero is an epic hero in every sense of the term, and right from the beginning he already has the inborn power that sets him apart from all the rest. After a cathartic event, changing him for life, he is practically flawless (or with at least permissible flaws). Songs are made in his name after certain victories; every turn of chapter had the author reminding us of his eventual greatness, basically spoiling the uncertainty with shameless praise.

You still bite your nails to the end, though, simply because... it's epic.

 

Of course, the central presence of magic naturally made me think of "Harry Potter" and many of the elements of its own hero. I remember in 5th grade when the little Harry Potter fan club I was in (yes, you read that right; surprise, surprise) was gravely deliberating the possibility that Book 7 might be retitled "Ron Weasley" from the continuous brushes of death Harry barely lived through; we were worried Rowling would run out of excuses for why Harry never dies.

Harry isn't perfect. He goes through an unattractive angry phase, his magical prowess is nearly average, he never would've (SPOILER ALERT) defeated the Dark Lord if not for the help of his family, friends, and allies--not to mention truckloads of luck--yet he makes for a very compelling hero. And it isn't hard to see why. Harry doesn't have a lot to work with except his gnarly broom-flying skills, but he has a heart of courage which sees him through to his seemingly final moments.

 

It made me think of how Courage is treated for its value these days. I mean, okay, people would rather be brave than cowardly, but if you could choose from a list of traits to be imbued in your core, or perhaps answer a JoHaRi window, would Courage be among your picks?

 

 

We all need a certain amount of courage to get through the choices we make everyday, to be sure. But I'm talking about Courage in its most profound (although not necessarily grandiose) sense. Things that happen to these heroes in epic tales hardly find their way into real people's lives anymore; as a passing thought one knows which is the courageous path to follow, but does that mean one would follow it when they least expect that high-stakes situation?

In theory, yes I would like to (SPOILER ALERT) knowingly walk to my death in the Forbidden Forest as the sacrificial lamb if my friends' lives depended on it. But I'm not sure if I actually would.

 

 

 

Here's to hoping.

 

 

 

* "A Wizard of Earthsea" by Ursula Le Guin. Great read. One of the many I'm juggling with stuff I really do need to read.

 


deathcabforcutie
roadkilled at 07:05 AM












June 15, 2010


deathcabforcutie


serial time killer

 

I'm at the IK Barber library discreetly (at least, I think so) side-eyeing the activity in the immediate perimeter. I don't like studying at Barber. It's not bad... the building's very pretty; there's just always this feeling of... superficiality I get when I sit down and try to concentrate. Weird, right? It's not the people, I'm sure they're sincerely hacking away at their academic duties like the good, scholarly individuals they seem to be. Maybe I'm just not used to people seeing me study (haha).

 

Meanwhile, I look out the spanning windows and the angle from the 3rd floor tricks me into thinking there's a ginormous tree growing on the lawn outside. There's probably four of them, if I look down and count the trunks. Green leaves everywhere, thronged and swarming among branches bobbing in the wind. It looks like they're doing little jazz hands up in the very tops. Sheeny, like snake scales.

 

 

Better look for something else to gawk at; the girl by the window is starting to fidget something fierce.

 

The trees remind me of the times I used to climb one in our old backyard during summers to pick mangoes. And of a recent visit to the park when I went out for a jog on a whim. Went a few rounds around the track oval but strayed off to hunt down a water fountain, and stumbling back decided I just had to lie down the fantastically wide, manicured field for a few minutes. Yes, it was probably bad for the heart and circulation. Yes, there could've been geese poop between blades of grass for all I knew. Yes, I was begging to be knocked out by a cricket ball from the game a hundred meters off. It felt nice to risk them all for a few minutes.

 

I missed open fields, and the shameless lack of inhibition of the sun in the old country (HAHA). The sweat on my face and neck was baking. I had my iPod on. Bill Doggett's Honky Tonk came up and never did I expect gritty blues riffs and soil and grass and sky to all together make as much sense as they did.

 

It's really unfortunate I haven't had the time to see nature in its true... well, nature. I never have, and really, I probably never will. And that's fine with me. If there were ever a strip of forest or a square meter of bogland or even a little bit of iceberg on this planet that has never been touched by human hands, I'd like to keep it that way.

Urban nature is nature, still. I'm immensely happy I get to appreciate the very life that courses through dandelions growing through cracks in the pavement. Can you grow through a crack in the pavement? Didn't think so.

 

 

I'm studying outside the next opportunity I get. Even I wouldn't sit on wet grass in my jeans.

 

 


deathcabforcutie
roadkilled at 02:55 PM











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