Sure I had my fair share of butterflies in the tummy way back my teenybopper days. I had my first serious crush (and I call it serious because it was rather long-term) in grade 5. I remember trying to hide stupid smiles when our eyes accidentally meet. I recall feigning nonchalance after receiving my first Valentine’s gift, attempting to sound ladylike cool whenever he called on the phone, finding excuses to go to the cafeteria (even though I had baon) just so I could bump into him, and above all trying to deny to death that I was actually crushing! Aaaah, kapag tumibok nga naman ang puso. Or puso nga ba? But I call it young unadulterated affections. I wouldn’t dare call it love to avoid self-incrimination. It was just a simple throb of the heart – or rather, the hypothalamus. Or a plain surge of hormones. We had no magazines to drool over boys back in grade school; sweat-laden, pigtail-pulling creatures were sooo not drool-worthy. There was nothing to try to legitimize (and encourage in order to exploit) too much attention to the XY specie. Not that noticing them is bad; it’s natural! It’s normal! Hurrah, hurrah. You’re abnormal if you haven’t felt a teeny-weeny bit of kilig. But the danger of too much spells fixation that’s out of all proportion.
Earlier this week, I had a rather hearty lunch with some girl friends at Banapple (highly recommended, by the way). It was too hearty in fact that we had to deliberately pause for breaks before desserts. One friend grabbed a Candy magazine and gave a brief shriek after seeing some Jackson kid on the cover. Then there was Nick Jonas on the other side; another friend seated next to me announced her distaste for the other Jonas brother (Joe, I think) to which I professed my disinterest to those young lads because I personally would rather drool over the oldies RDJ, Hugh Jackman, Gerald Butler and the likes. Call me old school, I wouldn’t mind. So we went into girl talk, but when my friend browsed through the pages, I noticed – and with utter amazement – that majority of the folios served to hail and highlight pictures, profiles and juicy curios of… tandarararan… BOYS. And more boys. Young men, school boys, cute and pa-cute boys, pretty boys, local biz boys, Hollywood boys, random boys, Justine Bieber wannabes, Jonases, and even all-grown-up-Peter-Pan-Jeremy-Sumpter – NAME IT. They all grace the insides of the glossy publication. This was the publication I once enjoyed for its fashion advices and I-so-can-totally-relate teen stories. Whut! Have I been missing out on the youth too much? As far as I can remember, I’m just three years sailing away from teenage life.
Don’t get me wrong, I totally understand the process of puberty. I have nothing against the opposite sex ‘coz I’m looking forward to ending up with one for life. During my time, which was not so long ago (and I’m not playing pretend here), those magazines always had pages (sometimes, centerfold) that featured ‘ze crush-worthy. So then…what’s your problem, dudette???
Well, I totally get it but I don’t totally dig it.
What I don’t dig is how indulgent and exploitative print media can become in terms of teenage mania. And teen magazines are just one of the many serious letdowns nowadays. Adult publications (i.e., those debasing the female as object of lust and those that market superficial beauty), for a lack of a politically correct term, are becoming hard to stomach. You can blame my ego for all this bashing, but I will definitely drive my point.
In a way, I am generalizing and not generalizing. I’m not singling out any magazine because the trend is manifest in other forms of media too. And the imminent menace of this is reflected in ways more than one. Children are advancing to the stage of premature adulthood with the way they pick their clothes, the way they learn expletives at an early age, the way they’d rather spend weekends in front of the computer than outdoors, the way they scurry to get into relationships, and the way they rush in where angels fear to tread.
Actually, that single observation led to a lot of realizations. You can easily connect the dots from a starting point. The youth are corruptible and school, media, the family, society and other institutions have respective prerogatives to tackle this fact. Either they allow for aggravation of worsening worldviews of the youth or rectify the crooked (and hiding in the guise of liberalism) stance of the status quo.
So obviously, this entry is no tribute to the male specie. It’s another violent musing. Hate me or love me, but seriously, I worry what kind of generation we might be raising. Don’t you?
Why ditch it? It’s a no-brainer, actually. First let me give it its due. In fairness to the genius that is Facebook, it had been a trusty go-to pal during episodes of mental and emotional overdrive. But – and here comes the heartbreak – it has been messing with my discipline.
Hence, if you can't beat it, ditch it.
No more cathartic interludes to disclose thoughts and emotions.
No more telling the whole world whatnots.
No more rant and rage stats.
No more virtual dialogues, however enjoyable and engaging.
No more tags.
No more virtual causes to support; after all, there are real ones that merit more credit dontchathink?
No more stalking the Dean – ooops.
No more eerie messages from incognitos.
No more unsolicited friend requests.
And most of all, no more neurosis triggers! Can I hear a huzzah!?
BUT. BUT. BUT. Hold your laments and judgments.
This is just pro tempore, after all. I’m no social goner just yet.
So, the general query: Why chastise thyself? Suffice it to say, it’s all done in good faith. :-)
Because the idea deserves it.
It wasn’t heart-stopping, nor was it jaw-dropping. I presume it not as a brainchild, pilot and novel, but as awe to the psyche, remindful to it of what it can conceive…and achieve. The reality of the idea is here.
No, this is not a movie review. Don't expect it here. Those are rendered for purely academic purposes on my part. But this is a reflection, a musing of what my subconscious might have had already came across. This is rumination – one among many daily – of the human psyche. I shall merely state the obvious.
Dreams frequent me. They serve different purposes – some I know not what – but they do. Lately, my dreams haven’t been saccharine, like living in a fantasy world. Some have been disconcerting, the kind that probably merit construal. But most leave me retrieving, musing, conceiving. I’ve tried on my own to interpret, trying to crack the shell, make sense of the familiar unfamiliarity, of the seeming reverie. I’ve had dream within dreams, semi-reality within the reality of sleep. Dreams are an escape to the weary idealist, a nightmare to the content realist, a surprising projection of inmost desires. But dreams are an instrument of communication. The movie illustrated this by insinuating that the most genius form of manipulation is traversing the psyche, twisting it and engraving the idea without the slightest hint of doing so. True enough, it is mind-blowing to conceive of inception in dreams – much more being stuck in limbo. You never know when the dream ever started, or if they’ll ever end. Indeed, power is attributable – and very highly, almost utterly – to the mind. It is a phenomenon that warrants some marvel. And so, I marvel.
I write because I marvel. I write because I have an idea. But this is not inception. I’m sure it is no brainchild, for others might have beat me into it centuries long gone. I write to reinforce an idea, to affirm that it crossed me – once, twice, thrice in my reality. But this is a splitsecond hurrah. ‘Coz this is my own little input.
What awes me most is inception.
It struck me.
An event that is a beginning.
The inception is the beginning; it is also the end.
If you think Law is IT for me, you’re mistaken. Don’t be fooled with my previous write-ups, both hailing and ranting about the learned profession. Law is just like pre-school, ya know, to reaching my ACTUAL dreams and ambitions. Here’s a sneak peek of what I’m REALLY going to be when I grow up:
BALLERINA. ‘Coz I love ‘em skintight leotards and tutus. But seriously. Four years of ballet cut short to turn me into a geek of some sort. When I got to see prima ballerina Liza Macuja perform in Swan Lake and in the flesh with all those other Russian danseuses, I just knew it. I envisioned myself in the center stage…until my mom burst my bubble in fifth grade when she decided on my behalf that ballet is mere superfluity to hardcore academics. So, I wonder if I can give it another shot…only that my flexibility powers seem to be all poofed out now. I can’t even do a decent split.
SHRINK. If I weren’t torturing myself reading SCRA and digesting the sometimes indigestible constitutional, civil, criminal and what-have-you cases, I’d be all the same torturing myself (at least in a close to masochistic way bwahaha) trying to understand the abstraction that is the mind. But what the hey?! Why would I want to understand how the brain works? Well, that’s a secret I won’t tell – at least not in public cyberspace. And please, no, it’s not out of some nerdy curiosity. I’m no nerd, UGH.
SWIMMER. Because h2o is pure love. And who can resist the smell of chlorine and sunscreen? Not me, dude, not moi. And the beach, of course, which I miss direly!!! Just a trivia though: You’d be surprised to know I was a bit hydrophobic when I was a kiddo. I was mega loser that I couldn’t even muster the guts to submerge my head in water for a splitsecond. But as always, I was able to (because I had to!) overcome my fear and turn it into awesome LOVE. Swimming is definitely the sports closest to my heart.
UN AMBASSADOR OF GOODWILL. Like Angelina Jolie - minus the tattoos and the paparazzi. I wouldn’t mind the Brad and the kids and the gorgeousness, though. *wink* Well, I’ve always considered myself pacifist in a lot of ways and “inclined” to “altruism” (but here’s a quick remark: I think that there’s actually an itty bitty tinge of self-service in altruism). In reminiscence, back in grade school, whenever a quarrel arose among friends you’d always find me in the middle – not wanting to take sides, trying to be the goody-goody mediator and the corny little peacemaker. ‘Coz I love my peace, baby! I love them hippies. HAHA Belligerence should be banned from this world. Tact and diplomacy rock, yo.
The next Aung San Suu Kyi.
BALLERINA. ‘Coz I love ‘em skintight leotards and tutus. But seriously. Four years of ballet cut short to turn me into a geek of some sort. When I got to see prima ballerina Liza Macuja perform in Swan Lake and in the flesh with all those other Russian danseuses, I just knew it. I envisioned myself in the center stage…until my mom burst my bubble in fifth grade when she decided on my behalf that ballet is mere superfluity to hardcore academics. So, I wonder if I can give it another shot…only that my flexibility powers seem to be all poofed out now. I can’t even do a decent split.
SHRINK. If I weren’t torturing myself reading SCRA and digesting the sometimes indigestible constitutional, civil, criminal and what-have-you cases, I’d be all the same torturing myself (at least in a close to masochistic way bwahaha) trying to understand the abstraction that is the mind. But what the hey?! Why would I want to understand how the brain works? Well, that’s a secret I won’t tell – at least not in public cyberspace. And please, no, it’s not out of some nerdy curiosity. I’m no nerd, UGH.
SWIMMER. Because h2o is pure love. And who can resist the smell of chlorine and sunscreen? Not me, dude, not moi. And the beach, of course, which I miss direly!!! Just a trivia though: You’d be surprised to know I was a bit hydrophobic when I was a kiddo. I was mega loser that I couldn’t even muster the guts to submerge my head in water for a splitsecond. But as always, I was able to (because I had to!) overcome my fear and turn it into awesome LOVE. Swimming is definitely the sports closest to my heart.
UN AMBASSADOR OF GOODWILL. Like Angelina Jolie - minus the tattoos and the paparazzi. I wouldn’t mind the Brad and the kids and the gorgeousness, though. *wink* Well, I’ve always considered myself pacifist in a lot of ways and “inclined” to “altruism” (but here’s a quick remark: I think that there’s actually an itty bitty tinge of self-service in altruism). In reminiscence, back in grade school, whenever a quarrel arose among friends you’d always find me in the middle – not wanting to take sides, trying to be the goody-goody mediator and the corny little peacemaker. ‘Coz I love my peace, baby! I love them hippies. HAHA Belligerence should be banned from this world. Tact and diplomacy rock, yo.
The next Aung San Suu Kyi.
KIDDING.
Or Lea Salonga.
PARTLY KIDDING.
Or Lara Croft.
NO KIDDING.
AT ALL.
AT ALL.
Okay, admittedly, the list seems more like frustrated fantasies than promising dreams.
Pero eto talaga NO JOKE…
Ang maging dakilang NANAY at LOLA at GREAT GRAND LOLA! O ano, akala mo lawyer pa din, no??? Boo.
I wasn’t super fond of kids before. But ever since I joined the kids’ ministry in church, I developed a fondness for the kiddos that grew to become admiration. Kids are the most awesome of the human race. They’re simple and pure and inoffensive and oozing with faith. Being surrounded with children makes me want to relive childhood, or rather, WANT to be a child all over again. Adults should sometimes unlearn being adults and relearn to be young again, to be youthful and childlike.
When you’re a kid, you have all these dreams. You can dream all you want, deaf to the world’s taunts and jeers. And the greatest part is, in a kid’s little world, there are absolutely NO LIMITS!
And when I say no limits, I mean being a Justice of the Supreme Court flying to the moon, being likewise an astronaut who’s pastoring millions and gazillions of stars while taking care of her brood tagging along in a space craft and being the perfect wife to a handsome alien husband from planet Krypton.
Nah, of course I’m just kidding.
Why did I subject myself to this?
Why am I subjecting myself to this?
Why? Why? Why?
Lately, I kid myself with these questions. Alam ko naman na itatanong ko din 'to eventually. I try to joke around with it so that after a crying session of frustration and letdown, I am able to compose myself again. I barely get to chew on disappointment simply because time and keeping up with the rest of my world don’t afford me the opportunity. Lately, I haven’t been really the type to dwell and mull over negativities. Why? Dyahe eh. I don’t like thinking about them. But I guess you never really escape that moment when the world seems to be all doom and gloom, as if it just turned its back on you (this is an exaggeration so don’t take me too seriously). I guess somehow you would eventually get to that point of almost losing it. ALMOST, but not quite. But then if you’re the type who’s like me, you will end up TRYING to tough it out (God knows if you’re successful) and eventually deciding to woman (or man) up to it. Giving up simply is and cannot be part of your vocabulary – unless the heavens turned on you and decided on your behalf. There will come a point you will question your capacity, your ability, your intellect, your heart, and your destiny. But after falling hard and true, to that deepest almost endless pit, you find out you cannot fall farther or dig deeper. The only other option (aside from waiting passively for death) is to find your way up – no matter how forlorn the thought, no matter how agonizing the climb, no matter how heartrending the process. You just have to find yourself again, find your purpose despite the world shouting, “HEY! JUST QUIT IT, YO. IT’S IMPOSSIBLE! WHO ARE YOU FOOLING?” You just have to dust yourself up, even with the tears and mud and burns and bruises. Either that or you die. Because what’s the point of living when you are not able to live your call? As one of my favorite professors (I won’t name him ‘coz I’m still under his class haha) put it, you have to reach the maximum utility. In this case, one has to reach the maximum utility in life. In economics, it’s maximizing efficiency; it sounds superfluous but that’s how it is. Either you live to the maximum or you don’t live at all. You don’t settle for just living; you go for LIVING! You don’t settle for what you could easily do, you go for that which breaks you and contests you and pounds you to pieces and makes you come alive. You don't settle for just a piece of cake, you go to the vomit-inducing. You don't settle for the chickeeeeen, you go for the heartstopping. You go for that which spreads you too thinly, to the point that you almost founder. You go for that which brings you to the edge, to the brink of kaput. You go for that which brings out the best in you after life subjects you to the worst. You go for your zenith. You find it and subject yourself to its ordeal. As Helen Keller avers,
That adventure depends on you. It could be adventure in the literal, or it could be something internal or abstract. Whatever it is, go for it at full speed. It’s not for the thrill of it – there is no thrill in distress. It’s not for the masochist in you (well, perhaps for some they could attest) but it’s for the very purpose of YOUR living – that you were able to live the life you were supposed to live. I believe we all have that life we are destined to live. Some of us do live it but only to a certain extent. Some of us don’t really reach zenith. Sad part is some of us don’t ever get to live it. But what’s the saddest – if not the worst - is not ever realizing it. They say that ignorance is bliss. I give partial credit to that. There is some truth to the suffering of knowing. But when you suffer, it is only out of a metacognition of your status. And that metacognition is the superlative of the outset. It is the first step to reaching your zenith. And what is life if not living it all out? What is our existence if not giving it up to live?
We don’t live to merely exist. We give up our being to BE. We cease to exist so that we may acquire life.
Why am I subjecting myself to this?
Why? Why? Why?
Lately, I kid myself with these questions. Alam ko naman na itatanong ko din 'to eventually. I try to joke around with it so that after a crying session of frustration and letdown, I am able to compose myself again. I barely get to chew on disappointment simply because time and keeping up with the rest of my world don’t afford me the opportunity. Lately, I haven’t been really the type to dwell and mull over negativities. Why? Dyahe eh. I don’t like thinking about them. But I guess you never really escape that moment when the world seems to be all doom and gloom, as if it just turned its back on you (this is an exaggeration so don’t take me too seriously). I guess somehow you would eventually get to that point of almost losing it. ALMOST, but not quite. But then if you’re the type who’s like me, you will end up TRYING to tough it out (God knows if you’re successful) and eventually deciding to woman (or man) up to it. Giving up simply is and cannot be part of your vocabulary – unless the heavens turned on you and decided on your behalf. There will come a point you will question your capacity, your ability, your intellect, your heart, and your destiny. But after falling hard and true, to that deepest almost endless pit, you find out you cannot fall farther or dig deeper. The only other option (aside from waiting passively for death) is to find your way up – no matter how forlorn the thought, no matter how agonizing the climb, no matter how heartrending the process. You just have to find yourself again, find your purpose despite the world shouting, “HEY! JUST QUIT IT, YO. IT’S IMPOSSIBLE! WHO ARE YOU FOOLING?” You just have to dust yourself up, even with the tears and mud and burns and bruises. Either that or you die. Because what’s the point of living when you are not able to live your call? As one of my favorite professors (I won’t name him ‘coz I’m still under his class haha) put it, you have to reach the maximum utility. In this case, one has to reach the maximum utility in life. In economics, it’s maximizing efficiency; it sounds superfluous but that’s how it is. Either you live to the maximum or you don’t live at all. You don’t settle for just living; you go for LIVING! You don’t settle for what you could easily do, you go for that which breaks you and contests you and pounds you to pieces and makes you come alive. You don't settle for just a piece of cake, you go to the vomit-inducing. You don't settle for the chickeeeeen, you go for the heartstopping. You go for that which spreads you too thinly, to the point that you almost founder. You go for that which brings you to the edge, to the brink of kaput. You go for that which brings out the best in you after life subjects you to the worst. You go for your zenith. You find it and subject yourself to its ordeal. As Helen Keller avers,
"Life is either a daring adventure....”
We don’t live to merely exist. We give up our being to BE. We cease to exist so that we may acquire life.
We die to live.
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