stranger in the rain

Yesterday evening, on my way home along the lengthy stretch of Frontera Drive in Pasig City, I chanced upon a man in his late 20s. His Gap sweater, cargo shorts, sneakers, everything of him were all drenched under the heavy downpour. He asked for a favor; he found out he had lost his iPhone and wallet upon stepping off a jeepney. He needed money. “My name’s Mark,” he said, stuttering a bit. He repeated his name a second or third time as if I did not hear him. He must be cold. “I’m Jordan,” I said, as I handed to him a twenty peso bill. I was not sure if it was a tear in his eye or rain. He just walked away with shoulders hunched.

holy boholy! here's a reflection!

I was in my hometown last holy week. On the first day of being free from the doldrums of the metro, an acquaintance of mine asked, what would you be doing? My immediate response was, of course, I’d be enjoying it like any other vacation I’ve had. Out of religious partiality or maybe something else, another question was set forth on the table: I thought you’d be reflecting. The week is for reflecting, right?




Hey, I think I have reflected too much Jean Piaget would be proud of my egocentricity. Besides, reflection is practiced (or should be practiced) every day, not only in this particular week. For how could anyone learn the weavings of living if ruminations are limited for six or seven days? Sometimes, I just couldn’t help but laugh at some of these age-old traditions.



So for the long holiday, forgive me, I opted for leisure. Armed with new music from Kimbra, Moonface, TV Girl, Beach House, Ramona Falls, and Coldplay, I went back to my favorite beach in Panglao, dipped in pools when the former was not enough, feasted in new food spots around town, stood as parent for a dear fellow’s college graduation, received truths that were unbelievable to grasp, listened to my sister and nephew play the piano beautifully, bonded with family over games of Scrabble, Monopoly, Boggle, and many more. I even made cupcakes and other desserts (along with three pairs of hands) in long afternoons. Fortunately, they were a success.


I could rattle out a hundred reasons why I did what I did, but I think this is enough: at my age, I have to know what is important to me, know who are important to me, and stick to them. This is one reflection I could share to anyone. For now.

altered for good

[Update] Yes, look up, I’ve changed the header. Petty things are petty things but something has to be done about it. Now it looks good with the rest of the layout. And don’t argue with that, mirror!

*

After five years and six months, I changed the template of this blog. And this would be my 491th post, by the way. Amazing. It took that long for me to notice how an eyesore this site had become. There could be other reasons too. It must be due to Muse screaming in my playlist, or the rain that has been pouring since yesterday, or the change of dashboard look Tumblr has undergone, or the simple desire to see something new, even in the minutest things. The header remained though, perhaps serving as a retrospect of how this logorrhea began. [06/09/11]

cleaning

I have removed the cbox or chatbox in this blog because I could not stand any longer the advertising of products coming from Taiwan and other countries, regaling me with marketing extravaganza that won’t even work to men of the lowliest IQ’s. This is also a step to further minimize the visits of people who merely step in the site and comment in the box with a silly “Hey, nice blog, care to ex-links?” I have enough of that one too.

dog-ears of the decade

The running line of the 00’s (these are the years 2000 to 2009) is nearing its end. And pushing back the years a little further, I find it fascinating to know the changes and progression of the generic “everything.”

One time, during this Christmas break that I am basking on to the last minute, I suddenly thought of an old picture with my brother and three cousins in it. Luckily, I was with these people in a gathering so I rounded them up, positioned ourselves like the grainy image, had somebody take a shot, and waited for the results.

Other than the juvenile demeanor (as shown by our lanky frames and wide doe eyes) and the ages that I can’t really remember (including mine), I can tell the changes have gone beyond “everything.”

Noting what they are is no longer needed because what must be acknowledged here is how these changes have defined us, along with the community that grows and disperses. Between these two pictures are the dog-ears in a novel’s pages—they are there but no one’s sure how they come up to be.

I believe it has always been like that.

I do know the importance of answering the how’s or the why’s but as we grow older, plucking wisdom from our experiences, we learn the importance of selfless acceptance, whether such so-called change is good or sad (I choose sad since bad is such a strong word).

Whether we like it or not, alterations in many facets of our lives will happen. Or, before we even know it, have happened. Though the folds are inevitable, let us not forget to be aware.

Just recently, maybe through the alignment of the heavenly bodies or the sheer ingenuity of Facebook, I and the rest of my siblings finally connected to a relative we barely knew. This is something good because, as what I’ve said earlier, this shows the kind of change that defines a growing community. Before Christmas Day, many of us personally meet this first degree cousin for the very first time.

But as one bud appears in a bush, a leaf wilts and soon drops on the ground. On the same day of the meeting, our cousin joined us in seeing our grandfather going six feet under. Arcadio Mejorada Carnice, or known as Tatay to many, died on December 21 and was buried in his hometown on the 24th.

Time, indeed, runs fast and we have miscalculated the years. What we have anticipated to slow down reared up, started its engine, and went full blast, hurtling into the distance before anyone of us could catch up. Well, nobody could catch up when it comes to the looming fate of one’s life.

The random bombardment of all things mundane has numbed us and it didn’t help. Crime news or the politico television spot ads, take your pick. Heck, if we have disregarded our very own state of mind and physiological condition because of such, how much more on someone else’s? And please do tell; when was the last time you paused and eyed a wind courting a leaf? When was the last time you picked up a candy wrapper and placed it in a waste basket? When was the last time you said “I love you” with the starkest sincerity and not out of necessity or practice?

In a much grander scale, I am sure the same bombardment has consequently led us to forgo the very basic reason to most critical issues, from global warming to greedy presidents: Nothing could have happened if we didn’t let them be.

This may already be a huge leap from my musings about an old photograph, a new cousin, or a loved one leaving for a better place (I cannot deny this ailment of mine regarding organic unity) but this whole thing just reflects the defragmented era, so as our kaleidoscopic view of the world as everyone’s stage.

The crumbling of the World Trade Center in 2001 is just the beginning. When Apple’s iPhone hit the shelves and garners raves from tech critics and users, we are left in shock by the impact of the economic recession. When we celebrated the inauguration of Barrack Obama as the first African-American US President, we encounter next the feud between rival Sarah Palin and a teenager, with the latter almost going full-monty on a Playgril cover. When Manny Pacquaio wins his seventh world boxing champion title, we learn about his purported affair with a local starlet. When most of us have just stood up after Ondoy and Pepeng, we are stunned by the rising death toll in Maguindanao. There’s a lot more, both good and sad.

It is not surprising that Time magazine labeled the 00’s The Decade from Hell. In a New York Times interview, Yale historian Paul Kennedy said that “The urge to name moments and eras is an affliction common to historians, but one that is best attempted with a certain sobriety.”

Well, with the things happening around us, good luck with that sobriety.

Again and again, we are always told that the consequences lie on our hands too. If we are one of those who celebrated on whatever it is to be celebrated, then it must be logical that we are also one of those who must grieve—a result from being too unmindful of the burgeoning folds or dog-ears in our book of lives.

But our half-thought decision and actions are just part and parcel of the grand design: we commit a mistake and we learn. I’d like to point, as clichéd as it always sounds, that the past may have its flaws but it is in the present that really matters. As what we should have drilled into our heads a long long time ago, the now has great bearing as to how the tomorrow meets us. That way we could definitely define what a happy, pleasant life is.

Despite the differences obvious in both pictures, past and present, one must see the common denominator of the two. This is the smile present in our eyes, like the promising light of the month’s second full moon we could see tonight.

To everyone, I wish you will have a great year ahead, full of the most better-made decisions.

bulleted

Today, if I’d pursue what is running in my mind, I will do something that is entirely out of my character (or maybe not). I don’t really know. But chances are I’d most probably have it because in the sub-sub-persona in me clearly screams that I wanted it all along. And the weight of opposing the thought is not that heavy anymore even if I know this will bring a little ripple in the waters. Well, let’s just see what happens next after I am done wandering into cyberspace. It is just a little thing, really. Like a bite from a tiny red ant.

___________________________________________________________________

downhill

I can clearly remember that I have mentioned in one of my old posts “people are like sparklers; they ignite a distinct flicker so exhilarating and engaging but when suddenly they fade, they leave you in earnest sacrifice of waiting.” Up to now, I still believe in it. But through constant enforcement of strong scolding at myself, I can now attest to the last seven words of that quote. I don’t wait. There’s no need to wait because from now on, I have to decide whether I would be dragged downhill with all these difficulty or climb up as mightily as I can while at the same time hate everyone who made me fall. I can’t think of any solution than to hate in order for me to forget. Any suggestions? Please tell me; I know this is not right.

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what is your curse?

Another person’s complaint a while ago is my interest for clarification right now. Someone’s enigmatic predestined life got me into thinking: do I have a curse, too? No, not the curse that we get from evil witches but the kind of curse that seems to be shockingly inborn and tends to ruin our goal of attaining our wishes.

For example, there’s this curse that makes a person unusually fail in every examinations taken no matter how many liters of oil are burned at midnight. Also, there are those that pitifully become the object of ridicule by almost everyone in campus. So, what is mine then? I have a little inkling on what it is, though, but I forcibly get it off my mind. I don’t want that too-obvious curse; I want a different curse! And still, the longing for a crystal-clear picture on what my curse is remains unresolved. Think. Think. Think.

___________________________________________________________________

all things go

1. MDG Summit for Young Filipino Leaders 2008
I must admit that even though I am currently the president of an organization that must have hands-on work on this new event, I have always placed the whole idea at the back of my head. It is easy to say that there are more important things to be stored in my racked-up brain than filling it with some activity that either gives stress to my whole being or pain in the most unexpected areas but since I think these words of “protest” would giveaway an instant reaction from hardcore workaholics, I would just say that I am very glad this special event has come to an end.

2. People
And yes, they suddenly appear out of nowhere and you'll just be surprised that the old times has just been overhauled and redecorated you hardly notice the original characteristics you once pointed out before so easily. But then again, after minutes of weird contemplation, great conception struck you hard you are finally aware of it again. And then inside your head, you think everything is fine. You feel happy.

The moment is steered by the peers surrounding you that negative energies seem to repel from your smile alone. All of a sudden, the time is up and no matter how you decide things by tossing a coin, on which face it would fall on top of your sweaty palms, head or tail, they have to pack up and leave and there’s nothing you can do.

3. Fleeting Moments of Joy and Guilt
Fleeting moments of joy and guilt are brief instances that occur in people’s lives in the most unexpected time; whether it is the moment when a writer finds his lost ballpen under a table, or a lady who finally discovers her favorite dress at the farthest corner of her wardrobe, or even when a child accidentally ruins his friend’s toy. All of these, good or bad, sum up to the final feeling that we have at the end of the day. Also, these moments is not only limited to material things, it could also be the loss of someone important or the desire to help a stranger. Basically, it is everything.

Most people have not felt their presence hovering above their heads or simply lingering around them because these transitory articles are much more felt to people who are keen (or perhaps have enough time to wonder) on the littlest things that occur in their day-to-day activities and, usually, when feelings towards something or someone are leaning on the extremes; extreme happiness or extreme loneliness. Their existence can also be clearly acknowledged if tension or pleasure is backed up with a state of confusion. And the key to eradicate this confusion is decision-making. This comes into play of which this part is, indeed, very crucial.

When time comes that we have to decide, when we are on the edge of things, we usually fall short on static ideas purportedly to be the right ones when it fact the solution is the other way around. We plummet on the other end of things. Our decisions are hazy. And as of this moment, things have never been this hazier. I am currently in a diaspora of disorientation and numbing pain.

As a matter of fact, that must be the reason why they are called “fleeting;” their role is to make us think then decide before everything is too late in the shortest time we could imagine. In order to compensate for their immediate short span of existence, we have to think fast. We have to make up our minds as soon as possible.

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the other end

Today, I would hide
for his coming
for hounding crows
for a mark
that even the stars
fear they cannot hide its vastness
painted on my heaving chest.

Someday, I would aspire
for his sins
for switchings
for a song
that allows the sun
not to shine upon me,
the delight of lurking in the shadow.

Tomorrow, I would find
for his perfume
for fallacies
for a piece of fiction
wherein fantasies
benefits as something factual,
wherein the flow of words hums in my ears.

Or maybe none of these.

In each and every day
I would only look
for the night when fingers intertwined,
dark and light,
and when lips seal on places
it should not have been
let me do this,
let me close the lids
of those eyes,
let me cover the lips
of that mouth
for it still remains true,
truer than nature,
that by doing these
we both celebrate and grieve
the birth of distance.

(for A. whom I should have never mused minutes ago)
________________________________________________________________

should i go there?

MOONLANE GARDENS
Castro-Fundales, Orange and Lemons

There's a place where the moon is under the sea

There's a place where the sun's inside a cup of tea

There's a place you can go where no one else has been but me

There's a man on his throne who thinks the world's his own

He would live, he believes he would never be alone

He would dine, he would wine but no one else is there but him

Chorus

Welcome to the garden my friend

This is where your broken heart's mend

Come into the garden my friend

Don't be scared to hold my hand

This is where your loneliness ends

There's a girl in the sky she's laughing as she cries

She is one with the world and she never wants to die

There's a song she would sing that no one understands but her

There's a child who's awake every night and every day

Not a care in the world not a problem what he says

There's a game he would play and he wanted all of you to stay

There's a thought in my head that never goes away

There's a time in my life that is better than today

There's place I would go where no one else has been but me

repeat chorus

This is where your loneliness ends

Moonlane gardens, moonlane gardens

How do we get there (how do we get there)

How do we get there

How do we get there (how do we get there)

How do we get there

lahahahahahahaha

he's the key

(and the key)

lahahahahahahaha

here with me

moonlane gardens

moonlane gardens

moonlane gardens

I just love this song. The song is never a direct suggestion of escapism; it is concretely a device of lighting up the smiles that are always hidden caused by anguish and exhaustion. Magic here, in itself, is real. The song has the sense of going away, leaving, and renouncing all pain and hatred, then plunging into a magical world of children playing, of kings, and of beautiful gardens. Basically, as what the song incessantly said, this is a place where our loneliness ends.

But how do we get there? Give me the key.
Where is this garden? Tell me…
for it is where my loneliness ends.

________________________________________________________

quit

“If the forces of nature continue
to swoon me with heresies and insults,
then I must retreat to my hole
and close the lid forever.”

-12 / 06 / 07 (12:05pm)

Quit. It is such a strong word. It is so strong that it demands the ultimate decision of merely fulfilling it. But no matter how strong it is, ironically it connotes the idea of weakness.

I always know that in order to develop an aptitude on something, you have to rub elbows with people who are wiser than you. But what if you are in a position that you’re supposed to be the wise man and the people around must learn something from you but, instead, end up as a carton cut-out representing an ideal picture? That will be a catastrophe. That’s my case; I am like a living hoax, a conman, a walking bouncing check. It is so sad to learn (or accept) that I always end up in situations wherein I eventually regret having stepped on a new territory.

Yes, I have become a bitter gourd once, then made me pathetically excusing for the clutter I have made, which then leads me trying very hard trimming some forsaken responsibility I have gotten into. And what better way to solve such absurd problems? Yield and leave immediately! I don’t blame the world by spinning so fast that I can hardly catch up, what I want to blame is that why in the first place I have been so ambitious.

Forgive me for being histrionic but seeing the reflection of myself on Boy’s magic mirror, I see my face wearing that practiced smile again. It is the most deceiving art I have learned and I thought I have mastered it. I am wrong, pala.

I have been working in a field that further stretches my efficiency of delegating tasks of which I am actually not worth it. Blech! I foresee that I would vomit upon rereading that line in the days to come but really, that’s what constantly nags me after that one unexpected night of exchanging vinegar-dipped words—a night wherein a slice of silence finally dragged two clashing people finalizing their almost-eternal hidden feud.

Speaking of vinegar let us metaphorically illustrate that I am currently in a bowl of salad; the place being the bowl and its people as the composition that makes up the salad. Fast forward, let’s again oversimplify things by saying that the bowl of salad last year was the best salad in the world—the combination of textured vegetables, bits of meat, flavorful spices, and the creamy sauce make up for the perfect dish. But in this year’s serving, there’s just too much pepper. And when there’s too much of that thing, the salad will obviously taste bad. It contradicts other elements of the salad leading to a chaotic, unpalatable mix of supposedly edible greens.

I am lost. In fact, we are all lost. It just coincides that there is a unifying element in each and every one of us that made us intact (or form) as a group.

Maybe I am just overreacting. Maybe this is another ordeal. But maybe this is not quitting after all. Probably what I need is just a different kind of dish.

please excuse the clutter

Fred Jordan Mikhail T. Carnice

The Weekly Sillimanian

August 15, 2007

I.

A couple of days ago, I attended a leadership training that ought to shape the purported heads, chiefs, or managers of tomorrow but, instead, I went back home with body aches and shirt stains due to all those team-building torture.

IV.

Pondering has become my habit: I think I have delegated my tasks properly and orderly. I think I have listened enough to grievances and made an effort in solving them. I think I have made my point. But I am wrong. I just keep on thinking!

II.

As one of the activities in the programme, we were assigned to present a short skit based on Jack Welch’s words: “Face reality as it is, not as it was or as you wish it to be.” Well, it turned out to be an instant favourite; it was played repetitiously in my mind. Nevertheless, a shocking insight upon contemplating this line of leadership spirit enlightened me: It was the recognition that I am a wandering nomad, lost, trying hard to determine which path to take on and at the same time guilty of not knowing what to do.

VIII.

Though easier said than done, at the least, I am currently steering away from the paranoia. But it is also a slow process, so please excuse my vagueness when I am approached.

III.

There are times when simply reading a fresh graphic fiction anthology, sipping some cold coffee, or conversing about the latest flick brings about a sick sensation that I have committed an offense. As if my heart constricts and make me ask myself, “There are more things to be done! What am I doing?!”

IX.

To end all these brouhaha, I tell you: This is not just about me, but this is about everyone who is nitpicked away from their comfort zones and is plunged into a fiery chasm where trust is elusive and help is just as fictional as the word muggle.

V.

Yes, it really sounds good if one assumes I think too much (he or she can only imagine what great invention or discovery I have in mind) but the underlying disadvantage is that, because I think too much, the act of doing is left to nothing more but just a morsel of thought. And it makes my cluttered brain more devastated as if typhoon Chedeng just paid me a visit.

VII.

As for my case, it is really scary. And for someone who occasionally leans towards the absurdities of human nature, it might be possible. Thankfully I know change is gradual, and I can fully stop this before the transformation completes me into becoming like a zombie. So the next question is: How? Based on “reliable” findings I overheard from incessant beer talks at the nearby videoke house or special meetings that ought to straighten up what is crooked, let’s just say an instant self-check is required to set up a go. Or listen to the people around you and assess your present deeds; it is impossible that they don’t even have the slightest comment! And if that, still, doesn’t work, run and hit yourself on the wall about 50 times and I am pretty sure your state of “lostness” will go away and before you’ll even notice it, you will find yourself—plus violet patches of bruise. I could have decided on the latter one time but I am just too lost to have conjured an idea like that.

VI.

A confession must be told: my supposedly innocent leisure now turns into something sinful. The barriers between what I want, what I need, and what they need are slowly crumbling. I am becoming aware of knowing the fear of unknowing. I would certainly become ambiguity in human form! This is such an embarrassment to any so-called leader!

X.

Well then, this is really not the perfect time to babble and to think before I go—Crash!

Note: The chronology of the paragraphs was muddled stressing the author’s “lostness” when writing this (hint: follow the Romans).

chromosomes

Aging is never a disease that cripples one down to his knees.

Last April 3, 2007 four kittens were born, and I had written a post about it, but then on the following day the four became two.

And now, seeing the remaining two springing kittens in our kitchen remind me that no single human being is capable of an instant getaway of getting old, unless you decide of cutting your life short.

As days continue to pass by, I like to call these mammals, now 7 weeks old, simply as “X” and “Y”. The two were having siesta on their favorite soft broom in this picture, literally looking like they were swept away.

I don’t know why I am calling them as such but it seems, as if the fates made me gravitate towards the calling, the letters “X” and “Y” create a deep impression inside me that is truly indelible.

The time we have spent with “X” and “Y” is one special time any machine couldn’t bring back. The two are leaving our dwelling due next month, someone is getting them. But we always know, distance is the twin of progress, change of perspectives is the lifelong companion of aging.

For sure, I will miss "X" and "Y".

I should let them go as I continue to age.

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impact of the world

I just had blood for lunch; my very own blood to be exact.

One will always have a special childhood memory of going to the dentist’s clinic and sit upon the Chair—waiting and gleaming in its sterile wonder. You obviously know how this frightened us out of our senses when we we’re little rascals.

But just this morning, my childish nightmares of meeting the dentist were rushing, vivid and grotesque images, back into my mind. Because what I had just gotten through was no simple root canal extraction but, rather, an Impacted Wisdom Tooth Removal.

Sounds groundbreaking? It is.

Posted in the website of My New Smile, my case is this: “[when] there is not enough room for them [teeth] to erupt into the arch normally, they attempt to come in sideways or have other similar difficulties. They then become impacted, that is, impeded from normal eruption.”

If left untreated, “risk factor for problems such as tooth abscess, cyst formation, damage to adjacent teeth, or any life-threatening infections that can swell that could close off your breathing or can spread to your brain” may happen.

To have a clearer picture of how it looks like, I think this picture could help:

As of the moment my whole face felt like they have been banged on a concrete wall for several times, and much more the throbbing pain increases as the anesthesia’s powers are ebbing away.

My dentist mentioned that my third molar (or commonly known as Wisdom Tooth) was undeniably bigger than the usual size, which explained her vast effort in extracting the tooth. Imagine, she even needed help to hold steady my jaw while she pulled, pulled, pulled, and then pulled some more to greater extent.

I thought the pulling never stopped, with the words “Lord, Lord, Lord…” repeatedly chanting in my head and numerous anesthesia shots numbly stinging my mouth. With a rare move, the dentist decided on breaking the tooth for an easier removal—if which she was successful.

The session started from 10:35AM and ended at 12:15PM, which made the other waiting patients silently anxious (but they projected their cheesy smile when I got up from the Chair). Basically, the process almost took us 3 long hours.

And the pain won’t stop in disturbing my preferred lifestyle! Spitting on an ebony white sink, swirls of red streams endlessly appears; you can just envision a cherry and cream candy.

Tonight, stale blood for dinner is the least thing I am looting for. Oh God, heal thy wound in haste.

_____________________________________________________

i am a fisherman

"Give the man a fish and he will live for a day,

but teach the man how to fish and he will live for a lifetime."

In all walks of this extraordinary randomly spiced existence, a lot will definitely agree that in this particular point of the year when everyone goes splashing in the waters even without the need of dorsal fins, goes publicly flaunting with “friends” for the populace to see what was saved on the previous months of academic and anabolic spending, or goes incessantly attempting of making a full day out of the night, I am living on a perpetual summer stagnation.

Though there are some interesting inserts that took place such as the 67th College Editors Guild of the Philippines Press Convention, some simple once-in-a-year celebrations, and the various shots of submitting written works to competitions and publishing opportunities, these could just sum up to a measly ball of crumpled paper, compared to the gloom as huge as a hot air balloon. Aside from this account that I have done less instead of doing more the pesky idea of doubt of capability creeps over me, takes precedence on me.

And there it goes: the last line of that paragraph just gives the hint of what’s more to come in this sad and humdrum account. Consider that as a normal everyday hurdle of acknowledging mistakes and failures but the trouble with me is that I make it a great deal. Pardon for the word but… shit! No matter how I suppress such trait from all people, it will eventually come out as a sugar-coated, self-pitying, needy-for-compliment ramble of thoughts.

Of all these years when I have thought the word bullfrog is the most faultless uncanny identity I (together with the help of my Grade 4 classmate) had mustered and proclaimed to myself 9 years ago, I just recently found out that I am one discreet fisherman, or so somebody thought.

You know what a fisherman does? Of course he fishes; with a net, hooks, baits, and all, or if you want something primitive, with a spear or even with bare hands. I do not recognize yet which kind of utilization I got my interest on, but one thing’s for sure; I am one unique kind of fisherman. If statistics shows the ratio: I am one of the 2 out of 10 fishermen who fishes for the different thing, not going for those slippery scaly swimmers under the sea.

I fish for compliment.*

Admiration, apology, countless congratulations, honor, nobility, pity, praise, reputation, respect, sorry, title—these are some of the many precious catch my fishing aptitude rewards me whenever the need requires me to handle.

How do I do this fishing spree, if you may ask? Let us set this in a systematic way:


1) Create a topic to discuss with. Tip: Much better if the discussion involves only two people.
2) Continue talking—come what may—until a melodramatic turn of events occurs.
3) Anchor all concentration on that gravest repertoire of stories in your life.
4) Stop talking when the other person is about to speak.
5) If the person talks, listen intently.
6) Sob more, if tears are necessary.
7) If not, be very very sad. Exhume it all through dismal expressions.
8) Allow a minute of silence.
9) Let the other person talk first for in this part comes the moment of your achievement as a fisherman.
10) Accept what the person have said that should uplift your spirits. And congratulations, you have just a caught a big tuna! Salmons can be good too.


That’s it! It’s that easy. If you want to learn more in this Art of Fishing Compliments, call you local operator, connect to the most prestigious university in town, and demand to have this learning as soon as possible—if it’s available.

Truthfully, it’s not actually good to fish like this at all time. For me, I consider the practice as mundanely stupid and trash-worthy. It never, ever, came into my mind of the slightest touch, that I am a fisherman of such kind. It unmistakably pains to hear, from the most unexpected source who you just knew lately, that I am like one.

Candidly saying that the source has no right of divulging such statements, well, it is also like I have been denying, all the time, what I actually haven’t noticed. I believe that other people outside the comfort zone of your tightly-knit philosophy that their words might spell right. The more it would be very logical if you are compared to someone who got the unanimous reputation of skill on that field.

For it could be, deep within the dark recesses of myself, I am a fisherman at spirit, mind, and deed. Though the looks may deceive, I could be one.

And I beg anyone who successfully comes into this part (of which I shall commend you); I don’t need your compliments this time.

Pardon me.


Hook.

Line.

Sinker.

[plop]

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embracing the numbers game

Happy birthday to you..

happy birthday, happy birthday...

Happy birthday to you!

Today is April 21, 2007; the date of someone’s birthday I just eventually knew a while ago who have aged twenty-three years old by now. Honestly, I have never expected that person to be that, uhum, old.

This person was a bit worried for he still haven’t done anything exceptional (of which I don’t believe in), his plans of “doing this, that and all those bullshit” has not yet attained possibility, and most especially this irksome reality that he remains to be a student up to now. His frustrations can be considered absurd—but not totally.

As humans capable of feelings and logical thinking, falling into that situation is normal. We people are never content. I myself just turned a notch higher just last March, and I did blame the fast-moving numbers chasing after me—you know I want to do more things!

Frustrations will always be there but I explained that it is really not the whole thing. As if the momentous event of celebration had already gotten into him, he said that I (sensibly referring to the younger ones) should respect the elders. Talk about elders! So rebounded his statement; “the younger ones know some words the elders cannot spell!”

Well here’s a little fact about age: they are nothing but numbers. They are numbers that accompany us all throughout our lives; they can even live longer than we do. Our flesh may deteriorate but the count does not stop, for as long as someone remembers, could it be from a tad clichéd yellowing picture, age is still there.

It is a good thing this person acknowledged his stunted maturity after a series of light arguments. He humbly mentioned: “Rough seas make a good sailor.” And I added this to his familiar quote: “who in a matter of minutes will be drenched in coldwater.”

To momentarily escape from his agony, he forfeited any more debates then dozed off, and I went on to recount what we had just discussed and faced a mirror.

“Ow, what are those lines near me eyes? My, wrinkles…” I said to myself.

[ discussion was done through short messaging service ]

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of stirring up or slumbering down

I intended to sleep late last night and wake up late this morning. I failed.

Well, the former intention I was partly successful, but I think 12:30am was not that late (I went up to 5am recently as far as I can remember) so undeniably I failed still.

I do not know but there is always this kind of feeling between stirring a bit then waking up and pinning yourself in bed forever, playing with the sheet of your bed until it decided of leaving you, sprawling on the floor. The subconscious act of deciding is very complex: wake up or not? And that feeling is the most enigmatic; imagine you are in a slumber but you are in the verge of thinking in the world of your dream realms or most probably in the “post rapid eye movement” stage!

Sheesh. The mind is indeed fascinating. And maybe I will be one of those people who can’t attest to this quote from Grimmy, the manic dog and main character of Mike Peter’s Mother Goose and Grimm comic strips:

“The mind is a terrible thing to waste.”

So before pondering of doing something else that may lead to mind desecration, why not sleep and enjoy the ephemeral task of choosing to wake up or not?

If you wake up, good. If you don’t, you’re probably a ghost reading this.

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