Unspeakable Rudeness and Inaction

Some rude guy accosted me last night. Wendy’s being a public place, I was taken aback by his rudeness, and wasn’t able to react, much less retort to his rudeness. I mean this guy was really looking for a fight! He didn’t even mind that he’s with his girlfriend, and still he’s looking for a fight.


I could have (and probably should have) said a lot of things about him, but something just held me back. I still think it a blessing that my tongue automatically shuts down when I am put at an awkward situation, but I still feel that I should have done something to put him in his place… Probably with my foot pressing down on his windpipe.


I can take him. I know I could’ve. It doesn’t matter that he’s bigger than me. I know I am more agile, and that most of his bulk is fat and not muscle.


But I know I did the right thing not giving in to his aggression. It’s just this passive-aggressive behavior of mine kicking me in the shins for not doing something to lift my spirits up.




published in friendster blog December 11th, 2007

Work it, baby, yeah!

Today, I was given something to ponder about at work, and it kind of rattled me in unexpected ways.


A co-worker told me in confidence some possible movement in my current work position and I haven’t yet decided what to make of it. Just when I’ve decided to finish this year’s audit, then decide whether I would want to continue or not, here comes this possible 3rd option.


I can’t think of what to do with this info yet, so might as well store it deep and let it brew in my subconscious. I’ve six more months to decide, at least.




published in friendster blog October 5th, 2007

The Demon god Eros and the Attack of Harpies with Quivers-full of Deathly Love-Arrows, or, Advanced Valentine’s to All

Have you ever experienced waking up to an unspeakable feeling of yearning; a longing so complete and palpable, it’s almost physical? When you cannot do anything without thinking of that one person… when in every conversation you hear that person’s name… when everything you read contains the name.


And you cannot do anything about it, because try as you might, it is ingrained in your head, and the more you try to forget it, the more you remember.


It just wells up inside you and you cannot, however you try, contain it. It just shows in your actions, in your mood, in your face… in your work. All you see is visions of you two together, of you talking and dining together, of sharing your life together.


And it just tears you apart, because no matter how much you want it; no matter how much you wish for it; no matter how much you strive to make it work; it is nothing more than the stuff of dreams. It cannot be realized.


You like pain? Try falling in love.




published in friendster blog October 3rd, 2007

The Week of the Living Dead

The past week has been quite pleasurable for me. While other people can cruise along and play all week, I get the prestige of being able to work all week. Yep, Sunday can also become a workday, thanks to my profession.


In all fairness, I didn’t really work the whole day of Sunday. I merely waltzed into the office at 6.00pm and go back home by nine. Financial reports are the lifebood of my profession. So important it is, I need to go to the office to send it to my superiors because their needs are urgent, and cannot wait till Monday.


A little bit of advise: if you want a meaningful, well-rounded life, never, ever, ever take up accounting and make the mistake of practicing it. Whether audit or general accounting, it makes no difference, when you practice that profession, you can practically say goodbye to your friends and family.


On the upside though, accountants have the most balanced life. I mean, who else can claim to have a perfectly balanced life and lifestyle, wherein Work EQUALS Life. How else can you top that?! Oh, I’m being sarcastic there, by the way.


It is during times like this when I recall a certain anectode I’ve read somewhere. It states that "accountants are not boring people, they just get excited over boring stuff". How quaint, really. It doesn’t have anything to do with my week-long office shenanigans, but still, in light of current happenings, it has a certain edge to it. It somehow pierces and scratches an inner wound you thought was long healed, but somehow still draws blood.


To what point do I drive to? I don’t actually know. But what I do know is, like most of the things and people in my life, I have an on-going Love-Hate relationship with my work, almost bordering on sado-masochism a certain times. I love it, but I dont; I hate it, but I couldn’t live without it.


I don’t know.


I just don’t know…




published in friendster blog August 13th, 2007

The Hair-raising Harpy of Dispair

It may seem odd, but somehow, my emotional state is connected to barometric pressures. Low atmospheric pressures would put me in a deep depressive mode, and high pressure would put me in a mutinous state.


Yesterday was such a low pressure day that I was skulking like mad, utterly depresed, I was almost catatonic. And it hurt. Physically and emotionally, it hurt. There was this internal void so deep and strong it felt like I was going to implode.


Fortunately, after lunch came the downpour that raised the pressure a bit, and I was lifted from my depression, but I wasn't totally out of it just yet. I needed to do something else to lift my spirits.


I had my hair cut.


Now, cutting your hair may not seem like a true remedy against depression, but it works for me. And a depression as deep as yesterday's needed some drastic cutting, for the more hair is cut, the happier my mood would swing.


I was liberal with the razor. I had my head shaved.


And I was free of that soul-sucking, mind-numbing, heart-crushing depression. Now I'm happy.




published in friendster blog July 27, 2007 at 3:34 am

Mental Diarrhea and Emotional Constipation: I Hate My Life Vol 2

Conflicting sorts of emotions are passing through me; conflicting thoughts are flicking in and out of my mind.


I cannot think cohesively, nor can I feel any concrete emotion. I'm feeling happy one minute, and I am sulking the next. And all this time, various memories are replaying in my mind. Memories which, sadly, will stay just that, for they have no more chance of being repeated once more.


I am at the Borderlands, and I don't like it.


Call it Depression. Call it Hormonal Imbalance. Call it Dellusion. Call it Schizophrenia.


Whatever it is called, it's affecting my enjoyment of my day and wreaking havoc on my brain, and all of my senses.


I wish it would go away...




published in friendster blog July 18, 2007 at 9:20 pm

Phoenix Songs and the Leaden Tears of Persephone

He was the domineering figure whose shadow we are under even though hundreds of kilometers separate us. His was the moral standard we were brought up with, instilled to us through our mother. His was the work attitude we were imbibed with; of never resting when there is work yet to be done.


He was the Fear. Summer days spent under his roof was arduous at best. We were ever mindful of the things we say and do, as it might displease him, and we are to blame.


He was the Law. Whatever he says must be done as he said it. When he tells you to get water from the nearby stream, you do. When he tells you to clear the pathways of grass and leaves, you do. When he tells you to wake up at daybreak for breakfast, you do.


He was the Myth. I have the strongest recollection of stories about his fights against the creatures of the night, of his conquests of unholy beings feeding upon the viscera of hapless humans, of witches and their deadly spells. I recall the mystic article he uses as belt, made from the tail of the stingray, said to be deadly and tortuous when lashed upon the evil entities he battles with.


He was the Chooser. He chooses his favorites and favors them lavishly in his own way. He backs them on every argument and he sides with them. They are his favorites. But not me, nor my brother, nor my sister. We were never favorites.


He was the Villain. He chose to side with his favorite daughters, and against my mother. The dawn of this new millennium greeted us with unspeakable turmoil, thus distancing us from him even more. I was not a witness to it, but I heard tell of his disowning us.


Last Sunday he died, my grandfather. I never really knew him. But somehow, there is in me a blankness, a void, that I don't know how to describe. Am I sad for his passing? I should be. Am I devastated? Honestly, no. What I do feel is a general grief over someone's passing, almost akin to the grief you would feel when a stranger, or at least a distant relative of a friend, dies. I know it shouldn't be enough, but that is all I've got.




published in friendster blog June 25, 2007 at 9:39 pm

The Mute Witness to an Uneventful Life

It's been a year since I started this blog, and all I have to show for it are ten measly posts. Either I sensor myself too much, or my life is boring enough to write about, or I don't have what it takes to blog. But why would I accede to those? I'm egotistic enough not to let that kind of self-doubt get in.


But still; ten lousy posts for twelve months since opening this account?! Whatever happened to my 'flirting with the written word'? I do believe I have more than average capacity to continue these, but where must I get the energy and inspiration to go on?


And that is the crux of the matter, isn't it -- Inspiration. No matter how proud I am of my vocabulary, if I do not get inspired to put them in a coherent state, nothing will ever be made, and that will be the end of this blog...




published on friendster blog June 17, 2007 at 9:20 pm

The Spinning Vortex of Endless Re-runs: I Hate My Life, Vol 1

I woke up trapped in the past.


My mind is filled with speculatives; spectres of things past, and things that might have been.


If there is a hell, it would look just like this. All your past experiences relived in color. Some in perpetual rewind, some in excruiating slo-mo; all in lurid detail, down to the last microbe. All the while, a chorus of harpies singing your downfall and how utterly stupid your choices and actions were.


Still, you can't help but think "what if...". Then again, that one is also a path to hell, leading you to think what may have happened had you acted differently; what changes would there be had your lips blurted some other thing. What if...


The movie "The Butterfly Effect" comes to mind. The guy, hating (and forgetting most of) his past gets a chance to revisit them, and change it. He wakes up to a different present drastically changed, and more horrible than the one he left. It just tells you that sometimes, whatever happened is the best possible outcome there is. All other options are crap.


But still, my mind is in this limbo of the past, spinning endless re-enactments of my past. It's a downer, I tell you.




published in friendster blog May 2, 2007 at 5:26 pm