Organized Chaos

And a Happy Birthday to my blog.

It has been a year and a day since I migrated from friendster-blogging. My reasons, though, are far from extraordinary -- I just did not want my thoughts to be fully publicized in the office. Especially when I am blogging about office woes. The alphalist series has, in its own way, been around, and I think that I didn't get into trouble, as another officemate did, because of my penchant for writing in English, which most officemates avoid like the plague.

Still, the idea of my personal thoughts in easy access to anyone of the sixty or so people whom I regularly interact with for at least forty hours a week is rather off-putting. It leads to much-unneeded inhibition and the curtailment of free-flowing expression. I still post there from time to time, but it really isn't the same anymore. Which is too bad, because I still opine that some of my better feats of verbal acrobatics were done there. It's just too bad that self-imposed censorship caused about by mild paranoia led to its untimely demise.

Ever since my first foray into whoring my thoughts onto unsuspecting web-surfers way back in June 2006, I have been using the header Organized Chaos. It suits my state of mind which is in constant flux. It doesn't help at all that I am the first to negate and counter-negate my own arguments that I end up with three opinions -- or none at all. Though others see me as a balanced individual, my thought processes are far from that state -- quite the opposite at times. Thankfully, there is still some semblance of organization amidst the chaos that dominates my mind, and this somehow helps me think out of the box when the circumstance forces me to it.

A year hence, and I am still unsatisfied with my words. Though I am afforded an avenue to express myself without the indignation -- real or imagined -- from my peers, I am still far from uninhibited with my thoughts. I am still unable to shed light into the murky abyss of conflicted emotions and contradictions that is my mind. I have much to improve, and so much more to learn. But maybe, everything is as it should be.

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This post is a response to a tag from cruxrifter of Youthanaisa

Power

Personal effects are things of power. They imbibe in themselves the dreams and desires of the person who owns them. Etched within these vessels, deeper than the names engraved upon them, further into their core, are portions of the owner's soul. The creation and the creator are separate, but the artist and the tool are one. It is through the tool that dreams are made whole; realities are woven; illusions given form.

Three years ago, I lost my totem of power; my pencil. For the past three years, my well of inspiration seemed to dry up and shrivel, mourning the loss of that one peice of my being. For two years, that pencil and I have been inseparable; conducting passions, weaving shadows, and turning it into cohesive thoughts and words. Most of these works are personal and will never see the light of day; some of them lost, burried in the dusts of the forgetful past; but I am proud of them, nonetheless. They have sprung within me and through me, they were given life, if even for a moment. The loss of my pencil; my wand; my staff; signaled the start of my diminishing dreams, my fabled fancies.

I'm still searching for that lost tool of creation; my muse; my song. But this time, I am hopeful. Though the object is lost, I realized that the source of its power has never left my side. It resides within the person and not the tool. So long as the core remains intact, the sense of wonder unspoilt, I will be able to bend reality to my will. We are the masters of our fate, and we will move mountains.

All we have to do is act.

Taking Flight

HE HAS ALWAYS ENVIED THE GULLS their flight; soaring high on feathered wings; gliding for hours, afloat on updrafts; and diving head-on to the water-- not a care in the world. Freedom in its most sublime.

Ever since he can remember, he has always equated freedom for flight; yearning for that magic moment of weightlessness and utter abandon. He craves for it, longing for that opportune time that he would finally earn it. He could not remember a time when he did not feel grounded, shackled on by responsibilities and commitments. But there is no time for resentment, for these burdens are but natural, and harboring those feelings would only ground him even more.

Still, he dreams of flight, watching longingly as flocks streak past overhead, tracing a path on the heavens; flirting with the wind; and dancing in the air. In the deepest of his desires, he sees himself at one with the gulls, afloat on the updrafts, caressing the clouds. This is his source of pleasure. This was his source of despair.

And it is this image of the gulls that was his solitary companion while hiking the steep rocks along the water's edge. The sound of crashing waves in the distance was like a balm, washing away his fatigue as he contiues his trek onward and upward. Just a little bit more and it will all be worth it.

At last, his goal. The view of the ocean was at once too beautiful and terrible to behold, like a massive blanket of liquid saphire, glinting against the afternoon sun, it seemed to go on forever, inviting yet elusive. He tried to breathe in the briny air, ecstatic at the sound of the gulls wecoming him back to their sactuary.

Gingerly, he took off his backpack to reveal the metal canister inside. Memories instantly collided with him, fighting their way out of the recesses from which he locked them, weakening him at the knees. Reluctantly, he opened the cylinder and slowly poured out its contents, letting the wind carry them to where the fates would take it. He recites one last prayer as the last of the ash make their way heavenward. An eternity of heartbeats and unshed tears passed before he could recover.

Standing up as if to leave, he was taken aback by the sudden whisper of his name. It was faint, like something coming out of a dream, but it was there. Over and over, the voice was calling out to him, like a siren's call carried by the wind, beckoning him to come closer.

He lingered at the precipice, taking everything in; breathing it like the crisp, salty air caressing his face, blowing at his hair. Raising his arms as if to fly, he favors the cliff one last look before closing his eyes, and tipping to the brim.

And for the first time in his life, he felt what is was like to be free.

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Holiday Lethargy

Despite my denials, and my continued whinings about it, I am a schedule-bound person. The amount of effort I put in anything I do is proportional to the urgency of said affair in my narrow circle of priorities. I don't consider myself goal-oriented, as my ultimate goal is to be able to do nothing but not be subject to the indignity of dying of starvation because I don't have money to spend. Selfish, I know, but there it is. I want a simple life of luxuries with no regard for accounting, but since this simple dream is not possible, I work. And bind myself to schedules.

This is the reason why I hate holidays. Holidays are the worst disruptors of schedules, cutting briskly to a halt everything you have prepared the entire week, and bringing your momentum down to a simmering pool of inactivity. Yesterday, I spent the whole day lying in bed, half awake and trying adrently to raise myself up. I failed spectacularly. Only after I received an sms verifying if I would continue with an appointment did I have the needed motivation to get up and move.

Today is another of those days. I still haven't gone up out of bed, and it's already 1pm. The lethargy from yesterday has brought about this infuriating inactivity upon me. I was supposed to go somewhere today (to work, actually) but I still cannot muster the necessary drive to do so. Even my room is suffering from this debilitating disease. I haven't picked up a single clutter in so long, the whole place is becoming more and more like a pigsty, minus the mud, thankfully. The mind and body is in limbo, due to my lack of anything concrete to stand on. I just hate it.

And still, I'm in my room, lying on my bed, and dreaming of the unfinished works I have left behind for another day.

Shirking Responsibilities: Shang

I bailed out from rendering overtime and accompanying an officemate yesterday in order to watch a movie. I was trying to rest my eyes from work by browsing on the internet when I chanced upon an article about the French Film Festival. The movies are for free. Immediately, I texted some friends, asking them if they are interested.

EyviCat and Gentle responded to the affirmative, so we agreed to meet at the Edsa Shangri-La for the movie. I was at the place at around 7pm; the movie will start by 8. But when I got to the ticket booth, an unassuming sign brought despair to my heart: There are no more tickets to the movie we were supposed to watch. As an addendum to that disheartening sign was another note stating that tickets were to be dispensed 2 hours before the scheduled screening. My being an hour early therefore was nothing, for the tickets have run out an hour before I got there. Disappointed, I informed Gentle and EyviCat of the unfortunate incident.

Seeing as we already took the effort to travel to Shangri-La (EyviCat and I came from Makati, Gentle, from Mandaluyong) it would be a waste of effort if we decide to just go home. We agreed to have dinner in the area instead. While waiting for the two of them to get to the area, I entertained myself by going to the bookstore. Good thing there was a nearby Powerbooks, and though their selection was rather slim, it was enough to while the time away, sifting through books and browsing those that have caught my interest. I was able to add another book (or five) to my mental list of books to buy.

At last, dinner. We spent some time deciding on where to eat. The Mall was filled with establishments that I want to try, but those said establishments are also full of customers. I have no patience with the waiting list. After circling the area for food, we decided to dine at the Green Tomato. Incidentally, this was also the first restaurant that EyviCat recommended as good in the area.

With our original plan thwarted, and lacking the drive to establish new plans, we decided to go home after the dinner. I was home at around 11pm. I'm no longer used to going home early.

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New Layout

I'm trying this new layout, but I cant seem make the date show itself.  The Read Me instructions said to click on the timestamp format, showing the day of the week, the month, the date, and the year; which I have done; but the date bar still reads "Undefined".  

Help?

Early Dismissal!

An HR personnel came to our part of the office around 4pm to announce that we can go home at 5pm, an hour earlier than our usual log-off of 6pm. This is due to the heavy rains that have started to pour as early as 2pm. Since the bosses have decided to meet outside, our part of the office errupted in merriment at the announcement. Once again, I was reminded of high school. Still any cause for celebration is always welcome.

Unfortunately, the flood waters outside is already shin-high, and the trike drivers outside have turned into rabid monsters charging 50 bucks on a ride to high ground. I am not one to go for the bait, so I have opted to stay in the office and wait for the flood waters to abate. sooner or later, it will subside. Besides, I'm already used to rendering overtime, staying here for a few more hours is not really an issue anymore.

What's bumming me isn't that I can't get home early, but rather, that I can't get to my books! For more than a week now, my wrapping paraphernalia has been spread on the floor of my room, waiting for the time that I finally reach for my cutter and splice that plastic wrapper into workable pieces. I've been in a buying frenzy as of late, and it galls me that I can't enjoy my current finds because I haven't yet performed that most important task of wrapping them in plastic. An hour early in going home might have prompted me to finally start my wrapping process.

But then, again, month-end reporting is at hand, and I probably wouldn't be able to attend to my books for some time.