Hope & All That Jazz

Lately, being online and looking at people's posts and/or posting my own shiz has been a huge challenge for me. I've been thinking about sincerity and literature and Facebook and whether or not people are still willing to listen. There are more than a million blogs out there, more than a million Facebook accounts, more than a million people tweeting about how their days went--is anyone listening? There is so much talking and so much yapping and so much pressure to "like" things that I find no one really takes the time to take a look at anything anymore. And this is why I've been off the web for the past few days.

It made me extremely sad to realize that despite the (overwhelming--thank you , guys) visits to my blog everyday, this blog has failed to do what I started it for--as a means to keep in touch with people who are no longer in my everyday life. While I find people liking things based on the title or the little blurb that I post up on my social media accounts referencing these entries, only a few of those people who like these things have actually read these things. I'm still unsure about what I can do to promote reading again in a time where people would rather scroll through a feed than sit through a story or listen to an anecdote, but I will keep writing. And I will keep reading. To a certain extent, I guess that's all that I can do. 

Writing is a lot like an eating disorder when you're starting out--you think you write to assert the illusion of your freedom of choice when the truth is writing is the ultimate exercise in losing control. You are speaking to someone (everyone, possibly) and you don't know if you will be heard (no one, possibly). Even more than in speech, the possibility for humiliation in writing is huge because a) it is in a medium that can be resurrected (photocopied, re-printed) and b) because writing beyond your diary will always entail tedious care and enormous struggle before you're satisfied with what you've written down (enough to show to other people).

Years ago, when I was initiated into Malate Literary Folio, I remember my editor/friend Akire telling us that the truth is this: no one cares whether you write or not. Most people on campus don't even know about Malate, or don't even read anything that isn't in the "To Read" section of Powerbooks or anything that hasn't been turned into a movie. So if you're writing because you want to be recognized--well, yeah: you might as well stop because that's something you can't count on. Being recognized and making quality work aren't always synonymous.

It's only now, almost 5 years later that I'm realizing how true this is. To a certain extent, I'm sure that we all want recognition but all we can do is the work (make sure we deserve it)-- and whether or not we get the recognition we want is the part that isn't up to us. We just keep working.

Over coffee today, Trizha reminded me that everyone goes through a period of starvation and that we all feel obsolete, sometimes but no one ever got anywhere turning into a recluse this early in life. And so, yes. I think I'll be okay. And yes, Paperweight will be coming out this summer--one way or another.

Wisdom Hurts

Photo taken by me (Instagram here) at 6:30 am last Thursday (extraction day)

I do hope you guys forgive my lack of blog posts this week. I just had my (four) wisdom teeth taken out and while it doesn't hurt as much I expected, it really does suck not to be able to chew what you eat. That's one thing that I've definitely taken for granted--who knew that so much of the pleasure of eating came from mashing the food up. So yeah. I've been eating Egg Nog biscuits (melting them on my tongue) and iced coffee or iced juice or well...Iced anything liquid, basically.

I've been thinking a lot about the concept of wisdom teeth a lot lately and I guess (aside from the obvious fact that they usually grow when you're older) it makes sense that they're so painful to have taken out. Not all wisdom teeth need a'taking out, mind you--just the ones that are impacted or that aren't growing properly. Like actual knowledge or wisdom, some of the things we come to believe in or come to "know" can punch holes in things that they aren't supposed to; in addition to that, these hard, usually deep-rooted things usually grow so that they're difficult to clean and so bacteria as a result of food deposits usually cause them to rot and cause infections greater much greater than themselves: they can give you lock-jaw and they can inflate your lymph nodes. In the same way that something tiny like believing that you should or shouldn't tip your waiters or that you should or shouldn't cross the street if the pedestrian light is red can affect greater things, in the long run.

Recovery is a bitch but it's a small price to pay for peace and growth (or in this case, the disruption of growth).

Brightside Entry | In The City

When I was growing up, our office (for those who don't know me personally, my parents are the founders of Ancilla Enterprise Development Consulting, Inc.) used to be on Ayala Avenue and I would spend my summers there, photocopying things and at one point, going to acting classes (I used to want to be Gwyneth Paltrow)/creative writing classes in the afternoon. Coming from somewhere like Alabang where the streets are wide and you have to drive everywhere unless you're looking to break a sweat, it always fascinated me how in Makati the most common mode of transportation was to walk. Unlike Taft or Quezon City, there are hardly any jeeps in Makati--and if any they end up in the same place: SM Makati/Glorietta, so if you're headed elsewhere keep walking (literally). When we moved our office to Alabang, a part of me was heartbroken. It was difficult letting go of the hooj office on Ayala Ave. for the smaller, more laid back one in Alabang. 

Last night, Marz and I spent the night at my sister's apartment on Rada Street (it runs perpendicular to Ayala Avenue) and it was fun goofing around until late last night and waking up at 7:00 this morning and still having time for breakfast. :) So I decided I'd do a post on the things I love about Makati apartment living while waiting for interview--which got moved to 1:00 pm, sadly.

1.) Convenience. If you live in Alabang (whether Alabang Hills, Hills Borough, Tierra Nueva, Pacific Village or Ayala Alabang) you'll know how it feels to be halfway through a movie, want chips and find that you have to get into your car to drive for fifteen minutes outside your village to get something at the 711 at Town Center or Molito. And if you live in Paranaque (BF Homes, BF Resort) you'll know how it feels to have to get into a tricycle and pay P30.00 + to get somewhere where they sell softdrinks and ice. But in Makati (or Taft, even), all you need to do is literally lift a finger--and press the down button on the elevator. There's a 711 on every corner and somewhere to eat on almost every street--whether you're looking for something affordable like the jolly jeep or something with more ambiance like The Plantation on Palanca Street.

2.) Humming. One of the things I abhor about the suburbs is probably one of the things that most people love about it--that silent-but-for-crickets type quiet. Whenever it gets like that in my room in Alabang, I turn up the radio until I'm too sleepy to think about the creepy cricketing. But living in the city, there's always somebody awake when you're asleep; there's little room for nightmares when you're lying in bed listening to the distant hum of cars below.

Introspection | Doubt

Today I went out and had a great time with Keavin--we hung around Ayala and spent the day catching up and talking about what's been going on in our lives: he's working for Rainmaker at Alphaland now and he really seems to be enjoying the experience. I told him about the different offers that I've gotten lately and how I'm really enjoying blogging and being productive. Such a nice day.

This is about to get a little cheesy, so pardon me--Keavin is my family. This afternoon we were walking around aimlessly and we realized that we're both people who don't really have anywhere to go. Keav's home life isn't the best situation in the world. And my family--well, let's say (in ASOIAF terminology) we're very Lannister; they (yes, I have chosen to exclude myself) love you based on three things: achievement, utility (to them) and obedience (to them). My parents are very catholic and have succeeded in acting in the image and likeness of god, I think: worship me, or suffer. Not that they aren't nice people--they really are; they just aren't very nice parents. And that's alright. I don't blame them for that anymore, but also I have accepted that I will have to make my own home and find love and recognition elsewhere.