It's the New Year MFckers.

Another year has gone. Isn't it amazing how we lament the passing of each day, sometimes wishing time would just freeze, stop and let us think so that we can make better decisions, pass better judgments and not screw up our lives, but since it doesn't, here we are... another year.

It started good for me. Because after two years of waiting for the clock the strike twelve, and the fireworks to go off and the shouting and the kissing starts holed up in my room watching High School Musical, this year I actually got to spend it with my family. I actually have a storm to thank for that

As expected though, it didn't really make much of a difference, except, I have more food and it's noisier and harder to sleep because the noise is coming from inside the house. It just made me feel that I didn't deserve to be sad, that I shouldn't be sad. Because hey, what the hell, I'm with people.

Also, 2018 has been good to me. I acknowledge that.

So HAPPY NEW YEAR fellas. 

The Universality of Forgiveness

THE UNIVERSALITY OF FORGIVENESS*
How Alaska Young Would Never be Found No Matter How Hard We Look
(Thoughts and Blabbers on “Looking for Alaska”)

I don’t remember if this is my first John Green book. I have a faint memory of reading The Fault in Our Stars but I don’t know whether my recollection comes from reading the book or just watching the movie. Anyway, I really liked John Green teaching me World History and Literature in his Crash Course videos**, so I was not very surprised that I would love him as an author.  (Yeah, I know, he’s a famous author and all, how could I not love him, but love doesn’t work that way for me fellas, I don’t love an author just because everybody else does, in fact, the more well-loved by the public something or someone is, the more I feel repulsed by them, I’m stubborn like that).

I picked this book because it was on the list of books that involves mental health problems. I never really had the intention of reading any book by John Green (shame on me, I know) because it was you know, too popular already, everyone I know probably had read all of his books. So boy, am I lucky to decide to pick this one up.

This book talks a lot about love, friendship, fucked-upness, getting through life despite aforementioned fucked-upness, how the world is not fair, and keeping on living despite knowing that the world is not fair (seriously, what is the noun for “not fair”? How come there is none, it is a valuable adjective that I would’ve used every day), and a lot of complicated situations that a lot of us knows too well. One thing that I really appreciated about this book is that, even if it is fiction, the characters, their beliefs, their values and the underlying reasons for that, are very real. After reading the book, I felt like I really met The Colonel, Pudge, Alaska, Takumi, and Lara.

One thing I noticed about John Green’s books (this one I read, TFIOS, I probably read and then watched the movie, Paper Towns, I watched the movie), is that he develops really really interesting characters. Take Alaska Young, Margo Roth Spiegelman(?), Augustus Waters. They are carefree individuals who (I think) refuses to conform to what other people does or says. They do what they want, and they have firm values and beliefs. But since, I haven’t read Paper Towns and I am not sure if I have really read The Fault in Our Stars, let’s focus on Alaska Young and her own brand of complicatedness.

Mr. Green described Alaska as a “gorgeous, clever, funny, sexy, self-destructive, screwed-up and utterly fascinating” character. And I couldn’t find any better way to describe her (seriously, that’s seven adjective in one line already, what more do we need?). She reminds me a lot of myself, you know, hoarder of books, terribly moody, sometimes friendly, sometimes the greatest bitch that you will ever encounter, although I am in no way gorgeous, clever, funny, sexy and fascinating in any way, probably just screwed-up and self-destructive. She also thinks about a lot of things that I also wonder about. Her questions are also my questions.

How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?

At one point in the story, she answered this question, although it is debatable whether the way she answered it (straight and fast) reflected the events that occurred in her life towards the end. Whether it was her choice or not. If the answer is yes, well then, she’s incredibly stupid, but also incredibly brave. I wanted to judge her because I was reading Pudge’s point of view, and damn he was right, Alaska is worthy of hate if her friends found out that what happened to her was intentional. As Pudge said: 

“Meriwether Lewis’s last words were, “I am not a coward, but I am so strong. So hard to die.” I don’t doubt this, but it cannot be harder than being left behind.”

I have never really lost anyone close to me. So I wouldn’t know how this feels. And for a split second, while I was reading, I felt guilty of all the dark thoughts that have entered my mind. The amount of pain and suffering that the people left behind might have really been so great, it’s as if the pain of the one who went away was passed and divided among them. Killing yourself doesn’t stop the pain it just spreads it around.

The thing that I know about, is the feeling of wanting to let the suffering end. It may be selfish, but isn’t it also selfish to ask someone to keep living when there is nothing left to it for her but suffering? If she has already equated her life with sadness, loss and pain, isn’t it also selfish for us to ask her to keep on feeling these things when she could, in one flick of her finger, end it all and be in peace?

Towards the end of the book, Pudge decided to forgive Alaska, whether it was her choice or not. He forgave her, for leaving him behind and for the pain that she caused. He thought that she has forgiven him too, for his shortcomings as friend, for failing to save her when he might have. Thus comes the title of this entry, The Universality of Forgiveness.

Mr. Green asks:

“Is forgiveness universal? I mean, is forgiveness, really available to all people, no matter the circumstances? Is it, for instance, possible for the dead to forgive the living, and for the living to forgive the dead?

I think it is important to know what forgiveness means to the people who is asking and giving it. If forgiveness simply means the words “I forgive you” or, “we’re okay” or “that’s alright” then, obviously it’s not universal, a dead person couldn’t give it to the living because uhh, he’s super dead (hah! Hamilton reference). But it becomes a different story when the living tries to say these words to the dead. Sure, he could say it, above his grave, in a eulogy, in a prayer, however he wants. But whether or not it means something, since the person who should be on the receiving end of the said forgiveness wouldn’t be able to hear it anymore, is not clear. Would that really be forgiveness, or would it be just empty words uttered into the air?

What really qualifies forgiveness?

Does it lie in the acceptance of the fault and the regret of having done it in the first place? Does it lie on the fact that the aggrieved one has moved past it and hold no grudge or bitterness against you anymore?

So I guess, I wouldn’t know how to answer Mr. Green’s question. But, you know, I think guilt, for having done something wrong, is not given to us by the ones we have wronged. It’s something that we have given ourselves. Same as with anger for being wronged, it’s not an emotion that was forced on us, it is something that we have somehow decide to feel. So there’s that. Maybe if those emotions are just within us, maybe forgiveness is too.

*Comes from Question No. 1 of John Green’s “Some Intentionally Vague and Broad Discussion Questions” section found at the end of the book.”  

**John and his brother Hank along with other awesome people teaches a lot of interesting subjects in this series of videos, go to youtube, type crash course, and eat out knowledge.  

This is Not A Very Funny Story

This Is Not A Very Funny Story

Some of My Thoughts about the Book “It’s Kind of a Funny Story” and much more of my thoughts about its amazing author, Master Ned Vizzini

It’s probably one of the best books I’ve read. It’s not very complicated, but it touches on really fucked up things like life and dying and unwant of life and wanting to die. It’s honest. And honesty will really get you a long way. Especially on topics like this.

Depression and suicide are things that are not very easy to talk about. Believe me, I’ve tried. But somehow, Master Vizzini was able to do it so artistically that it definitely touched my heart (if I have one). I am not officially diagnosed of anything, but that doesn’t change the fact that I could relate very well to the things that he is talking about. That feeling of being stuck, waking up into the nightmare that is life, cycling, battling tentacles. I know how all of that feels. Heck, I know it every single day of my life. And like the main character Craig Gilner, there hasn’t been just one time that I tried to quit it all.

I relate too well with that character, Craig. His life is pretty neat if you would look at it, a supportive family, friends, great school, no dramatic backstories, no tragic past, but it didn’t stop him from feeling the way he does – depressed, wanting to die. Sometimes, people just take in what is happening in their worlds quite differently than others. As people looking from the outside, it’s easy for us to say that other people have it better than we do. Like “Hey, why should she be sad, at least she have a family that supports her” or “hey, why did she kill herself over a failed subject, she’s very rich and famous!” or “at least she has a home, I don’t even have one but I don’t kill myself” or stuff like that. But life doesn’t hit everyone the same way. The things that you are yearning to have can be the same things that other people are dying to lose. And sometimes the things that doesn’t mean much to you, could be everything another person could ever ask for. It’s a crazy thing.

But less about the story, it’s amazing, I know everyone would agree with that (if you don’t well, how dare you?). What has been picking my mind most about it, is Master Vizzini. I haven’t researched about him well enough, well, at least not well enough that I would remember the details in the dead of the night. But when I looked him up, I saw someone accomplished, someone doing well in his life. He’s got awards for writing, he’s pretty famous in the literary scene, and the very fucking fact that he has books published, man, this person is really doing great. So why? Why could he possibly decide to do that?

It’s one thing that you’re an accomplished writer and you have this beautiful gift of turning words into stories that would change people’s lives, but he wrote something about suicide and depression and the fucking value of life. He made Craig realize how important it is to live, he, in that very mind of his, developed this very fascinating tale of how someone so messed up, was able to see some sort of light to keep moving. To keep living. So how? How could that very same mind, gathered up the resolve to finally do it? When, why and how did the Bobbys or the Dr. Minervas or the Noelles of his brain let that happen?

Don’t get me wrong. I do not have any ill thoughts about Master Vizzini. Like I said, life doesn’t hit everyone the same way. And I don’t know how life hit him. And how hard. I will never know. But it just makes me sad.

The truth is I thought as long as you have something, anything, no matter how small to make you hold on to your dear life, you wouldn’t do it. You wouldn’t get there, no matter how close you are. Just one thing. One simple thing.

And on reading his book, it sounded like he’s got it. Tons of it. And he shared it to me, and millions of other people who read and loved his book.

But with what happened to him, I now think that it’s not like that at all. When you get there, and I mean, really get there, nothing will be able to stop you.

It’s like people like me, like Master Ned, have this place inside our mind that we keep circling every day. We get near to it, sometimes we walk far away from it that we forget it even exists, and sometimes it sucks us right back, but we never really get to it. Or maybe it’s a pretty door, a very beautiful door that we always wanted to open, and sometimes we’ll touch the knob, sometimes we hold it real tight, sometimes we knock just to see what is there on the other side, but for some reason, we never really open it. Maybe because we see another door open, or maybe because there was knocking on the other side of another door, or maybe because we don’t think it’s the right time. But when we do open that door, no other doors would matter, no matter how equally pretty it is. It’s like once you decided to open that door, it lets in this really really thick fog that forbids you to see anything else.

I like that door representation. I could extend it to like, when everything in your life fails, all other doors are locked, except that, let’s give it a name. The Door to Oblivion. So when schools sucks, the school door is locked, and family sucks, then the family door is locked. And sometimes, some aspect of our lives are not just locked. Its doors are rotting and vanishing and we watch it with our very own eyes but we can’t do anything about it. All doors could be locked or vanished, except the door to oblivion, to which we hold the key. It would never be locked for us.

Hah. I like that key representation too. I’m actually starting to have this picture of how our lives are full of doors, but the only one who has a key is the door to oblivion, and not everyone is given the key too. Only some. Like Master Vizzini, and he used his.

It’s… I don’t really know how to end this thing. I wish I could write a big realization in the end, but there’s nothing here. The questions I have asked are still questions I have.

Introduction to Book Review Section

I have written several entries about the books that I have read and its impact on my life, and it was all just stashed away in my laptop. I feel like they are wasting away because nobody would be able to read it, (not that anybody would be interested) but, I just want to put them out there, so I’m writing this introductory entry for that section.

I really liked reading those entries because I am conceited, but also because, I loved writing them, and it allowed me to release all the glorious emotions, the unspeakable and overwhelming feelings that remained in me after reading a specific book.

Books are really special to me. Ever since I was young, it has been my constant, and most of the time, only companion. I would spend days in the corner of my grandmother’s room reading. I would finish all the stories in my Filipino and English textbook after the first week I have gotten them, and during summer breaks, I would rummage all the books in our house and read it. College English books are my favorite because they feature long amazing stories. When I eventually ran out of them, I would move on to the science books, planets, stars, rocks, human anatomy, whatever is there on my grandmother’s shelf.

I was never given my own book to read when I was younger. Everyone knows I love reading, but for some reason, my parents, not even my grandmother bought me a book. I got my very first own book when I was in Grade 4. I could remember because that is where we had a Scholastic Book Fair in our school. I got myself a Sabrina: The Teenage Witch paperback. My grandmother paid something to my adviser, and I tricked her into believing that my grandmother allowed me to spend the change for a book. My grandmother was furious when she found out what I bought. You see, she was this very religious, very pious lady that abhors everything that is remotely related to the dark side, and the smartass that is me bought a Witch book. Who would not be furious? That is also beside the fact that we do not have a lot of money, and the amount that I have spent on my ridiculous book could’ve been spent on food or other basic human necessity.

But despite this, I strongly believe that the greatest mistake any parent could ever do to their children is not giving them a book to read. 

But enough with the tragic childhood story.

Books are amazing. Have I stressed that enough?

So starting from now, there would be entries about book reviews! This makes me really excited, and I hope, some day, this stuff would make sense to someone.

Random Finds

My life like now feels like a vast empty desert. And I am wandering like a lost child. Alone, surrounded by nothing but sand, looking for something, not really sure what, something other than the emptiness that surrounds me. I try to build sandcastles as I pass. So that there could be something in this vast nothingness.  I build castles small and big, with high roofs and towers, sometimes I build little sand people. I try to give life to this dead barren land. But with a gush of the wind, everything can be blown away. And when I look back, everything I built disappeared. Like it was never there. The places where the sandcastles where, are as empty as it was before.

 But I still try to move forward and continue to build some more. Even if it is knocked down everytime. I have to. Because it's the only thing other than me in this desert. Even if it could be gone with a blow of the wind, I still have to build it. Because it is something. And an ephemeral something is still always better than an eternal nothing.

What I think about when I think about Jumping

I am so obsessed with this queen right now. I just have to. ;) 

So, I was going around some videos over my phone and I stumbled onto one of me doing that Dropzone thingy in Dahilayan. I can’t really call it a ride, because you don’t ride anything, and other than the harness, it’s just me, the tower and a trampoline. It’s both terrifying and exciting.

Basically, this is how you do the dropzone.

You climb up a really high tower about 6 or 8 stories high. The entire thing was pretty open, so its like climbing a skeleton of a tower. You could literally see everything under you. So if you have acrophobia, well, it’s a given that you shouldn’t try this attraction.

When you reach the very top, they attach you to a harness, and then you jump off. 

I should repeat that for emphasis.

YOU JUMP OFF THE 6 STORY TOWER THINGY.

I didn’t really have a problem climbing the tower because I’m not really afraid of heights.

But jumping off from it, is a completely different story.

I was a bit of brag, it was my first outing with my new officemates, so I wanted to establish this daredevil persona, and it’s something that I have never tried before, and I might never try again if I don’t do it now, so what the hell. So up I went. I was flipping my hair, and shakin’ my shoulders like it was no big deal. On the entire way up, I was chanting to myself,

This is okay, there’s a harness, and there’s a trampoline waiting down, what can go wrong? They wouldn’t put it up there if it was an actual death tower anyway.

An officemate went before me and man, he just went right ahead. It was so much pressure, because he just walked to the edge, made sure the harness was okay, then bam. There was no moment of hesitation, no thoughts of backing out, he just jumped.

So it’s my turn.

I steadily walked to the edge of the platform, still strutting like this entire thing is a walk in the park. Then, I was on the edge of a 6 story tower. And I have to jump.

It was my first time doing anything like this, being a sheltered kid who was not allowed to go anywhere other than school and all that. My brain has no memory whatsoever of jumping from high places and doing daredevil thingies so naturally, my old pal the amygdala went haywire. I could almost see it wildly blinking red. I was feeling cold, my hands and legs are literally shaking, I could feel every hair on my skin stand up, the feeling of the air on my face was more pronounced, everything is more pronounced.

I was trying my best to calm my brains out by thinking about meh, the worst that could happen is that something would go wrong, and I’m gonna die, which is not so bad, really. Everyone’s gonna die, well, it was a little dumb to die this way, but, meh. But also, the possibility of that happening is very low. People are meant to jump from this tower, I have a harness, there’s a trampoline under me.

But man, my body just couldn’t stop shaking.

The thing that made that attraction terrifying is not the fact that you’re going to jump from a really high tower. There are videos, and the actual jump is around 5 seconds tops, the harness would take care of the rest of the way down. It wasn’t the fall that was scary. It was the idea that you will do it voluntarily, by yourself, no one’s gonna push you, the floor is not gonna pop open.

YOU.HAVE.TO.JUMP.

So you’re basically fighting with your natural instinct of self-preservation and survival.

I was up there, shaking let a wet chicken, seeing everything under me, with the wind blowing to my face like a jerk. I took my time, and I was this close to backing out. I don’t know what happened, I guess I just shut my brain down for a second and jumped the fuck down that tower.

And that was it. Done.

Daredevil persona retained.

I felt like a badass.

This isn’t the scariest ride/attraction that I have tried on that trip, there was that vertical slide thingy, (which I got stuck in the middle of), the 500m zip line, that roller coaster/anchor’s away slide ride, but this one is probably the most memorable.

It made me think about the people who jump to their deaths. How terrifying was it to stand on the edge of a building or a bridge, with no harness, no trampoline, nothing waiting down there but death. How much will power would you need to take that final step and just let it all go.

I always say that I don’t mind dying, at this very moment or in the near future but being up there ready to jump terrified me so much, and it was just a park attraction.

It's just a thought. And I know it's a really dark thought, so I'm gonna leave a picture of this really cute pingu that would wipe all the terrors away. 

Really Sad Bizarre Dream

I rarely tell people about dreams, because you could get a lot of things from dreams. People’s hopes and dreams, fears, a fragment of their true personality. That’s why I’m really really careful about telling my dreams, but this one, this one I really have to tell, because if I don’t, I’d probably be heartbroken for the rest of the day.

So here goes…

THE DREAM

There was a guy. He was tall, a bit pale, with light colored hair, the kindest face I have ever seen, and he’s dead. 

In this dream, he was my significant other (in real life, I don’t have shit like that, and in this dream, he’s goddamn dead, yay, me!). There was an altar, with his picture on it, in the middle of the living room, complete with flowers and candles, but there’s no casket.

His body’s is in my laboratory, because apparently, I am a doctor with Wakandan technology who can bring him back to life. How cool is that? And brought him back to life, I did.

And for a moment, there he was, my significant other, alive, breathing, smiling, and with me, but just for a moment. He died again shortly after that.

It was devastating.

DE-VAS-TA-TING.

This is a dream, I know, but goshdamn it hurts.

It felt like my heart was squeezed by pro wrestlers, then smashed by a hundred hammers, then ran over by a bulldozer. In that dream, loss hurts physically. It was like a part of me was torn away. I spent hours in front of his altar, just looking at his picture. Somebody came by and asked what I was doing, and I said “I feel like some part of me is missing. I feel like I’m not me anymore. I’m incomplete.” (hah! Even in dreams, I’m dramatic). That person patted my back and left, and I continued to stare at his picture, trying to summon memories that won’t come.

Like any normal human being, at some point I blinked, and when I looked back at the altar, the guy’s picture is gone.

I was hysterical. 

People were trying to calm me down, but I can’t. As if that picture was somewhat, an extension of my dream boyfriend. I was more devastated than before. I was begging him/his soul(?) not to go away, because I was gonna bring him back to life again. I was kneeling and crying, muttering “please don’t leave yet, please don’t leave me, I’ll bring you back.” like a lunatic’s mantra.

 Then at one point, I saw something in the clouds. Words.

LOWEST DRAWER.

Then a blue pull-cabinet popped in somewhere in the scene. I opened the lowest drawer, and lo and behold, my dream love’s picture was there, so was Luxor (my real life beloved laptop) and some papers that I have been missing.

I looked up at the clouds again, and again, there were words.

ESSENTIAL LIGHT

I muttered it out loud because it didn’t make any sense. And someone in the crowd, reacted. It was a tiny old woman, who suddenly became enraged. She was screaming and shouting that this was all his (I’m guessing dream loverboy) fault. She tried to leave, but the people (I don’t know where they came from) held her back.

She was so mad at me. She kept saying I didn’t have a proof. I tried to look at the clouds again, maybe loverboy would give me proof, but, this time it wasn’t the clouds. It was the railings of the roof. There were numbers. I recited the numbers to her, and she fell silent. It was apparently her bank account. All these doesn’t really make sense to me.

I was just happy to get the photo back.

I went back to my lab and brought my beloved back to life.

If you thought everything would be happy now, you are wrong, because holy macaroni, he died again because of some complication.

The pain was even worse. I feel like I’m dying everytime he dies, except I live to savor all the pain. It was excruciating. So when the team of Wakandan doctors decided to bring him back to life, again. I didn’t approach him anymore. He was looking for me, but I didn’t come near him. I couldn’t bear going through the pain of losing him again. What if he dies again?  I won’t survive another one of that heartbreak.

But he was looking for me. And frankly, dream me was looking for him all the time too.

So I give in, for a while I was with him, and we were happy. But then, he fell ill. He was holding me, and I could feel his heartbeat, it was incredibly fast, and then it slowed down, then slower, slower, until it stopped completely.

My dream boyfriend died for the last time.

And then I woke up.

COMMENTARIES

Holy fuckin fuck. 

I woke up feeling that pain in my chest. I carried some of the dream emotions with me. My eyes are watery, and I can hardly breathe. 

I have to consult with Dr. S.Freud again, because I am so deeply bothered. I’d edit this post for the commentaries soon. :3