Arctic Beetle

Quick Thought 1: When happiness is y dependent on an x, can it not ever exist as a middleway, which, at most, can only satisfy the parties involved, but rather as an absolute, genuine fulfillment that is not liable to instigate any regret or ill feeling later on? Having mentioned that this happiness in question follows a y = f(x) relation, I suppose this query is pointless because the only way to go about achieving this is to have either one of the forces contributing to the tension let go of his end of the string. But then, my sole premise was the constant tugging between the two concerned players, so if they both willfully lose their grip, wouldn’t that be the same as a compromise?

Quick Thought 2: I find that a person with raw wisdom cannot fully transcend to the level of a philosopher unless one of his feet is propped on the pit of the fallacy of composition. The intent of these thinkers has always been to pen all-encompassing generalizations on entities whose idea of permanence is but theoretical and ideal. If canines differ largely from their personalities, yet are still dogs, how is it that they’re trying to cramp us in a single statement? I am put off by the conception that as long some satisfy the anatomical qualifications of a man, they automatically merit to be collectively called as a humanity together with the rest. Part of being a human is our implicit rationality, and if by its usage, some mean the dastardly act of hoarding money through illegal means or settling to bloodshed and other corrupted machinations, then let us allow them to win over the title of humanity while the lot of us relinquish it for a label with a much agreeable nature.

Quick Thought 3: To further drive home my point in number 2, I am disposed to say that they are doing us a great disservice because we all know for a fact that leaders don’t forever remain righteous, not all the governed necessitate guidance from their leaders because sometimes it’s the other way around, and this or that form of government is not always apt for societies with varying histories. Philosophers should have recognized that the same mental aptitude that breathed life to their treatises is what precisely makes all of us not simplistic.

We don’t celebrate Christmas.

Replacing the sound of the fit of the fireworks nearby is the collision of the drib leftovers of the brief round of rainfall against the roof of the rear-side neighbours. Everyone in the family is fast asleep while unusually, the lights of the houses in proximity to ours remain to be put out. Greetings in the form of text, wall posts, and tagged photos continue to pour in, albeit in a much slower rate than during the first hour of the day. Communication lines tend to be clogged in the face of these universal occasions so perhaps some of the recent texts sitting in my inbox were meant to come in along with the first few greetings. As a matter of fact, the realization that the 24^th had handed over its dominion over the fourth dimension to the 25^th only came about when greetings started trickling in. On another note, there’s presently a growing riot in my stomach and despite having had the option to feed my appetite, I thought better of it, partly owing it to the fear that my mother will mistake it as an act of partaking in the season.

I don’t know how else I could have phrased that in a less dismal manner but it isn’t as strict as it appears to be. Consider my belief as a legacy, something that was passed on to me by my parents and I received without inquiries. No one who claims to be a theist ought to question his faith, as it is an instinct often viewed as the other facet of the duality along with reason. (But I believe they go hand-in-hand, similar to how Calvin or Hobbes seems incomplete without an “and” adjoining them.) That, and the influence of the fact that we were all, at one point in our lives, impressionable youngsters who swallowed and never spat. Now what we have is a Sarah refusing to jar out herself from complacency by not doubting. I don’t exactly enjoy entertaining the thought that I might wake up one day and discover the foundations of my belief falling apart. Though if I got the carte blanche on my spirituality when I was younger, it’s likely everything would stay the same except for the confidence gained anew in walking about the path of a non-conformist Christian.

Aww.

Our precepts admit exceptions too; it’s the reason why I get to participate in parties and in the habit of exchanging gifts during this season. And it is not so much about us not being bigots—still, we are no bigots—as us avoiding the hassle of having to back-up our insistence not to celebrate Christmas with Biblical citations, in hope of explaining ourselves to everyone. (This is when the convenience of the President’s ease to call news conferences seems desirable.) Moreover, I find it more satisfying to celebrate His birthday in moderation daily than assigning a particular day to be excessively compassionate, not to mention be a more steadfast lapdog of capitalism. But permit me to clarify this: I love this season for all the positive chi it brings to the table.

I don’t greet people but I do greet back. Inconsistencies abound my personal tenets, don’t they? The rationale behind this can be explained by those Happy Birthdays in Facebook from friends totally oblivious to the fact that their greetings are 2 or 3 days late and that this very lateness is more of a consequence of them being made aware through their Top News feed of the great flood of posts on your wall rather than a manifestation of their thoughtfulness. But nonetheless, I personally find these late greetings deserving of a thanks due to the initiative of these friends to make their remembrance of this worn out but well-meant thought known to me. To individuals who sent out their greetings today, thank you!

So um, I don’t think I’ve shed much light on any of the points I raised but here… in place of a contextual greeting, have a nice day everyone! :)

The digital clock in my room just moved a minute forward– it’s now 10:38 PM. For ten minutes, I will let these hands accede to this faucet of thoughts stricken with frequent shortages. I used to do this a lot as a way to relieve myself of the shackles of grammar and what should be considered literary or not. But maybe this was actually a habit developed as an excuse to write bad. As much as I don’t want to stop, I am short of fillers and my hands are hurting too from the lack of respite since this morning. So now, I will tell you about this loud and uncomfortable sound my keyboard makes, particularly the space key which I use a lot. I digress a lot (and use “a lot” a lot) but just now, I thought of something worth adding on to the idea I built up a while ago.

If my memory serves me correctly, the first time I tried this, my stream of thought did not take me far. Firmly latched onto me were the pressure of time constraint, and the urge to edit, erase and to press the backspace key. I’m actually not quite certain whether my pinky finger hasn’t hit the backspace key in the past seven minutes; perhaps it has become a habitual practice and for this reason, my reality now refuses to categorize it as unnatural. I vehemently wish I didn’t because everything I’ve typed so far will be rendered invalid, and I would have violated the rules of the game then.

Only a moment ago, the clock hit 10:46 PM and that leaves me with two minutes or less than two minutes (for time never pauses) to close this. What else? You know how they say a true writer should be able to write anywhere and anytime with his style unmodified? Too bad, I am no writer– it’s such a big word to call myself or anybody for that matter. Like giving someone the title gamer! Anyway, going back to what I said, I find it tougher to write with a piece of paper and a pen than with a keyboard close to my hands. I wish I can start amending my ways with a tangible journal. Good ol’ instinct tells me this should end in 15 seconds. I have nothing else to say.

June, July, August, September and October were five runners on a sprint whose approach and departure flashed simultaneously. November quickly followed before I recognized the five had just been within sight. At the start, only June and July were bound to be mentioned in the above sentences but time dragged on such that with each monthly effort to finish this entry off (and free myself from scientific writing), a new runner is supplemented to the list. My intention was to illustrate how I struggle to succeed at writing amidst the previous semester, but the timestamp obviously tells otherwise. I write now to tell you of this struggle and what makes it one, in lieu of my failure to illustrate it.

Let it be known that every time I write, I trip over one of these four ruts:

1. My thought is rarely monogamous and it is never silenced save when I am asleep. It shuffles through the extant tabs in my head like a typical ladies’ man who experiences dissatisfaction from sticking around with a single partner for long. And it certainly doesn’t help to have pairs of eyes and hands which constantly demand that I find something to occupy their attention. In between my trouble to focus, I get to fiddle with the wash bottle on my table, repeatedly insert the key into my drawer’s keylock, and visit the bathroom and unwind with the current roll of tissue in the dispenser.

How I rise up: Buddha is my ever-dependable henchman. I get on my meditation stance and follow every thing written on this article. After a good 2 minutes, I immediately start relishing the whole duration I pounce on the keyboard. No kidding.

2. The portion of my brain involved in processing language regularly experiences bouts of verbal constipation. (My gratitude goes out to Sedric for his accurate diagnosis. He’s definitely on his way towards becoming a great doctor.) I usually have a general idea of how my sentences will explain themselves. The difficulty comes up when I plod though my limited database of words and pick ones which, upon subjection to the loooong process of putting them into order, will satisfy the expression I pictured in mind.

How I rise up: I literally rise up from my seat and descend the stairs to consume a bottle of Yakult or depending on its availability, several spoonfuls of powdered milk. I have this notion that the ounce of sugar contained in either will instantly supply my brain with ample ATP.

3. I am rarely in the mood to finish my sentences.

How I rise up: I hold off any attempt to write, and only set my brain in motion as early as when everyone in the house and most of the people in my messenger are asleep. The perfect ambiance is completed when the sole source of light left in my room is the laptop screen I am facing right now.

4. Any combination of (1), (2) and (3) since they almost always come as a package.

How I rise up: I don’t. I can only solve one problem at a time so I’d like you to consider the invaluableness of each instance I that I write here or successfully submit a paper.

I am completely aware that my writing rituals are placebos.

Isang ungol ang bumasag ng aking panaginip
Malamang si Bantay iyon, ang aso namin
Awoo, awoo, awoo, ang kanyang pag-uulit
Sikmura o dila kaya niya ang may nais?

Dumilat ako at dumalaw sa kulungan
Ilang iglap akong nagitla sa tagpong tanaw
Bakas ang hirap sa panginginig ni Bantay
Daing pala ay ang maselang umbok sa tiyan

Di kusang naging saksi ako sa pribadong yugto
Ng nakapanghihinang pakikipagbuno ni Bantay
Para at laban sa laman ng sinapupunan
Upang makasapit sa isang mainam na areglo

Malaon din bago umusbong ang punla
Maliit at kapos sa proteksyon, subalit kumakapit
Sa kanyang mapag-arugang yapos at dila
Na hindi natitinag na katiyakan ang hatid

Gunita ang nagdala sa aking mga paa pabalik
Sa silid na matagal ko nang hindi nabisita
Ipinagkasya ko ang sarili sa espasyong para sa isa
Ngunit kailanman ay hindi naiba sa akin
Naalimpungatan siya at nang may bahagyang ngiti
Binalutan ako ni Ina ng kanyang init
At kami ay nahimbing sa malalim na gabi

——

Nakaupo ako sa inidoro (mahalaga at kailangan talaga ang detalyeng ito) at nakatitig sa kawalan nang bigla kong maalala na may isinulat nga pala akong tula noong isang semestre na mailalapit sa okasyon ngayon. Makailang beses din ako nagrebisa at nagsumikap gumawa ng tugmaan kaya kung pilit pakinggan, pasensya at ipasaaiyo mo na lang pagkasuklam. Tulang pambata dapat ito para sa isang elective ngunit sa makailang-ulit na paghagod ko ng pagbasa, parang lumalabas na teenager ang persona. Bata pa bang maituturing ‘yun? Ewan ko lang, sa palagay ko kasi, iyon ang mga taon na tumutulay sa patlang sa pagitan ng pagkabata at pagiging mayor-de-edad.

Wala akong espesyal na nagawa para kay Mama sa araw na ito. Hindi ko siya nasabihan ng “I love you” at ni hindi ko rin siya pinaretiro kahit ngayon lang sa mga gawaing-bahay. Sana, sa kabila ng aking sinabi na hindi ako komportable sa pagbisita niya sa aking blog, ay mapadpad siya rito para mabasa ang mga katagang pupunan sa hindi masambit na paghanga at pasasalamat. Happy Mother’s Day!