Step

Author’s note: I tried to work out the kinks from my year-long hiatus with a short essay. I honestly did not intend to write it for the sake of posting something, but I guess this is as good a time as any.

It’s dark.

No, it’s not just dark. Dark doesn’t begin to describe how suffocating this feeling is. I push myself up from something cold and hard, trying to get my bearings.

Where am I? Why is it so dark? This darkness, it’s nearly tangible – weighing me down from the top of my head to my bare toes. My eyes try to adjust to the inky blackness, but I can barely see a few inches beyond my face. I raise up my palms, but see nothing as I frantically wave my hands an inch or two from my eyes. An involuntary shudder crawls up my spine as I try to scream, but it caught as my voice sputters incomprehensively. My throat spasms, choking on the fear threatening to suffocate me to death. I slowly crumple to the floor, tucking my head between my legs, trying to drown-out the overwhelming silence of the void with pitiful words of self-assurance.

I’m okay. I’m okay. Imokimokimok. I’m not afraid. I am ok.

You’re not okay. Who said that you were?

Huh..? Who said that?

Don’t you see what’s happening to you? You’re alone – left to your own devices. Forever doomed to wander around in the dark by yourself.

What? What.. Who is this? Why are you saying this?

Don’t get up. Just stay here. Lie down, accept the bliss. The darkness is your friend.

But, it’s dark. I don’t like it here. I don’t like this feeling, It’s suffocating!

What’s the difference? Out there, nobody sees you. Nobody hears you. No matter how loud you scream, no matter how hard you wave your arms around, nobody ever paid attention. How is this place different from that place over there?

I.. I..

See, it’s okay to be here. It’s okay to be weak. Forget about being strong. Just give in to the darkness and let it all go.

Yes I.. I’m weak. I can’t do this. Nobody is asking me to get up. I guess.. I guess it’s easier for me to just close my eyes and be done with it. Nobody is asking me to do anything. Nobody..

…

…?

I hear a faint voice. It sounded like indistinct chatter from somewhere. Where is that coming from?

..lease..

I unfurled from my position slowly, sitting up on the cold, damp floor. Whatever it was, the voice was slowly becoming clearer, albeit muffled. I can make out a few words here and there, but somehow, it seemed to be inching closer and closer to me.

..Son?

Son? Something, or someone was calling their son. Little by little, I can now identify its tone. It was a female. A female, probably a mother, judging from the way she was calling out for her son.

..Son, I’m sorry..

Sorry? She said she was sorry. What was she sorry for?

..Son, we’re sorry. Please don’t let it be too late.

The voice was becoming more pronounced. I can hear her now. I can hear her voice, and it was sobbing.

“..Son, we’re sorry. I know it might be too late for us to apologize to you. We didn’t mean to leave you alone.” Her voiced hitched as she hiccupped between sobs. “We thought you’d be alright alone. You said you’d be okay, you said you were doing fine. We were stupid to think you’d be fine. We should have known!”

I hear her draw ragged breaths as she tried to continue.

“..I know it’s pointless to say we didn’t know at this time, but I hope you know we didn’t mean to leave you be like this. Please.. just please wake up so we can say we’re sorry! Please.. Please..”

Her voiced collapsed into an unintelligible fit of sobbing and crying as I slowly began to remember. The eyes, those judging eyes. The names. The endless jeering. The empty utility room. The decrepit shack behind the computer building. And worse of all, the pain. Everyday, it seemed like all I had to look forward to was pain.

Yes, now I remember. I gave up. I chose to enter this darkness willingly. What good was it to live a life as entertainment for others? This darkness, though suffocating, will never look at me with such debasing glances. This silence will never whisper demeaning words behind my back. This void is infinitely better.

Yes. Yes, I agree, it’s better here.

It’s better because it’s easy.

Yes, it’s easy. Embrace it. It’s easier to let go, right?

I close my eyes slowly and started to lie back down. I let the cold slowly wash away my fear, and my anxiety. My arm slid from my side as I stretched it away from myself, welcoming the darkness into my embrace. I had nothing to look forward to. Nobody even cared.

Nobody..?

Wait, was there really nobody?

No, that can’t be right. I.. I remember some. There were people who helped. There were people who tried to help.

That kid who stood up when they were punching me for not getting them drinks.

That teacher who tried to ask me what was wrong, but I refused to answer.

My classmate who gave me a little bit of her food when mine was taken away.

I remember. People were willing to help. People knew what I was experiencing, and they tried to reach out. But I refused their help. I closed myself off thinking no one cared enough.

No one cares. Are you confusing pity with concern?

No. I refused help because I thought it was pointless. I thought it was useless to fight for myself. Who cares if its pity or not? The only reason why they pity me is I refused to fight back.

Why fight it? Don’t you think it’s better to give up?

“No, I refuse to give up! My mother loves me. My family loves me. There are people who care!” I gritted my teeth and shouted at the abyss. “I don’t know who you are, but I refuse to listen to someone who is intent on bringing me down. I.. You will not be the one to decide if I stay down or not, that is for me to decide!”

My chest was heaving slowly as I calmed down, breathing deep breaths as recovered from my tirade. It was only then it occurred to me that the voice was not as loud as it was before, and I could clearly hear the echo of my voice when I shouted at the darkness. I moved my hands slowly and was surprised by the faintest outline of my hand in front of my face. The darkness was no longer oppressive, no longer as heavy as before. I wonder what happened?

I slowly stood up. This place will no longer be my prison, I vow. I will escape this pit, no matter what. I had almost forgotten that there were still people who saw my situation and were willing to stretch out their hand to help. I just had to decide for myself to reach out and grab hold.

With that thought, I took my first step forward into the darkness searching for the light.

Quarantine Blues

It’s been 7 months since my last entry.

You’d think that all this time spent indoors would have guaranteed an entry or two here, but no. Most of the time I spent thinking, I also spent coping. It’s hard to write when you’re feeling pressured by the anxieties of people around you, nothing seems palatable. I have several unfinished drafts just hanging around my clipboard waiting to be published, but I don’t feel as if I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve said enough. It all seems so.. pointless, for lack of a better word.

Here’s hoping a spark will come soon.

On repeat

Yeah, this song’s been on repeat for a couple of days now, and I’ve probably watched this clip 20 times in the last 3 days.

I mean, how could you not? These three girls can sing, and they look like they’re having the time of their life performing. Who honestly can resist bopping along with them?

Oh, I should probably give a little more context before I start rambling out of control again. This show is called Fantastic Duo – it’s a Korean Entertainment show that’s basically a song contest, but with a twist. A seasoned singer, or someone who is well-known in the industry, gets to pick someone to sing a duet with him/her after a few stages of deliberation. These people are mostly fans who get screened at the first stage using an app, then eventually get called up to the studio where they showcase their singing talent by singing a song sung by the well-known artist, usually by groups of 3. I’m not quite sure of the other intricacies of the show’s format, so pardon my inaccuracy if I missed some pertinent points. All I know is, it’s devilishly entertaining seeing these unknown talents complete against each other ala Battle Royale for a chance to sing a duet with their favorite artists.

Of course, this probably won’t make any sense if you are not particularly versed in the K-entertainment scene. You probably wouldn’t know who’s singing what, much less figure out who’s high or low tier on the list of celebrities participating on the show. Nevertheless, if you enjoy watching people showcase talent while having fun doing it, then you’d probably enjoy watching a clip or two of this show. Personally, it’s fun watching these normal, amateur singers shock these veteran artists with their song covers so I don’t mind the language barrier.

Here’s another one for posterity’s sake. The artist in the middle is Ailee, one of South Korea’s more well-known, modern-era vocalists. I’d probably say more, but then we’d be getting into technical stuff that no one really wants to read about. 🙂

Youtube recommendations, you are the unsung hero of the internet age.

Tangenital Discussions

We live in a world fixated on numbers.

Everything defined within the bounds of a scale, whether it be numeric or ordinal. Age, salary, tenure, time. The fundamental aspects of ordered life are defined by numbers.

What would life without numbers be like? How would we live in a world where Chaos is end-all and be-all? Would a sort of intricacy or dare I say it, obtuse harmony develop inside the web of unorganized poetry?

Questions asked by a hopeless romantic snared in an endless morass of numerical expectations.

Meaningless, in the face of the expectations of the world defined by common sense. For what do artists strive for, other than to break the shackles of the world’s common sense with depictions further away from the truth?

Sadness. Despair.

Much needs to be said, but little can be expressed.

The pedestal afforded by many to the banal. Fixated by the dimensions that we can see, but stymied by the depth of the unseen. What good will a hall of mirrors do for one who does not want to look at reality?

Recalibrating

I’ve been having a bit of difficulty finishing any sort of project these past few days, most notably posts that I should have finished weeks ago but for some reason, remain unfinished. The odd thing about all of this is, I know what I want to say and how I want to say it, it’s just that when I sit down in front of the computer or laptop and start typing, halfway through the entire exercise I start rereading what I wrote and feel slightly off about the whole thing. It’s a middling concern probably, but the fact that I’ve come close to finishing an article or two only to have it feel incomplete for some reason is a source of frustration for me.

As of this moment, I have several drafts of unfinished entries saved in my backlog. I’m not sure how I can finish them all given my current mindset, but I’m guessing this post in itself is a cathartic process to figure out why I’m seeing these roadblocks to my writing.

Perhaps it’s because I’m forcing myself to write for the sake of writing? I know I promised myself to express myself more through writing when I rekindled my love to read, but maybe it’s because I’m pushing myself too much that the words simply won’t flow out. The feeling can be compared to wanting to sing something out loud, but failing to do so because you lost your vocal chords. Or empathize with someone experiencing grief, only the language that they speak is different from yours. That stifling feeling that something is off-putting serves to lock people like me into a somewhat depressing cycle of wanting to write, but having nothing to write about.

I kind of get it though. I should be writing about the things I love, about the things I am passionate about. But if I do engage in thing that catch my fancy, they express themselves through a whole other medium than just pen and paper (or in this case, keyboard and screen?). A probable example would be the fact that I like playing instruments, and somehow if I do get a feeling that I would want to express, it manifests itself in a song, a lyric, or a phrase that I’d rather play than write about. Perhaps this inability to express is not a matter of the lack itself, but rather the medium and the modality. I should not be concerned if I am sacrificing one of my passions for another, as it simply means that I am developing not just one specific part of my psyche.

Strange, it’s a bit more encouraging to read about my thoughts rather than talk it over with myself in my head. Who knew, right?

A Question of Contrasts

¹³ And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is Charity.

1 Corinthians 13:13 King James Version (KJV)

A few days ago, our Youth class started discussion the nature of Emotions and its relevance to character building. We’ve already gone through a basic introduction of temperaments and a rudimentary discourse on Personality, so I decided that the next step would be an introduction to the nature of Emotions. I must admit that it was hard to simplify a discussion about an abstract concept such as Emotion in two or three one hour sessions, mainly because my primary goal was to teach practical applications, not dive into the Philosophical nature of the Human Heart. Nevertheless, preparing for that discussion involved me condensing my otherwise wayward stream of consciousness into something that can resonate with teenagers and young adults.

A week prior to developing my lesson plan, I held a survey among them to see what were the top emotions that affected them the most. Not surprisingly, Sadness came out on top, followed by Worry and Anger (with Happiness coming in hot on their heels). I had somewhat expected this to be the case, but it posed an interesting question to me as I started rummaging around for possible opening salvos for discussion.

Why do negative emotions exist? Wouldn’t it be easier to have just happy emotions in the first place?

I found it fascinating that a few years back, Pixar attempted to illustrate these abstractions in their movie Inside Out by personifying them into various characters that represented the core emotions that affect a child’s cognitive development. I’m sure the little ones that watched the film wouldn’t understand the subtlety of the various psychological references included in the film, but for the adults that do understand, it paints a poignant picture of how our emotions play a crucial role into shaping our memories and connections to other people. The film essentially provided us with an answer to why humans need negative emotions like sadness to counterbalance joy and the like – Emotional highs establish connection, but emotional pain cements it by means of human empathy. Without it, it would be easy to see human interaction as a frivolous endeavor limited to only enjoyment and merriment (though one would argue that this premise itself is not as simple as it sounds).

The movie illustrated those core emotions as things that can be blended to provide a veneer to filter human experience. To cite an example, the illustration of Sports island in the film had Riley’s memories of hockey blended with Joy and Anger, presumably to illustrate the complex emotional balance of competitiveness. However, some people viewed Emotions as entities that exists as dualities – concepts that need other, opposing concepts to exist. Like Fear opposing courage, or Love opposing Hate. One cannot exist without the other, as the other provides meaning to the concept of another. To illustrate a point, an oft-quoted line stated that “Courage is not the absence of Fear, but rather the ability to act in the presence of it.” – I had often mused that this line implies that if Fear didn’t exist in the first place, then there would be no need for Courage because then there would be no barrier to overcome, no condition to apply Courage to.

It’s interesting to note that Paul also references this duality by contrasting two different sets of nuances produced by two opposing entities in his letter to the Galatians. He begins outlining the works of the flesh in Chapter 5:

¹⁹ Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are these; Adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness,

²⁰ Idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies,

²¹ Envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like: of the which I tell you before, as I have also told you in time past, that they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.

then follows it up with the fruits of the Spirit, outlined in verses 22-23:

²² But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith,

²³ Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.

I had always wondered whether there would be a need for these fruits of the Spirit to exist if Sin had not entered into the world. If human nature had not been corrupted, then we would not have to learn Longsuffering for trials and temptations. There would have been no need for Gentleness to temper Wrath, nor Meekness to stifle Pride. Faith would not have battled Unbelief, nor Goodness cowed by the horns of Hate. Man would have been content to live his life free and unblemished in the Garden of Eden.

But then, you’d also have to wonder. If Sin had not entered the World, would Man come to understand the true meaning of Peace by himself in the absence of Strife? If Adam had his every need and every whim provided by God, would he have been able to experience Sadness and in turn, Joy? Did these emotions even exist when God walked with Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden? It seems far-fetched to consider that such happy emotions probably did not exist in the Garden. Or perhaps, they existed but Adam and Eve did not identify with them yet, because they had no frame of reference to compare them with. One thing is for sure though, the moment they ate the forbidden fruit, they felt Fear (as referenced in Genesis 3:10), a negative emotion borne out of Sin and disobedience.

One of the things I’d probably ask God when the time comes is how the whole Sin scenario fits into His plan to bring us back to him. Did He allow us to pick the fruit from the tree of Good and Evil to give us perspective of true Joy and Peace by experiencing Sadness and Strife? The Bible states in Revelation 21:4 that all tears, all sorrow will be wiped clean when this world passes away. And when the time comes when we will sing praises in Heaven, would we be able to sing because we have experienced the world as it is now?

The question of why we are allowed to experience trials and hardships while we are alive still remains a question of Faith. Why does God allow Man to experience Grief? Why does God allow War to consume the faces of the innocent? Why does Hate exist? Those are hard questions that we may be unable to answer convincingly in our lifetime. But God provided Hope, along with Faith and Love to sustain us as we struggle to understand the whys and wherefores of our existence in this world. And when the time comes when our Faith will turn to sight and our Hope will turn into reality, God’s Love will be there to ensure us that we will never more wander.

The Melancholy of Memory

I still remember that day.

It was a sunny, humid afternoon. By my best guess, it was around 4 to 4:30 pm, when the last class of the day was usually Basic Computer or something as equally boring. I watched the clock dismally as the minute hand ticked slowly towards the inevitable ring of the dismissal bell with the speed of an aging beagle swimming around in a vat of processed molasses.

*RING RING RING *

As soon as the bell rang, everybody rushed to the door with their bags already packed. I picked up my stroller bag and skipped out the door, heading straight to the gate. My friends called me to come stay for a while to play in the nearby field, but I shouted back to say that my parents were waiting for me back home. I wasn’t allowed to stay late or stay out too much because of my allergies and somewhat frail condition, so I usually just went straight home after class. I didn’t mind that at all to be honest; Some of my favorite anime shows aired at around 4:30-5pm, so it wasn’t much of a trade-off for a kid who just wanted to enjoy the last moments of his day watching Mojacko on the TV.

I ran out through the big iron gate and waved goodbye to the friendly guard stationed just outside the gate near guardhouse before turning to walk down the gravelly path beside the big road leading up to our house. Our small bungalow was beside this highway leading out of our relatively small town, a kilometer or two away from my school. My parents usually don’t pick me up after school because the surroundings were relatively safe, with only rice fields and small houses around in between the trek home. The most I could get accosted by would probably be a wayward carabao looking for fresh grass near the side of the road. Not that they would assault me out of spite, but perhaps more of curiosity for the snacks we sometimes ate on the way home from school.

I took out my small bimpo I always kept beside my person and wiped away the sweat on my neck as I progressed leisurely on my walk home. It was a little humid earlier that afternoon, but now a slightly cold breeze started blowing down my back from the direction of my school. It usually takes around 15 minutes or so to walk the entire distance from my school to our gate, and I was enjoying the small reprieve from the cloying heat earlier in our classroom. I breathed in a bit and enjoyed the crisp air for a moment, before I was suddenly interrupted from my reverie by the sound of my friends shouting something at my back from afar off. I looked back and squinted my eyes at my friends, trying to figure out why they were waving their hands and pointing at me while running, when I saw something that would remain me for the rest of my life.

I should probably describe the road a bit more. I mentioned that there was a gravel path beside a big road, and there were fields around the road. Well, there were also huge trees lining the side of the gravel path, and their topmost branches formed a sort of canopy above the road. So if you were to picture yourself walking down the path I was walking on, you’d see a long stretch of asphalt road lined with trees of varying shapes and colors; Fire trees with their vivid reds and oranges interspersed with the deep green leaves of mango trees splashing their colors in a wide canopy above the road. As I looked back at my friends, I saw all of these colors rounded out by the glow of the setting sun, while I heard a faint roar slowly crashing its way towards me and my friends. I saw it then, a downpour of rain coming slowly from the direction where we just came from. It was probably a cloudburst of some sort, with the wind I felt at my back pushing it slowly towards us. I looked back at the scene one last time and started to run ahead too, spurred by the shouts of glee from the kids at the back ecstatic to play in the rain before going home. I tried to outrun the squall, but it quickly caught up to me in a flash, and for a moment I relished the feeling of being able to run freely in the rain after a scorching afternoon. Of course, I was promptly scolded by my mother when I got home because I was not allowed to play in the rain because I might get sick.

That memory will remain as one of my precious childhood memories – that feeling of unimpeded bliss while running from the rain, the wind at my back and the smell of the rain-kissed soil changing as the rain pours down from the sky. Now, when I try to recall that memory to evoke that same feeling of freedom and bliss, the picture comes out less that what I expected it to be. The road becomes a little more narrower, the foliage a little less vivid, the wind a little less breezier, the rain a little less adamant. It’s like a faded painting, the paint flaking off after years of being left around an old forgotten house. The image is still there, untouched, but the colors and the life, they slowly fade away.

Remember our favorite life events? Our first Christmas Gift? Our first Birthday party? Try to recall those right now. Chances are, you wouldn’t remember everything that made you enjoy that day back then (Not unless you have an eidetic memory, which is besides the point) It’s a funny thing, that the only time our memory is 100% accurate, is the time when we experience it for the first time. And for every succeeding instance when we recall that memory, it fades just a little bit, losing its luster and glamour, until all that is left is what it made you feel in the first place. Some people might think that it’s a depressing thing to think about memories fading away, but in its own way, there is a sort of beauty in the temporal nature of memory in that we are reminded that the fleeting nature of life is what makes the experience of living itself beautiful and poignant. Memories are merely echoes of a life well-lived, and we should not be weighed down by the fading reality of our memories.

A life well-lived, is a life well worth remembering.

Note: Stock Photo for reference

Silence carries its own weight

Yep, it’s been quite a bit since my last piece. I’ve been preoccupied with a lot of random stuff these past few months. Things that I’ve neglected over the past couple of years due to real life constraints. Things that I should not have neglected for my peace of mind.

Anyway, all that’s water under the bridge. I’m feeling a bit more contented these days, and that’s the important part, right?

Well then, what should I write about today?

To Love Again

I bought a violin for the first time. After several years of playing on borrowed violins, I finally got my own. It’s amusing to think that I’ve gotten by with cheap borrowed stuff for so long it’s a wonder I even considered buying one for myself. But recent circumstances have convinced me I needed to buy one for myself, and off I went scouring the stores for the perfect fit for me (of course, with monetary restrictions all things considered). I didn’t believe it was possible to fall in love at first play, but after a good amount of time testing and assessing violins at my available price range, I found it – the perfect violin fit for me. It was not handcrafted Luthier-quality, but I knew as soon as I felt the tips of my fingers on the fingerboard and heard the soundpost resonate with the pull of my bow that I liked this one. This is the one I needed.

I’ve never been one to brag about musical talent. Hell, I sincerely believe that I don’t have any; I would not have considered picking up the damned thing if not for my parents who insisted that I learn. I didn’t even concentrate that much on mastering it at first – it was more like a chore I had to do before me and my friends went off to play DotA right after practice. But even if I hadn’t been the best of musicians during the brief periods I spent with my violin, I did not regret the time I spent learning it. Playing hymns and orchestral pieces had this cathartic effect on me that made me appreciate the message embedded in the song a little bit more. And it was for that reason that I was more than a little bit sorry I had to give up playing when my work started to eat up most of my spare time.

Fast forward to today, I want to get back to playing, but I had no instrument of my own. I look at children who I used to teach the basics grow better than me during the time I was away, and I felt guilty and a little bit envious. Would I have practiced more if I had my own? Would it had been feasible? I wondered if I would have been able to drag myself out of the doldrums if I had my own violin at home. I knew the answer to that, but I was trying to convince myself that my disinterest was a direct result of circumstance alone. In truth, I did not continue because I lost sight of the point. I’m not that good, why should I even attempt to play? I’d rather rest my body and my mind for my next duty. What good will practicing do? Even if I did play, I could get by with the basics – it’s not as if I need to practice more.

I realize now that the way I approached it was a mistake.

Looking back, I should have forced myself more. I should have embraced music as a way to purge myself of the horrors and weariness of my job. I knew that even if I was not the most talented person amongst the gaggle of people playing, I still relished the feeling I experienced when I played;I felt more alive and blessed sitting on those seats than seating outside them. I loved how God spoke to us through the music that we played, and I realize now that it was a mistake for me to sacrifice that aspect of my life over my job.

I promised myself that I would not subject myself to that extended sabbatical again. Buying my own violin is a sort of symbolic step for me in that in doing so, I am reminded never to forget that aspect of my personality, and to take necessary precautions to ensure that it will still be part of my life whatever the future circumstances might bring.

To be at Peace means coming to a decision, and we have been blessed with the free will to decide what and Who gives us our peace. For me, a part of that peace means embracing that music helps me find peace, and that it is integral for both my spiritual and mental health. I thank God I realized this sooner than later.

Digging in

So, it begins.

I can feel my initial fervor for writing starting to die down a bit after my self-administered epiphany a few weeks ago. I don’t blame disinterest nor lack of motivation; I see it more as phase that I have to go through again before I can write anything that will appeal both to myself and whoever’s reading my entries. I’m sure there are a paltry few out there who’ll eventually stumble upon this corner of the internet.

So in that regard, I started reading a lot more lately. As one good friend pointed out, it’s best to have some sort of direction and motivation to anchor your ideas to help keep your topic and plot straight to the point. I found a few sources to help remedy that little problem, and I’ve started to outline a few topics that will help me get my brain back on track. I’ve found that focusing on a topic that relates to you specifically is a good place to start (D&D alignments a probable example in my case).

All in all, it’s not a bad follow-up. I just hope that this will last a bit longer than I expect it to.