I'm having a hard time figuring out the lecture we had in Theo last thursday. It had something to do measuring one's worth; that we are who we are in the eyes of God. I just can't seem to really believe this. I want to believe it and really think of myself under such definiton but something in me doesn't seem to acknowledge it. I mean, isn't it through other people that we get the idea of our worth? I guess having a short time to live leaves us looking for something more palpable that will somehow describe our lives in the eleventh hour. That means people- love- right? But that also means endless struggle to be something- of worth. Maybe my confusion is brought about by my faith- probably it's not that strong. How does one acknowledge this reality- well, a reality if you're a believer?
Given that genuine faith does bring about this component of belief to you- that you really hold it true etc, how do you now measure- or even do- your actions? What do we do after really believing this? Surely, by holding it's opposite to be true, we strive to become for other people- and that realy makes sense right? If it happens that I find myself believing such, won't I be dormant and leave everything be- I mean if my only goal in this earth (I'm speaking for myself) is to have some sort of worth? Maybe this is an invalid conclusion since I'm posing a possibility of something not from my experience- that of having this kind of faith. I'm not taking out, of course, the possibility that the believer's action may be toward other people, and not of making sense of his own life- or better, glory; that his action is a movement of God already. In this case his action still makes sense because of the faith's movement.
Maybe this concept is central to my problem. Is the goal ultimately for our own legends or is it a component of God's theme for our (collective) lives? If you follow to this point, a last question: can we ever find that elusive experience of our worth if our movement is that of a former kind I stated above? Maybe the answer to this is also the solution to my original question- perhaps it can answer how to look at one's life through the eyes of God.
"Identity myth" because the author of this blog refuses to partake in the quest for acquiring any sense of certainty when it comes to knowing ourselves, how we figure in the bigger scheme of things, and all the nut crap about purpose and "who we really are". The author hopes that his words allude to this myth, which everybody else is after, whether they know it or not.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
living a comic life
Amidst tons of homework, projects, tests, and job applications, I'm here in front of the monitor doodling away random thoughts that, for the past few hours, have been bugging me. This is supposed to be a cathartic entry but because of the rather unusual adrenalin surge I had this afternoon, I've completely forgotten the thing I'm supposed to feel strong about. Anyway, on with my inane doodles...
Now, with the funny stuffs first- but since I'm not really humorous, disregard the introduction. There's this old man- really, really mean old man- at the cashier window 8. If you're the kind of person who always have to apply for a temporary I.D., or if you have to pay for the release of you're transcript, you probably know who I'm referring to. Yes, that mean old man! What happened was like this:
I arrived 10:20 at school for my Theo class at 1030. I remembered to pay for my transcript so I went to window eight of the cashier to pay for it- and then the old man! I slided the slip given by registrar to him and he stared at me and mumbled something. I asked what he said and he shouted, "Sa window two nga!” Pucha! Needless to say, I lost my overall composure! But the behaved me just cooled it and convinced myself that it was just an old man's thing; besides, that was not the first time he seemed to have shouted. So, I acquiesced. The cashier at window 2, after some checks and rummaging about, signed the slip from the registrar and told me to pay for it at window eight. I relaxed and regained my affable countenance. When I slipped the paper under the glass separating both of us, he asked me my name- it appeared that he couldn't see very well.
Me: "Eirekson (aerecson) Uy po".
So he wrote it, but uh uh, he wrote it as ERICKSON. So I hurriedly blurted out,
Me: "EIREKSON po; A-E-R-E-C-S-O-N". *Still wearing my plastered smile*
Manong: *Frowned and scratched his balding head*
So he erased what he wrote, and tried re-writing my name on the receipt. But he misspelled it again, so I said- a little loudly:
"Manong, A-E-R-E-C-S-O-N po. Eirekson Uy po (aerecson)- now, pronouncing it very slowly. A-E-R-E-C-S-O-N"
He put on this really grim look on his wrinkled face and started to tremble. I was really scared. Looking at me, he shouted:
Manong: "SINULAT KO NA NGA EH! O eto eto *grabbing the rim of receipt and his pen rather violently* isulat mo, isulat mo. Sinulat ko na nga eh!" *He seemed so convinced that he wrote my name correctly*
All of that was done with matching scowl on his face- and cursingly. I swear I could see the red arteries in his eyeballs pulsating! I resolutely decided at that moment that I would not be looked down on. So, the Meany me surfaced. I grabbed the rim and the pen from his clutch and started writing my name over two untidy erasures of my name really grudgingly. He abruptly took it from me after I finished writing my name down; he signed it and almost jabbed the receipt to my fingers under the glass divider! That was it! I figured I would do something dramatically nasty for my exit. So, I grabbed the receipt and really violently snatched it away from his hands! The sound of the paper abruptly being taken away was really effective! I walked away feeling totally victorious!
Really, this is not my thing. But something possessed me that moment that made me do it. I think taking vitamin supplements everyday does that to you. It felt great though! Hehe!
Another curious thing: super gal has a boy weakness! I’m glad that, finally, my image of this girl as extremely impervious to petty emotions is broken- at last, a glimpse of her humanity! I don’t know her very well, so this is a bit helpful. She seems not so distant now.
Last comic stuff: the HR people at the school’s job fair! It was really hilarious to hear this lass blurting out English phrases in a bogus American accent! Sample, “You can tssake this (referring to the application form), fill it(tsk) up and submeeeet it(tsk) with your resume before four (tsk)this afternoon.” Wonderful! Stick with our own tongue; it’s not that bad speaking a foreign language in our own accent. We can even understand the Indians or the Singaporeans right? Or just speak our language! You will still sound sophisticated if that’s what you’re after! Speaking a foreign language just means you can speak anther language, nothing more. What’s wrong with this country?
Did I mention the tons of homework? It’s supposed to be a joke too, until now. Arghh! It’s almost 1030 and I haven’t done even a bit of anything! Ciao! Oh! There’s another one! Dr. T, my beloved history teacher, impersonating McArthur (Yes the one who bombed Manila for three weeks) on his “I have returned” speech! It was really hilarious- he even had props to complement his slapstick! I swear if all teachers would be like him- or Sir Bobby Guev- Ateneo would really increase its number of genuine intellectuals! Hehe! Now I'm stating a possibility; totally skewed logic!
Now, with the funny stuffs first- but since I'm not really humorous, disregard the introduction. There's this old man- really, really mean old man- at the cashier window 8. If you're the kind of person who always have to apply for a temporary I.D., or if you have to pay for the release of you're transcript, you probably know who I'm referring to. Yes, that mean old man! What happened was like this:
I arrived 10:20 at school for my Theo class at 1030. I remembered to pay for my transcript so I went to window eight of the cashier to pay for it- and then the old man! I slided the slip given by registrar to him and he stared at me and mumbled something. I asked what he said and he shouted, "Sa window two nga!” Pucha! Needless to say, I lost my overall composure! But the behaved me just cooled it and convinced myself that it was just an old man's thing; besides, that was not the first time he seemed to have shouted. So, I acquiesced. The cashier at window 2, after some checks and rummaging about, signed the slip from the registrar and told me to pay for it at window eight. I relaxed and regained my affable countenance. When I slipped the paper under the glass separating both of us, he asked me my name- it appeared that he couldn't see very well.
Me: "Eirekson (aerecson) Uy po".
So he wrote it, but uh uh, he wrote it as ERICKSON. So I hurriedly blurted out,
Me: "EIREKSON po; A-E-R-E-C-S-O-N". *Still wearing my plastered smile*
Manong: *Frowned and scratched his balding head*
So he erased what he wrote, and tried re-writing my name on the receipt. But he misspelled it again, so I said- a little loudly:
"Manong, A-E-R-E-C-S-O-N po. Eirekson Uy po (aerecson)- now, pronouncing it very slowly. A-E-R-E-C-S-O-N"
He put on this really grim look on his wrinkled face and started to tremble. I was really scared. Looking at me, he shouted:
Manong: "SINULAT KO NA NGA EH! O eto eto *grabbing the rim of receipt and his pen rather violently* isulat mo, isulat mo. Sinulat ko na nga eh!" *He seemed so convinced that he wrote my name correctly*
All of that was done with matching scowl on his face- and cursingly. I swear I could see the red arteries in his eyeballs pulsating! I resolutely decided at that moment that I would not be looked down on. So, the Meany me surfaced. I grabbed the rim and the pen from his clutch and started writing my name over two untidy erasures of my name really grudgingly. He abruptly took it from me after I finished writing my name down; he signed it and almost jabbed the receipt to my fingers under the glass divider! That was it! I figured I would do something dramatically nasty for my exit. So, I grabbed the receipt and really violently snatched it away from his hands! The sound of the paper abruptly being taken away was really effective! I walked away feeling totally victorious!
Really, this is not my thing. But something possessed me that moment that made me do it. I think taking vitamin supplements everyday does that to you. It felt great though! Hehe!
Another curious thing: super gal has a boy weakness! I’m glad that, finally, my image of this girl as extremely impervious to petty emotions is broken- at last, a glimpse of her humanity! I don’t know her very well, so this is a bit helpful. She seems not so distant now.
Last comic stuff: the HR people at the school’s job fair! It was really hilarious to hear this lass blurting out English phrases in a bogus American accent! Sample, “You can tssake this (referring to the application form), fill it(tsk) up and submeeeet it(tsk) with your resume before four (tsk)this afternoon.” Wonderful! Stick with our own tongue; it’s not that bad speaking a foreign language in our own accent. We can even understand the Indians or the Singaporeans right? Or just speak our language! You will still sound sophisticated if that’s what you’re after! Speaking a foreign language just means you can speak anther language, nothing more. What’s wrong with this country?
Did I mention the tons of homework? It’s supposed to be a joke too, until now. Arghh! It’s almost 1030 and I haven’t done even a bit of anything! Ciao! Oh! There’s another one! Dr. T, my beloved history teacher, impersonating McArthur (Yes the one who bombed Manila for three weeks) on his “I have returned” speech! It was really hilarious- he even had props to complement his slapstick! I swear if all teachers would be like him- or Sir Bobby Guev- Ateneo would really increase its number of genuine intellectuals! Hehe! Now I'm stating a possibility; totally skewed logic!
Friday, January 20, 2006
reading smarties
Seriously, it's no fun reading blogs of supposedly intelligent peeps. I 've been to some three of these blogs. They belong to some of Ateneo's well known peeps- debaters methinks. These lot of smarties have infested the blogosphere- is this even the proper word. Anyway, their blogs are pure obssessions about how pathetic this country is and how special they are. Okay, blogs may be about personal shit but I've never seen such height of vanity. Maybe they're special, but I don't see anything deep in their doodles. Maybe being smart is to pick on reality; not to get something special- more special than they are- out of their crticism. I'm inclined to think that these criticisms are a way of drawing something meaningful, but their rationale for their criticisms is not even close to something they really hold dear.
I guess I'm a reader who looks for a manifestation of the writer's deepest convictions- when it comes to some serious blogging. Until now, I've been too obsessed with smarties. I'm not fascinated with good debaters anymore, but I'm fascinated with the contents of their debates. I'm pro concern more than intelligence.
The world is too dumb for smart asses. They must leave it immediately.
I guess I'm a reader who looks for a manifestation of the writer's deepest convictions- when it comes to some serious blogging. Until now, I've been too obsessed with smarties. I'm not fascinated with good debaters anymore, but I'm fascinated with the contents of their debates. I'm pro concern more than intelligence.
The world is too dumb for smart asses. They must leave it immediately.
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