The right to be apathetic is earned. 

The right to be disinterested is earned. 

The right to criticize is earned.

'Earned' not in the sense that permission is required for you to be able to do so, but 'earned' in the light of having already proven yourself, having gone through the ropes, having first-hand experience of the subject at hand.

Because without 'earning' the right to do so, your apathy, disinterest and criticism are simply pretensions or mere excuses for inability or incompetence to act - deserving neither an audience nor respect.

Good dreams are just illusions until they become true.

Bad dreams are just nightmares until they become reality.

I'll just accept that my dreams should just stay in the 'dreaming'.

Thus Says a Public Servant

I hate the government.

After several years of studying politics and loving the study of politics; after memorizing and going through hours of micro, macro, economic, social, historical, political and comparative analysis of local/municipal, transnational, supranational, international, global, governmental, non-governmental systems - whether academically-required or otherwise; after having a short few moments on the ground, encountering the impoverished and trying to help (which I shall admit was barely enough); after studying the law; after almost losing my equilibrium while studying the law; after having the license to be an advocate of the law; and, after being who I am since I was born... I come to one conclusion, I hate the government.

Our government is flawed logically, systemically, ideationally, functionally, theoretically, historically, actually. We are a democracy. We are a republic. Which means that we're free, we choose, we decide. Oligarchs don't decide for us. Tyrants don't rule us. But between the cracks that could be remedied by sincere practice, slips greed and self-interest. Between great events that should have strengthened our country and defined us as a nation, lies regret for even participating (yes, EDSA II and to a certain extent EDSA I, for not being utilized to its full potential for scrubbing away ALL vestiges of corruption and implanting a solid government that did not 'address' the needs of big players back then, and right now). Behind the silent hope of service for our countrymen, by our countrymen, without the smudge of politics, is growing distrust for non-governmental organizations. Behind the sanctity of every vote cast, lies the lack of faith that it shall be honestly counted. Behind every encounter with an officer of our republic lies the fear of getting way more than what you bargained for.

So there.. I could ramble on about the fact that almost every facet of our democratic process has gone down toilet and would not even see a water-processing facility - it would remain like muck; wasted, disdained, polluted.  But I decided that I cannot sustain literally raising my voice all the time (my psychological make-up is not fit for activism). I do not have the patience to be a full-time academic (because like a child with a deficiency in attention I like to see results right after I build something). So I decided, the only solution left is to join the government, precisely because I hate it. For me, unless you are willing to do something, you have little right to complain. If I cannot participate as an academic to rouse conversation and inspire the 'next-big-thing,' and if I cannot participate on the streets, what to do? I decided to join, and do my job as best as I could and not be corrupt. Fine, its a small thing, this plan. It would probably be irrelevant in the grand order of the universe. But that's the long and short of it.

I am a member of a profession that has the greatest share of jokes about burning in hell. I work in a government that is rated as being more corrupt than almost all of the others. I'm definitely not in this for the money, or for the mere fact that I need to eat and so I need a job, but this is my solution, and every day that I meet people in my exact same profession and employment who are neither corrupt, nor are in it for the money - that's comfort enough for my sanity; it gives me some sort of affirmation that maybe in some strange way, I understand 'public service' correctly.


[image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/celts023/8470736008/]

Such is life

Been out of depression for a couple of days.. And now back down. Can't say I rather that it was not the case (yes was, not is), but the present situation is far from desirable. 

I know why. I've always known why. It's no comfort that I do. Just wish I don't make my own means for comfort all the time.

In other news, been coloring so here

New High-Intensity Interval Exercise: Wall Climbing

How to do this exercise:

1. Climb up and down your wall, doing as many repetitions as possible within thirty seconds

2. Rest for ten seconds

3. Repeat wall climbing for another thirty seconds

4. Repeat until you reach the fifteen-minute mark

Good for the core, back and arms :D

Democracy and Discontent

The greatest and most renowned Greek thinkers that we so love to quote did not approve of democracy. At most, they saw that form of government as a compromise, or an impending reality that they had to face. 

Their critique on democratic rule would cause most of us, if we read their work in their entirety and not just pick up snippets of the catchiest quotes or passages, to relent or be repulsed; especially after considering their programs for government.

We live in a democratic country. We love our freedom. We love the idea of a government of the people. But how long must we watch - yes watch - those we elect for being the best of our peers mutilate and pervert every facet of the democratic process? 

Fine, be angry at the ancient philosophers who had little faith. Oligarchy truly looks or does no better. Look at the oligarchs in robes. 

Fine, monarchy looks no better, 

look at the kings and queens who reside at our nation's palace.

But we should not be too angry at those who disapprove of our democracy to the point that we would be willing to say that the ravenous wolves tearing at the seams do not weaken the fabric of our nation. 

Do not close your eyes and look back at the cave of shadows because the light is blinding. 

Do not turn away and cover your ears because the noise is deafening. 

Do not straighten your back and spew out rhetorics because the truth feels like coal in your mouth.

Never condone violence, but never let go of your discontent. 

Discontent not out of jealousy or greed, but that unshakeable discontent borne out of decades enduring wrongs that should never be written into history to look right.

Get a life so you don't bother about other people's lives just to feel alive.

Litany to the Unknown

I love you though it pains me.
I love you though I stare wide-eyed into the nothingness, because I have no other company but yearning.
I love you though I find emptiness at the edge of reason.
I love you though the well in my heart gets dug deeper and deeper and now as I look down I see only darkness.
I love you although the core of my being screams against impending oblivion.

I love you and I don't know why.
Yet I do and it's a fact;
a state of life;
an essential requisite of existence;
a cause for hope;
a moment of contented forgetfulness.

Give me strength,
I know not what love is.
Let me not bow down as the storm of the unknown 
passes through me and over me. 
I know not what love is,
but I know I love you.

Observations of a Near-Sociopath #3: You are who you are, deal with it… deal it

I've observed that humans put much prime on literature, philosophy, art, and pride themselves with being able to absorb, digest and expel knowledge of ‘art’ and all things ‘high culture.’ At the end of the day, everything is reduced to the ability to make sense of the abstract or to conjure imaginings that are supposed to resonate the ‘truth’ about human existence. Truth be told, a dash of paint on a plain canvas, absent all pretensions, is a dash of paint on a plain canvas. If such is art then a faulty splash of paint by a carpenter, a kindergartner, or an art major with too few units to qualify as an artist is art. On the side of fiction, it could be possible that the proverbial apple is, after all, an apple. A writer already so great in stature might actually wake up one morning, roused from sleep by a nightmare about a coconut falling from a tree, hitting his head, thus killing him, suddenly decides to scribble the said nightmare and die from a completely unrelated reason the next day. After shrines and shrines are built up in his honor, someone might chance upon the scribble and assume that the coconut is not a coconut after all…  it actually concerns an analogy about the cosmos, the big bang, the cave and everything in between… which ultimately serves as a prescience of the said artist’s doom.

Sorry for going through the roundabout route. What I want to say is, after you take out all the b.s. and the suppositions of what things mean and address them for what they are you may realize that things are what they are. Of course, this realization is often unpleasant, thus the resort to fiction and the ‘what if’s’ and the ‘what should be’s.’ If you address who you are, as you are, you can deal with it. The thing is, after you deal with it, having full knowledge of what you are permits you not only to deal with it but to deal it. Not one person has everything. Sure there are some who have quite a lot more of ‘not everything’ compared to someone else, but knowing what’s in your arsenal allows you to utilize that one good thing, or those good things’ full potential. So there, deal with it, then deal it. 

- in a perfect world this disclaimer is probably unnecessary: this is a first-person point of view of a fictitious character -

Observations of a Near-Sociopath #2: People's Frequencies

Since we've established that I am not a sociopath, but only nearly so sans all the 'I'm prone to be a serial ax-murderer' vibe, hopefully there is enough basis in saying that I can observe people with sufficient detachment, allowing me to make certain classifications without social bias.

People have frequencies, and this is not merely of the same sort as that 'I can't get on the same wavelength as this dude' kind. After several tests, observations and social experiments, you may see that each person has a different tempo or cadence. Each social interaction, in a general sense, likewise has its own tempo or frequency. Imagine, for example, that anger has a swift tune, while contentedness has a slow, steady rhythm. Those are easy enough to understand. Taking everything together in a fun-filled day that ended so suddenly with bad news (like most season-enders) those familiar with classical music could probably name a piece wherein a slow start picks up near the middle - like the Flight of the Bumblebee - and then, towards the end less instruments pitch in, the tempo slows down, and you can feel the steady influx of despondence.

I observed that, after a while of taking note of the propensity to respond to certain emotions, most people are prone to react with the same tempo when confronted with a certain mode of social interaction. For the lack of a better term, the compilation of the likelihood of such responses constitute their overall frequency.

Now, I'm pretty sure that doctors and psychologists can wear us down with all the formal terms, theories and standing hypotheses that would either affirm or contradict this observation. To be candid, I need no scientific affirmation or assigned reading. That's it, I see that each person has his or her personal frequency, or, to be more elegant about it, their own symphony. And, as far as I know, some people's frequencies or symphonies, when joined with specific others, make music rather than noise. One might sound well with the other, but would just make your ears bleed when a different frequency buzzes in.

- in a perfect world this disclaimer is probably unnecessary: this is a first-person point of view of a fictitious character -

Observations of a Near-Sociopath #1 Basics: Definition

To dispel further inquiries, I dub myself as a near-sociopath. Now what is this creature?

Given that nobody is prone to refer to actual book-bound tomes of definitions nowadays, I just picked up descriptions from easily-accessible sources. Sociopathy is defined by Google thus: "A person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience." On the other hand, an often more interesting source of definitions, urban dictionary, provides an alternate description: "A person with antisocial personality disorder. Probably the most widely recognized personality disorder. A sociopath is often well liked because of their charm and high charisma, but they do not usually care about other people. They think mainly of themselves and often blame others for the things that they do. They have a complete disregard for rules and lie constantly. They seldom feel guilt or learn from punishments. Though some sociopaths have become murders, most reveal their sociopathy through less deadly and sensational means."

Now, no well-liked sociopath would submit to such categorization without disclaimers. So, as most successful pathological antisocial creatures would do, I qualify that I am a near-sociopath. I agree, ‘near’ would appear to be quite a thoughtless term, denoting a certain lack of creativity. Allow me to elaborate in my defense. Nearness signifies being in such proximity to something that you might admit some sense of likeness. However, if both species are of essentially the same mold, then one or the other simply becomes a version of the other – like car models separated by year and a subtle difference in price range. In nearness, given that the object retains its being apart from the subject, one should agree that the object that is in proximity with the thing itself essentially retains its own unique composition. Connecting this to sociopaths, well, to simplify, near-sociopaths are within the same zip code – if not the same neighborhood. Therefore, there is likeness, commonality in beliefs and experience, and, for the untrained eye, obvious similarities. Of course, the disclaimer would be on the ‘pathological’ angle, given that it would put the near-sociopath in the best light. If near-sociopaths would be indulged with an approval of the said definition then the urban dictionary definition can be modified accordingly: 

Near-sociopath, noun ni(ə)r sōsēōˌpaTH/: “A person nearly with antisocial personality disorder. A near-sociopath is often well-liked because of their charm and charisma, but they usually do not care much about other people's opinions. They are concerned mainly of themselves. They have an inclination to disregard rules and modify the truth. They may consider guilt or learn from punishments, though to a lesser degree. Though near-sociopaths have interest in murders, most reveal their sociopathy through less deadly and sensational means."

Now, with the definitions ironed out, perhaps, in my next observation, I would be able to finally share acute observations on the human experiment. Till next time.

- in a perfect world this disclaimer is probably unnecessary: this is a first-person point of view of a fictitious character -

Spot the sad building

Secret Garden

Finally Can I Sleep

Finally can I slumber,

Close these dust-leaden eyes

That broke through the day

Day by day without break.

Finally can I lie supine,

Rest aside these weathered arms

That carry the loads of my existence

Existing and existing, these loads.

Finally can I exhale,

Give my lungs some space

From breathing this world with me

For again and again I am breathless.

Finally can I escape,

Brush my feet under the thick mattress

And cease from running from time

Time and time again without cease.

Finally is there peace,

My ears can be deaf from this earthly whining,

my tongue without need for food,

from feeding this need for peace.

Slumber.

Lie Down

Exhale..

Escape..

Peace…..

Finally can I stop

Yearning for sleep.

An eternal refuge

From this mortal bed.

Oblivion

Memories, like glass turning back into sand,

slipping through my fingers, trying so hastily to escape

And the grains that linger on my palm,

though there would give no reflection

nothing but sand, trickling down this hourglass

Sadness, defined

Sadness is the awareness of having genuinely lost, or being apprised of the reality of losing, something significant, yet still not being so relegated to a state of despondency, the quality of which could certainly make any neutral observer agree that you suffer from complete paralysis of choice.

Biography or Autobiography?

6.26.13

How does one even begin to make an autobiography? Is there a sufficient trigger? Is there a feeling that at that point in your life you’re supposed to commit everything that you have gone through to memory in a medium other than your own diminishing faculties? If so then is the urge prodded by a moment of utter despair? Yet if that is the case then there still exists some hope that a reader might benefit from your accounts, and therefore ultimately validate the necessity of your hardship or errors. Therefore, is your despair truly utter or just another phase?

Does the inspiration come from a moment of seemingly boundless joy; if so, then I imagine that everything that comes in between your birth and that moment of epiphany or bliss would be accordingly magnified or downplayed should it not figure into the thought that destiny moved you and the world – as if it were nothing but a mixture of props – so that you can be at that certain spot, at that certain time, with that certain smile on your face.

Why does one even think of making an autobiography? For those in the limelight or those whose names pollute the polls, despite all their pretentions the question is not at the very least complex. The account becomes a means to an end, and can’t be farther from the motive of recounting how a life had been lived thus far. But in any case, is that the plain and simple reason for writing the same? For those other than the latter, is it a means for validation? A method of examination? An accounting? And in any case, wouldn’t it verge on hubris to believe that it is necessary; to believe that other than your progenies or your actual deeds as others have either witnessed or experienced them, you should be known and understood precisely as you see fit through your account?

Would it be more important to write an autobiography so that at the end of the dayyou would get to read it? Read it; examine it; digest it; expel it; correct it; reconstruct it? Or simply assess if it is a worthy read. Or would it be more important to write it so that some other person would get to read it?

So I guess here are the important questions, as always: why, when, how, why not, when not to, how not to… like a Living Life for Dummies or a DiY manual. Then again there is the “who are you?” and the more important “So?” and “So what?” At the end of the day, therefore, you should likewise ask: a biography or autobiography?