LET ME SPEAK.
I don't need your salvation, just let me burn
And maybe at the end of all this we'll learn
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
Of Jellyfish, cockroaches and man
crossposted from my actual handwritten journal. Gonna post it here before I render myself unable to read my old handwriting.
it reads:
Going into it, I guess made it a bit less romantic. One has to ask for the triune of action: motive, opportunity and means. Romanticism is the least of goals, but lyricism captures and entraps you in its fallacy. There are no heavy downpours in the middle of summer to run under; there are also no means to appear at a scene and somehow exchange one or two perfect lines. Perhaps there is a reason why romanticism died in the middle ages and is survived instead by a contemporary mentality that promotes jadedness and isolation.
Jadedness does not equate to a refusal to accept or [wholeheartedly] believe. It just means that it would take a little bit more to make someone agree, believe or to be convinced. And while jadedness on its own may seem to hinder a basic appreciation of ordinariness, it is nonetheless a "necessary evolution" of the modern times. What do I mean?
This evolution can be seen (or even parallelized) in our own primordial ancestry. We used to be content with the situation of things, the environment and what it provided. We were blissfully unaware of what "evil" was. We were, to serve the parallelism, sponges and anemones (jellyfish, even) floating and living along with the tide. Eventually, though, new threats arose and new fontiers grew old, and we found ourselves unable to [merely] settle with drifting along. Cue evolution- we rushed out of the water, breathed new air and grew legs. Fast forward another several million years, and you have modern times in all (or none) of its glory.
[Going back to the stretched out metaphor,] Jadedness, for me, is like the backbone that allows us to stand upright in this harsh and desolate (ha ha) society. It allows us to stand erect, defy, and every once in a while, even choose to do more than what society would let us float through.
Conversely, I find that cynicism (axiom: a prelude to isolation) can be likened to an exoskeleton. Whereas jadedness manifests on the inside as the simple refusal to be swayed without burden of proof; cynicism is an outside shell that refuses to be fazed, and won't even let outside evils reach its squishy innards. Of course, this works just as effectively (look at the proliferation of invertebrae) as the other- man will step on bugs, and bugs will outlive men in the event of a nuclear apocalypse.
So really, at the end of it all, what philosophy or anatomical evolution works? It really depends on you. We may be used to man's overbearing presence and domination (HA HA HA!), but again, I'm sure that the cockroaches too have their fringe benefits. Again, there is the temporary domination of man as the prime species and the more socially-acceptable behavior of disbelief and unfazedness (alas, the times conform to it rather than the other way around); but there is also the postulated longevity of invertebrae and flat out cynicism. And, hopefully you haven't forgotten yet, although they are nowhere near man's complexity or the cockroaches' longevity, jelly fish still do live today, as unfazed, unchanged, and unstoppable as before.
And that's the way it will go. Until the day comes that we damn ourselves with a nuclear apocalypse (born from our own tendencies to have our heads up down under), all three species and philosophies will stand on their own two feet, six feet, tentacles, or what have you.
-0-
I think I wrote that after like 30 hours of no sleep and emotional torture (as shadily referred to by the "going into it" at the start), so no, I will not apologize for the lack of coherence cohesion and that other "c" that we were taught all essays should have.
tee hee.
that said, i like the first paragraph, really. :P after that, it just gets weird :P
it reads:
Going into it, I guess made it a bit less romantic. One has to ask for the triune of action: motive, opportunity and means. Romanticism is the least of goals, but lyricism captures and entraps you in its fallacy. There are no heavy downpours in the middle of summer to run under; there are also no means to appear at a scene and somehow exchange one or two perfect lines. Perhaps there is a reason why romanticism died in the middle ages and is survived instead by a contemporary mentality that promotes jadedness and isolation.
Jadedness does not equate to a refusal to accept or [wholeheartedly] believe. It just means that it would take a little bit more to make someone agree, believe or to be convinced. And while jadedness on its own may seem to hinder a basic appreciation of ordinariness, it is nonetheless a "necessary evolution" of the modern times. What do I mean?
This evolution can be seen (or even parallelized) in our own primordial ancestry. We used to be content with the situation of things, the environment and what it provided. We were blissfully unaware of what "evil" was. We were, to serve the parallelism, sponges and anemones (jellyfish, even) floating and living along with the tide. Eventually, though, new threats arose and new fontiers grew old, and we found ourselves unable to [merely] settle with drifting along. Cue evolution- we rushed out of the water, breathed new air and grew legs. Fast forward another several million years, and you have modern times in all (or none) of its glory.
[Going back to the stretched out metaphor,] Jadedness, for me, is like the backbone that allows us to stand upright in this harsh and desolate (ha ha) society. It allows us to stand erect, defy, and every once in a while, even choose to do more than what society would let us float through.
Conversely, I find that cynicism (axiom: a prelude to isolation) can be likened to an exoskeleton. Whereas jadedness manifests on the inside as the simple refusal to be swayed without burden of proof; cynicism is an outside shell that refuses to be fazed, and won't even let outside evils reach its squishy innards. Of course, this works just as effectively (look at the proliferation of invertebrae) as the other- man will step on bugs, and bugs will outlive men in the event of a nuclear apocalypse.
So really, at the end of it all, what philosophy or anatomical evolution works? It really depends on you. We may be used to man's overbearing presence and domination (HA HA HA!), but again, I'm sure that the cockroaches too have their fringe benefits. Again, there is the temporary domination of man as the prime species and the more socially-acceptable behavior of disbelief and unfazedness (alas, the times conform to it rather than the other way around); but there is also the postulated longevity of invertebrae and flat out cynicism. And, hopefully you haven't forgotten yet, although they are nowhere near man's complexity or the cockroaches' longevity, jelly fish still do live today, as unfazed, unchanged, and unstoppable as before.
And that's the way it will go. Until the day comes that we damn ourselves with a nuclear apocalypse (born from our own tendencies to have our heads up down under), all three species and philosophies will stand on their own two feet, six feet, tentacles, or what have you.
-0-
I think I wrote that after like 30 hours of no sleep and emotional torture (as shadily referred to by the "going into it" at the start), so no, I will not apologize for the lack of coherence cohesion and that other "c" that we were taught all essays should have.
tee hee.
that said, i like the first paragraph, really. :P after that, it just gets weird :P
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The Angel- the star who shines the whole spectrum of light.
Every night, when it was convenient for the both of us, my angel would visit me. At first I didn't think it could be my angel. He was supposed to be white and pure, with a face of pure innocence and grace. On his back, wings should've cradled him, and his step lithe and silken, like his flowy, white garments. He couldn't have been any further from what the classic artists would've depicted him as. He was a distinct tan- not quite brown, but not quite caucasian either. His posture was not too perfect, he had a slight slouch that I could only guess was because he often had to bend down to talk to me. He was clumsy at times, and he openly detested wearing anything too large and remotely skirt-like. His face, at times, looked tired and haggard, but his eyes betrayed his disguise- in them you could not only see deep into his soul, but into yours too, and when he looked at you, there was always a fierce burning that could otherwise only be described as the soft pat of the gentle belly of a flame.
To this day, I am unsure whether or not he meant his disguise. There were moments when he would make it seem like his disguise was a special effort on my part- as if he wore it to make me feel special that I knew of his gentle nature. Other times, however, even he seemed to be oblivious of his own state of grace. There would be times when he'd act so clumsily, so, brazenly, and yet so delicately endearing that he seemed to be a contradiction only a few could notice. One thing, however, was certain. Whenever we would be by ourselves, he would make his mask fade and let me sneak a peek at something so utterly human it could only be divine.
We would meet and talk at odd hours. Granted, we were together for most of everyday for the four years I'd known him to be my angel. But so long as the sun was out, he'd let me live my life, and he'd go about his own business. Sometimes, we'd converse when he'd take me places, but often it was when the moon was out and the world refused to listen that he'd talk to me. It was always a patient ritual- we'd start out asking questions about the day and relating pieces of gossip. Then we'd discuss school and sibol, and our common friends. Eventually, one of us (but most often it was me) would bring up a personal question, or a personal anecdote, and then the conversations would start. The conversations were always frank, borderline tactless, and truthful, but they were at the same time divine and heartwarming. He'd offer advice and I'd listen. I'd pretend to know a lot about the world, and he'd humor me.
We'd talk until he would say that he had to go. He had a better grip on time than I did, and he'd remember the need for sleep on a schoolnight sooner than I ever would have. Given the choice, I'd stay up all night talking to him, but he knew when it was time to go. After all, we'd meet again the next day, there was no need to worry. And even though the ends of the conversations sometimes left me alone in the dark (literally), I still felt important, significant, guided, blessed and loved. It was part of his angelic magic, I guess.
But like any angel (or so I would imagine), he rarely asked for anything in return. He never minded that I would often run to him in times of utter despair, but that I'd more easily spend the last few minutes with someone else. He listened to me rehearse the most poetic words I could come up with, knowing that they weren't meant for him. He would just take it in when, in a bout of selfishness and egoism and a need for destructive self-affirmation, I would lambast him and pretend to know more about the world and its people.
Naturally, he was the first to find out about most of my problems. He was also always the first, and somtimes the only person, to hear me at my most callous. He knew me better than anyone else (and I can say that with total honesty), and I've rarely been ashamed to show him who I really was- human flaw and all.
Now that I'm leaving, I'm scared to find out where I'd end up going without his guidance. Unless he proves me right and suddenly grows wings, I'm afraid he'll have to stay and be an angel to others as well. Problem is, I've grown dependent on his counsel and support. I've let it feel like he was mine, though he never was. I can only hope that he's taught me enough, and that he's rubbed off on me enough.
Words have become too convinient for us. I'll forever remember those minutes. The lights were dimmed for no reason at all. I went up to you and offered you my hand. You took it and squeezed it hard. The darkness in the room disippated with the urgent light you radiated in that spilsecond, just as you have radiated whenever I came to you for help. It was a dazzling, but humble luminesence that only you angels could produce, and it briefly lit up the path ahead of me. The panthers let out a dejected sigh as they retreated to the shadows. The looked at me with contempt- I could've easily been their next prey- but your armor protected me. The sharp rocks were pushed out of the way by the new grown grass that smiled at the light they craved. The trees burst green, the skies exploded with a thousand hues of blue and they all pulsated along with the beat of your red heart.
I looked down on the mossy pathway and spotted a bottle of indeterminate color. It reflected all the colors of the rainbow, just as the surface of a bubble would, and just like a bubble, it burst into a thousand tiny shards the moment I touched it. Each splinter sucked with it a speck of light color from the world until I was left with the dark I began with. I dropped to my knees and pounded the floor in frustration. I slapped my hand, chest, knees, legs and head on the ground where the shards lay, glowing but trapped. The shards dug deep into my skin and sent waves of exquisite pain to my soul. The splinters travelled down my veins, arteries, nerves and spirit until they buried themselves into my dark, dark heart. I doubled over in pain and passed out.
When I woke up, I found myself alone in the dim glow of reality that was neither dark nor vibrant. Your light melted my frozen heart. But like anything made of ice, it melted into a pool of lukewarm water.
I felt myself choking. I beat my chest to loosen up my airways, and felt a sharp sting of glass burying itself deeper into me. I touched my chest again, trying to see what was causing me discomfort, and I pricked my finger. A drop of blood trickled out, bright red, then blue, then green. From a distance, I could hear a soft beating.
It was a divine, but utterly humanizing pain. And I realized that now, you are part of me, and will never again be able to leave. You, the person who brought down the stars and let them rest on the palm of my hand, have buried yourself deep into my heart and soul.
Bonafide seeker.
Bonafide splinter.
It'll leave a lovely scar
This surgery in the sky.
See you on the other side, ico :)
To this day, I am unsure whether or not he meant his disguise. There were moments when he would make it seem like his disguise was a special effort on my part- as if he wore it to make me feel special that I knew of his gentle nature. Other times, however, even he seemed to be oblivious of his own state of grace. There would be times when he'd act so clumsily, so, brazenly, and yet so delicately endearing that he seemed to be a contradiction only a few could notice. One thing, however, was certain. Whenever we would be by ourselves, he would make his mask fade and let me sneak a peek at something so utterly human it could only be divine.
We would meet and talk at odd hours. Granted, we were together for most of everyday for the four years I'd known him to be my angel. But so long as the sun was out, he'd let me live my life, and he'd go about his own business. Sometimes, we'd converse when he'd take me places, but often it was when the moon was out and the world refused to listen that he'd talk to me. It was always a patient ritual- we'd start out asking questions about the day and relating pieces of gossip. Then we'd discuss school and sibol, and our common friends. Eventually, one of us (but most often it was me) would bring up a personal question, or a personal anecdote, and then the conversations would start. The conversations were always frank, borderline tactless, and truthful, but they were at the same time divine and heartwarming. He'd offer advice and I'd listen. I'd pretend to know a lot about the world, and he'd humor me.
We'd talk until he would say that he had to go. He had a better grip on time than I did, and he'd remember the need for sleep on a schoolnight sooner than I ever would have. Given the choice, I'd stay up all night talking to him, but he knew when it was time to go. After all, we'd meet again the next day, there was no need to worry. And even though the ends of the conversations sometimes left me alone in the dark (literally), I still felt important, significant, guided, blessed and loved. It was part of his angelic magic, I guess.
But like any angel (or so I would imagine), he rarely asked for anything in return. He never minded that I would often run to him in times of utter despair, but that I'd more easily spend the last few minutes with someone else. He listened to me rehearse the most poetic words I could come up with, knowing that they weren't meant for him. He would just take it in when, in a bout of selfishness and egoism and a need for destructive self-affirmation, I would lambast him and pretend to know more about the world and its people.
Naturally, he was the first to find out about most of my problems. He was also always the first, and somtimes the only person, to hear me at my most callous. He knew me better than anyone else (and I can say that with total honesty), and I've rarely been ashamed to show him who I really was- human flaw and all.
Now that I'm leaving, I'm scared to find out where I'd end up going without his guidance. Unless he proves me right and suddenly grows wings, I'm afraid he'll have to stay and be an angel to others as well. Problem is, I've grown dependent on his counsel and support. I've let it feel like he was mine, though he never was. I can only hope that he's taught me enough, and that he's rubbed off on me enough.
Words have become too convinient for us. I'll forever remember those minutes. The lights were dimmed for no reason at all. I went up to you and offered you my hand. You took it and squeezed it hard. The darkness in the room disippated with the urgent light you radiated in that spilsecond, just as you have radiated whenever I came to you for help. It was a dazzling, but humble luminesence that only you angels could produce, and it briefly lit up the path ahead of me. The panthers let out a dejected sigh as they retreated to the shadows. The looked at me with contempt- I could've easily been their next prey- but your armor protected me. The sharp rocks were pushed out of the way by the new grown grass that smiled at the light they craved. The trees burst green, the skies exploded with a thousand hues of blue and they all pulsated along with the beat of your red heart.
I looked down on the mossy pathway and spotted a bottle of indeterminate color. It reflected all the colors of the rainbow, just as the surface of a bubble would, and just like a bubble, it burst into a thousand tiny shards the moment I touched it. Each splinter sucked with it a speck of light color from the world until I was left with the dark I began with. I dropped to my knees and pounded the floor in frustration. I slapped my hand, chest, knees, legs and head on the ground where the shards lay, glowing but trapped. The shards dug deep into my skin and sent waves of exquisite pain to my soul. The splinters travelled down my veins, arteries, nerves and spirit until they buried themselves into my dark, dark heart. I doubled over in pain and passed out.
When I woke up, I found myself alone in the dim glow of reality that was neither dark nor vibrant. Your light melted my frozen heart. But like anything made of ice, it melted into a pool of lukewarm water.
I felt myself choking. I beat my chest to loosen up my airways, and felt a sharp sting of glass burying itself deeper into me. I touched my chest again, trying to see what was causing me discomfort, and I pricked my finger. A drop of blood trickled out, bright red, then blue, then green. From a distance, I could hear a soft beating.
It was a divine, but utterly humanizing pain. And I realized that now, you are part of me, and will never again be able to leave. You, the person who brought down the stars and let them rest on the palm of my hand, have buried yourself deep into my heart and soul.
Bonafide seeker.
Bonafide splinter.
It'll leave a lovely scar
This surgery in the sky.
See you on the other side, ico :)
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Songs that damn you
I say it time and again: I really should've learned my lesson by now.
A song I once heard, and that I once loved goes:
"Lahat ng may simula
Mayroong katapusan.
Lahat ng pagtatagpo
Mayroon paalaman
Ngunit kaibigan
ika'y bahagi na ng aking katauhan
Paano kita pagpapaalamanan?"
(every beginning has its end
every hello has its goodbye
but my friend,
you're a part of who I am
how can i tell you goodbye?)
I was so consumed with the idea of making things right, and healing wounds, and saying goodbye, that the simplest, and most obvious notion didn't even cross my mind. I tried to say so much, and I ended up telling you nothing at all. The words may have come easy, but it was the silence that I was looking for. And now, when I think about it, it really does suck, because now, I don't think I may have the chance to say the words I actually need to.
Or, more than that, how to be quiet around you again- it just doesn't work on the phone.
How ironic that these last two posts should be about the last two people to know.
A song I once heard, and that I once loved goes:
"Lahat ng may simula
Mayroong katapusan.
Lahat ng pagtatagpo
Mayroon paalaman
Ngunit kaibigan
ika'y bahagi na ng aking katauhan
Paano kita pagpapaalamanan?"
(every beginning has its end
every hello has its goodbye
but my friend,
you're a part of who I am
how can i tell you goodbye?)
I was so consumed with the idea of making things right, and healing wounds, and saying goodbye, that the simplest, and most obvious notion didn't even cross my mind. I tried to say so much, and I ended up telling you nothing at all. The words may have come easy, but it was the silence that I was looking for. And now, when I think about it, it really does suck, because now, I don't think I may have the chance to say the words I actually need to.
Or, more than that, how to be quiet around you again- it just doesn't work on the phone.
How ironic that these last two posts should be about the last two people to know.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Them Stars that Shine down on you
I don't want to learn how to do this too often.
But today, even though
the water says we can't be
And even though I know you're happy
And have forgotten.
And even if you'll never see
never read
never hear
never feel
I still want to wish you a happy birthday.
But today, even though
the water says we can't be
And even though I know you're happy
And have forgotten.
And even if you'll never see
never read
never hear
never feel
I still want to wish you a happy birthday.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Who do you love?
Or maybe, for some of us, it's more of: What do you love?
Maybe you're Carrie, in love with John. Maybe you're Giada, in love with chocolate. Maybe you're Barbra, in love with the color white. Maybe you're David, in love with a corpse. Maybe, even, you're The High Above, in love with everyone.
Usually, the question following is "Why do you love?" I prefer asking this question, instead: "Why shouldn't you love?" Now that's a brain-scratcher.
He doesn't love you. He continually forgets and abandons you. He gives you a moment's happiness, for a moment's heartbreak too. It isn't very good for the waistline, blood-sugar-count-whatever or in the long run, your complexion. It isn't a very good color on your skin-tone; everyone knows you're masquerading elegance; Oprah doesn't like you for it. She looks like a corpse. More often than not, they don't love you back.
It's easier to make a list on why you shouldn't love someone. That list is also bound to get longer than the "why's". It's easier to nit-pick on faults, to stress over a tiny speck of black, than to see the (possibly) glaring pristine canvas. And we shouldn't ever wish for the opposite to happen. It won't, anyway. It's ultimately better to love in spite; to love "although"; to love "beyond".
After all, at the end of it all, when you're asked Why you love someone, there's only one answer that can capture the poeticism, the wonder, the grandness, the simplicity, the mystery, the purity, the absolute-brain-messing-fever of it all. And no matter what you do, there is almost no way to otherwise capture light and trap it in a bottle.
Why do you love someone?
Because.
Maybe you're Carrie, in love with John. Maybe you're Giada, in love with chocolate. Maybe you're Barbra, in love with the color white. Maybe you're David, in love with a corpse. Maybe, even, you're The High Above, in love with everyone.
Usually, the question following is "Why do you love?" I prefer asking this question, instead: "Why shouldn't you love?" Now that's a brain-scratcher.
He doesn't love you. He continually forgets and abandons you. He gives you a moment's happiness, for a moment's heartbreak too. It isn't very good for the waistline, blood-sugar-count-whatever or in the long run, your complexion. It isn't a very good color on your skin-tone; everyone knows you're masquerading elegance; Oprah doesn't like you for it. She looks like a corpse. More often than not, they don't love you back.
It's easier to make a list on why you shouldn't love someone. That list is also bound to get longer than the "why's". It's easier to nit-pick on faults, to stress over a tiny speck of black, than to see the (possibly) glaring pristine canvas. And we shouldn't ever wish for the opposite to happen. It won't, anyway. It's ultimately better to love in spite; to love "although"; to love "beyond".
After all, at the end of it all, when you're asked Why you love someone, there's only one answer that can capture the poeticism, the wonder, the grandness, the simplicity, the mystery, the purity, the absolute-brain-messing-fever of it all. And no matter what you do, there is almost no way to otherwise capture light and trap it in a bottle.
Why do you love someone?
Because.
Monday, May 26, 2008
a different brand of the past
just a short one for today:
I received an e-mail today informing me of a friend's birthday. I figured that it must've come from Multiply, and, since i wanted to send him a message to greet him, I clicked on the link provided. Lo and behold, the mail wasn't from Multiply afterall. It was from Friendster.
And surprisingly, I still remember my password to access my account (note: I haven't accessed that since i joined multiply, which was, lesse 2005.
It was surprising to say the least.
I received an e-mail today informing me of a friend's birthday. I figured that it must've come from Multiply, and, since i wanted to send him a message to greet him, I clicked on the link provided. Lo and behold, the mail wasn't from Multiply afterall. It was from Friendster.
And surprisingly, I still remember my password to access my account (note: I haven't accessed that since i joined multiply, which was, lesse 2005.
It was surprising to say the least.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Stupidity is only half of it.
Imagine driving down a road where there are no cars. Now imagine doing this with the aircon off, and with the windows open, and with a cool, steady breeze thanks to the 120kmph speed you're driving at. Then imagine the streaks of light as they pass by. Then imagine not wanting to look to the side not because it's dangerous, but because you already know who's there anyway.
Goddamn it. That's impossible with the weather we've been having lately. Friggin rain splattering all over the place.
So i leave y'all instead with this. a Brialliant poem/song as performed by Bjork.
(some people say this is from a poem by e.e. cummings, but I think they mistook this song for another one.)
It's slippery when
How am I going to make it right?
With a palm full of stars
How am I going to make it right?
Goddamn it. That's impossible with the weather we've been having lately. Friggin rain splattering all over the place.
So i leave y'all instead with this. a Brialliant poem/song as performed by Bjork.
(some people say this is from a poem by e.e. cummings, but I think they mistook this song for another one.)
Desired Constellation
It's tricky when
You feel someone
Has done something
On your behalf
It's slippery when
Your sense of justice
Murmurs underneath
And is asking you:
How am I going to make it right?
With a palm full of stars
I throw them like dice
Repeatedly
I shake them like dice
And throw them on the table
Repeatedly
Until the desired constellation appears
And I ask myself:
How am I going to make it right?
How am I going to make it right?
How am I going to make it right?
How am I going to make it right?
(ad infinitum, until the rain drowns everything else out)
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Fingernail on the cliff.
Contrary to popular belief, it's the big things that go first.
First you end up not talking to each other for a long time
Then you end up not talking to other people about each other for a long time
Then you discard all big blaring things that remind you- pictures, letters, messages
Then it just starts to escape your mind- big chunks of memory become insignificant and obsolete and are deleted to make space for new ones.
You're free.
Then a small morsel of a detail suddenly surfaces. Just a tiny, tiny piece. Something small, just a pebble in your shoe or a splinter that bites your skin; a piece of shrapnel that races to your heart; a grain of sand in your eye; a shooting star.
destroy it before it destroys you.
First you end up not talking to each other for a long time
Then you end up not talking to other people about each other for a long time
Then you discard all big blaring things that remind you- pictures, letters, messages
Then it just starts to escape your mind- big chunks of memory become insignificant and obsolete and are deleted to make space for new ones.
You're free.
Then a small morsel of a detail suddenly surfaces. Just a tiny, tiny piece. Something small, just a pebble in your shoe or a splinter that bites your skin; a piece of shrapnel that races to your heart; a grain of sand in your eye; a shooting star.
destroy it before it destroys you.
the heart-pumping bloodshed
[before i continue the previous post.]
beware: this is a painfully teenaged entry. But seeing as to how I am a teenager, and that I do have penchant for being cheesy..
an old question asks if it is better to have loved and lost, or if to have not loved at all. Like most of those age-old questions, this one has no clear answer, and an attempt to stick to either side will expose not just a big, fat bias, but also a slew of holes and fallacies. Maybe that's why so many people (myself included) are stuck in a state of suspension between the two choices. Indeed, when two choices so evidently press themselves to you, and impose great, great consequences (or lack thereof), it becomes a little bit more of a tolerable compromise to sit on the fence- even if it means having the ol' picket up your ass.
Of course, by the verb "love" I don't just mean the impulsive feeling of attraction and devotion that selfishly presents itself at the most awkward of moments. What I mean is the submission, the pathetic act of surrender that makes us break down our fortified walls right when the outsiders arm and aim their ballistics. I have no idea what could drive anyone to do such an act, or what rewards must promise themselves to influence such a decision- in fact, I such a lack of idea that it baffles me why I contemplate the action myself.
Searching for some sort of metaphor, I can only barely catch the tale of the Trojans. I'm sure we are more than aware of the famous Trojan Horse (and their counterpart, the trojan virus). *insert story of the trojans/trojan horse here*
Honestly, who in their right mind would think that such a large, hollow, wooden horse could be a sign of victory and pride? Didn't the horse smell like big, burly, sweaty warriors; or make weird noises whenever the trip back to town was turbulent? That should've tipped them off. Or better yet, how about that whole prophecy and "warning from the gods" to not spite them? You'd think that with so many poets writing about almost everything, the Greeks would've had some historians to tell them how history repeats/would repeat itself. But unto the point of my paralellism.
I propose the following: I think the very act of "lowering our defenses" and willingly letting something of the outside invade us is nothing but the biggest act of self-preserving egoism. Really, by lowering our defenses and being vulnerable, we offer the world two choices: either they second guess their own bravado (after all, this guy is willing to fight me with no defenses at all- who knows what power he has); or they continue on with the fight, thinking that they had just struck the most idiotic keeper. And in response, either we reap the benefits of the former, or we get burned by the latter (ay, there's the rub). But still, we're willing to risk the latter for the faint chance of the former. We don't always expect that horse to be full of burly, sweaty warriors, ready to decimate our very beings from the inside out. We just, you know, expect the outsiders to fall and cower in fear, be proud of our sensitive side and air our their own emotions while leaning on our big, broad, manly shoulders (oops, i think i lost the parallelism there).
Either that, or we can keep our walls (or make them higher, even) and impress the world with how bitchy, witty, smart, and independent we can be. To hell will those warriors- they can have hot oil poured on their heads as they try to scale my defenses. Nothing's touching this heart. Nope, let this heart stand tall, and proud, and secure. Let this heart stay hidden and immaculate. Let this heart be dug out from the sands of time hundreds of years later- untouched and unkown.
On a side note: imagine if the ancient greeks were more cautious and bloodlusty (is that a word?) and decided to urinate and burn the horse instead. Not nearly as glamorous, no?
beware: this is a painfully teenaged entry. But seeing as to how I am a teenager, and that I do have penchant for being cheesy..
an old question asks if it is better to have loved and lost, or if to have not loved at all. Like most of those age-old questions, this one has no clear answer, and an attempt to stick to either side will expose not just a big, fat bias, but also a slew of holes and fallacies. Maybe that's why so many people (myself included) are stuck in a state of suspension between the two choices. Indeed, when two choices so evidently press themselves to you, and impose great, great consequences (or lack thereof), it becomes a little bit more of a tolerable compromise to sit on the fence- even if it means having the ol' picket up your ass.
Of course, by the verb "love" I don't just mean the impulsive feeling of attraction and devotion that selfishly presents itself at the most awkward of moments. What I mean is the submission, the pathetic act of surrender that makes us break down our fortified walls right when the outsiders arm and aim their ballistics. I have no idea what could drive anyone to do such an act, or what rewards must promise themselves to influence such a decision- in fact, I such a lack of idea that it baffles me why I contemplate the action myself.
Searching for some sort of metaphor, I can only barely catch the tale of the Trojans. I'm sure we are more than aware of the famous Trojan Horse (and their counterpart, the trojan virus). *insert story of the trojans/trojan horse here*
Honestly, who in their right mind would think that such a large, hollow, wooden horse could be a sign of victory and pride? Didn't the horse smell like big, burly, sweaty warriors; or make weird noises whenever the trip back to town was turbulent? That should've tipped them off. Or better yet, how about that whole prophecy and "warning from the gods" to not spite them? You'd think that with so many poets writing about almost everything, the Greeks would've had some historians to tell them how history repeats/would repeat itself. But unto the point of my paralellism.
I propose the following: I think the very act of "lowering our defenses" and willingly letting something of the outside invade us is nothing but the biggest act of self-preserving egoism. Really, by lowering our defenses and being vulnerable, we offer the world two choices: either they second guess their own bravado (after all, this guy is willing to fight me with no defenses at all- who knows what power he has); or they continue on with the fight, thinking that they had just struck the most idiotic keeper. And in response, either we reap the benefits of the former, or we get burned by the latter (ay, there's the rub). But still, we're willing to risk the latter for the faint chance of the former. We don't always expect that horse to be full of burly, sweaty warriors, ready to decimate our very beings from the inside out. We just, you know, expect the outsiders to fall and cower in fear, be proud of our sensitive side and air our their own emotions while leaning on our big, broad, manly shoulders (oops, i think i lost the parallelism there).
Either that, or we can keep our walls (or make them higher, even) and impress the world with how bitchy, witty, smart, and independent we can be. To hell will those warriors- they can have hot oil poured on their heads as they try to scale my defenses. Nothing's touching this heart. Nope, let this heart stand tall, and proud, and secure. Let this heart stay hidden and immaculate. Let this heart be dug out from the sands of time hundreds of years later- untouched and unkown.
On a side note: imagine if the ancient greeks were more cautious and bloodlusty (is that a word?) and decided to urinate and burn the horse instead. Not nearly as glamorous, no?
Monday, May 12, 2008
An Objectivity that Does Nobody Any Good
god what a long blog entry title.
anyway.
More talk regarding my Alma Mater.
Recently I've been hearing things about why some of my friends chose the University of the Philippines over Ateneo, or vise versa. First off, I am sure that both these universities are great choices for further education and will be able to provide the skills and knowledge my generation seeks and needs for the future. Secondly, I am also sure that both these universities have their own lists of pros and cons, and that each student who is given the luxury of choice between these two universities must analyze said pros and cons and decide for themselves. Thirdly, given that these choices are made by individual students, I can see how any factor, no matter how trivial it may play itself out to be, is a valid point of consideration.
But honestly, "real"ness?
Fine, i will accept that the UP lifestyle (if you can call it that) is probably more brusque and more individual-growth oriented. People may, and do see its appeal as a university that condones a greater form of independence. Perhaps its student population does enjoy a wider demographic (thanks to a veriety of factors, and, i firmly believe, not just due to lower tuitions). These are all very real, and very enticing (to some) factors for students who choose to go to UP; and these are all truly more heightened and visible in UP than in Ateneo. However, I refuse to take these as arrows against my own alma mater.
The Ateneo, given that it is a Jesuit University (as opposed to being a State University), will inevitably have its own character-formation written into its pedagogy. This however, is NOT mutually exclusive with independence and individual growth. Now, i don't want to end up discussing my take on catholicism and christianity and all that shiz, so allow that statement to stick. I just don't think that independence = no "enforced religion". I have seen a lot of devout catholics in the UP student body and its alumni, and so i don't think that religion is a pivotal concern in our context of independence. I'm just a little irked because some people have argued that the Ateneo emphasis on religion is very suffocating and limiting- as if we were some kind of very conservative community or fundamentalist fellowship (not that i have anything against such groups, mind you, i just don't think we are.)
I admit that UP does promote a more independent environment, but i don't think that Ateneo concretely LACKS a spirit of independence. Just look at the myriad organizations here.
to be continued...
anyway.
More talk regarding my Alma Mater.
Recently I've been hearing things about why some of my friends chose the University of the Philippines over Ateneo, or vise versa. First off, I am sure that both these universities are great choices for further education and will be able to provide the skills and knowledge my generation seeks and needs for the future. Secondly, I am also sure that both these universities have their own lists of pros and cons, and that each student who is given the luxury of choice between these two universities must analyze said pros and cons and decide for themselves. Thirdly, given that these choices are made by individual students, I can see how any factor, no matter how trivial it may play itself out to be, is a valid point of consideration.
But honestly, "real"ness?
Fine, i will accept that the UP lifestyle (if you can call it that) is probably more brusque and more individual-growth oriented. People may, and do see its appeal as a university that condones a greater form of independence. Perhaps its student population does enjoy a wider demographic (thanks to a veriety of factors, and, i firmly believe, not just due to lower tuitions). These are all very real, and very enticing (to some) factors for students who choose to go to UP; and these are all truly more heightened and visible in UP than in Ateneo. However, I refuse to take these as arrows against my own alma mater.
The Ateneo, given that it is a Jesuit University (as opposed to being a State University), will inevitably have its own character-formation written into its pedagogy. This however, is NOT mutually exclusive with independence and individual growth. Now, i don't want to end up discussing my take on catholicism and christianity and all that shiz, so allow that statement to stick. I just don't think that independence = no "enforced religion". I have seen a lot of devout catholics in the UP student body and its alumni, and so i don't think that religion is a pivotal concern in our context of independence. I'm just a little irked because some people have argued that the Ateneo emphasis on religion is very suffocating and limiting- as if we were some kind of very conservative community or fundamentalist fellowship (not that i have anything against such groups, mind you, i just don't think we are.)
I admit that UP does promote a more independent environment, but i don't think that Ateneo concretely LACKS a spirit of independence. Just look at the myriad organizations here.
to be continued...
Friday, May 2, 2008
An Idiot's Idiom
A saying goes:
"There is a reason why God gave you two ears and one mouth"
Of course, for time immemorial parents have touted this rather bland (and vague) sentence at children to teach them to listen more and talk less (gah.) Allow me, however, my own take on this:
First, an anecdote. Even before graduating from high school, the pressure and excitement of college already takes root and nearly strangled me. The tests were "easy" enough, i just had to do my best and pray that I would pass- which, of course, was the schools' decisions entirely. However, come January and the news that I had been (thankfully) accepted in both schools I applied to, a myriad troubles suddenly popped up from the ground along with the daisies.
What university should I attend? Beyond that, what Major should I take? Being a responsible student with friends from the upper batches, i interviewed and talked to and received pep talks from friends of both colleges, in almost every imaginable major. Both universities obviously had something to boast about, and those from university A would swear that it was better than university B; and vice versa. One of the schools offered freedom and independence (a definite plus point), and the other offered formation and guidance (a definite plus point all the same). One of the schools boasted its elite graduates; as did the other. I'm sure you can see the point, and i need not elaborate further. But eventually, the time came, and I decided to choose University A (or B, depending on how you look at it).
But now that I had decided to go to University A, I had to choose what Major to take in said school. Again, a lengthy interview process ensued, and convincing arguments (and threats) from both sides arose. And, true to form, I eventually chose one over the other.
Do you get my point?
This is what I mean to say. There is a reason that God has given us 2 ears and 1 mouth beyond that of aesthetic value (god, imagine how horrid the opposite would look). It's not just as simple as listening twice as much as talking. Rather, i believe, that it is to tell us that there will always be arguments and reasons to both sides of the coin, but ultimately, we must make our own decisions.
And perhaps, this is why I find this saying to be the most divine or truthful of all others. Because while the Pen may be mightier than the Sword, Actions speak louder than Words. And although we must soar high towards our dreams, we should also keep our feet rooted on the ground. But no matter what you do, you must choose whether to write or act, or to soar or take root.
2 ears and 1 mouth. This leads to another favorite saying of mine: "your cause will always have its reason". Indeed. Maybe, in some twisted way, this is what explains the "troubles" in the world. Some people hear the right and left statements and choose the right one (ha ha), while others choose the left. Maybe, just maybe, in their heads and hearts and souls, what they are doing is indeed the correct thing- backed by an eons old saying, to boot.
And ultimately, we can only say one thing, despite what two arguments we may hear. And this one thing we say will be heard, along with the other arguments, by the other people who will also have to make their own decisions. And if we backtrack just a little bit, maybe we would realize how our beliefs are our choise between two (or more) others, and that in some ways, the others may be right too. And then maybe we'd understand each other more before we speak to loudly.
If only the world listened twice as much as it spoke.
"There is a reason why God gave you two ears and one mouth"
Of course, for time immemorial parents have touted this rather bland (and vague) sentence at children to teach them to listen more and talk less (gah.) Allow me, however, my own take on this:
First, an anecdote. Even before graduating from high school, the pressure and excitement of college already takes root and nearly strangled me. The tests were "easy" enough, i just had to do my best and pray that I would pass- which, of course, was the schools' decisions entirely. However, come January and the news that I had been (thankfully) accepted in both schools I applied to, a myriad troubles suddenly popped up from the ground along with the daisies.
What university should I attend? Beyond that, what Major should I take? Being a responsible student with friends from the upper batches, i interviewed and talked to and received pep talks from friends of both colleges, in almost every imaginable major. Both universities obviously had something to boast about, and those from university A would swear that it was better than university B; and vice versa. One of the schools offered freedom and independence (a definite plus point), and the other offered formation and guidance (a definite plus point all the same). One of the schools boasted its elite graduates; as did the other. I'm sure you can see the point, and i need not elaborate further. But eventually, the time came, and I decided to choose University A (or B, depending on how you look at it).
But now that I had decided to go to University A, I had to choose what Major to take in said school. Again, a lengthy interview process ensued, and convincing arguments (and threats) from both sides arose. And, true to form, I eventually chose one over the other.
Do you get my point?
This is what I mean to say. There is a reason that God has given us 2 ears and 1 mouth beyond that of aesthetic value (god, imagine how horrid the opposite would look). It's not just as simple as listening twice as much as talking. Rather, i believe, that it is to tell us that there will always be arguments and reasons to both sides of the coin, but ultimately, we must make our own decisions.
And perhaps, this is why I find this saying to be the most divine or truthful of all others. Because while the Pen may be mightier than the Sword, Actions speak louder than Words. And although we must soar high towards our dreams, we should also keep our feet rooted on the ground. But no matter what you do, you must choose whether to write or act, or to soar or take root.
2 ears and 1 mouth. This leads to another favorite saying of mine: "your cause will always have its reason". Indeed. Maybe, in some twisted way, this is what explains the "troubles" in the world. Some people hear the right and left statements and choose the right one (ha ha), while others choose the left. Maybe, just maybe, in their heads and hearts and souls, what they are doing is indeed the correct thing- backed by an eons old saying, to boot.
And ultimately, we can only say one thing, despite what two arguments we may hear. And this one thing we say will be heard, along with the other arguments, by the other people who will also have to make their own decisions. And if we backtrack just a little bit, maybe we would realize how our beliefs are our choise between two (or more) others, and that in some ways, the others may be right too. And then maybe we'd understand each other more before we speak to loudly.
If only the world listened twice as much as it spoke.
Monday, April 28, 2008
The biased truth of the stars.
just a thought: we wish on shooting stars. but shooting stars are space debris that burn as it enters the earth's atmosphere, the burning is what we see. So technically, we wish on something that ceases to exist as soon as we become aware of it.
and similarly: it takes lightyears upon lightyears for the twinkle of distant stars to reach the earth. And so, when we look up at the night sky, we are actually looking at the very essence of time- the presentness of the night sky, the past of the light of the stars, and the future of our own gazes reaching those stars lightyears upon lightyears from now. Doesn't it strike you as interesting that the very star you may be looking at now might not even exist anymore? And maybe by the time our whispered wishes reach the stars somewhere out there, we don't want them to come true anymore.
The past illuminates the way to the future, indeed.
and similarly: it takes lightyears upon lightyears for the twinkle of distant stars to reach the earth. And so, when we look up at the night sky, we are actually looking at the very essence of time- the presentness of the night sky, the past of the light of the stars, and the future of our own gazes reaching those stars lightyears upon lightyears from now. Doesn't it strike you as interesting that the very star you may be looking at now might not even exist anymore? And maybe by the time our whispered wishes reach the stars somewhere out there, we don't want them to come true anymore.
The past illuminates the way to the future, indeed.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Fearing the Future
I have been meaning to write about recent decisions that have been made in my life. In the past few months, I had to finalize my decisions regarding what University to attend, what course/major to take, which ties I would valiantly keep alive, and which, as sad as it is inevitable, I would let succumb to the ravages of time.
All in all, most of my decisions have been tainted with some notion of fear, regret and nostalgia. Well, fine, of course there is also the exciting rush of starting on a new chapter of life, and growing beyond present boundaries and all, but still, I have never been one for leaving my comfort zone. People argue that High School lasted for 4 years for a reason, and that my friends during those years would be my friends for the rest of my life, but still, there is a sense of fear in losing things.
Especially considering the fact that those I am closest to, I have known, literally, since i was 6 years old, have been classmates for most of those years since, and that i have practically grown extra appendages and organs for the sakes of these people; the idea, therefore, of suddenly going our own ways is filled with a surreality that generates an even more real sense of fear in me.
The summer has been hot, and filled with parties and "reunions". It's funny, really, how just a few weeks since graduation, we actually have the audacity to call our outings "reunions". Granted, the get-togethers also double as despedidas for friends pursuing further education in other countries, but still, I can't help but feel that they generate an artifical sense of continuity- as if reunions will always be this common and this mundane. Due to these constant get-togethers, it makes it even harder for me to accept or even imagine how it would be when these guys and I would meet only once every year, or even less. I can't imagine how it would be to not anymore be on the same spheres of understanding and knowledge. God, how the hell can we possibly be in different fields of expertise 4 years from now?
Then again, I'm probably just being an illusioned, sentimental fool. Enter cynic.
To be honest, this isn't the first time I'm going to say goodbye. I graduated from elementary school 4 years ago, where I also had a group of constant classmates for 4 of the 8 years. Granted, a vast majority of us ended up going to the same high school (and ending up in the same section, to boot), but a few of us still pursued different paths in different schools. At the time, I also couldn't imagine how I could possibly say goodbye to those people, and I was actually on the semi-verge of being on the verge of breaking down. But time passed, and here I am, remarkably happy for the past four years, the fear of those preceding non-existent.
We had a reunion (the group from those grade school days) just the other day. We actually still had a lot to talk about, really. And, true to form, we talked about our common days. One of us was a valedictorian, more than one was a merit scholar, one had a girlfriend from Poveda, and I was myself. We had pursued (or somehow reached) different points from when we were in grade school, but we still had trivial, but nonetheless endearing, things in common. And this, I imagine (hopefully) will also be the case with my high school class.
conclusion:
Forgive the prior exposition, but I felt it necessary to support the following conclusion. I think what I have wrong with me is that I imagine things too far into the future too immediately. I can't help but imagine what our (highschool friends, grade school friends, or any, really) situations will be years from now, instead of learning to deal with things day by day. I simply take our current standing, add 10 years of isolation, and theoritize. Inevitably, all I am able to imagine are the losses, the separation, the distancing. I am unable to break things down to the day by day situations that time will present. The forcing and pushing of time fate and situation to new people, and to easier letting go. The future won't really force me to drop relationships like a lead weight from a building rooftop. I think that these things will just be like a rope, continually slackening until I suddenly find myself free from the sentimental ties that bind me to these things- until I willingly return and cherish the memories.
Maybe fearing the future is as apt as it is stupid. After all, it's what is motivating me to hold on to as much as I can, but at the same time, it is as irrational as it can come. All in all, it's a fruitless venture to hold on to the past that will end in vain. But we continue to fear, and to hold on, all the same.
cue sisyphus.
All in all, most of my decisions have been tainted with some notion of fear, regret and nostalgia. Well, fine, of course there is also the exciting rush of starting on a new chapter of life, and growing beyond present boundaries and all, but still, I have never been one for leaving my comfort zone. People argue that High School lasted for 4 years for a reason, and that my friends during those years would be my friends for the rest of my life, but still, there is a sense of fear in losing things.
Especially considering the fact that those I am closest to, I have known, literally, since i was 6 years old, have been classmates for most of those years since, and that i have practically grown extra appendages and organs for the sakes of these people; the idea, therefore, of suddenly going our own ways is filled with a surreality that generates an even more real sense of fear in me.
The summer has been hot, and filled with parties and "reunions". It's funny, really, how just a few weeks since graduation, we actually have the audacity to call our outings "reunions". Granted, the get-togethers also double as despedidas for friends pursuing further education in other countries, but still, I can't help but feel that they generate an artifical sense of continuity- as if reunions will always be this common and this mundane. Due to these constant get-togethers, it makes it even harder for me to accept or even imagine how it would be when these guys and I would meet only once every year, or even less. I can't imagine how it would be to not anymore be on the same spheres of understanding and knowledge. God, how the hell can we possibly be in different fields of expertise 4 years from now?
Then again, I'm probably just being an illusioned, sentimental fool. Enter cynic.
To be honest, this isn't the first time I'm going to say goodbye. I graduated from elementary school 4 years ago, where I also had a group of constant classmates for 4 of the 8 years. Granted, a vast majority of us ended up going to the same high school (and ending up in the same section, to boot), but a few of us still pursued different paths in different schools. At the time, I also couldn't imagine how I could possibly say goodbye to those people, and I was actually on the semi-verge of being on the verge of breaking down. But time passed, and here I am, remarkably happy for the past four years, the fear of those preceding non-existent.
We had a reunion (the group from those grade school days) just the other day. We actually still had a lot to talk about, really. And, true to form, we talked about our common days. One of us was a valedictorian, more than one was a merit scholar, one had a girlfriend from Poveda, and I was myself. We had pursued (or somehow reached) different points from when we were in grade school, but we still had trivial, but nonetheless endearing, things in common. And this, I imagine (hopefully) will also be the case with my high school class.
conclusion:
Forgive the prior exposition, but I felt it necessary to support the following conclusion. I think what I have wrong with me is that I imagine things too far into the future too immediately. I can't help but imagine what our (highschool friends, grade school friends, or any, really) situations will be years from now, instead of learning to deal with things day by day. I simply take our current standing, add 10 years of isolation, and theoritize. Inevitably, all I am able to imagine are the losses, the separation, the distancing. I am unable to break things down to the day by day situations that time will present. The forcing and pushing of time fate and situation to new people, and to easier letting go. The future won't really force me to drop relationships like a lead weight from a building rooftop. I think that these things will just be like a rope, continually slackening until I suddenly find myself free from the sentimental ties that bind me to these things- until I willingly return and cherish the memories.
Maybe fearing the future is as apt as it is stupid. After all, it's what is motivating me to hold on to as much as I can, but at the same time, it is as irrational as it can come. All in all, it's a fruitless venture to hold on to the past that will end in vain. But we continue to fear, and to hold on, all the same.
cue sisyphus.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Damn the Roses
Our good friend Will did indeed say that a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. This, however, has no real relevance to this blog entry- i just wanted to get off on the right, literary-savvy foot.
What I mean to say is that I want to clear up any confusion that there may be regarding this blog's title. Sisyphussy is not, if you were thinking, a juxtaposition of the two words "sissy" and "pussy" (both dwelling in some similar realm of meaning, ironically), made more politically correct by both being misspelled. Nope. Sisyphussy is, actually, culled from one of my favorite (yeah right) characters from Greek Mythology- Sisyphus.
Sisyphus, you see, was a king with a very sad name, and he was often teased as a child because of his very unfortunate name. However, his parents (feeling just a tad bit of remorse for naming their kid such) kept on telling him that Sisyphus, no matter how gay his name may be, is still a grand name meant for a grand person.
and Sisyphus took that encouragement seriously. In fact, so seriously did he take that little pep talk that when he grew up and became king (after singing with a lion cub and some weird blue bird; dancing in the forest with a pig and killing his sexily-tanned uncle) he became so convinced of his ruling powers.
And then, like most Greek Mythology characters, he committed a stupid mistake.
He challenged Zeus, Lord Daddy of all their gods, and said that he was better than any thunderbolt weilding, toga-wearing, hairy nippled Patriarch God.
Smart Sisyphus, Smart.
If you are unfamiliar with even the most basic of schisms in Greek Mythology, then allow me to enlighten you. Whenever someone challenges a god, said god takes revenge in a totally unfair way. And so, Zeus (in all his bitchy envy) took his revenge on Sisyphus and damned him such that when he entered Tartarus (hell), he was cursed to roll a boulder up a hill, only to see it roll back down at the end of the day. The next day, he'd do the same thing, and so on and so forth.
(as to why he even would've wanted a boulder on a hill is beyond me, though.)
And hence "Sisyphussy"- adj. 1.)a state of being initially repressed and tortured 2.)a subsequent state of arrogance and gross self-confidence 3.)a final state of severe frustration, particularly in attempting to accomplish stupid, unattainable tasks 4.)a sissy pussy 5.)the complete opposite of all of the above [antonym: "sisyphussy"]
go figure.
heeeeeeeeeeeeey, the roses ended up having some relevance after all.
What I mean to say is that I want to clear up any confusion that there may be regarding this blog's title. Sisyphussy is not, if you were thinking, a juxtaposition of the two words "sissy" and "pussy" (both dwelling in some similar realm of meaning, ironically), made more politically correct by both being misspelled. Nope. Sisyphussy is, actually, culled from one of my favorite (yeah right) characters from Greek Mythology- Sisyphus.
Sisyphus, you see, was a king with a very sad name, and he was often teased as a child because of his very unfortunate name. However, his parents (feeling just a tad bit of remorse for naming their kid such) kept on telling him that Sisyphus, no matter how gay his name may be, is still a grand name meant for a grand person.
and Sisyphus took that encouragement seriously. In fact, so seriously did he take that little pep talk that when he grew up and became king (after singing with a lion cub and some weird blue bird; dancing in the forest with a pig and killing his sexily-tanned uncle) he became so convinced of his ruling powers.
And then, like most Greek Mythology characters, he committed a stupid mistake.
He challenged Zeus, Lord Daddy of all their gods, and said that he was better than any thunderbolt weilding, toga-wearing, hairy nippled Patriarch God.
Smart Sisyphus, Smart.
If you are unfamiliar with even the most basic of schisms in Greek Mythology, then allow me to enlighten you. Whenever someone challenges a god, said god takes revenge in a totally unfair way. And so, Zeus (in all his bitchy envy) took his revenge on Sisyphus and damned him such that when he entered Tartarus (hell), he was cursed to roll a boulder up a hill, only to see it roll back down at the end of the day. The next day, he'd do the same thing, and so on and so forth.
(as to why he even would've wanted a boulder on a hill is beyond me, though.)
And hence "Sisyphussy"
go figure.
heeeeeeeeeeeeey, the roses ended up having some relevance after all.
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