Life as it is...simple...
what a bliss it would be
for all eternal stress to be gone
alas,
for men
are not of simple beings
inquisitive
curious
selfish
greed
and in the end...
continues
the endless cycle
of wars and corruption
what are we to hope for
a better tomorrow?
sighz...
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Friday, November 05, 2004
Writer's Block
I’m in a brain lock. An empty vase space of vacuum fills my head. There’s nothing to write. No matter how hard I try there is no flow in my writing, no special spark in it. I emotionally devoid of any feelings right now, just in that calm, neutral state everyone is. I’m suffering from writer’s block.
I feel that I write the best when I’m emotionally fueled. There’s just that special flow, that special energy that drives the brain into hyper mode, ideas flowing out wave after wave, words, phrases forming even before I’ve even written them. Those were times when writing was most fruitful; the kind of writing that was of a genius. It was the type of writing where everything was perfect.
Yet now, totally devoid of any emotions, the past few days torment and let down having passed away so fast (I’m not a person who keeps things like these to my myself), I feel a like a wave of stagnant water, stuck, unable to move. Perhaps it would help if I wrote about things that were closest to the heart, that were the easiest to tell. Yeah, perhaps that’s right.
Kick start it, the last few days has been a tormented one. Morning till 4 in the afternoon was orchestra practice, and with not one, but two strict teachers on the watch, I bet you won’t even be able to catch your breath there. Rigorous indeed was the training, especially if you’re playing some kind of instruments where the notes always go out of tune like the cello, a family of the string instrument. Yeah, that was it. The teachers have heard enough of out of tune notes and have sent the whole group of cellists (except the head of the group who was studying for SPM) to practice separately, each with a tuner in front of us, forced with a homework of practicing each and every note at least 100 times to get it right. God! What type of training was that! And you know how hard it is on the fingers, especially on the left hand with a not-so-good cello like mine (I’m actually quite lucky, other people has to use the school’s one), oh god, it was horrible. At the end of the day, I went home with bloated up fingers and a swollen thumb (I’ve pressed to hard with the thumb while holding the bow. What can I say, I still haven’t mastered the technique of holding the bow without hurting my dear thumb.) And yet, the tune still goes out even after one period of this mad training. What can I say, I’m a lazy fellow, a zealot follower of taking breaks as soon as possible, running here and there, walking here and there just to rest my poor fingers.
I must say that as a person who has quite high expectations, those poorly played out of tune notes sure has struck a dent in my shield of confidence. Caught in between high expectations and the in-born trait of everyone called laziness, I was constantly resting and then pulling myself back to practice, always trying with self-discipline to cut short the time in which I spent resting and walking around. It was the least I could do. At least to cut on the guilt factor.
Of course, in between the rigorous training, there was the option of sneaking to the monitor board book saleroom. Yeah, and considering the fact that I’m in the promotional sector and that the sales do not start until next week, so it was mostly like a resting room or a place to ‘ponteng’. Yeah, there were the usual additions of CD players and cards, chatting and the usual things done when there is nothing to do, but UNO cards? Now that’s gone a bit too far. Ok, it might be a bit lame playing UNO cards but hey, if it cures boredom, I’m up for it. It was quite relaxing there, just doing nothing, sometimes reading some of the second-hand books, sometimes just watching others play (I always come when someone is into the game). But overtime it kinda gets on you, as boredom slowly falls in.
There is rarely any people walking in and selling books save for the few who come when I’m there. Though, I just watch rather than do the processing thing, watch and learn. Other times, its just plain sitting down and chatting around. Kind off lame and boring, right?
You know what, somehow, right now, I’ve been cured from writers block!
I feel that I write the best when I’m emotionally fueled. There’s just that special flow, that special energy that drives the brain into hyper mode, ideas flowing out wave after wave, words, phrases forming even before I’ve even written them. Those were times when writing was most fruitful; the kind of writing that was of a genius. It was the type of writing where everything was perfect.
Yet now, totally devoid of any emotions, the past few days torment and let down having passed away so fast (I’m not a person who keeps things like these to my myself), I feel a like a wave of stagnant water, stuck, unable to move. Perhaps it would help if I wrote about things that were closest to the heart, that were the easiest to tell. Yeah, perhaps that’s right.
Kick start it, the last few days has been a tormented one. Morning till 4 in the afternoon was orchestra practice, and with not one, but two strict teachers on the watch, I bet you won’t even be able to catch your breath there. Rigorous indeed was the training, especially if you’re playing some kind of instruments where the notes always go out of tune like the cello, a family of the string instrument. Yeah, that was it. The teachers have heard enough of out of tune notes and have sent the whole group of cellists (except the head of the group who was studying for SPM) to practice separately, each with a tuner in front of us, forced with a homework of practicing each and every note at least 100 times to get it right. God! What type of training was that! And you know how hard it is on the fingers, especially on the left hand with a not-so-good cello like mine (I’m actually quite lucky, other people has to use the school’s one), oh god, it was horrible. At the end of the day, I went home with bloated up fingers and a swollen thumb (I’ve pressed to hard with the thumb while holding the bow. What can I say, I still haven’t mastered the technique of holding the bow without hurting my dear thumb.) And yet, the tune still goes out even after one period of this mad training. What can I say, I’m a lazy fellow, a zealot follower of taking breaks as soon as possible, running here and there, walking here and there just to rest my poor fingers.
I must say that as a person who has quite high expectations, those poorly played out of tune notes sure has struck a dent in my shield of confidence. Caught in between high expectations and the in-born trait of everyone called laziness, I was constantly resting and then pulling myself back to practice, always trying with self-discipline to cut short the time in which I spent resting and walking around. It was the least I could do. At least to cut on the guilt factor.
Of course, in between the rigorous training, there was the option of sneaking to the monitor board book saleroom. Yeah, and considering the fact that I’m in the promotional sector and that the sales do not start until next week, so it was mostly like a resting room or a place to ‘ponteng’. Yeah, there were the usual additions of CD players and cards, chatting and the usual things done when there is nothing to do, but UNO cards? Now that’s gone a bit too far. Ok, it might be a bit lame playing UNO cards but hey, if it cures boredom, I’m up for it. It was quite relaxing there, just doing nothing, sometimes reading some of the second-hand books, sometimes just watching others play (I always come when someone is into the game). But overtime it kinda gets on you, as boredom slowly falls in.
There is rarely any people walking in and selling books save for the few who come when I’m there. Though, I just watch rather than do the processing thing, watch and learn. Other times, its just plain sitting down and chatting around. Kind off lame and boring, right?
You know what, somehow, right now, I’ve been cured from writers block!
Saturday, August 14, 2004
Lack of responsibility or Forgetfulness?
"Lack of responsibility or Forgetfulness?"
Huh, is that a title for a debate or speech? Nope. Not even close. It just so happened that this was derived just from a t-shirt that i forgot to bring.
I have known friends who are really forgetful...or maybe they're just forgetful on purpose...and they just shrugged it off like it was no big deal...and it was not as if there was no punishment! Had forgetfulness become so much a part of them that it seemed too average to be of concern for them? Oh, if i was like that, my mother would had slaughtered me. Really, I’m not joking!
Anyway...back to the main subject...it all started with a t-shirt that i forgot to bring to school. Big deal. No big deal to me. Just the chance of having PJ scrapped off and having to collect rubbish. PJ? I can stand one hour watching by friends play and have fun while i go on collecting rubbish. Yeah, i can stomach that...though it might take some really strong determination and will. Collecting rubbish? Now that is the true spirit of schoolism (ha! is that a word). I mean, what's wrong with having to service back to the school that has provided teachers to nurture. Of course, that's just the positive side. But i still thrive on doing so (focusing on the positive side). Life would seem better.
Alas, a mother like mine would never focus on the positive side of it! Or at least try! Nope. She just went on crapping a whole lot on responsibility itself, on the image that I supposedly gave. I mean, what has forgetting to bring a t-shirt got to do with responsibility? And it is only the second time! Not that I forgot every week. And the image, she said that I gave a bad image if I forgot to bring my t-shirt. Ha! If everyone took forgetting to bring a t-shirt thing as serious as my mother, everyone would be having really, really bad images. Man, what’s the big deal of this?
Then again, after saying so much, whether it is lack of responsibility or just plain forgetfulness, I still don’t know.
Huh, is that a title for a debate or speech? Nope. Not even close. It just so happened that this was derived just from a t-shirt that i forgot to bring.
I have known friends who are really forgetful...or maybe they're just forgetful on purpose...and they just shrugged it off like it was no big deal...and it was not as if there was no punishment! Had forgetfulness become so much a part of them that it seemed too average to be of concern for them? Oh, if i was like that, my mother would had slaughtered me. Really, I’m not joking!
Anyway...back to the main subject...it all started with a t-shirt that i forgot to bring to school. Big deal. No big deal to me. Just the chance of having PJ scrapped off and having to collect rubbish. PJ? I can stand one hour watching by friends play and have fun while i go on collecting rubbish. Yeah, i can stomach that...though it might take some really strong determination and will. Collecting rubbish? Now that is the true spirit of schoolism (ha! is that a word). I mean, what's wrong with having to service back to the school that has provided teachers to nurture. Of course, that's just the positive side. But i still thrive on doing so (focusing on the positive side). Life would seem better.
Alas, a mother like mine would never focus on the positive side of it! Or at least try! Nope. She just went on crapping a whole lot on responsibility itself, on the image that I supposedly gave. I mean, what has forgetting to bring a t-shirt got to do with responsibility? And it is only the second time! Not that I forgot every week. And the image, she said that I gave a bad image if I forgot to bring my t-shirt. Ha! If everyone took forgetting to bring a t-shirt thing as serious as my mother, everyone would be having really, really bad images. Man, what’s the big deal of this?
Then again, after saying so much, whether it is lack of responsibility or just plain forgetfulness, I still don’t know.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Perfect
Nobody is perfect. And yet...so many have tried to be perfect. It may had been just trying to be first always, or trying to pleased ones gf/bf...or maybe just trying to be the person that would please everybody. And yet, no matter how hard one tries, they always fail. Why?
If one could please everybody, if one could be perfect: no worries, no sorrows...what difference would it had make? If one has gotten what one has always strived for, would one really be happy? Be satisfied? No. Perfect would had lost its meaning, its special place in the unreachables. There wouldn't be the word sorrows, nor happy in any other way...with one in the dwindle, the other would had lost a companion to contrast with it...life would had been meaningless then.
That was me when i was small, always striving to be the best, the one that outwined everyone. I tried so hard, so hard to be just the kind of boy everyone loved. I forsaked my friends just for the sake of studying. In my mind, study came first before anything. And there were results, results from my continous, monotous studying. I had great results, results that resulted in my name being known throughout the shchool. Yes, those were great times. I felt like everyone knew me, and yet i didn't know them. They were great times, times perhaps that u would like to frame them up in my mind, being a static picture forever there in my mind.
And yet, i was foolish enough, blindly thinking that this was life. I tried very hard to please the teachers. I never really talked during classes, and that resulted in a no-talking-after-class rule that i foolishly put on myself. I distanced myself from my classmates, just for what? Stupidly for results. I became the golden boy of the teachers...a wondrous result if u ask others...and yet it camed with a price...
I was never perfect, and never will be. Noone is! I'm so tired of just trying to be perfect...to be a theoretical possibility...I had left my life behind for material goodness that seemed to be the after sought thing everyone wanted...perfect...it will always be a word that would solely exist in the minds of everyone, in virtual reality itself, where it belongs.
If one could please everybody, if one could be perfect: no worries, no sorrows...what difference would it had make? If one has gotten what one has always strived for, would one really be happy? Be satisfied? No. Perfect would had lost its meaning, its special place in the unreachables. There wouldn't be the word sorrows, nor happy in any other way...with one in the dwindle, the other would had lost a companion to contrast with it...life would had been meaningless then.
That was me when i was small, always striving to be the best, the one that outwined everyone. I tried so hard, so hard to be just the kind of boy everyone loved. I forsaked my friends just for the sake of studying. In my mind, study came first before anything. And there were results, results from my continous, monotous studying. I had great results, results that resulted in my name being known throughout the shchool. Yes, those were great times. I felt like everyone knew me, and yet i didn't know them. They were great times, times perhaps that u would like to frame them up in my mind, being a static picture forever there in my mind.
And yet, i was foolish enough, blindly thinking that this was life. I tried very hard to please the teachers. I never really talked during classes, and that resulted in a no-talking-after-class rule that i foolishly put on myself. I distanced myself from my classmates, just for what? Stupidly for results. I became the golden boy of the teachers...a wondrous result if u ask others...and yet it camed with a price...
I was never perfect, and never will be. Noone is! I'm so tired of just trying to be perfect...to be a theoretical possibility...I had left my life behind for material goodness that seemed to be the after sought thing everyone wanted...perfect...it will always be a word that would solely exist in the minds of everyone, in virtual reality itself, where it belongs.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
Blogging
Ah! First time at blogging! I used to think that there was no such thing as a place to express yourself. At school, all we poor students had were these puny, boring essay titles that seemed to be driving a screw deeper and deeper into our minds. They were nothing but a mindless continous exercise that seemed desinged to only further enhance our grammar. There was nothing in it that encouraged immagination, expression, fluidity. Those stories that we used to write, they were the used-over-and-over-again kind of storylines. And why did we stick with those totally boring, flat storylines? Well, it was a matter of homework overload, coupled with a brain that was conditioned to not to think! Ha! For goodness sakes, all we cared were our grades!
But now this! A place to escape from all the rules, from all the social pressures, the need to have a grammatically correct essays...blogging has already becomed the next biggest thing! It's a place to express, to criticise even on things we never ever will in reality...and to sum it all up...it's all anonymous...nobody will really know it's u! (execpt perhaps if the person knows your writing style)...no wonder bloggin has boomed to become such a big thing...!
But now this! A place to escape from all the rules, from all the social pressures, the need to have a grammatically correct essays...blogging has already becomed the next biggest thing! It's a place to express, to criticise even on things we never ever will in reality...and to sum it all up...it's all anonymous...nobody will really know it's u! (execpt perhaps if the person knows your writing style)...no wonder bloggin has boomed to become such a big thing...!
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