The Rekindling

I apologize for the very long hiatus. Recently, I lacked the compulsion to write anything...anything.

I have been spending a lot of my time alone. Though that line usually comes with a tragic tone, ignore it- that's not applicable here. Thus, my time is spent with my thoughts mulling in my head. I am not bombarded by the intercessions of differing opinions. I must admit it is very restorative; however, a lack of human contact always ends in a form of lacking (especially for me). It is something I know all too well as a only child. Bottom line- in the past, people have always exhausted me, on account of my constant expulsion of energy and effort. I hope you know that it was never in vain, or for the sole entertainment and accommodation of the other person. I simply get excited. It is strange, but I become my full myself when I am conversing with people. There are limits though. I approach some situations with such vivacity that my easily wear myself out. It is a satisfying feeling though.

I was supposed to move to New York for a talent management internship. Sadly, it did not pull through because I did not have a paying job in Manhattan, and my parents are not very supportive of my aspirations as a film executive. To their dismay, I have never lacked the ambition to be in the entertainment industry. Sounds cliche but it really makes a difference when your parents give you a pat on the back. It is not fair to say they held me back. I am codependent of their approval, hinging on that fact that they are the only people I unconditionally care about. I don't fall in love easily, nor do I get too attached to friends. My semi-transient childhood is not to blame, but it set the foundation for my lack of attention to people who are not my parents. They were the only permanence in my life, and somehow I find it disrespectful to stray from their needs and expectations. I guess they don't have faith in the industry in allowing me to succeed. However, it manifests as me lacking in talent and smarts for the job. They know I will never become a doctor, but they seem to put down any chance of me becoming anything else. Basically, it is a dead end. I might as well become a nurse, stay home and take care of them till they expire...

I fear that is my destiny...

I know. What a dour topic...

I just needed to vent.

Deontology

I know what you are thinking. Another big word as a header, what a pretentious writer...
I can acknowledge that I may seem to be certain things, but only I can see the underlying motivation for my countenance and actions. Do I have a fear of being more than I am? Yes, most definitely. Aren't we all? We would seem foolish, if we were guilty of this.

DEONTOLOGY- I forgot the exact definition. All I can recall is that it means: something you ought to do.
Words inspire me. Language is most profound when it used with proper inflection, diction, and syntax. In a nutshell, communication- the simple conveyance of the inner thoughts swirling in our personal cranium is the most beautiful thing in this world. I know there are other beautiful things, but let us focus on this topic.

All my life, I have struggled with my autonomy and the things demanded of me by parents and society. I know I am not an isolated case. For some reason, I found some peace with this dilemma. I feel no longer propelled to listen to anyone else- even if they say "you suck." I actually have not been lamenting on my imaginary chains.

I hate to admit this, but all the sudden I have this heaviness on my heart.

Maybe, it is because I saw "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"...

I feel lonely. How can I feel lonely, when I never been the opposite? I think I know why. For one moment, I experienced the calming quietude of a parallel understanding, in other words, a mutual co-existence that can be likened to the feeling of a home. It was only a couple minutes, but in that moment, I believe I felt an aspect of love- a natural companionship. All I can say was that I was in a tent. I was working on my philosophy homework, and he was looking at music videos on my ipod. I will not go into details, because I do not want to appear any more sappy than I am now- disclosing my past romantic experience in a blog when stricken with a surprise hormonal depression. I feel warm recalling the experience, but empty on realization of the recall as a thought, not an actuality. I guess when there is nothing tangible, it is always missed. Sometimes, I feel as if my words do not penetrate others. I speak strangely at times, mostly in an abstract manner, because I'm not disciplined or sharp enough to deliver concise narratives. Someone understood my verbose handicap. I was only for a short time. He never really wanted me. However, I cannot help but feel grateful for the chance to be myself with someone. No filters. It was a vulnerable position that does more harm than good. Nevertheless, it made me realize that some of the most pleasurable and fulfilling experiences in life can come from communicating with another person. Also, soft yellow lighting from the tent added to the romantic aesthetic :)

Do not worry. No more LOVE posts. I hardly go into these types of rants. I believe its because I took one of my mom's 50+ multivitamins. It might of had extra hormones in it for menopausal women.

Happy New Year everyone.

Wow. I don't even write like this...

Oh well.

Sound of Silence

Sometimes, notthing came out. I was a bulimic purging an empty stomach. I was frustrated by the thought of a dry spell. Surely, it was an impediment to the glory of production...

Then this came out...

Grab the linoleum cover of your existential being. Release it into the languid dream of futural consciousness. This is the benchmark of progress. This is propulsion of the self against the viscious tides of deontological caps to the self will.

The fight is a necessary consequence to the liberation of the soul.

Stories to Tell

I think that will be my next installment on this blog. A little less rant and more humorous reflections on things that have passed...

Part 1:

A Quintessential Parisian Revelry

This is the actual photo of the room (courtesy of Ms. Elaine).


To be continued...

Leper Deontological Crisis

Many have said (in the most patronizing tone) "Life if what you make of it!"

Wise existential advice indeed, yet too optimistic and sugar coated in everything sweet and nice for my palette. It is an incredibly vague statement that falls short of the truth of our present circumstances. Instead, I would bitterly declare "Life is what it makes of you."

What is the difference, you may ask? An immense one, that divides so wide, that Indiana Jones could not possibly manage to maintain his balance on a "leap of faith". Most memorable as a narrow extension(Temple of Doom) taking the form of a frightful (for those that suffer from vertigo, or managed to watch the Hitchcock film an obsessive amount of time) bridge to the other side of the cavern. Whoa what a long analogy. Obviously, I am partial to them.

"You" on the end of the second mantra is a strategic placement of emphasis of the sentence itself. For those who have suffered the pitfalls of everyday existence, you all know that the ways of the world are out of our control. Thus, life is the antagonist, and we are the mere receivers of its whim. I do not believe the first mantra is very practical to say the least, it indicates that you are in charge of your happenings, almost stroking your inner fantasy for a fulfillment of a god complex. Something, I am very much addicted to. However, as paradoxical as it may be, acknowledging that you must take the blunt of the storm of "life" ( I know I sound like a New York Bestseller Christian Self-Help book, by the number of times I say LIFE ), only strengthens the foundation of the tree (ah! I said Tree, also a biblical symbol).

I have had my share of responses these supposed forces of nature. Nevertheless, I know I must maintain, be allusive, yet purport for what I want, for the satisfaction gained by reaching goals are my only means of survival and happiness.

I should not have had that beer an hour ago. I tend to write in a sentimental manner when I do so. At the beginning, I wanted to rant about the unfair situations I have encountered, not only for me, but for others I know.

I walked away from the living room in my matching blue monogrammed pajamas, and beige turban headband, clutching my MACBOOK. The white stick from the cherry dum dum pop protruded from between my lips, like an anorexic mock cigarette. Strange sight for those new to the household, but all too common for those who reside with me. I cannot recall why, but I walked with a particular stride up the stairs in this outfit, confident, but irritated by the fact that nothing will ever work with me again. What I mean is that, I always encounter things working against me- a new concept for someone who perpetually did that best to attain the best, becoming disappointed by the turn in my wheel of fortune. My ideal is never reached and those who offer nothing, but more the same often ascend, breeding homogeneity, manifesting the mundane lifestyle many so often forfeit for death.




Deficient in skills valuable to capitalistic society, I can honestly say that I will never be a candidate for the Ivies or any professional bureaucratic occupations. Strange, because this was always the longing of my nurtured heart, yet old news for my "nature".

Prospects are down, and the future is bleak for those that mutations of our proverbial gene pool. Only if the wheel of fortune would turn on the other side, then I would get a little satisfaction.

However, I am a firm believer that the misunderstood will always be the outcasts of society- that is a universal form of instinctive repulsion that luck cannot change.

For Once...Advice Needed

Writing in quasi-depressed states are not my cup of tea. One, they often result in dreadfully annoying your adult readers, to the point that you sound like your 14 year old self, on those pages of your hello kitty journal. I never actually had one of these, but I had something equally cutesy and novelty-ish. Two, these feelings of subjective melancholy and wrenching despair when confronted with the cruel world, often pass, and you look back and say " What a whiny twit! All while smiling at every small toy sized animal that crosses your path (this also applies to other petite things- such as children".

Though I provided my reasons for dismissing what I am about to write , I will do it anyway, as any good rebellious young lady would do so.

Here it goes, as it is scrambled in my head, run on sentences (nothing new to me) and all:

Mind you, I am giving it to you all as unfiltered as it stirs in my channels of anxiety...

FUCK! This world is full of cruelties which can be rendered as the one the most unfair injustices to those who do not deserve it. But who is to say that I do not deserve it? ARGH! The one thing that angers me most is the fact that I cannot fit the conventions of a world that rewards and takes pride in such things. Inherent in my nature is the art of unabashed pioneering. I find it too easy to follow directions. Common animals can follow directions! I do not intend to insult them, but as a creature endowed with rationality and creativity- I should be given the right to use it without bounds. Oh yes, they say "We admire you for your adversity; however, this isn't how what we want!" That statement usually uttered by "THE MAN", is a metaphor for the patronizing that your equals wish to reply when the square does not fit in the circle. I believe, in fact, I strongly believe that I am NOT in the right state of mind for this world. My character wins the etiquette award, but also takes first in the rebel without a cause competition. I am angered that my writing is NOT academic enough for them. Maybe I am subscribing to endeavors I an destined to fail at. Everyone else seems to display the natural aptitude...why can't I? They praise them for making replicas of work beforehand. How trite! I can't fight it though. If you are too clever, they are insulted. If you underperform, they demote you. I am exhausted because I need their approval, yet, I will never get it. What I have cannot and will not be admired by anyone...except myself. A forlorn thought, but an accurate acknowledgment of the endless performance.

We are laughed and shouted at on stage, till the curtain falls and the lights dim. We finally feel at peace, but cannot help but yearn for the strange coupling of exhilaration and humiliation when the curtain rises again. This will always be the case...we dance for them, as they watch. They will always be the audience, and us- the entertainers.

Why do I ALWAYS FEEL THIS WAY!

I will resume to my regular writing when my humor returns. Pardon the grievances written in streamline sentences!
I actually exhausted all my good thoughts today, while ruminating on the cause of my anger.

This blog is not for therapy, but maybe I can spare the embarrassment of this post by calling it a fancy category
"Iconoclast Rants- Another Fight is a Day's Work".

I know this sounds unnatural of me, but I wish I was normal and cookie-cutter intelligent.

The plebians get too much credit.

The Bohemian Manifesto Pt. I

Pardon the title, for I fear that the topic you may deduce from the header fails to match the narrative to come.

The invention- blogging- is a testament to those who call themselves prolific writers, prone to the spontaneous outpours of verbose prose (these are often the ones that characterize my case, as seen by my writing) on random parchments. However, this only makes sense if I am prone to the habit of transferring the jargon of my tattered pieces of my imaginative intellect onto the technological data saver and medium to mass populace of strangers. I am not privy to the exposure outlined above. Sadly, my thoughts are simply distilled by the immediate call of the moment that follows after a keen observation or a humorous realization of the most mundane hours. I am tempted to convey how I came to be such a half-hearted storyteller, going point by point of what I have used and failed to use, but I do not want to run the risk of being seen as pedantic. Cut to the chase I say! (I actually never say that...)

The pull of the soul is a confusing phenomenon. I seem to encounter this when I find my will in extreme opposition to the order of the day or society itself. Complete chaos and impracticality merge into my most apparent vice- indulgence. This does not necessary lend to the regular associations with the sin. One may infer that debauchery is a subcategory; however, conversely the guilt of my gluttony lies in my action in merely taking party in what I want. It is a simple problem. The word indulgence conjures up numerous visuals, often those that involve Dionysious, copious amounts of wine gulped down in the most sumptuous areas of leisure, endowed in the finest regalia. Though this would be an event that I would like to experience one day ( I believe all you have to do is wear a hefty amount of jewelry equal to the gaudy grandeur of an Italian mafia don chalice in hand, and book a flight down to Napa- Walla), Grecian imagery is not what I choose to base my faults on.

I will have to continue this later. I should be studying for my LSATs, but I am not. My laxity of self-control is astonishingly extensive in many ways.

I will get to the message of this as soon as I fulfill some obligations that defy my inherent autonomy.