I can't help but be myself.

Ugh. This will NOT be a self-pitiful entry. It just won't be. However, might I just say that it annoys me sometimes how I can be? Let's just distill it to a simple admonishment of my tendency (and initial ease with which) I play the martyr's role. That is, it's so o.k. with me to just let myself be the doormat, or floormat, if you will, if it so pleases the person I believe I love (euch. what a word... it serves the saccharine mood, though).

Then again, I hardly consider myself a martyr, seeing as how I resonated SO WELL with this secret from postsecret this week (tangential note: the new book is coming out this year, and there's still time to send in a secret! I really want to, but am afraid to... oh god. I hate myself sometimes. haha). here it is:

(isn't this just lovely? every ounce true, too)

Even in light of this glaring contradiction between charity (or what I believe it to be) and meanness, everything still falls into the category of 'me'. Even my almost-pedantic beliefs in relationships in general and how they should go about, coupled with my inexplicable desire for spontaneity, and, well, for what's not-the-norm insofar as many things go (including my beliefs in my specific relationships) are so characteristically me that no matter what I do, I ultimately end up serving some descriptive aspect of myself.

Therefore, sseeing as how misguidedly altruistic, and discreetly belligerent I can't help but be, I've made some kind of informal decision to not have to spread my genes to future generations (I can almost hear the mocking laughter of A and A' (yes, A-prime. haha, too many people's name start with A's) when they tell me, and I quote: 'you say that now, pacificism'). However, if I were to have children (a daughter, specifically), I would definitely not name her Briony (although I might, if I were feeling particularly spiteful at the time of birth).

I've given in to notsovictor's praising of Atonement, the novel, and I saw it at Costco the other day for $9.00, so I just had to buy it (I don't like borrowing books at the library). It is as good as he is praising it to be, despite the fact that I am only on the 150++ page so far. Haven't seen the movie, and I don't intend to until I finish the book. However, I do know that I have a major dislike for the character Briony. With the exceptions of Juliet (Romeo and Juliet), almost all the characters of Coelho, Bella (from Twilight), and some other characters I can't remember right now, she's probably the most tragically sad characters I've read in a while.

I simply dislike her, and am amused at the idea of slapping her accross the face.


So this entry has no cohesion- it (undeniably) has segues as smooth and unbroken as your cheek (which I am contemplating slapping right now). And that is just painfully me.

The Secret of Lost Things

I am in the middle of a personal crisis right now. My pendant (a native wooden one), to which I attached my lab key, has gone missing. I used it last last Thursday, and paid no mind to its absence until Monday evening (the day before Chem Lab). I couldn't find it in time, had to hang my head in shame and use the lab tech's skeleton key on Tuesday, vowed to find it by wednesday, and am currently crying (deep, deep inside) because I still can't find it, and tomorrow's another lab day. Some theories:

1.) While sleeping, I must've unconsciously slipped it off, as I have done occassionally, when the pendant+key turned round to my back and dug into my back. Only this time, I'm not sure where I put it. I usually just place it on my bedside table... but last thursday, and throughout the weekend, I pretty much napped all over the house- beds, couches... on the floor... you name it.

2.) The only other time I take that pendant off regularly is before I shower. I remember feeling very lethargic last Thursday/Friday and taking a shower after waking up from a nap... I might've slipped it off and laid it on the counter, forgot to put it back on after showering, and it might've have slid/been pushed/fallen into the bathroom trashcan beside the counter... worst thing is, the trash has since been discared. OH GOD, I HOPE THIS ISN'T WHAT HAPPENED.

3.) The house elf (duwende) must be playing a trick on me.. S/he must've hidden it somewhere... and so, in hopes that this is the case, I am busying myself with baking a batch of cookies and placing a glass of ginger ale under my bed tonight, in hopes that after snacking, he'll give me back my key... and maybe even "apologize" by making me win the megamillions lotto... hopefully.


I am seriously paranoid and restless right now. That key is important for obvious reasons, but the pendant itself is important to me too. My best friend gave it to me some time last year, and was pretty much the only physical token I've ever received- I've taken it to have been some kind of parting gift of sorts. I NEED TO FIND IT, A.S.A.P.

If not, I will be in the corner of my room, crying.

-0-

Apologies, by the way, to those who must have noticed all the missing things on this blog. You know what I mean: the missing commas and periods, the mistaking of "me"'s for "my"'s and other basic mistakes I shouldn't make. I have a tendency to write when I'm feeling particularly emphatic about something, and I usually don't have the good sense to read over what I've written until it's too late. I hope you guys don't particularly think less of me for my poor structure (especially given this blog's title. ha ha!), and trust that I do know the fundamental rules of written English. I've just never been that much of an editor ever since.

Seriously though, I don't know why I keep missing the word "the". It's a nice article, after all.

-0-

let's see... other missing things...

oh, quite unrelated, but Z asked me the other day for the URL of this blog. I froze almost instantly, fearing that he'd read what I'd written down here (hopefully he won't find out that Z, is, well, Z). Upon giving him the id of the blog (pacificism) this gem of a 'conversation' ensued:

Z: c'mon, pacificism, w w w...
me: you don't start blogspot URL's with www.'s
Z: fine, "h. t. t. p. colon, backslash, backslash..."

-insert hesitation and all that jazz-

me: ugh. pacificism dot blogspot dot com.
Z: pacificism? ... ...
Z:....
Z:....
Z:...
Z:... ... sounds like circumcision... ...

*silence, tumbleweeds and children dying of asphyxiation on Mars*
-end scene-

I guess in a sense we're even now, seeing as how I uttered something awkward that caused the conversation to stop some time in the past (see entry 101 reasons...). But really though, circumcision? wouldn't you think that pacificism (which is a real word, by the way) would sound more like "pacific" as in the "Pacific Ocean" or "Pacifism"? Does it really sound like Circumcision?

What a nice, poetic way to end a blog entry entitled "The Secret of Lost Things." Please excuse the male populace, Z especially (maybe), while they search for the mysticism in their lost foreskin.

narrative of a lazy saturday afternoon

The title sounds quite nice. Otherwise, I would've augmented it to fit reality a bit better. I've actually had two lazy days in a row now, both Friday and Saturday.

When I say lazy, I mean lazy. I mean waking up past noon, and doing nothing but watch TV, and go on facebook (it will be death of me, I swear), and play Ticket to Ride online.

1.) Facebook

I am having way too much fun posting video wall posts on people's pages. It's cheap in theory- both in price and in "quality", but it's just.so.much.fun.

2.) Ticket to Ride online

I have a guest account, and as such, cannot really tally up my total points. I have a feeling I have a high running score though, seeing as how I can play around 4 games in a row at a time. Then I get tired, go on facebook, take a little break, then play agian.

3.) TV

I watched the Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice tie-together episodes. I still GREATLY dislike Derek Shepherd, even moreso after those episodes. I think I'm warming up to Eric Dane's character (Mark Sloan); despite his manwhore-like tendencies, I can see the good in his character. Oh, and not just that, but he ebraces his human flaws way better than Derek ever did. And as for his manwhore tendencies? Well, since I got here, let's just say that I've grown quite calloused/numb over things like that.

I still like Bailey the most though- I pretty much aspire to gain her attitude. Calm, Calculating, seemingly cold but deeep down, a very caring person. Don't ask my why I chose an alliteration for the C's; it just matched perfectly.

Watching the crossover episodes reminded me of how much I missed Addison Montgomery. She's so pretty on the screen, and her character is almost as cool as Bailey's. Too bad she got her own spin-off with a cast of characters not nearly as endearing as Grey's. Yes, I did just say that. Despite Pompeo's 40-years-older-than-she-is portrayal of Meredith Grey (down to the frown-lines and the impossibly delicate lips), Heigl's omg-wtf-this-sucks storyline, T.R. Knight pretty much being everybody's bitch, and Alex Karev (I forget his real name) obviously not being given the power his character should have, the cast is endearing, and will always get me involved.

Notice how I didn't mention Christina, Callie or that new guy Owen: I have no complaints over their characters, no major compliments either. Christina has pretty much plateau'd since the first season. She's still who she is and she's still good at playing her character- it's just that nothing's changed. Callie went through a lot of changes, but her net worth is still the same. Owen... well.... they still treat him like a major outsider. Not nice, considering how they immediately went "in deep" with Erica Hahn. Hrm, maybe they learned from their mistakes?

Good news of good news, though. No more fucking-a-dead-guy in these waters. Instead, we just get an overcritical Izzie confusing her nurturing of her interns with medical appropriateness or whatever. Seriously- inasmuch as she had the right to get mad at the interns for confusing the blood samples and such, why the hell is she still using hospital resources to surreptitiously check for cancer? I mean, she could always get Meredith to do it for her (who, a.) is always the go to girl of any character in trouble and b.)could always use more personal drama and indecisiveness) or she could go through the healthy process.

Do we need to see her get busted again for misuse of hospital equipment/procedures? Do we need another Denny Duquette? HELL NO. No more fucking dead guys, izzie. And no, it won't be "any better" if both you and Denny are both death, and making ghost babies somewhere... or maybe it will- because then you'd get your own spin-off that no one would watch. Just like Jess Mariano (Gilmore Girls) or Joey Tribianni (Friends).


4.) other, misc. stuff

The parents left last night to watch my aunt's students in a dance competition (she's a ballet teacher), leaving only my sister and myself at home. Of course, when we're the only ones home, we wouldn't just cook rice and viands for dinner. Nope! instead, we experimented with sushi. We brought out our "native" style placemats, covered them generously in seran wrap, and attempted (epic fail, though) to roll sushi. It was ok, I guess. Definitely not restaurant quality aesthetics, but it was passable for a personal dinner. We used imitation crabstick (the name of which I still find funny), rice, mayo, and of course, seaweed. I tried to put some fun stuff in like Pickled Papaya (atsara), but after testing it, I figured culinary experimentation is best left for the pros.


Also, bought a box of Anthon Berg chocolates. The ones shaped like miniature bottles, with perhaps 1/4 of a shot of liquor inside each (vodka, rum, tequila, etc.) It was really yummy, and I think they're one of the few brands of chocolate I particularly like (Fererro Rocher, that yummy Japanese brand I had a while back, and anything at least 70% cacao being the other ones). I particualrly like the one with Malibu in it. I usually don't like Malibu unless it's mixed with something else (pineapple juice, or even a drizzle of malibu in a mojito- really, it's good) but it worked perfectly with the chocolates.

Keep quiet about it though, technically I shouldn't be drinking yet. OOPS.

I mentioned something about that Japanese brand of chocolate: I don't particularly know the brand, but it's such a pure and such a delicate chocolate that you're supposed to keep it in the fridge until *right* before serving. And they give you these cute little "personal spatulas" with it, too, because the moment you touch it, you're bodey temperature will make it melt and make a mess. The moment you eat it though, it melts like velvet- if velvet ever melted. YUM.

Now, as I said, its a very lazy saturday afternoon, and, in retrospect, this was barely a narrative. More of an exposition, really. But bah, humbug. it sounds like a nice, lyrical title. I'm not about to change it. I'm just going to go back to being lethargic, and eat another alcoholic piece of chocolate. To the rest of you though, my apologies for having to read an extremely long entry (if you even did). Here, have a malibu-infused mojito. On me. Cheers!

of embarrassment and nicknames

Mondays and Wednesdays are fun days for me. These two days of the workweek are definitely, and easily the more demanding ones. In the morning, I have Calculus from 830-11, then I have a something-sort-of-kind-of lunch break until 1130, at which time I have an english writing class (ugh) from 1130 to 130. I then have a short break (which I am maximizing write now by typing up this entry) before my macro-economics honors class at 2pm. I am done by 330, usually sleep until 7, have dinner then go do god-knows-what.

I am a firm believer in the idea that the integrity of a story rests heavily on the diversity, complexity and "fun-ness" of its characters. on this front, my monday-and-wednesday story certainly does not disappoint! To serve as an introduction to what might be continuing saga of stories (no promises), and to acquaint you now with the characters with whom I will be dealing with until late May (damn the western civilization for not having April-June summers), I introduce to you, the following, in complete "anonymous" nickname and description (to preserve the integrity of their identity, god forbid you know these people):

G: this is the name of my fun fun calc teacher. he's mean, he's acerbic, he's funny. I have a feeling he's gonna star in a lot of episodes here on out. ha ha!

EMT: she's my math classmate, she's an EMT. hence the nickname

Smoker: he's my math classmate who, in real life, has the same name as EMT. we found out today that he's a smoker, and that he (apparently) smokes the same brand of cigarettes as featured in the movie He's Just Not That Into You. He may also be called Lane or Kim.

SharpEdge: he's the friend of my math classmates who, by association, has become quite an acquaintance as well. He's a boarder (snowboard, skateboard, surfboard, you name it), and he's Canadian. If that doesn't sound like a fun premise, I don't know what is! He may also be called Canadian or Mich

Tune in for the fun stories!

Teenage grabbag

There is no bigger mystery package out there in the world than being a teenager. Between bouts of acne, growth spurts which refuse to come and major life decisions which could possibly affect the rest of our lives (college, anyone?), both Shakespeare and Freud are sure to have fun field days with any 13-to-19 year old out there. [incidentally, I have no idea if that sentence was even, in the remotest sense, properly constructed.]

The most tragic teenage dilemma in my opinion, however, is presicely that which refuses to affect us years after we pass the great two-decades of trying to figure out how to survive. 5, 10, or 20 years down the road, I highly doubt if our hormone-driven existential thoughts which are now keeping us up until 4 in the morning will have some great and profound effect in our lives. What we are now thinking of, or considering to be love, or not love, will definitely change and grow. However, our (or at least my) fixation with finding a clear distinguishing feature between infatuation and love will, time and again, keep me up till the wee hours of morning.

I truly believe that we all go through this during our teenage years- you know, trying to find out for ourselves what love really is, or what it really means. It's just that while most people will learn it the empirical way, I elect to stay at home, read and observe, and try to uncover some fundamental truths through my musings on theoretical and hypothetical situations. Tonight, this is what I uncovered, and, as usual, there are more questions than answers:


"Love is just a term made to attempt to define an amalgamation of feelings and behaviors we generally find pleasurable. Affection, caring, kisses goodnight, sex, never-ending conversations, dinners for two, diamond rings, kisses in the rain, staying up until morning on the off chance that you will be needed, and a whole list of things we enjoy and cherish, all are brought down to a simple four letter word to save us from having to enumerate such a long list each time. It's easy enough to fall in love, or even to stay in love primarily because its definition is perfectly malleable, and is dependent only on the one feeling it.

In some ways, it becomes a matter of self-esteem and self-confidence, doesn't it? If you feel that what you are and where you are at a certain time is the pinnacle of devotion or what-have-you, then it is more than justifiable to say that you are in love, no? But then, at the other end of it, if you feel that there can be more, or more importantly, that love is an ever-elusive goal exemplified by some perfect sacrifice that can never be truly attained by man, then are you really in love? Can you even ever really be in love? The prefixes we love to add to love-- filial, unrequited, puppy, platonic, romantic, etc. etc.- do they in a way try to justify or truncate that which we feel?

If someone you know is in love, and is in a very different definition of love from what you have, does that subtract from the quality and possibility of your experiencing the same emotion? If you love different people for different reasons, is it really that bad? You can love your family one way, and your friends another- why not love one person for a set of reasons, and another for a whole other set?

What's to say that it is wrong to devote yourself to two completely different people or ideas based upon the idea that "your heart is meant for one"? She takes care of me when I'm sick, He doesn't mind my morning breath, She has me like a puppet on strings. If the definition of love is as intangible and indefinite as we have proven it to be over time, then so must its forgiveness and leniency to acceptance be.

Moreover, if we must believe that our emotions are justified by what good behaviors come out of it, then we must equally accept the subjectivity of our morality. If at the very end of it, she rests on your bare shoulder at 3am in the morning sleeping peacefully and happy, or if he wants to be a better person by virtue of your being there at his worst, then no one should subtract from the value of your behaviors, ergo, your love. right? If you are both male, or if she is significantly younger than you, is it so much the fault of your "augmented sense of morality" as it is (or should be) the fault of society's conventions? If, at 30, you gawk at your definition of love at 22 (and maybe even what "infatuation" you may have had with your then girl/boyfriend), does it discredit what you felt and experienced once upon a time?

On the other hand, as George said in My Best Friend's Wedding, if you're chasing someone and no one's chasing you, should we get that no good deed will come out of this? Is this behavior therefore not one born out of love? If this is so, then what do you have of Michaelangelo's depiction of the ever-reaching god? of Florentino Ariza's chasing Fermina Daza in Love in the Time of Cholera? of the millions of poems written over the thousands of years that we have known language, dedicated to unsung muses meeting Dante in Paradiso or uniting Florante and Laura?

Is love dependent on the person receiving and (hopefully) reciprocating our desire and affection, or is love borne out of our own perspective and opinion? Ironically enough, I believe that we operate only within our own constraints and are free insofar as we allow ourselves to be free. We define what love means to us, and dispense its elusive fulfillment only to ourselves.

No one can ever know of love but the person who is in love. Have I, by my own definitions, ever been in love? Do I know what love is?"

Purpose.

One's purpose for one's actions is such a big deal nowadays. With the idea of everything being at your fingertips, but with time getting shorter and shorter, the scarcity of available action is much more pronounced, and we are forced to make less and less "useless" decisions.

Everything we do has to, one way or another, forward a cause we believe in.

Growing up in the Philippines, I've been trained to have family, God and "nation" (in the loosest of ways) be pretty much my purpose. When I studied, I did it for the betterment of family, God and "nation". When I did good, I offered it to family, God and "nation". Conversely, when I failed, I offered it to family, God and "nation". Even acts which were directed for my betterment were somehow linked to a greater good of, you guessed it, ____ ____ and ____.


Before moving here to the US of A, I was repeatedly cautioned to never lose my purpose. People here are supposedly self-centered and arrogant. They put themselves, and only themselves above all others. For some reason, this was supposed to explain why grandparents were in homes for the aged, why children sued their parents, why politics is so taboo.


It's been more than 6 months since I've gotten here, and I must say, I'm beginning to see the appeal to both sides. This does not mean in any way that I'm about to disown God or my family or whatever, but what I mean is that I've come to embrace the reality and fulfillment of doing things for myself. My economics teacher told us about Adam Smith (is that his name? I was probably not paying attention) and the "invisible hand", and how we really only want to forward our own self interests- any notion of helping society is just a nice residual effect. Is it really so bad to put myself up first? If I operate within the constraints of my body, and considering that this is my life, who should I value? To argue the God side, if God entrusts me with my body, do I not have the prerogative to do as I wish, so long as I know it's not bad?

Of course, it's never a fulfilling experience to ask questions without experiencing some analogous events. I offer 3.

1.) going to Disneyland by myself and enjoying it.
2.) walking roughly 3km during my breaks to this nice lake near my school. It's really relaxing. Nobody knows I go there, except for the strangers whom I pass, and I don't really feel like telling anyone.

and

3.) saying no when I don't feel like it (ooh, isn't this a cryptic sentence?)

I would elaborate, but I choose to excercise my decision on the third point.

Have I lost my purpose to gain another? Have I let go of offering my acts and talents to family, God and "nation" and have redirected my purpose to only my personal wellbeing and betterment? Is this shift in purpose necessarily a bad one? Does "purpose" even sound like a word anymore? If I said porpoise instead, would it make any difference?

Why, hello there.

Maybe we're all just drifting somewhere in the Pacific on this. Maybe, even, behind all this is some kind of cosmic joke reminding us that there is no higher power- we live by mere anomaly which we have taken to have meaning and, *gasp, gasp* purpose.

weighted statement.