Seasoned

24 April 2022

2 Samuel 7:18-29, David's Prayer. In his joy after the bestowed honor, he praised God for the blessings he has granted.

My sister has noods circulating in the critical eyes of decent public. At first I was extremely agitated that she really wanted to pay. How could she let a stranger have this much power over her? I will not support psychological torture on weak-willed people; extortion by preying on other people's fears.

Nude photos are dime-a-dozen and people are committing sexual acts with their partners or by themselves the world over. But the fuss and intrigue involved in sex, its disclosure and general ambiance, continues to become a paradox. Fornication is universally acknowledged as a natural and vital act to engage in. But in different circumstances, the connotation differs.

The repercussions of releasing private photos of people whose carnal aspects are otherwise not shared publicly is far-reaching. The attacks on a person's image when the perception people have of her virtue is irreparably damaged has consequences. Society's ill-concealed deviances then rears out and splashes on allegorical pools of blood. Because when shared activities that are kept private are taken out of context and outside its intended use without consent, it becomes viewed as perverse and the subconsciously primal nature of society emerges and rejoices maliciously.

I really made another writeup regarding this and mistakenly had it deleted. I no longer have it in me to write the same sentiments, particularly my hypocrisy. It is not worth going through twice. What I am willing to repeat though is how our headspaces affect the perspective by which we view things: how pornography seems to be a drop in the ocean compared to that drop being a lingering echo in a dry bucket if that sexualized content was viewed for the first time by the subject's immediate family who knows but are not exposed to this person's sexual side.

The reading though. There was this undercurrent of emotional upheaval. At first, I was seeing the situation logically until it hit me on a personal level and I can't sleep. But slept nevertheless thinking how commonplace it is to be nude and for prurient activities to happen. Ah, the smoke and shadows we love playing peek-a-boo on sheer curtains with! When I awoke, I got mad and wanted to purge my sister of her perversity and foolishness. If you're horny, be smart about it, not a naive dumbass like sheep for slaughter. She went on with saying how she doesn't want to trouble our parents. Had you thought of that first and held on to it, you wouldn't be mired in a situation where you'll be considered of ill repute and metaphorically covered in a scent that invites indecent proposals and harrassment.

The least I wanted was for her to live in fear.  The turn around was great! You are always perfect, aren't You?

My emotions have shifted to directions I did not lead it to and my standards for morality on what is natural and what is perverse in relation to sexuality and its related acts are brackish water at best.

I know I have to be with my sister, in support of her. My present, past and future rally with me before her. But I am filled with judgments against her, rooted in prejudices borne of a bigoted, conservative and most undeniably, hypocritical culture which cannot escape its primal nature. I could be with her but my spite would lash at her and I will inevitably hurt her when she's already downtrodden. I had to take time to fortify myself. And while everything's fluid, I came to You and asked for Your word. What did You give me --- David's prayer.

It deals with David's praise, in gratefulness of the honor bestowed upon him, to have his descendants enthroned forevermore. Until the end, he was describing that the event was a blessing. A blessing. You are saying that this eventful weekend is a blessing?

Immediately, I thought of it as an early warning. If this had not happened, this type of behavior would have persisted. By entrapping it at an early stage, it would not fester.

And so it goes. It is a blessing. Sam will not carry on with her shenanigans. Surely, she has learned her lesson! Sam has seen how much people love her, that their love accepts her though she faltered, that she is given love that transcends judgment. I do hope that their show of support (her inner circle) would not make her feel like her behavior was condoned.

It is my blessing. You have shown through Sam that grace comes from You. Just last night she was shaking and was giving in to the demands of a virtual stranger in response to threats of defamation. She is upholding herself with dignity and embraces that she had sinned and is remorseful. This grace is from You. It will not be sustained by self-righteousness, because she knows she's in the wrong. But she's determined to make it right.

People are blessings. You are my blessing. Without You, everything has no meaning. My thoughts are not absolute but I shouldn't be lost because I am meant to learn along the way, from other people as well, though I have to take it with a grain of salt.

Salacious cynicism or cynical salaciousness

 23 April 2022

2am

I can't sleep. Not because I drank coffee. I've been doing so since Tuesday until Saturday morning, courtesy of Gab preparing his brews.

Rica earns her money from her sugar daddy. That works well, especially since she feels sexually frustrated for the surgery that would dewomanize her.

I was surprised with myself too that I am enticed by the thought of selling soiled underwear to the perverts out there, a pair for 25 dollars. That's a hefty rate. It's relatively hassle free. I simply have to wear underwear then ship them off to someone who wants them however baffled that makes me.

I remember asking Vish how buying used underwear works. She said it has something to do with being more sensually into masturbating. What worried me was that to sell those goods, I had to create a brand: post photos that could help prospects to complete the conditions simulating sexual stimulation. That was a deterrent. I have no intentions of posting myself almost naked or in suggestive poses to sell goods.

What ticks me off more with this advertisement prerequisite is that I am not only enabling, but abetting perversity. My moral standards on this are muted. It is not gray in a room of black and white. It is beige, and can be altered.

Technically, it is not engaging in sexual acts. Or committing extramarital affairs. There would be no direct contact at all. Only an illusion of one. People who consciously agree to dupe themselves and are willing to pay for it. I am cashing on merchandise that fulfills people's fantasies. People who are far far away from me. And of course, I would not be buck naked. Nor would I give in to stripping completely in those photos.

I'll simply be selling clothes with my body fluids which in my mind is as bizarre as knowing that people want to pay for my urine or a shirt I sweat on. Those I find in the same category as shipping underpants worn for an entire day without washing it first, is acceptable but as bonkers as having your smelly socks auctioned. The implication of the permission that you hand over to people to think as they wish of your persona, that is my moral dilemma.

Aside from this moral ponderance, by principle, I am just peeved that selling the product requires an image to propel it. I want to preserve my anonymity in relation to this as much as possible and I am not adept in posing per se, how could I project it when I do not even feel myself as a full woman? It is a challenge which, I would not lie, I am up to.

If only it isn't distasteful for me. I still prefer posting announcements: soiled panties for sale.

Then comes the revelation. My sister has been sending nudes. Not only photos. I guess she's been sending videos too. She's being blackmailed for it. I did not loan her the ransom fee. Not too long after I received a photo of her from the perpetrator. Knowing that she has those photos out there is one thing. Seeing it made me mentally mute. She really did it. What has she gotten into?

Now, the shock has waned. I keep on thinking, there are many photos and videos of naked women out there consciously being part of porn. Surely, she won't stand out. The same way not everyone would read this entry and I could go on with this with minimal consequences, a parallel to running a radio program on a frequency only I am privy to. I am starting to envision that in the future, sending nude selfies and posting ads on YouTube-as-their-progenitor sites selling week-old aged panties would be commonplace.

La Union waves

 08 April 2022

In this new place, I decided to wake up to welcome the morning. I did not dally but explored to see the sunrise by myself. To be joined by friends after some time.

Walking through the shore, along paths with  Tanduay signs on sensor lamp posts, I walked from the beach by El Navi to what I later came to know as Kabsat. Along those lamp posts, I inhaled calachuchi blossoms. Initially, Kabsat had a bad rap on me for blocking the sunrise but I came to enjoy it. The waves on its beach front are amazing!

After breakfast, we headed to the Turtle beach resort then Nano Surf where we were schooled on how to surf. Eventually, we were told that the instructors are on call and do not stay in the shop premises because it spooks possible clients. Hearing it  sparked sense to that primal logic.

The nose, then the side, the tail and fins: the instructor-Mr. Gilbert-has a tone of business authority which was enjoyable given that he exudes reliability borne of experience. I could see myself as the weary sounding version. I have to square my shoulders properly more often. It would take conscious effort.

Then we were introduced one by one to our respective instructors. I remember I thought of hiring for half an hour only. Mr. Michael was assigned to me and I used a pink and blue board which was short, had one fin and was covered with the material used as soles of house slippers to keep people from slipping.

The concept of the leash on the board and my ankle was funny. Though we were told not to approach it, it became instinctive to me to run after the board, instead of commanding it by pulling at the leash. The leash tie entangles me, wrapping around my ankle and I could barely fight the waves that being apart from the board, I could be caught unaware, pulled by the board and the waves; the waves wait for no one. That was how I adapted. I do not want to hit the board. I do not want the board to hit another person. And it also ends upturned, its belly, the fin, facing the sky. That alarms me, like a snake showing me its underside in submission; an unnatural state. So I come to the board. By the end, after a breather where I reapplied sunblock because I can't open my tumbler (no logic there, just a deviation for my break), I felt more in command of myself, than under the mercy of the waves.

I tugged at the leash to bring the board close. A sense of command came to me, a direct contradiction of the state of mind I was in: lying on my belly in a flat board, with my arms stretched upward to the nose and my hands gripping the sides, dependent on the guide herding me and the board facing the waves clapping the shore. I am not completely helpless. A person guides me to have fun. It was supposed to be fun; to barely catch my breath as I stretch on a board on my belly, facing the waves, salt on my tongue, its sting on my eyes. I was suffering. The waves swell, I rise with it as I face it and when it moves away, I fall - gently if the waves are closed, they roll; with a slam if the waves are open and foamy, they drop me in their wake. They were relentless: I wanted to catch my breath; they were catching theirs too because after staring at them for a while, it came to me that the oceans are the lungs of the planet and the waves are its very breath - it won't stop.

Placing myself at the board; entrusting the guide; being at the mercy of the waves' ferocity and frequency and its inevitable ripple on you; standing; balancing to the end --- surfing is beautiful. It challenges me to face the heat, the salt, the breathless moments. It naturally places my trust on the  board - the vehicle of fun; my guide - who helps me catch the wind in water; the waves - I am nothing but an opportunist in their existence. I failed to trust one thing: my person-that I would stand and then bend and allow the expiring wave to carry me to shore. I was overthinking if my form was right. There was this instance I just laid there, ready until I reached the shore, for the experience of it that I consciously chose. That one hour was brainless. I am thinking on instinct and my photos show that I always have my hands up.

I distinctly remember I was already praying: really Lord, I am supposed to have fun with this activity (?) and that I was already contemplating never doing it again. Or that I was considering surfing as the counterpart of biking in the water. And that I am so sold to just learning to do that activity on land. I was limiting myself.

My thoughts on this changed dramatically  when by the day's end, I tried jumping with the waves. It's fun! That brings me to today, when I experienced the waves fuller. When I rode it with my body, not with the board. If we're going with parallels, I was walking this time. I faced it head on. I charged against it and braced myself for the impact. I knew I could tumble; I was hoping it would just pass by me gently, like a liquid ghost brushing against my physical being. It feels free. I am free to keep on facing waves that wouldn't end. I am ready to face each wave. I am not scared. I rush to meet it, a smile on my salted lips and a sparkle in my eye. I was quick with the refractory period: standing up, pulling my loosened shorts, underwear, and leggings up, sweeping my hair from my face, running my hand through my face to wipe my eyes, then I rush to meet the next wave ever ready.

Expand

4 March 2022

5:02pm
Better the devil I know, than the devil I don't. When did I get this cynical?

Just read on muscle testing, that dubious realm of applied kinesiology. Decided it fit what I wanted, to have this flow where I let my gut and body decide what I should do next. They've badly been put behind when it comes to this, they're rebelling.

9 March 2022

Today's reading is Psalm 93. It brings together my favorites. God and the sea. He is mighty and more consistent than waves crashing the shore. God is from all eternity; His standards remain the same for endless days. Not only is God powerful beyond the seas, He is constant despite time.

My God is beyond time. He prevails against it——not weary, worn, decaying or rotting. He commands it, weilding it perfect so that everything that appears wild and disorderly cannot be exempt from His gentle grace and that what comes to be happens in His time. His purposes may be unclear to me, but it is His intent that provides purpose so that what transpires has meaning instead of happenstance or randomness.

12 March 2022

Sometimes I am not sure if I have agency over my life. Remember how I realized that it's extraneous for the soldiers to mock Jesus, how it's luxuriously cruel but it still happened? Or how pharoah, whoever that pharaoh was (Ramses?) when Moses was alive was bent on keeping the Israelites when he was a leader acting in his sincere dignity?

It is you, but not you. You could make plans but God still determines how it would pan out.

Do I trust Him to make the best out of my life that appears to mean nothing and lead to nothing? The good fight was won. So I should be calm.

Left and right things are changing. I feel the pressure to not be alone. I feel the pressure to not choose wrongly because of the heartache and the trapped state of those who have married. I know better than anyone else my weaknesses that I capitalize on when I'm alone. I already am shamed for wanting something good and perfect for myself when I am not good and perfect for anyone. I am not consistent, persistent, diligent, responsible, brave or passionate enough for myself and I am expected to be for another because I expect and desire for another to be so to me.

It is more than possible to rise above the hurdles. To commit to a person though I am faulty, though that person is. Or isn't. But when I, by default, am not willfull, surrendering my fate to happenstance, how could I will to make it work? When am I to pursue my will and when should I let God's will be?

Where is the pride of your nationality now?

3 March 2022

Considering I was frothing at the mouth on the Ukraine debacle, I should write about it. I definitely am an insular creature, always relating occurences to my inchoate grasp of the world.

Much as I despaired the war on Syria, I related better with Kyiv's battle. Moreso after finishing Netflix's Winter on Fire. It was a civil war reminiscent of Les Miserables where they made ramparts from unplaned wood pillars and barbed wire and was rudiculously rebellious to the point of wearing metal colanders and pans on their heads.

I could relate because just recently, we commemorated the only real people power revolution my country had. That revolution against the 20-year Marcos regime that went on for 3 days. And, was purported to be among events orchestrated by more powerful nations as an experiment; an aftermath of the cold war in their incessant desire for world domination, no matter how subtle or shadowed.

Ukraine's revolution, if that documentary had not completely duped me, was really a presentation of united people of different backgrounds - in the face of interracial crime and hate - embracing their belonging to a place and coexisting as its citizens. Every last bit of them appeared heroic despite their rather easily offended sensibilities with statements, "No mother would raise their child to be like that" (I surmised that vein of thought does not apply to the Taliban whose young militia had their minds exonerating all acts to achieve their goals). Their rallyists were orderly despite the absence of ranks and decisions were not on the shoulders of the few prominent individuals but was open to contention from any member of the group——they were all under equal risks of harm. Not that our people power protesters did not risk their lives, but the number of Ukrainians and their diligence to stand in cold weather together and to go against snipers with plywood shields was memorable. Even their chanting as one was imposing.

I barely see protests go that way; the numbers alone, not to mention how unitedly outspoken they were. When protests become rife with tension, protesters become quiet. They do not call out against the berkut equivalents to go home to their families, to honor their parents or cherish their children. They do not voice their displeasure as one by repeating "Shame!" over and over. When guns are raised against them, protesters disperse and run for cover, not look around for weapons and attack as a unit using stones or raise thin boards as shields. Protesters do not remain as a mobilized unit  once leveled with guns. Protesters I am familiar with find safety in numbers and back away in the face of violence, not stand their ground even if they are alone in facing imminent death from and before their countrymen.

That must not be unusual for a nation, where 3 decades after, is on the throes  of electing as supreme leader the progeny of a dictator our ancestors deposed. Must be that having to read Lualhati Bautista's Dekada '70 nor watching Vilma Santos and Christopher de Leon and Piolo Pascual enact a movie rendition of how inhumane and atrocious citizens were treated under the Marcos administration, as citizens constantly living under mortal peril should the slightest shroud of censure slip their shoulders——neither was enough to instill the trauma to the collective subconcious of the Filipino people. It's pathetic. Where is the Filipino pride that brings a stillness on Pacquiao's bouts, that bated breath on pageant coronation nights or that bragging when personalities of Filipino descent make it as social media stars or talent discovery show-stoppers?

Wedding your friends

18 February 2022

This is strange for me. I've spent a lot of time with my dad more than my mom. And I thought there would be a lot of love lost. It makes my heart ache how much effort he took to reach out. He looked so tired, bloodshot eyes, drooped shoulders, slowed breathing. He looks drained. I feel like I'm not justified to say I'm tired. Tiredness is not written on my father. He is tiredness and he still keeps on tugging at the rope and creating knots. Must come from getting your livelihood as a mariner. It seems he does it and perseveres merely by muscle memory. I want to weep. I want to do right by him. This man gave up his life to sustain me. My mom too. And selfish me insists I am deprived. I want to give my life away in pursuit of the happiness and comfort of other people.

5:51pm Riceland II hotel
After my 1st INC wedding.

The groom danced with his mom, evoking thoughts that the mother is saying goodbye to having his son as he will be the head of his new family.

It is quite easy to see how this rite of passage event pronounces strongly that Ate Aprille embarks a new stage in her life. It feels heavy. Like an armor. Having your own family.

This is so pretty. This wedding. It is my favorite so far. They've worked so hard for this. It reminds me that Ate Aprille now has a new title: wife. And that all the splendor we experience now is a product people worked for.

7:02pm, same venue post-prandial blood glucose relatively well-nourished

Seeing your friend who you've remained in contact with since after HS graduation gain the title of wife is a new experience. It made me realize what stage I could be ready for.

Yesterday was my 1st time inside an Iglesia ni Cristo church. I was staring intently at the interiors. They have 2 high chandeliers and the facade continues to the inside, with a formal arrangement like a courtroom and wooden benches with spaced slats as pews. And today, after the ceremony was completed as forecasted complete with signing the copies of the marriage contract within 30minutes, I would say INC ceremonies strike me as a no-fuss business-like approach to prayer. I am awed by the part where the community, exemplified by the church people as one with the "prime minister" all rise in prayer for guidance and well-wishes for the couple in unified petition.

I feel stuffy in my secondary sponsor clothes. But I am having fun. Seeing how other people's hard work come together, particularly the people hired for this wedding, is a wake-up call. From the kapilya floor manager, the video and photo team, the makeup artists and hair stylists, the tailor, the MC, coordinators, the Zoom team, the drivers, the recep servers. How could we take this for granted, the love and kindness of other people?

This event is not mine. It is foremost Yton and Aprille's. Their wedding. They are exemplary for portraying what a couple should be in real life.

Time surplus

16 February 2022

It's still a vision. An unbroken expanse of sunny blue sky. It strikes differently in a cool car than when I'm catching my breath because my legs have to power pedals.

3:20 pm, SLEX
Maybe it's because of our nomadic tendencies, traveling most of the time for sustenance. Seeing this much sky lulls me into embracing latent awe. Awe for what I could have no control over, but could admire while it keeps me safe.

3:47 pm, beyond Sto. Tomas exit
Something about travelling familiar roads to the tune of songs majority of the public has heard (Adele) seems to reiterate the pathways where my blood flows. It reminds me of who I am——me that's always been there.

3:55 pm exit leading to a SuySing store, Batangas
The view reminds me that the world is vast. Brimming with possibilities. The world is my oyster mentality alights. But I have fellow humans to live the other possibilities in my place.

6:24 pm Starlite Ferries booth queue, Batangas port
I was pissed off. I felt I was being mooched off and tricked. I had to pay 100 for tricycle fees. Accrued expenses for travel are lousy. I can't help but think how much more I can save if I found an alternate route.
I talked myself into enjoying that ride. I won't get to feel the roads as closely as I did if I were on a bus. And the waning afternoon sky was pretty above a bit of the sea surrounded by dark green islands. I like it. Maybe it looked prettier cause I paid for it. How lucky I am that I am not charged for everything I glean beauty from.

8:39 pm Starlite Pacific, tired of seeing the same side of Batangas for 2 hours
The sea breeze sends me chills. It looks like we're not moving at all. But we are. Maybe that's how my progress looks like. I keep bemoaning being in the same place because I still get to see the same markers.

Moonlight on the ocean looks lovely because it sends light reflections back to me from the curve of each individual wave. We're turning to the portside a bit. The winds buffeting my hair cessates, lessening no matter how little. This I totally appreciate.

8:51 pm at a sea somewhere, the faintest lights of Batangas City are almost invisible
Blue Period still affects me strongly.
Valentines Day: Before 6am, I am already in a queue for the commute back to Alabang. The sky is blue that barely makes itself known through the black. And that wall on my far left of the adjacent buiding to the complex looks very imposing in its shadows. I know the building stands straight, a typical man-made wall that's flat and as basic as can be with an even but non-glazed smooth finish. It barely has windows. Whatever windows there are, their tinyness is amplified by the darkness from within. But at that time, the right wall that faces me is quite imposing. More so than the protrusion of landmass I look at now which roughly could support 1000 people and I am being stingy at that. The island before me did not appeal intimidating. That wall that morning was. It filled my field of vision, with barely one inch border on each side to frame the structure. It occupied 80% of my view.
As I came nearer to the pay point, it distorts and appears curved, not as exaggerated as a fisheye lens does but it curves. It is not only imposing then, but sinister too. As if its eyes, if it had any, peers at me atop its nose in condescension; a revolted sneer on its lips. I did not take a picture. I cannot make one either. I wish I could. It denies me. Its denial of me makes me realize I am more real than it is, that I am alive. Its curved reality directs my attention to assert that I am more real than it is.

9:29 pm, still at sea after a phonecall from my mother where I said we haven't passed Verde Island when looking back I thought we just did.
The vessel I am in encountered lots of small fishing boats. First was green and blinking. A string of orange. A flash of red. An assortment of colored blinks from a single bulb. Mom said they would have a poor catch; the moon is bright and out. When all I thought is that the moon is out-it'd recharge my gem bracelet which Sam touched. It's hard to be a fisherman.
And I am claiming again that we are just now traversing parallel to Verde Island. I see both ends of this shadowed mass. The other which I assumed it was stretches to the point where  I fail to detect the end that points to more land.

Luck

14 February 2022

It came to me last Thursday as I was slaving my legs to pedal me to work that all the crickets are gone because of human intervention. They must have sprayed an insecticide. It saddens me that the sweet trill of birds I cannot name are no longer accompanied by the male cricket's mating call. They must be unaware that crickets are thought to bring good luck.

And I read today that it was devastating for one's luck to kill a cricket —— definitely a crisis to commit cricket genocide. As I was looking at more luck symbols related to my further reading of the Tumi ceremonial knife borne of my Inca empire preoccupation, I saw that the blue bird in Kayangan was a swallow. It was supposed to be lucky.

We ascribe them to animals or their body parts/implements (the horseshoe, rabbit's paw, monkey's hand, elephant, pig) natural or manufactured (dala horses, three-legged/golden toads, three-legged pigs, waving cats) or designated mythical (komainu, fu dogs, pi yao, pi xiu, kiritmukha).

All those symbols of luck. We ascribe objects with meaning to remind us and make us believe things would go our way. Felix felicis.

Suspended in a blanket

 

31 January 2022
12:18pm

Well I have feelings.

Untethered.
That's how I feel from time to time.
And visually, it translates to floating submerged in water.
I am floating. Like in space. Outside earth's gravity. Across is the Milky Way and others like it. Unlike me.
Only I'm not. I float across all this space, not separately from earth. Gravity, which I am blaming for bringing me down——pulls me to blanket me within earth's protection and comfort.

1:04pm
The desire to cry comes and passes.
I am a human being not a human doing. But I cannot be without doing.
So at this point when I am indecisive about who I want to be and who I am, one persists. My curiosity. I will live to savor.
I will put myself first and this day is quite a challenge to not deny myself.

8:16pm
Just got home to find my clothes squished together on the clothesline. Dishes stacked on the sink. Unprepared for tomorrow's vacation. Lively Korean boys singing on my left ear. I feel pathetic. Hopeless. Life is meaningless isn't it?
How I use time and space is essentially my life. I extinguish it finishing a report no one would read for the pride of a job well done. For wading through tediousness. To come home to chores I no longer have energy to tackle.
Not even half of what Vishie endures. Strong young one, that ready-to-be-a-bride woman.
I rarely felt as shaken as I am. Rarely as that was ny first. There was a pulling of soul from body all horizontal lines astreak. Soul and body holding each end. (Not the soul float dissociation depicted in manga and anime.) Everything is in flux. I have no structure. I am floating in outerspace but I am on earth. Like I am torn into becoming one apart from another, constantly changing as Aurora's gown does at the end of Sleeping Beauty.
I am starting to accept the variability of my emotions. Yes I am childish, but I will be responsible for it, accepting the repercussions and consequences of my childishness. Like the character sketch I've been reading lately, he is selfish. Selfish to the point of wanting to keep someone badly. Regardless of how he feels, as long as his standards of keeping her are met. Essentially, he wants her to want him as badly, he'd fight against wanting her. Ironic honesty. Must be the boost from the vitamins that I have these thoughts.

8:32pm
Set my writing time to 5 minutes. Missed that to poop instead. I don't feel as bad anymore.

9:27pm
This is the only time my mind's been noisy playing Axie Infinity like a sports commentator, supposing moves and chastising impulse decisions that should've been better. I am actively playing the game! There's drudgery for the time I have to spend, but as the Ecclesiastes 9 interpretation pushed me to arrive at, toil is not for exhaustion, nor vanity (as I usually subscribe to); it's about who I'm becoming in this cosmos and how I work as its free standing cog.
Like how, in going to work later than I could, I spent more time with my sister, finishing chores to ease her. Walking late, I came upon that old lady who made my day a "Good morning" with her greeting that I returned today with her open laugh showing her toothless gums for change. To come across a woman who worked at the same place, share a ride (and the fare) and, whom I feel strongly as a flatmate candidate. Laughing freely the entire morning, in between unintentionally sharing farts, clamoring on non-tallying figures and enjoying ketchup. Then feeling vulnerable and at peace with my socks down to rub acetone on my toes.  I am who I am according to how I use time and space. Realizing I was way too excited on the prospect of a locker which could not fit my bag and interminably disgruntled by accidentally deleting Chrome with Play Store following shortly in an attempt to salvage the first. Reviving unwarranted gifts and grace: gimbap, Tin's viand, Joy's tortang talong, Queency's hug (She's averse to displays of affection or probably bec it's me), M. Bel's chocolate, Cheley's engraving of my mug which I really wanted to post strongly on some moments as well as gratitude for playlists I was given privy to: Pia's, Kat's, Lianne's and Cheley's (all with my urging).

10:57pm
I have to be me. Embrace that I am gray and will dwell in a shade between black and white that resonates with me most. Or that I would be in swatches. It came to me that the polarities attained by my emotions today with such abrupt cohesiveness seem manic-depressive/obssessive. I will be me.
My neighbor has a great playlist to end the year. Very nostalgic. From the tuduttuduttudut of Dawson's Creek theme to this is how we feel, this is how we breathe.
Hopeless. A foreign feeling. Much like love whose edges I have brushed. It's less evasive to define it. Eclessiastes made me deduce, hopelessness is good. For me. Because the living identifies it. The dead cannot. I want to transition while I write.
Jonathan Van Ness on season 6, episode 1 of Queer Eye said their client was afraid to age. While I keep wondering about death, it's aging that stumps me. I can't even act my age. He said (or I thought so) that we should live our truths as it is, however flawed, or we are in shame of how we have arrived where we are.

Sam, I told you I would follow your suggestions now, but that you should extend your patience, because I would resist, and that is prickly.

Just a hodge-podge of other people I met along the way. A carefree child. Oh how I whine. When I heard myself laugh earlier, and as openly and frequently, it sounded like it wasn't mine. Like something I borrowed for the time being, from the me that was kind and unconscious of having fun when she was so mired in it. I could not be like Vishie, for how spectacular she is, I cannot be her, or be like her because I truly want to be me. To not blend in only because it's logical and expected. I want to agree because I find it fun. Like that voice. That female voice that felt like I was being supported by my shoulders. It was distinct from the other one, which was voiceless. Voiceless and genderless proclamations I hear like words but I felt I read. They are nothing and everything. Demanding and exacting. Not cruel but whose proverbial noses are upturned. Unlike this female voice. It is female. But I am certain the person it belongs to is male. And I see a tree, a little glittery, with shimmers like eyeshadow. Red are its leaves, like autumn. They're brittle but gunky. That voice is from that tree. Unlike those formless voices that are not one but are.
Should be packing for tomorrow's trip and packing. Yes.

Encanto enchantment

 

20 January 2022

Lamentations 4 is today's reading. I feel for Jeremiah, that he knows it is within God's rights to pillage Israel while also suffering for his people. Same, I understand that the dynamics among people is complex. It is pressure from above, outside and within. We cannot change people, only influence them. And I fully suspend myself from imposing my will on others.

Because the situation is no longer favorable for her and she can't take it anymore, she'll leave. It is sad. And she gave me a notepad with my caricature and my name on it. I told her I feel like I'm ripe grapes, plucked and treaded on. I wish those who tread on me would be pricked by thorns, only, I'm grapes, not a thorn. She said, How could you take it. I thought, "The way I do."

Also, I received my first ever name stamper with my professional license in it yesterday. Should've made me happy. It was an empty gesture. I preferred the old lady greeting me out of the blue. When to another, her yesterday revolved around it, becrying how her years of service was invalidated because she was not given one. Thought I was not a judgmental character, and here I am seeing that as totally petty.

I would be remiss if I don't discuss Encanto. It was how I celebrated 2022. While children were jumping to get taller (which I did until I became 30), I was huddled in bed next to Sam bawling to Encanto, welcoming the year with puffy eyelids and a swollen nose.

For the month, I've been listening to the soundtrack with Surface Pressure on my top list. It's really catchy and boppy techno music to describe the burden of expectations.

Vishie told me that she prefers What Else Can I Do? At first, I was already defending Surface Pressure in my mind. Hearing more of it, I realized she related to it not because she feels herself perfect as Isabel, but because she resonates with the following lines:
It's not symmetrical or perfect
But it's beautiful and it's mine

What could I do if I just grew what I was feelin' in the moment?
(Do you know where you're going? Whoa)
What could I do if I just knew it didn't need to be perfect?
It just needed to be? And they'd let me be?

I wanna feel the shiver of something new
I'm so sick of pretty, I want something true, don't you?

What can you do when you are deeply, madly, truly in the moment?
(Seize the moment, keep goin')
What can you do when you know who you wanna be is imperfect?
But I'll still be okay
Hey, everybody clear the way, woo

As I told Lianne when she asked if I watched Encanto followed by if I watched Brooklyn Nine Nine, I said, "Stephanie Diaz, right?" mixing up the actress' given name and B99 character surname.

Encanto was tempered in a manner that the protagonist excels at being a support figure, making everyone else shine.

My sister told me that Felix Madrigal is hailed as an underrated character, providing stability to a rather nebulous and dangerous Pepa who is a kid-friendly version of Storm.

Fairy Tales are majorly a reflection of a male worldview

16 January 2022

I do not take what I am unwilling to give.

18 January 2022

Brokilon. Ushering myself to the waking world, that was my thought as I bathed. And I thought it pertained to an old document, maybe in the Bible. It's not. It's a fictional forest. From The Witcher.

It's indisputable that Disney has monopolized the fairytale industry, their versions are globally mainstream. This way, Disney single-handedly influenced women's societal perceptions of themselves and their place in it, with an emphasis on prince saves princess and they live happily ever after niche.

If this is to be believed, young girls are trained to accept during their formative years that they are to be kind and friendly to animals, know and complete house chores, be pretty, and to be swept off their feet by the first man who pays them interest so that eventually they will be together to fulfill their ever after.

This overgeneralization has been laid on many times over and over with the same formula where princess meets prince then they end up together. Shockingly, until I watched one show that said all the narratives were male creations until Frozen came out, I did not realize that the characteristics and actions of the princesses, as well as the equivalent characterizations for their princes, are male constructs imposed on pliable minds in the guise of entertainment.

Personally, I always thought Cinderella was kind. A re-watch showed me that she was not an above reproach fictional character with how snarky she got with her stepmom and sisters behind their backs.

So it goes to fascinate me that that's how men think women should be: good-natured, friendly to everyone, willing to do housechores by themselves, beautiful and graceful all the time (Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Belle) as opposed to the villainous females who were in power, vain, ambitious, controlling, scheming, and lazy when it comes to housechores (Cinderella's stepfamily, Snow White's stepmom and Ursula). There was more leeway with Ariel's portrayal, making her a more independent-thinking and risk-taking go-getter which I attribute to creator's humor on being half-fish. But they all needed saving as Wreck-It-Ralph summarized.

And this is the ideal man portrayed in fairytales: handsome and pays attention to the princess (as if those are enough). Mortifyingly, they are all presented as wealthy males (yes, including Aladdin. Definitely excluding the new gen fairytales from Tangled onwards. Mulan and Pocahontas do not count, they are based on actual people and are presented with a figment of a comparable life story). A bit of determination and will (Cinderella's Prince Charming) and bravery and fighting skills (Aurora's Prince Philip, Prince Eric and Aladdin who resemble each other) were presumed characteristics too with the exception of Prince Florian (nothing note-worthy in the Disney version but at least he has a name. More like necrophiliac tendencies if that would be of merit. Hey, Charming could be a name too! After all he's the only prince addressed that way).

Little boys would grow up thinking the women they should be with are pretty, domestic, submissive and from the outset, need saving and would easily accept their suit as long as they show interest and brandish bravery, not to mention be handsome and rich.

How could I make this read humorously? It still sounds preachy, not sarcastically funny.

My Fair Lady

07 January 2022

Steam is water's ghost. An infantile notion, is it not?

08 January 2022
Promised to write a review on My Fair Lady.

12 January 2022
Cultural references I had for this film were Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen and La La Land where Eliza Doolitle was schooled on being a proper lady. (Yeah no required school reading for Pygmalion.)

Watching the actual movie, it had the effect of an indie film. Somehow that's similar among the old films (of Hitchcock lore) and the indie films. They have hanging endings which are not really conclusive nor suggestive of a sequel but merely as if they simply ran out of film to record on much like the serving portions you get at home where you know there's more where that dish came from and could equally dread being demanded to finish the portion you were served or having no chance at second helpings after everybody's served. There is no road marker that welcomes you as you cross that state: "Welcome to satiety!" Compare that to the formulaic industry movies where you can see the bottom of the ice cream tin and you know you've ran out of the frozen delicacy.

Old movies by Audrey Hepburn (This is only my second. Breakfast at Tiffany's was my first), run in an unprecedented manner. Somehow it's hanging, like there's always a curve and light bends differently that you cannot  predict with certainty how it would go next or if you had, it's hazy and warped.

The actors seemed to be yelling. Most likely they could not murmur like Blake Lively and be heard clearly through stage microphones  and they had to dub themselves.

Professor Higgins was quite a remarkable character and somehow reminds me of Dorian Gray's author - a lively, materialistic, educated, dandy - or the dork version of that time. They have different proclivities but generally, they are immersed in their subjects and views everything else as tedious or inconsequential. He was the standout character for me because he seemed to be flippant and shallow, with his denial disguised as logic or practicality when he simply can't deny how different his life would be without Eliza.

Prof. Higgins thought himself a simple man. Far from it. Until the end he does not admit what Eliza means to him. He confounds by giving her a ring which he says meant nothing but was apalled when she gave it back. If anything, he's more like how he thinks women are: says one thing and does another that opposes it.

In the beginning, Eliza was the unformed, unstable one and he looked after her, acclimating to her. Eliza changed and he tries to be unaffected. Now he wants to keep a woman but tries to make it appear like he doesn't; A man in consistent conflict with himself. He now is a muddled person compared to Eliza who came to terms with her change in station and lifestyle.

Audrey Hepburn did it well for the pre-makeover persona. From the independent Holly Golightly (fact checked that; almost typed Golucky there) to the uncouth Eliza. She was all glamor and sophistication as Holly despite the petty thieving (but by golly, all that hair is consistent! She must have half a million hairstrands!) Her speech and accent, more so her screeching as raw Eliza, was totally obnoxious. Holywood's ghost singer Marni Nixon's (who looks like Julie Andrews, the actual actor for the play version and whose name I want to think Ghibli's When Marnie Was There pays homage to) superb singing was commendable. As a character, I enjoyed how she was the take-charge type: she overheard Prof. Higgins' gamble with the Colonel and made steps to persuade them to get on with coaching her, going as straightforward as saying she would pay for lessons; how she told her suitor (Show Me) what she wants; and creating a confrontation to make Prof. Higgins realize her value to him (he never admits it to her face until the end).

The colonel was a forgettable character and does not merit screentime as much as Mr. Dolittle who was all-around entertaining though as a man and father he was not paramount but everything was forgiven because he was witty and lovable for it and in the end tried to live by middle class morals. So that's how I view people - those who appear entertaining take precedence over those who are dutiful. Blimey!

Characters with will, spunk and class (like Prof. Higgins' mother) were made to shine in this one. That if you had personality by speaking your mind and was no stick-in-the-mud, you were favored. Was this a call to activism? They tried to make it dated by mentioning suffragetes which supports that too.

The relevant theme of social stratification and discrimination by upbringing run true. This  applies across cultures where there are distinctions according to the manner of speech borne of regionalization. If using the same language but having different delivery, vocabularies or accent alone was enough to instigate a social divide, how much more in an archipelago where there are different languages?

Even Mr. Dolittle's mantra of getting according to what he needs and not what he deserves was a position on capitalism and communism.

Add to that Prof. Higgins' soliloquy on how a wife makes for a troublesome life and how women were generally the more difficult sex - blatant and very relatable expression of misogynistic views - in fancy alignment with the glib declarations on how women and wives are esteemed in Mr. Dolittle's bachelor party performance.

And because his songs are now on my playlist, Prof. Higgins' misogynistic declarations endeared me because it reflects his exasperation and frustration. For well-intentioned individuals who really want to be with their people, not having the same faculties to deal with situations is a bugger. Of course we understand that not all people think the same way and would see things differently from us, but that gap is tiring. Well, I am so glad the people who keep me find ways around it to get to me because I am petrified on the other end.

As Prof. Higgins sing-talks——the orchestral accompaniment makes it grandiose——it was undeniable his sentiments are founded in a limited space - his space which he validates through like-minded people. The colonel has no desire at all to receive flowers from him because he does not see him in a romantic light! He sees the successful debut while Eliza sees it as meeting her purpose, and as humans usually do, things that served their purpose are thrown away which is the source of her disgruntlement. It was obvious too when Prof. Higgins ended his ranting chant that he only accepts validations for his thoughts, asking Mrs. Pearce all his inchoate thoughts, not waiting for an answer unlike taking pause for the colonel's. So women are sounding boards to him whom he would prefer to act like men and just go along with whatever he thinks? It went well too that they ended the scene there to clearly present how not only Prof. Higgins has this misogynistic light where he has to be heard but does not mind not hearing from a woman by cutting off any possible replies from Mrs. Pearce through the actor, and the script as well, in effect, the movie industry she serves. It is infuriating. They jammed it all there; the standards by which societies categorize people by attributes they are not entirely responsible for like sex (we did not choose what sex to be born in or how we look or our lineage etc.) and the call by droll humor to take matters into your own hands.

It was a deeply rooted social movie discussing the merits of upbringing (third base privileges) and reflections of affluence according to conduct.

Water

 

05 January 2022

Just when I thought the year of the water tiger would mean an abundance of water beyond what I want to use it for. It is only the start of the year and we are met with water restrictions. The Chinese New Year will not take effect until Feb 1, so I'll hang in here. Thinking of the boy who lived in the mountains and had to bathe in a basin to collect the water he just used for another round. Comparing it with how thoughtless I was with my water consumption in the province. And how though water is everywhere, it was easy to take it away, given that water evaporates and may condense somewhere else. As I consciously scrimp on water use, I saw clothes on the line. Of course, people still need to wash clothes. I could only imagine how filthy I would live if I have to restrict water use on strictly basic needs. Then I saw ate Fe's plants. All those hundreds of pots were wet. No wonder the tank had no water by 7pm. Drought is real.Then there were thoughts of how I am water. 70% of me is. Basically, I am water, held together by remnants of stars.

For Today

 

04 January 2022

Who says I'm not curious? Why did I think I've given upon learning? I haven't. If I did, I wouldn't pause My Fair Lady on Netflix to check what Wagnerian denoted when the deuteragonist said wagnerian mother in his dialogue with an orchestral accompaniment.

If I'm not, then I wouldn't have browser tabs open in double digits.

It's interesting how stable I am today.
First I read 1 King 8:41-61. It barely made sense to me. Now I re-read it. It is the king Solomon, praying to God before his constituents. He did not fail to acknowledge  how exalted and powerful God is: hear prayers of the faithful though they are foreigners so everyone will fear You; God can give people over to their enemies and as quickly cause their captors to favor them.   But he also acknowledged how God has feelings, how he becomes angry and how he bestows favor.

All of which can be swayed by prayer——the foreigner, those at war, the captives, the contrite——if we pray to God, He will favor us. It is conditional - hearts must be fully committed to the Lord God, living by His decrees and obeying His commands.

It is a reading on the power of prayer. Without the covenant of Jesus in place, prayer was sufficient to gain God's favor, prayer supplemented by inner obedience at outward behavior.

Then I went to work. I still hear myself thinking I don't want to go to work and I'm tired. I still have stomach trouble when I think of work. But I still went.

I watched The Sound of Your Heart which was about as long as Blue Period with episodes less than half hour in duration, but with 2 episodes less.

Here, I was in stitches, the edges where my lips meet almost gaped like Joker's. It's hilarity comes from the absurdity of his situations and his zany family. I remember thinking at times how unintentionally Seok got even with his brother and how though they try to exercise their logic, being obedient and dramatic caused them to traipse along an original life.

With fortitude I am now conscious of, I moved on with my task, no matter how gradual. The tasks involved in completing the IPCR is progressing. I still jump through different tasks as I've done in my private time, switching unceremoniously among chores like folding and storing clothes, keeping strewn objects, searching song lyrics and watching 3 shows in Netflix. Despite the let down of losing water service (Thank goodness it's temporary but this might be commonplace in the future if we don't heed Greta Thunberg. Then I envision myself pointing fingers randomly and saying you first as I'm also being pointed at on taking steps at abating climate change), I was composed, thinking of the setback as a challenge I could find a way around. I will adapt (chanelling Yatora Yaguchi).

I came home to a house without water in a place where the advisory stated the water interruptions would start on Jan 5-20 from 7am-midnight. I have the right to despair not having water as early as Jan 4. But in this life, within the 5 kilometer radius, there are homes who have no water since yesterday. Same as my pre-Christmas travel of approximately an hour from the orange building to my house on my bike compared to those in Katarungan who had to travel 4 hours to get back home from commuting from Muntinlupa. Other people have it worse than me but they live on. I should too.

                                              ***
My Fair Lady tackles discrimination based on speech. Being a function derivative of one's lifestyle, speech dissects people into sects of status. It was supposed to present a bygone time but it prevails notwithstanding. People with certain inflections are deemed provincial and seen as less than literate, as inferior, less cultured or gullible. We are to live free but should wear the trappings of civility to have unbridled access to our freedoms. Consciously subjugating yourself to societal disciplines leaves you free to exert your freedoms within its confines. I'll definitely get back on discussing My Fair Lady after watching its entirety. Streaming it is until the 31st so Perfume could wait.

Uncertainty makes us work harder

03 January 2022

What's the first thing you do in the mornings?

Definitely not stream Netflix and watch Death to 2021 and then thoughtlessly go through Death to 2020 as well.

It was fun to watch. The commentary from the make-believe people enlivened it. I saw Chidi of The Good Place as the billionaire who thought only of profits. Hugh Grant as a TV and movie geek than an actual historian. Kathy Flowers was incredibly more frustrating in Death to 2020 and I really enjoyed Nerrick. Madison Madison's questions were delivered with credence and Lisa Kudrow, despite the character she plays, remains charming to me.

The jabs made on Trump as the orange maniac and the reference to Biden as a ghost was funny, even the take on the Prime Minister as being the least qualified was hilarious.

The most emotionally charged scene was that of Christin Milioti denying the elections.  Reflection from what I watched: Not everything other people say is true or logical and a person given to falsehoods can also say something worth learning about.

6:16 pm

The day may be considered productive because I have been cleaning around. The grout still has moss, the commercial multipurpose cleaner and vinegar with baking soda didn't cut it. It's still a mess out here, but a tolerable mess.

After finishing Blue Period which is quite an invitation to pursuing your passion through hardwork and sharing with other people how you see the world through the lens of your own eyes, I returned to listening to Welcome to Nightvale.

Blue Period started off with the main character Yatora Yaguchi. He was running his life like it was a well-oiled on-time train where his studies and social life are viewed as meeting a quota (the translation said that) and how "I don't understand how you can do what you want without making a living from it." when he was pertaining to wanting to be an artist. The professor saw through him and said he was minding too much how he was seen by people that he hides what is valuable to him.

My favorite lines:

1. Art is fun. People who are true to themselves make great art.

2. When you feel joy, excitement and passion while making art, the viewer will also enjoy your work.

Then I remember Death to 2021's line on social media cashing in negative emotions better than Adele.

3. Kids who don't try their best are those who don't have passion. Isn't it just natural to put everything you have into pursuing your passion?

At this point Yaguchi is testing if painting is for him.

4. When hardworkers do things they like they're unstoppable.

5. Art conveys things that cannot be conveyed by words... When seeing it, you get to know it. When drawing it, you get to understand it.

Yaguchi was convincing his mother that he is serious about painting.

6. I want to get better and see more of the world.

7. By appreciating various works, and knowing how to give various answers, you can reflect them in your own works and ideas.

8. But if I have to be what the world tells me to be I'd rather die.

Not that I want to die already, but Yuka stands for being himself. It's empowering to see someone who's tried living a constrained life breaking out of it.

9. I can't protect myself by doing what I like?

10. What they like perhaps can protect them, but it also hurts them.

This posits that liking something does not always bring joy. It is also a source of pain.

***

This is no quote but still informative lesson on masterpieces having great composition by

A. Having flow

B. Fitting the theme

C. Directing focus on key elements

D. Making you look at every corner

***

11. Making a replica is not just copying. If you do it with your heart, you'll understand many things.

And with that gentle nudge, the student understood firsthand his art lessons.

12. Making art is freer than I imagined.

13. You don't even have to do art.

At this part I was thinking Yota meant that Yatora already has everything, he doesn't need to excel in making art too. When Yatora said if his art was compelling, he wouldn't be told that meant: his not making art is not the world's loss. Ow. That's only when it hits me that it could be interpreted that way. Those two really need to communicate better.

14. I can't make art like (names others) but no one else can do my art either.

15. You have to believe in your art.

16. You have to figure out your goal and get there by yourself.

17. Good art clearly expresses the mindset of the artist.

18. There is no failing in art.

Followed by the probing is it because of a critique or you didn't like your work line. Because that is how we measure failing, according to how others see it or how we do.

19. Art is a language without words.

That's 5.

20. She hasn't changed her message, just her way of expressing it.

21. But composition is only a tool, not the message.

22. Doing things I like doesn't mean it's always fun.

Back to 9 and 10.

23. I'm not talented. I can only improve by practicing. Then I'll practice until my work is no different from a genius.

24. Popular things all have some strengths. I too want a strength, a weapon of my own.

25. I realized that I've been putting arbitrary limits to my art.

That's another way to say 12.

26. It's good to dissect other works but it's dangerous to make too much of a comparison. You shouldn't aim to get first place but to make your own masterpiece.

27. The road to art school is lonely. There's so little time and no right answer.

28. But what's scary about art is it reveals everything about me.

Art is an exercise in creation that reflects the creator.

29. If I make art out of fun but end up rejected, I'm afraid I won't be able to recover from that.

Complacency comes before a fall in his case. It will be a few episodes before he admits how his diffidence masked by projected confidence made him realistic and rational enough to be diligent and to prepare.

30. Don't hide your true feelings. Use your communication skills to empower them.

31. Adaptability, self-centeredness and the ability to have fun... I should break down the assignment and make it my own art. I'll make the art piece that I like.

32. All feelings coexist. My desperate wish to pass this exam and my desire to kill everyone. I don't care about the exam anymore. Just please let me make this piece.

Not that I'm into the diligent killer types like Penn Badgely in You, but that drive to create bordering on destruction adds a nice hue.

33. I've been holding my breath to stay focused all this time. But if I keep holding my breath, I'll suffocate. Taking a breather is not slacking.

34. Looking at things as art, everyone would be drawn to different things.

35. You don't have to force yourself to be eccentric or to imitate others...By looking at other people's work, you can discover new things about yourself.

36. Knowing that I'll have a long way to go, it's frustrating but I was relieved.

37. You don't just pour colors into your art. You're the only one who knows what's the best color for you.

38. It's not just about pouring colors. Choosing not to choose is equally important.

39. If I sharpen all my senses, I gradually get to see what's important to me now. Each individual color sparks my heart (Marie Kondo, is that you?)... What do I want to express in red?

The line is not fully quotable but the truth of making art to express over merely creating what looks beautiful is important. Much like a dish in a plate must be edible, majority of what's in a canvas is not happenstance but deliberate - they have meaning.

40. The only way to expand your world is to experience things you aren't familiar with.

And so he goes and draws himself nude in a room alone with a cross-dresser.

41. Sometimes other people can identify your strengths for you.

42.

Yuka: Shall we go drowning? In the sea.

Yatora: I'm not going to drown. I'll keep swimming to stay on the surface.

43. You'd better die naked. If that embarasses you and you're bothered by people's opinions, then you can't die just yet.

44. I thought my passion was the only thing that could protect me, but sometimes I don't even know what my true passion really is.

45. To look at your naked self and show it to people is to accept who you really are. Both the pretty and the ugly parts.

This ties in eventually with how Yatora sees his duality, how he is both arrogant and insecure. His confidence in insecurity that he now acccepts that his close people sees him as he is, versus showing them a persona he is not - like hiding his anguish or holding back on sharing his thoughts. He realizes that he is projecting confidence without actually being so. Thereby, he follows Koi's advice (30) and covers all his bases like the romantic realist that he is. His ability to adapt to the challenge does not make him lose himself. Yatora incorporated the concept of his vulnerability and applied (21) painting techniques and skills to depict his message within the confines of painting a nude model.

46. Confidence makes one's art persuasive. Hesitation makes one's art weak.

47. I never noticed that before making art I was not even pathetically naked, I was transparent.

After brewing, I realized what this meant. Initially, I thought how can you be transparent when you purposefully chose to not show your real self to everyone? And he's exactly right. He was transparent in a sense that he blended in the background, that to this world, he was nothing - a mere being that exists without living. The sun warms him but he is not conscious enough to feel it fully. He is a son with a mother whose dedication he did not realize until he drew her. A friend who was always present but kept holding back.

That —— compared to being naked where he meant he was solid and seeing himself; he was now alive and aware of his flaws and weaknesses. Instead of simply putting himself in the position of others with his mindset, he is now looking at their decisions with respect, much like he scrutinizes a subject of art or ascribes a visual form to his emotions. He no longer looks at things just as they are but reviews them in depth, exerting conscious effort to think about it instead of simply using trite generalizations (after having learned to come up with realizations on his own during his lessons instead of simply following what other people say.)

48. I have no regrets but I have a lot to reflect on.

49. I'm not regretful. That said, I'm not satisfied either. There's nothing I can do anymore.

50. Artwork is only completed when you give up on it.

The series  has less than 30 minutes per episode including the intro and ending songs and I watched it in 1.5 speed so it was a quick watch.

And now, I saw that Perfume is on Netflix. Hurrah! Finally! The first time I was told this story from the movie, I was fascinated. It was the last book I finished on my e-reader. Now, I'm seeing the movie.

A dream has its own logic

31 December 2021

My sleep dreams are getting stranger.

I dreamt of meeting with my work colleagues in McDonald's. We were apparently on a tour of McDonald's branches.

The first one we went to was closed. The next one we drove to in a red car I've never seen before was open and had a second floor —— only, there was no elevator, escalator or stairs in sight. After walking around to investigate how to get to the upper floor, an overhanging railroad track was spotted. More like those in small-time amusement parks for younger children train track which that branch decided to remove but the construction part of extracting the track was unfinished, the track hangs from a gap on the second floor where I could see booths with roomy wingbacks occupied by elite looking people.

The track end unattached to the wall was sharp and overhead. This is a dream so after a moment, it was bent and became metal stairs connecting the two floors. Without second thought, I climbed up, like I was on the rungs of a playground slide stairs. Suddenly, the second floor appeared to be a balcony instead of a second floor that abruptly stopped and was surely an accident prone construction site.

The opening before the transformed stairs was blocked by highchairs strapped on the balcony railing. I clambered up the highchairs as bolsters to get past the railing and then I'm on the 2nd floor. While I was securing a booth - to my surprise - my colleagues were already up there with food, telling me they went through an elevator. For all the acrobatics I surmised I went through and seeing people dressed up in evening gowns to eat at a fastfood chain, it surely was a dream. A little later I was picking peeled oranges off the floor. Some were stepped on (it had dirt). I brushed them off, offered them to others. No takers presented themselves so I ate them. There was even pomelo on the table. Wasn't sure if it was from the McDonald's menu.

Then, I saw the kiddie meal toys. One had a frog inside that went off and it belonged to a kid I met there. I did not see the frog, only a blur that jumped away. The kid gave me one toy. It was a flat compact case, like pressed powder. I opened the lavender case to find a sleeping brown bunny. Then I woke up.