Saturday, December 20, 2008

When Wrong Is Right

There are moments wherein we are forced to make a decision, the popular one and the right one. These situations may or may not be a matter of life or death, but the impact towards our lives are just as crucial. In these moments, something has to give, and mostly the true altruist is given the short end of the stick.

I was never an altruist, and I have yet to meet a sincere one, or at least a person who picks the right decision rather than the popular one, no matter the cost. I have always thought that I would be that person, the one who wouldn't care about personal happiness or progress and sacrifice even the dearest of relationships just to do what is right and what is just. The one who, despite the hopelessness, despite the neglect, would still care.

When it comes right down to it, if you truly care, unselfishly and sincerely, you would go with the right decision. People may question your intent, your agenda, but can you really live with yourself if you allow this tomfoolery and injustice to continue? Can you truly sleep at night that these very people who will question you know just as well as you do and do nothing? Will you truly sacrifice what you hold dear to protect/save/enlighten this person?

When Wrong is Right, nobody wins. And the pain caused, the tears shed, and at times, the blood spilt, are on your hands as well, just as everybody's.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Let It All Out (I'm An Idiot)

Idiots will be idiots. You can try and show them the light but ultimately, that's all you can do. Show. Their decision to become part of the ignorant, the clueless and borderline stupid is their choice and their's alone. Don't beat yourself up about it, you tried but really, is it even any of your business? You've been shut out because you thought there was more to this idiot, too late, you say to yourself, and you find yourself in the exact place you were before you met, utterly helpless, angry at the how others who have more right to intervene than you sit by and let the idiot make a fool of herself all over again. Yet the guilt still binds you, and you can do nothing but keep it inside and observe, a painful reminder of your failure as someone who was once favored and trusted.

But what of hubris? What if you totally got it wrong? You were never shunned, simply inadvertedly ignored. But isn't that more painful, to be treated as an afterthought? And do you truly know the entire story? Perhaps you missed something, your senses have been wrong before and your estimations have currently been suspect. Maybe just maybe, you're lying to yourself, fabricating this notion that somehow this person needs you, when in truth and reality you are the last thing she needs. You ponder on a final confrontation, but you feel that it will never lead to anything, just like every other endeavor you've been through this year. Either way, one path is clear... walk away, yet you keep looking back.

A closed door or window means another one has opened or will open eventually. Exploration of new horizons are on the way, yet fear clings to you. You're afraid that once again you will screw it up. You seek something meaningful but find yourself reluctant to take the jump, because you know very simply that idiots will always be idiots, and you're one.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Like Clockwork

We all have our routines. Rituals that, despite their repetitive nature, we feel at ease with. We may break from such behavioral patterns but we can just as easily get back into that fail safe practice. It's therapeutic in a sense, allowing us a little bit of control a world where chance is a cruel mother that just as soon nurture you and kick you to the curb when you least expect it.

In our own little world of repetition, we feel secure. A domain wherein our own idea of order is constant, we tuck away worries in preparing for the day. Consistency, that would've been nice if it lived up to its meaning.

Things change. That cannot be, ironic as it may sound, changed. Nothing is ever constant, and like any good thing, routines come to an end. Routines involve people and objects. People go away, and objects eventually deteriorate. Sure both are replaceable to some extent, but sometimes one cannot bring back what was lost.

When faced with the habit of initiating this routine, we find ourselves pausing, simply because what was once there is no more. Losing a long held treasure like a car, a house or maybe even pen can be inexplicably difficult to absorb, even worse is when a person is the one absent. The usual good mornings to the friendly doorman, the long chats with a dear friend... a kiss goodbye from a loved one... these are perhaps the most devastating kind of loss, because it is when the routine is broken due to their absence that the loss truly sinks in.

And you realize with finality, that things will never be the same...

Friday, November 7, 2008

The Players Have Changed, But the Game Remains the Same

Obamania is currently sweeping the globe, a euphoric wave ripe with renewed hope, vigor and a taste of anxiety for things to come. The world bore witness as history was made, the first ever African-American President of United States of America. Pundits and armchair analysts (myself included) would opine about how this victory is for everyone, how the Afro-American Barack Obama took over the White House, perhaps erasing humanity's hate and bias towards our ethnic differences. Rejoice world, for the Black Messiah cometh.

Really?

You either die a hero or live long enough to be the villain. Harvey Dent couldn't have come up with a better way to summarize this phenomenon. Already the detractors, spin doctors and self-absorbed intellectuals are starting the engines to their propaganda of hate and vitriol. Ironically, Obama and any democratic state or nation would have no choice but favor such, it is in line with the principles that they claim to champion. The opposition of any government does serve as the catalyst for Obama's favorite buzz word: Change.

But is there truly change? Besides the superficial of course. The players have one goal and that is to wield power. For whatever their motivations, they find themselves building alliances, making enemies, and dancing to the beat of trends of the times. Platforms are made, skeletons dragged out of the closet, truths embellished. It's probably the dirtiest game there is, this game of Politicking. The depths have gone to a lot of highs, but more often than not they are shadowed by the lows.

In many ways, Obama was the perfect candidate. Articulate, relatively younger, and he was black. The scene was looking more and more like a Spike Lee movie minus the tragedy. The rich old white man is the villain and against great odds, the black man won. Still, with the previous Administrations' blunders, even if Obama wasn't Afro-American, victory would've been his IMHO.

The problem lies with how the world views this victory. We celebrate, but do we really know how the cards are spread? Do we know why this Obama's victory is good for everyone even though he represents one country? Or is this merely the sheep going with the flock?

"Black President. That's so cool right? I mean, I totally feel free since he represents breaking away from cultural indiference."

Go to hell bandwagonner, understand that this game is played differently than you think. Understand that behind that black man is still the issues and ideologies of those who believe that they know better.

For centuries the battle wasn't about race, culture, or whatehaveyous, they are mere flavors. The true struggle is going against our very nature of self-destruction and selfishness, to be united or cohabit to survive. It's a matter of balance between individual and the collective. Republicans want more control, Democrats want more privacy. The Easter dictatorships want unity/obedience, while the Western Liberals want their voices to be heard. Really, it's a matter of giving up individuality for a whole (not the greater good, because such things are relative depending on who you're talking too and what time it is). Whoever weilds the power gets to influence the scales to their favor.

Will Obama's turn at these scales bring prosperity and peace? Or will it simply be another replay of days past? Who knows? More importantly, who cares and why?

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Moments

Life is defined by moments. Every waking hour of existence is made up of moments with other people. Some we remember, some we forget. Sometimes these moments are significant, no matter how subtle or petty they may be. The simple things, as they are, often fall into the former. A simple smile from a child, an infant gripping tightly around your fingers or those awkward run-ins with the crush - these are the moments that mark us, that we cherish or look to when defining our perception of life.

"It's either you define the moment, or the moment defines you," so says the Roy McAvoy, Kevin Costner's character for the golf-themed romantic comedy Tin Cup. Delivered in true dead pan Costner fashion, the line is laced with the arrogance of a true slacker and dreamer who's hubris is realizing his mortal limitations. Moments can be defined yes, but we can, at the very best, influence them, not control them entirely.

Life is short, but a lot can happen in a short span of time. You can't hope to recall them all, but at the very least, you can recall the moments that made you do the way you are. Significance is relative, what may have been a small comment on your part may have been an Earth-shattering revelation to others.

For whatever moments that we encounter and remember, a degree of appreciation is needed. After all, if you can't recall the significant moments you've had in life, or with others, then just what kind of life have you lived?

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Assumptions

The Bad News Bears is a film about a cellar-dwelling baseball team that played in some Little League in some non-descript town in Texas. It was your typical underdog story meant to inspire it's audience via the premise that despite their inherent mediocrity, they can still conquer the odds if they pool in their talents. It's also about second (and third, and fourth, maybe fifth) chances, as represented by the team's alcoholic coach, Morris Buttermaker (played by the late great, Walter Matthau).

Having watched the abhorrent sequels that do the original little to justice, that theme seems iron clad. But perhaps the most distinct lesson I picked up from this dated film comes from the first scene of the original. Surprisingly enough, a mere extra is the source of this nugget of wisdom: "Never Assume, because if you do, you make an Ass of You, and Me".

Let's break that down: Ass / U / Me.

Clever eh?

Of course this sets a deadly precedent, if one were to follow this philosophy to the letter, one risks not ever taking risks.... wait.. what?

Anyways, lame jokes of wordplay aside, never assuming is just saying never take risks. Behaviors are predictable to some extent, that cannot be denied, but to not act upon them for fear of the consequences (Ass - U - Me) will lead to no progress. While such ideals are supported by the 2nd Law of Sexual Dynamics, there are times when laws are meant to be bent or broken. That's probably why it is called a risk in the first place. There is never certainty involved and most likely the consequences will most undoubtedly suck. At least that what's most optimist would like us to think.

Perhaps the middle part of the word's dissection is easily missed. Assumptions are fine if, and only if, the risk-ee (the one chancing it) will suffer all the negative results. We hardly stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, somebody else will also partake in the disaster that you so vehemently initiated. Nevermind the possibility that our ability to assess the behaviours that we've observed are way off and tarnished by our own dellusional egos. Assuming is like the Tango, it takes two, and the parties involved reap the benefits as well share the despair.

So what would be the ideal way of handling such things? There is no ideal manner in going about assumptions. At best what we can do is to always see it to the end, whether we succeed or ultimately fail.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Pictures (A So-Called Blog Post)

Brian: I became yearbook photographer because I liked the idea that I could sort of watch life without having to be part of it. But when you're yearbook photographer, you're, like, never in the picture.

Most people may no remember where the above line comes from. Especially considering that it came from a short-lived series in the 90s that introduced the waking world to one Claire Danes. My So-Called life was emo even before emo was a word. Perhaps the failure of the show was due to honesty in it's dialog. Unlike shows like Dawson's Creek or One Tree Hill, it didn't have the eloquence that made characters seem more engaging or more world-weary than their supposed age. Instead we are subjected to poorly constructed Valley Girl English, full of "ums" and "like" which felt awkward yet honest and authentic. Of course, this meant that the tension was surreal and hardly fit for entertainment. Despite everything, the show had it's moments, and I tried to religiously watch it every chance I got.

Instead of a catchy rock ballad, the show only had this, I suppose they were trying to be edgy?

It wasn't long before that one season would end with the show getting canceled due to low ratings. It then proceeded to fade into obscurity with Ms. Danes' claim to fame being more recognized as a slew of movies which included a reimagination of William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet and the big screen adaptation of Neil Gaiman's Stardust. Still, like most young teens at that time, I was looking for answers in the wrong places, particularly more interested in the leading female protagonist who was, as that time, a rising star. Looking back, it seemed silly, but re-reading the quotes from the show with the help of wikiquote.org put the show in a new light.


The cast of the show, and yes, 3rd guy from the left is gay.

I specifically looked for the lines shown at the top of the post because it was one of the snippets of dialog that stuck to me. Brian Krakow (Devon Gummersall) played the token Nerg/Loser Guy for the show, who was secretly in love with the main protagonist Angela Chase (Claire Danes). The borrowed lines served as the opening narration wherein Brian shows just how much on an outsider he feels, yet seems to enjoy it despite the bittersweet predicament he usually finds himself in.

Personally, the concept of viewing life merely as an observer has its merits. The methapor is exquisitely sound since it's a matter of capturing moments without being part of them. Simply watching allows us to see moments as they happen, observe and guess what goes on through the lives of people without suffering the consequences. We save ourselves from the responsbilities of each action, viewing solely to judge, assess, and study; shielded from the negativities of these interactions such as heartbreak, sorrow, or pain. A welcome reprieve for many, but a huge price to pay if one considers the fine print.

At the same time however, we lose out on feeling the joy, the glory and the affection of such moments. Seeing happiness in people and realizing the pure joy that they're expressing isn't the same as feeling and experiencing it firsthand. The realization is empty and devoid of meaning. Simply put, we cannot expect to recieve such blessings without going through the hardships and the struggles that come with it. Otherwise all we have are hallow observations that lack the understanding of what such moments are truly about, a mere shell of that reality, a S0-Called Life so to speak.

Stepping back and playing behind the scenes is nice if looking for perspective, but all it offers is a look into a world without your influence. Step in, act, and react. Otherwise, succumb to the void and live in a world filled with glass borders where you get to simply watch life unfold and be powerless to affect it.


Saturday, October 11, 2008

So Much Comes Back to Haunt Us

This recent discussion in a microblogging site serves as the inspiration for today's post.

As an old friend and confidante used to say, the past is pass, or was it past? No, that doesn't make sense, we shall go with the former then. Of course, viewpoints on the subject matter of histories are nothing new, yet there seems to be a need for further elaboration. After all, if you've read the plurk, as they call it, what may be true before may not be necessarily true today, or tomorrow for that matter.

Barry Manilow's "Somewhere Down the Road", in all it's melancholic cheesiness captures the very essence of the above sentence. Indeed, "the right love at the wrong time" as it where, happens more often than we think. People's belief systems, personalities and quirks have been know to morph. The change is subtle, not clearly evident unless opportunities to test these changes present themselves. Perhaps one is to be blamed/credited for such a change, no matter, it is there and probably there to stay unless another anti-thesis requires the paradigm to shift. Two people may realize that what was once impossible or what couldn't be worked out can be revisited with renewed vigor and perspective. Love the second time around is sweeter, if and only if the parties involved learn from their respective mistakes and, if required, hand out the needed dosage of forgiveness.

But the very concept can be used in the reverse. Being aware of the changes (or the lack thereof) and what transpired in the past can serve as a metaphorical stop sign, if not a clear indication that that ship has sailed. Friendship may be the next best option, or worse, a deep-seeded pang of guilt, hatred, regret and fear could take the place of such remnants.

For whatever reason, the past will always be with us, perhaps not physically, but in our memories. What is important is to remember that it is the past, something that is done and over with. Remember it simply as one of the many footprints we've left in the waking world, there as a reminder of where we've been and how far we've come, and not a shadow overhead that cages us from enjoying what else life can offer.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

A Crafty One that One

There are few people who get my respect. Ok, that's a bold-faced lie, I respect a lot of people. Still, there are few people who I respect who fall in the category of bloggers. One such person is Mikey "Fucking" Villar, who, in his twisted little blogging world, dubbed himself the Rising Internet Star. Normally, such claims to fame would elicit my "watch me give a damn" remark. However as Mikey is someone who I respect as a fellow scribe and wordsmith, I find his work profound and informative enough to pick him as my Bloggers' Choice Award for this year's Philippine Blog Awards. But don't take my word for it, simply look at his majestic and elegant visage and you'll realize that you're speaking to one of the Internet's wisest men:

Uh huh.... yes, he seems very... respectable...
yes... talk about a buffet of man... li... ness...


Ok fine, the truth is I rather find his work amusing due to his uncanny ability to make fun of himself in a most humorous manner. But beyond the comedy and the self-depreciation ala Chandler Bing, Mr. Villar captures that old school dark and offensive humor that has been lost thanks to the pussification of civilzation as we know it. Sensitivities and political correctness is thrown out the window and made as a comedy act that covertly reveals our truest notion of what is funny. Face it people, you may think what he said is so very wrong on so many levels, yet you find yourself silently giggling as you read each homosexual innuendo and internet-tough-guy Schadenfreude that few people like the Rising Internet Star can deliver.

Like the title says, his a crafty one, that one.

Friday, September 19, 2008

Spirit of the Holidays (A Talk Like A Pirate Day Post)

Holidays, be a mixed bag. Some be meant fer commemoratin' events in history, others be meant t' celebrate th' lives o' great (an' sometimes, nay-so-great) men an' lasses. Attachin' meanin' t' dates ben a common practice eresince civilization began. Then thar be some unofficial holidays that, fer unexplained reason, manifests from what once be isolated subcultures.

Talk Like A Sea dog Tide (TLAPD) be probably one o' th' most absurd holidays t' be conceived. While nay reckoned as an official event, 't perhaps captures th' very essence o' stickin' t' th' "spirit" o' holidays. Born from th' Internet, a dreary an' morally derived place, TLAPD stems from th' many subcultures that be jokingly formed through some dark an' twisted meetin' o' like minds. 't represent th' lighter side o' Internet humor in a way that one cannot help but be enticed t' 'tis motley invitation t' th' realm o' self-mockin' an' jack language.

While celebraitng petty thieves an' thugs o' th' seas, th' swashbucklin' truth be that, like many holidays, TLAPD be formulated by a collective, like some sort o' primitive civilization/tribe thin'. Really, I could go on an' talk more anthropology, but I scarely reckon such lessons. Still, th' idee or idee be under th' motivation nay dri'en by profit or swabbieal gain, rather as a way t' claim an' celebrate somethin' unique. Us Internet geeks got t' be havin' somethin' after all.

Wi' that in mind, TLAPD in all 'tis notion o' stupidity an' debauchery-inducin' existence be here t' stay. Whether or nay 'tis reckoned by th' powers t' be as legitimate be irrelevant. After all, we, th' free swabbiess o' th' Internet, will celebrate 't nay matter what.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Words Just Get In the Way

Actions speaks louder than words and a picture is worth a thousand of them. We can say very little but mean so much. We can say a lot and mean absolutely nothing at all. The meaning behind them is what gives them weight. The voice reciting them is what gives them character.

But words are just words.

Conveying ideas and expressing emotions — That's what words are for. They can deliver the sweetest of lines that make us fall or deliver the saddest of news that make us cry. They can hide the deepest of lies and reveal the sincerest of truths. They entertain, they bore, they make us think, they make us question.

But, words are just words.

We say them outright, we say them so smoothly and so eloquently. We stammer through them, our diction faltering as we go along. We play with them, we struggle. We reach out and form relationships with them. We use them to cut ties and burn bridges, and at the same time, we trust on them to rebuild and reform what was once lost.

We whisper, we shout. We write, we sing. So tell me again, are words just words?

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Et Tu Heart

The human ability to comprehend the metaphysical has been somewhat of a curse and a blessing all at the same time. We can see through the cold and calculating objectivity of things and see the spirit or heart of people and things before us, granting ineffable results. A cancer patient surviving with only the love of the people around him or her to feed of off is just one such example. The medicine may not be a craft of perfection, yet the science behind it seems sound. Given that, it still does not compute.

On the other hand, the curse begins when, despite having a solid rationale present, we stubbornly cling to habits, beliefs and misconceptions. Denial and self-deception are ready-made weapons and infallible points, so take that you damnable brainiacs with your objectivity and fancy logic. Try asking a battered wife/girlfriend and you'll just end up thinking them beyond stupid. "That's what you get when you let your heart win," says Paramore lead vocalist Hayley Williams.

Our hubris is that we know better. And we have knowledge enough to circumvent what is plain as day. We hide behind words such as relativity, perspective and opinion to shield us from the frigid and uncaring reality that we deny on a daily basis. Even those of us who claim to live in this reality, these realist, are susceptible. We're all victims, and we're all willing to subject ourselves to such dementia and emotional turmoil.

Scrutiny of such behaviors are fun as well. We love to pass on our issues or opine on other's problems because it hardly affects us, or provides us gain.

But really, what really bothers all of us is because deep down we also know that we know better. But the ability to have contradictions in what we say, think, do or feel is what complicates things. We are betrayed by our very subconscious and instinct. You'd think that as evolved primates we could see past such bestial notions easily. Alas, that isn't really the case.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Escape

There is nothing more therapeutic than finding a place of escape, whether physical or mental. Such places allow for a temporary exodus from the pains and ills of existence. The solace found in these places is what keeps us going. Some use external stimuli to achieve such ecstasy, often proving to be detrimental to one's health. On the other hand, those who find such outlets and turn in them productive activities are the lucky ones, it's not everyday one uses something as an escape and at the same time profit from it.

Escape is always temporary. Sooner or later, one must face reality and all its trials and tribulations. Escape can sometimes be the solution, but only indirectly. It conditions us to go on about the machinations of the eventual solution. For whatever reasons, everyone looks for an escape from time to time. We need it, we're addicted to it, we can't have enough of it. Yet we know that there is too little time for such, as the calls of reality are too strong to block out, unless we finally chose the path of madness.

The worst case scenario is when this escape is the problem. It's so much easier to cling on to something than to let it go. The notion of losing something, no matter how harmful, futile or idiotic, hurts. Healing from such wounds are slow, and often leave their lasting mark. They pile up, rending us broken and lost. It is painfully difficult. It rears its ugly head to haunt and plague the still-recovering mind. Yet, there is no true repose, one is just replacing it with another outlet, another form of escape. Hopefully, the new one proves to be of a more positive nature than its predecessor. Until then, all we can do is to keep looking.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Goodnight, Good Guy

Perhaps one of the most underrated bands in the 90s, Collective Soul will forever remain, as one of the author's favorite bands. Debuting in 1993, the Atlanta-based band's Hints, Allegations, and Things Left Unsaid album contained a little gem of a song entitled "Goodnight, Good Guy". While the intro of the song featured an upbeat chord progression, the solemnity of the song and the message behind (at least to me) is where it derives it's magic.

"Goodnight, Good Guy" describes a person close to the song's protagonist, a male figure who, according to the chorus, imparts wisdom, comfort and guidance. As the stanzas progress, it is implied that Mr. Good Guy here is seemingly gone with a clear indication of the protagonist's longing for the man's company. Toward the end, a resolution as made as the singer finally accepts the reality of this absence and lets go.

August 23 marks the 62nd birthday of a great man, who I have the privilege to call father. Conrado "Dodie" Casas de Leon may have passed away nearly 4 years ago, his legacy and memory remains with several people otherwise known as my family. In a sense, he was my "Good Guy" and much like the singer, I miss his guidance, his advice and more importantly, "be the one to tell me everything's all right."

While the last couple of years have me in stumbling through life feeling lost due to his absence, I am, thankfully, slowly getting back on my feet. A big part of that lies in the knowledge that somehow, someway, my Good Guy lives through me. The values, the memories and the love that he gave me will see me through to whatever path lies ahead of me.

So Dad, thank you for everything and happy birthday. I'm gonna let you sleep, Ill let you fade off in the night. I pray the lord to keep, I pray the lord to hold you tight. Goodnight, Good Guy.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Things Left Unsaid

In a somewhat expected act of pedantry, I found myself proverbially shitting bricks after watching a crude anime show called Detective Conan. While I don't understand how a high profile detective is drugged and has gone missing for several weeks does not raise any kind of clamor in the investigative community much less the protagonists social circle (nevermind he re-emerges as a child that is adopted by his girlfriend's family), the series does have its merits. While not in the realm of Sherlock Holmes/Dr. House M.D. investigative genius built upon meticulous observation of detail, the cases are mind boggling enough to keep one entertained for an hour or so.

This particular episode dealt with a rockstar (a royal douche that looks like the bastard child of Cloud Strife and Vash the Stampede, I don't even wanna know how that is plausible but that's the first thing that stuck to my mind) who is poisoned by his manager and ex-bandmate who is pissed off because the victim kept making her sing Rudolph the red nosed reindeer. Later it was explained it was due to that prior to being band manager the killer was not attractive and had undergone surgery due to being apparently madly in love with the victim. With me so far? It gets better.

Turns out the victim would've reciprocated that love but is upset because of the surgery, making him a bitter, bitter man who continously agitates the love of his life to the point the she sumarrily kills him. How tragic.

Of course the story is surprisingly deep for a Japanese animation with a 7-10 year-old manchild as a the lead. These two people, killer and victim, could've avoided all the pain and tragedy had they only had the heart to express their true feelings for each other. As cheesy as that sounds, how many do we know fall to this same trap and end up wallowing in several, cooked-up "what if" scenarios.

While the consequences of failing to express true intent may not be as dire as depicted in the show, such situations are still somewhat tragic. Of course, there is wisdom in having certain things best left unsaid. But more often than not, this situations are best put in the "ignorance is bliss" category.

For every action is an equal reaction. The principle is that keeping mum about such things are a way of playing it safe and avoiding to solicit a reaction. Of course, the problem with such a concept is there is no stimulae that would otherwise generate an outcome. And stories without outcomes can be quite annoying.

Whatever it is that left unsaid, may eventually come to light, or fade into obscurity. At the end however, being able to said what is needed to be said can grant a sense of release, whether the outcome is favorable or not.

Shame I can't seem to follow that logic sometimes.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Secrets

Everyone has secrets. No exceptions.

Some secrets exist because of hope. Hope that things in the end will work out, or will simply come to be. Despite the logical flaws, the improbability of the situation or the scenario presented, hope floats as a beacon of delusions that mar better judgment, the decision to simply walk away or act upon it. So the secret remains hidden, shared to few if at all. The truth being the most effective lock to the proverbial Pandora's Box of failed aspirations, pain and regret.

Other secrets exist as a byproduct of goals, ambitions and agendas. Kept only to forward these clandestine goals. Such trump cards are used for devious and noble means. They can harm as well as they can protect, all dependent on the wielder's discretion. Knowledge is power after all, and even the most nonsensical fact and fleeting tidbits can prove vital given the right situation.

However, secrets are not predicated on those two alone. Shame, hate, pride and a bevy of human emotions are reasons enough to keep things hidden from others. Whatever secrets lay behind the minds of a man or woman, they are tucked neatly away because of fear, fear that the truth, the harsh and brutal truth will be known and the facade will be ultimately washed away.

Truth is not only the lock, but it is the key as well. As it is, secrets are truths, for good or ill. The deepest and darkest secrets are the truest and purest. Whether malicious or not, the honesty and the sincerity of such cannot be questioned.

Secrets when revealed are often amusing, shocking, if not downright sad. They explain many things, one's hopes, one's agendas and one's true intent (obviously). In the end however, the best secrets are those that can be said without Hope or Agenda, but simply said in all of it's honesty.

So to someone very special, this I say unto you, hoping and aspiring for nothing but for you to know, that I love you.

Sadly and perhaps fortunately, you'll never really know.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Don't Dream It's Over

Dreamers are often stereotyped as idiots who chase rainbows and fall flat on their faces. Meanwhile, most dreamers would like to be seen as people who make their own reality to achieve their dreams and goals. While it may sound ludicrous to claim at first, but truly, looking at it there isn't much difference between the two interpretations.

People who overextend their ambitions towards the ebb and flow of the sea of reality are shunned for the mere fact that well, what they wish is at best improbable. Now, dreaming is free but that's just the very problem. One must usually gain something at a cost. Being stuck with the notion of "dreams are free" is counter productive. Achieving dreams usually come at a great cost or at the very least, a compromise in the existing situation.

Until one finally understands that making dreams come true comes in exchange or sacrifice of something else, then perhaps the ability to manipulate factors and strive towards the goal will be sufficiently possible. Not a guarantee but perhaps failure in this case could lead to a new dream or the REAL dream that one was blind to in the first place.

This however begs the question, at what costs will one be willing to pay just to achieve their dreams?

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Histories

Those who refuse to learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.... or some hogwash like that.

While everyday man and woman do not live in times of turmoil that are the makings of grand narratives like that of World Wars or epic hero ballads, it is our relationships that serve as our version of history.

While deceptively mundane, a person's history is an amusing read at what he or she was, has become and quite possibly, will be. In fact, looking back at all those long list of friends and significant others that have come and gone is an enlightening activity that should be done whenever the current situation permits.

Majority of people would prefer to keep such things hidden or forgotten. People preach the need for closure and sometimes the best way to achieve that is to retrace one's steps. Closure is nice and all but sometimes a lesson must be learned. A relationship that ended and thought you nothing is a waste of time and more than likely just as deep and meaningful as that last fling or one night stand.

Some may get it right the first time and not even have a chance to build a history. These people are either so ridiculously fortunate or are in for a severe and disappointing ending. Shit happens.

Still, having a history and being able to recount it with someone who's shared that history is an experience that bests describes progress. People change, perhaps retrospect will allow one to view the history in a new perspective, and coming into peace with that will assure that regret will be kept at bay.

Face it, the past is just as much as a part of life and viewing it as something irrelevant is folly and ignorance in its purest form. So pick up the phone, call someone from the past up, and maybe, just maybe, one will learn something that day.

Friday, August 8, 2008

Auspicious Day

August 8, 2008 (08-08-08) is considered by many as an auspicious day. Merely because of the numerical coincidence and not much else. Others may attribute a negative connotation to such days depending on one's religion or superstitious orientation.

But really, is there such a thing as an auspicious day? Can the Lady of Fortune's (or Misfortune) smile truly shine the brightest on days of numerical significance? Luck, as it is, seems to be on everyone's mind on such days, an epidemic that may simply condition impressionable minds to do things they would otherwise not normally do.

Perhaps it's all in the mind. We consider it to be our lucky day because we've fooled ourselves to thinking that it is. A man may suddenly get the courage and confidence to reveal certain secrets under the influence of believing illogical flights of fancy. If things don't go his way what then? The blame has to be placed somewhere and it is somewhat convenient to once again to place on unforeseen circumstances outside of the mortal ken.

Of course, there are times that such things do turn out for the best. Indeed a dash of confidence can do wonders, no matter the source. If it works, it's probably adequate. A mindset can do so much to change outcomes and situations. Scenarios are run perfectly given the right mindset, or so wrongly if the contrary is true.

Still, it's a lot like saying that thinking positively allows us a modicum of control over the situation. As if the, by sheer force of will, we manipulate the forces around us to a favorable outcome. That would be such an enticing idea, if we can just forget the fact that other people actually have their own scenarios, agendas, mindsets and that little thing called free will. No big deal right?

Auspicious day or no, it is the mindset, the belief that drives us to do amazing feats or fail miserably. But if that mindset is brought about by a paper thin belief of luck on certain moon cycles or geometric position who really cares? In the end, all that matters are the results.

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Happy Birthday Mrs. De Leon

August 2 marks the birthday of the woman who gave birth to the Rambler. Now, now, don't go chasing her with pitchforks and torches, not her fault that her infernal progeny would turn out to be senseless hack and overanalyzing prick.

Despite her provincial upbringing, mother dearest has tried her darndest to provide for the family even after losing my dad to pancreatic cancer some 4 years ago. Even before that, she would always find ways to put us through school or provide all the vices and pleasantries of modern life. The Rambler only wishes that he can achieve half of what they've done in this lifetime.

That's the great thing about GOOD parents. They know us more than we'd like but they never really rub it in our faces (unless it's the tired and tested "in my time, we were poorer" speech.) They may have their faults and most of the time we don't get them, but hey, we have our faults and most of the time they don't get us! Somehow, the saying "you'll understand when you start raising your own kids" begins to make sense. Trying to deconstruct such a concept is a waste of time. It's just true and you'll get it when you do get there.

So to my mater, I thank you and I know I don't say it enough. I love you.

Protection

Protect the ones you love is such a simple principle. Individuals that are linked to you through kinship, mutual understanding or admiration are the ones that enjoy such a privilege. While few people can really claim to be altruistic, the idea of defending those we care about is crystal clear logic, despite evidence to the contrary.

Of course this begs the question, what if that show of obvious affection is not reciprocated? What if efforts to belay harm from the mark does not even warrant a reaction much less recognition? Is this a sign of blind martyrdom or vain attempts at soliciting a reward and forward an agenda? Why protect someone who doesn’t even want you around?

Selflessness manifested in this manner would seem ultimately hapless. However who is to argue that the reasons given to continue this futile crusade are faulty? Never mind that perhaps the reciprocation or reward could still be remotely possible. Given the right context, this could be a clear sign of unconditional love. It’s a rare context but it does seem probable.

Is discontinuation the best option? Persistence is an admirable trait, no doubt. However one is exposed to the danger of foregoing other opportunities due to the effort exerted in protecting this person.

Protect the ones you love IS a simple concept, but we should always remember to protect ourselves first. After all, if you can’t help yourself, how do you expect to help others?

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Great Expectations

The problem with a the whole charade that is dating and courtship is that there is a definite beginning and a definite end. We like someone, we ask them out, get to know them and pop the question. Sounds easy enough, but chances are majority of such pursuits have resulted in pain, anguish and heartbreak (even if he or she said yes).

While it is entirely possible that there is life after the end of ritual dating between two individuals, or a possibility of a second, third even fourth chance, the flow is still the same. Perhaps thinking too much over the sequence of this overly complicated process is what makes it so difficult. We usually come in with great expectations, positive thinking and the like, only to have our still-beating hearts thorn out in front of us and eviscerated to bloody little pieces.

"Like-liking" someone usually leads to love or cowardice. You either go for it or sit back wallowing as opportunities pass by leaving you with nothing but a fistful of regret. Even if you did muster enough courage to test the waters, the beach at the other end may not be what you expect it to be. However, one must ask, is it quite possible to simply enjoy the swim and not worry about getting through to the other side of the river of relationships and even accept staying there forever? If only we could be that naive and blind.

It may seem half-hearted if not guarded, but really, such a mindset would allow one to actually enjoy the company of the intended mark without hoping for a "yes" or an "i love you". Expectations are all good and well, but more often than not they lead us to think that a certain action or deed equals something similar. You give her flowers or treat her to dinner equals you getting lucky. Either that or you try to entice your friends to drag him along so you can have an excuse to chat. That's not how it works with people with free will. Sure you could always woo and seduce but they work differently with different people. The best we can do is to make our intentions known and hope for the best. Now you know how God feels trying to win you over and doing nothing about it because he gave you free will.

The game of love is fickle, whimsical and, if you'll excuse my language, a vapid bitch. No matter how much of a nice guy you are (and usually being called one is a death sentence or at the very least a lifetime membership to the friend zone), that doesn't necessarily mean the other person is obligated to reciprocate or be grateful.

Expect the worst, hope for the best. Make a good impression if you must but don't ever think that helps, unless one is fine having the prospective partner simply agreeing to the relationship on some ludicrous sense of gratitude. By then he or she isn't doing both of you any favors. If one truly wants the real thing, present your case and be done with it. After all, what is heartbreak but a momentary event of pain?

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Two Sides of A Coin

After finally getting the chance to watch Nolan's much-anticipated chef-d'oeuvre, Batman: The Dark Knight, there was only one word that can sum up my feelings for the latest iteration of the Caped Crusader: AWESOME.

Say what you want about taking comic book movies seriously, but as it stands, The Dark Knight wasn't treated as just some comic book flick produced to appease nerds or a family movie cash-in. Rather, Nolan et al decided to tell this story with the same amount of attention any self-respecting director would approach literary classics like the Count of Monte Cristo. At the end of the day, making a film is about telling a story, and The Dark Knight did exactly that, tell the story of Batman/Bruce Wayne in awe-inspiring and meticulous detail.

But making a review was never this author's intention. As the tag suggests, this post was made to ponder and ramble on the themes and abstract concepts tackled by the film's script. So onwards to the inaneity.

The inclusion of the main protagonist's arch-rival the Joker was probably what catapulted this movie from great to simply epic. The late Heath Ledger did well in portraying the most engaging rogue of Batman's gallery. The Clown Prince of Crime, in his mad and deranged glory may seem like a simple criminal in clown make-up. Going beyond the image however, the Joker becomes a caricature of order. Society has a set of rules, based upon fear of consequence and what many consider is sane. Take away those rules and the world seems bereft, pointless and all at the same time amusing. Self-preservation becomes the only rule and even then the vacuity of it all makes that meaningless to a point. Some men only want to see the world burn. After all, isn't it all a big joke, imaginary rules, order and whatnot. In the end all that does not matter. Or does it?

In an interesting twist of the age old Prisoner's Dilemma, the movie delivers probably its greatest scene. Two boats, rigged with explosives, one filled with civilian's, the other filled with the inhabitants of the city's correctional facility. Each boat is given a detonator (that activates the other boat's bombs) and an ultimatum. The logical and pragmatic solution would be to save the civilians and let the convicts die. This twisted irony is perhaps the script's crowning glory and people may not even realize it. Never mind that Batman saved the day and stopped the boats from being pink mist, this just shows that even sinners, rapists and murderers, can have a hint of decency, and the decent law-abiding citizen, can be just as cold and heartless as they are. While Batman claims that not everyone is like the Joker and the experiment failed, the notion that the big dog amongst Gotham's scum doing an act of sacrifice actually proves the Joker's theory, post-humously.

Perhaps as an ode to one of the greatest Batman novels ever written, a sort of Killing Joke-ish angle is explored throughout the movie. As the novel suggests, sometimes all it takes is one bad day that even the best of us can just snap. In the film, the proverbial White Knight is the incomparable Gotham district attorney Harvey Dent. Despite being the celebrated high moral compass of the city Dent succumbs to the madness of betrayal, formulating his own concept of justice dictated by chance, represented entirely by two side of coin. Fortune was on his side as Batman takes on the polar opposite of Dent's moniker. As the Dark Knight, Batman remains the guardian of the near-dystopian Gotham minus all the glory and acclaim.

A parallelism between the two arch-rival eventually emerges. Both obviously have serious mental disorders (tell me jumping around rooftops dressed as a bat isn't crazy, nevermind being dressed as a clown and committing crimes). However they operate on conflicting spectrums. As always, Batman's crusade is one that is frowned upon by many, the brutality and destruction to property notwithstanding. Still, the detective in Batman is evident, still following the methods of law enforcers only circumventing the rules that hogtie them into doing anything worthwhile against criminals.

The Joker on the other hand does away with the traditional mien of criminality. The motivation is simply for amusement and disturbing pleasure, a crusade to prove that anyone, given the right circumstances, can go bat-shit insane (pardon the pun). It's not money, vengeance or what not that drives him, but simple down to the basics anarchy.

In conclusion, the author would highly recommend a second (and third, and fourth) viewing, if only to rediscover the many themes of the human psyche explored by the Dark Knight. It is somewhat fitting that the 2nd villain, Harvey "Two-Face" Dent is caught in the crossfire, his signature coin and two-face represent the opposing natures of both Batman and Joker. As well as the duality of their respective crusades, which has the two fighting it out in see-saw battle of intelligence backed up by relative insanity. An epic battle that only Nolan can truly capture in film.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Changes

They say that the only thing permanent in life is change.

Now before one goes on and claims the apparent contradiction, keep in mind that the more things change, the more things stay the same. Bravo Snake Plissken, despite being the stereotypical chauvinistic and gritty anti-hero, you surely showed a bit of depth with that nugget of wisdom.

People change, times change, the paradigm shifts and everything goes to hell, and back again. Whether it's the End of History as the old grand narratives of the Cold War, the two World Wars or the many wars of antiquity have come and gone, or a Clash of Civilization wherein the Age of Information has us in constant conflict due to our diverse belief systems, the natural progression, it would seem, is that of conflict.

There can really be no change if there is no conflict, on the personal or socio-political level. Lovers won't break up if there is no conflict, direct or indirect. It may be due to infidelity or simply the two moving in opposing directions. Nations and countries are mostly built around conflicts, war, protest or the people having an opposing view of the incumbent regime. It is not a question of violence, but rather the presence of an anti-thesis to challenge the existing model.

This of course begs the question, can change actually be proactive? Considering the idea of being proactive was born due to the ineffectivity of reactive behavior, that kind of makes the question null and void. Change for the sake of change maybe considered a proactive stance but then again, considering how such policies are merely for show then I guess that puts that idea in the crapper as well.

Is change then aligned to conflict and to a point, entropy? Perhaps there is truth to the saying that one does not need to fix what was never broken. Following that logic and applying that to people, can we truly change without being broken at first?

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

The Heart of the Matter (Forgive, But Don't Forget)

The Heart of the Matter, at least according to Don Henley, is forgiveness. Of course, the hit song, according to Henley, took him 42 years to write. While clearly an exaggeration, the concept of forgiveness does take a long time to conceive. With mankind's penchant of having personal biases, the very idea of accepting faults is somewhat contrary to one's very nature.

Then again, Henley did say that the song only took 4 minutes to sing. Once arriving at the point of admission, accepting the guilt and error of one's ways, everything just seems more streamlined. The healing is easier, faster. Once done with any notion of grudges, things are more agreeable, pleasant and understandable.

Forgive and Forget. The age old adage does lend some wisdom. However, forgetting would mean being unable to learn from past mistakes and errors. There is no wisdom in refusing to learn one's letters.

To err is human, to forgive divine. Indeed, being slighted is never pleasant. Notice however that there is not mention of forgetting in this similarly overused phrase. For whatever trespasses and transgressions received, it would be safe to assume that forgiveness will eventually come. Forgetting the entirety of the situation, the sins behind it all, on the other hand, is nigh impossible.

However, the hardest person to forgive is usually one's self. The practice is commonplace, people would feel better placing blame into something or someone, the self being the most convenient culprit or scapegoat. Boyfriend cheated on you, more likely than not, it has to be your fault. Somebody dies, it's your fault, you tell yourself. Such rationalizations make no sense to the outsider, but makes a mountain of logic to the bearer. It is mankind's curse of free will and ability to empathize that allows such things, and often these people find themselves broken.

Such self-pity can be comforting really. Majority do not want to admit it but it's a just so damn easy to explain everything with inherent misfortune. Perhaps it is time that people just stop and think to themselves "Have I forgiven myself already?"

And I say to myself "Yeah, just now..."

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Where Has the Time Gone?

Nowadays, seems like the reunions with friends of old are becoming too far and few in between. What is troubling personally is seeing how many children are popping up in the pictures of old acquaintances in various social networking sites. Usually meaning I'll end up getting an invitation for either a wedding or a baptismal... a clear sign that the days of innocent (well, actually, not-so-innocent) youth are slowly but surely coming to an end. It's only a matter of time until everyone I know is organizing children's birthday parties and I can't have any cake because I'm too old...

I just realized that I've forgotten more than I can remember. Looking back I could never figure out how I was able to argue that having public offices like government owned enterprises where best run by treating it like it was under the private sector and that the best public administrators are those who do more by doing less (i.e. steering instead of rowing). So many principles the theories I no longer recall where I could once write circles around them. Perhaps I should've saved those papers, might prove to be insightful despite that being of a different mindset.

It felt like yesterday that all the cares in the world where so distant that didn't warrant any attention. Used to be getting the paper or the schoolwork done was life and death. Concerns of the real world and what the future holds were more fleeting, and were shallow at best. There may be times that they pop up like that annoying guy who keeps asking you what's up even though you don't want anything to do with them, but still the episodes were short and felt like they were not canon to our personal continuity... until it's too late.

Regret is a sure sign that one is growing older. It's like a drug, we say we want to stop looking back and wishing things would be different, but we just can't help ourselves. We keep coming back, and we hate ourselves for doing so. Regret, as some may have surmised in the many ramblings prior to this entry, is a loathsome word that seems to brandish its dreary self more often than we wish. Whether we like to admit it or not, we all live through our regrets. It defines us in more ways than we think it does. It is a lot easier to be something we don't want to be than to be something that we want. Ambitions are more or less anchored by flights of fancy and going beyond possibility. Regrets and fears are usually based on a grounded rationale. Guess which one is more plausible?

People who say that they have no regrets are the people who've figured it out. They're not fooling themselves, they're not delusional. They understand the concept, and they embrace it. They don't kick themselves or sell themselves short every time they turn back to regret like a crack whore. They accept its part in reality and how in the end, success and failure, despite being polar opposites, follow they same laws of the universe: They are memories associated to them... and like most memories, they are destined to fade.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

The Joke's On You

Jokes are a devices meant to generate mirth, humor, laughter and general amusement. In the hands of the talented and eloquent, jokes can make light of weighty situations, obscuring the seriousness and presenting a more casual perspective. In the hands of the dubious, jokes can hurt, belittle and cause even the most meek of lambs into raving lunatics or the stoic to whimper. The more intelligent of us can make into art, often reflecting the current paradigm, or proving insight hidden between the lines of witty delivery.

The punchline can be so right on the money that it can even be more cruel than any crude and blatant insult. It hits right at home, cutting deep and proves to be more sad than funny, and yet we can't help but laugh in the sheer honesty of it all.

The funniest persons I know are usually the saddest persons I know. Humor is but a way to cope with the world's brutal ass-kicking we receive on a daily basis. With their insecurities and hang ups, the funny man, the comedian amongst us finds solace in making others laugh as a way to veil their own sadness. A joke that best describes this is taken from Alan Moore's Watchmen:

Heard a joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says "Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up." Man bursts into tears. Says "But Doctor... I am Pagliacci."

Context plays a critical role in the telling of jokes. One cannot illicit humor if the intended audience "isn't in on it". The relationship between a comedian and his/her audience by itself, serve as the very basis of the joke. Accepting that would mean that sometimes witty one-liners and zingers tells us more about the relationship, the dynamics behind it and why it exists.

Jokes are cultural, meaning what may be funny to a Frenchman may go way above the head of Somalian, obviously. Again, it reflects the popular paradigm that exists in that culture. Is it any wonder that majority of comics are also the smartest people around? Yet again, while the hahas and guffaws are plenty, taking a long look at the punchline usually results into a different perspective to a seemingly hopeless situation. So much so that the best we can do to cope with it is to make it sound cynically humorous.

One is led to ask why? Why is it that the comic in us would consider grave circumstances as material for our latest jape? Is it perhaps, that for us, life in itself is one big joke? Paraphrasing a quote taken from Alan Moore's Batman: The Killing Joke, is everything some monstrous, demented gag and we have no choice but to see the funny side? What if we refuse to see it? or worse... what if we don't get it?

Thursday, July 10, 2008

See the Unseen

Mama San once asked me what ever did happen to my supposed post on our trip to Baguio. I had grand ideas for that post too, even coming up with a rough outline like what most organized writers do instead of my usual "type until a make some sort of sense" technique of writing. I'd talk about the climate, the people, the food - ah such illusions of grandeur that perpetuate the mind of a hack.

Instead I'd prefer to keep Baguio ingrained in my mind and refuse to share it with the world because I don't think my words can ever do justice to the awesomeness of that road trip. I will however, touch on something... shall we say... unnatural?

Recently my interest in the occult and the paranormal have been piqued the past couple of days, perhaps because I recall being traumatized by certain movies in my childhood, one of which was the original Omen. Hence, my hatred towards small children who just stare at you and keep quiet. Seriously, tell me that's not creepy?

Speaking of out-of-town trips, one of the hazards of partaking in the great outdoors in a country which has a rich folklore like the Philippines usually means that paranormal stories and legends add to the flavor of the trip. That made absolutely no sense, but I don't really care, it sounded like it was profound and it meant something... whatever.

Mama San is gifted, or cursed, with what we call the Sixth Sense. "I see dead people" is just the tip of the iceberg, so M. Night Shamaladingdong only touched on very little on the aspect of ESP or the Third Eye. These people can also see beings that are not visible to the naked eye. You know, the underpants gnomes, them hobbits and fairies. Now you would think I would scoff at such things, but it is my firm belief that one should never discount the presence of beings beyond our understanding... I mean, come on, Britney Spears?

That said, I am absolutely certain that I'm blessed not to have such "gifts". On the other hand, the paranormal has a degree of appeal that leads me to keep coming back for more. Be it unexplained elements of a picture, strange smells of local flowers like a sampaguita while walking in isolated and poorly lit environs or mysterious knocks on one's bedroom door despite having no one there every time you answer it.

What is it about the unseen that stimulates man's imagination? A world within ours not seen by the naked eye does sound intriguing... but at the same time, I personally think it's somewhat depressing. Imagine a culture secluded from ours, knowledge unknowable to us for we lack that extra ability to see the unseen. Oh the things we could learn from one another.

Of course, while I see the missed opportunities of learning and sharing with an alternative culture, one that is beyond our imagination, I'm not for stirring the hornet's nest. To paraphrase the bastardize Hollywood version of Alan Moore's Hellblazer's Constantine, "You see them, they see you." Truly, sociological pursuits are the least of my concerns when faced with something that scares me honestly. Perhaps further exposure and understaning would take that away, but really, I'm just human. After all, it is simply in our nature to be afraid of the unknown.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Influence

True to the stereotype that plagues anyone who graduated from my beloved alma mater, I found myself sipping coffee in a lobby of a five-star hotel last weekend listening to some lounge music. While I have certain reservations of perpetuating that tag roughly translated to female genitalia, good music and pistachio cake made it all worthwhile.

The topic was somewhat strange considering present company at that time. While Mama San is your typical workaholic honor-student, I never figured her to be one who would appreciate mor abstract topics of art and literature. On the other hand, Jay, while not without depth, rarely discusses anything of philosophical and artistic value outside of his shirt business and forays into the realm of romance. Yes, the relationship challenged people were at it again, overANALyzing silly details of our inability to find significant companionship other than our crazy little troupe.

I find it somewhat strange that just because we were situated in a place of supposed sophistication and "class" that our discourse would touch upon high brow subject matters. It's quite awkward discussing my influence admiration to the works of Alan Moore, Jim Lee, Chris Avellone or Neil Gaiman outside of an online forum. Pleasantly surprising was Jay's wonderment for Vincent Van Gogh and the late George Carlin, something that was a totally unknown to me, despite knowing the douche bag for nearly a decade. People can indeed, surprise you from time to time. We needn't ask Mama San's literary influences, for fear of having to remember some overbearing statistical business drivel of a certain multinational corporation. Either that or I simply didn't give much of a damn simply because the lovely Mama San prefers romance novels, something that I wouldn't even consider good bathroom reading. No offsene meant Mama San.

I've alwasy considered sharing one's artistic and philosphical influences good coversation material. It presents me the opportunity to try and outgeek everyone else while throwing obscure internet culture in a real world setting. It also allows one an in-depth analysis of other people's personality and psyche. While it doesn't necessarily paint the entire picture, a small teaser is more often than not a good launching point for further inquiries and discussion. While this may sound like a bunch of new age hipster talk associated to Mactards who sip coffee in Starbucks while updating their Friendster/MySpace/Facebook/Twitter in their overpriced plasticky gadgets, it does have merit.

Assuming that influence is anchored on admonisihing the rhetoric of that person or that body of work, certainly we can derive an idea of how to place this person in our personal lives. While perception and adoption of such concepts aren't fully accurate, the notion that such beliefs can embed themselves in our minds presents an interesting, and sometimes amusing, dynamic.

Of course, that doesn't mean that influence alone can tell you of a person's ideology or belief system. Obviously it is just one aspect, and as I've said, merely a launching point for further investigation. To do so would create a situation ripe with conflict.

But what about the self? Would reviewing the various influences, and the changes in one's own view of such influences offer an appropriate venue of self-assessment? I don't see why not. Growth is best measured by seeing change or the lack thereof. What compromises that have been made or whatever conviction remains can tell us a lot of what we've become.

Thinking about it now, it seems that sharing one's influence is a selfish act with the positive externatily of learning about those who we share with. Besides being able to show who's got the bigger intellectual penis, we can step back and ponder on what we've just shared just then and compare and contrast from what we would have said years before. It wouldn't be too weird to shit bricks after realizing how much has changed or has remained the same.


Monday, June 16, 2008

Kicking the Habit

I type this smoking probably (and hopefully) the last few sticks of cigs I will ever smoke in this lifetime.

Strange that the idea of quitting a habit as unhealthy of smoking hit me recently. Granted, most people would plan and pain themselves considering how and when to quit. I figured that in the spirit breaking such a habit, it would be best to do it abruptly, if not out on a whim. That's just my style I guess.

No matter what the motivation behind such an idea would be, the fact of the matter is doing kicking a habits is a means to an end. Habits are nice, sometimes they can identify us, differentiate us, and even endear us to certain people. I doubt however, that the habit of smoking falls under such a category.

Granted, the biggest obstacle is perhaps psychological. I've embedded it into my head that smoking stimulates my mind and imagination, perhaps as a switch of sorts to turn stimulate my writing.... but really, looking at it now, I seem to have used that only as an excuse to prolong my addiction to nicotine. No more.

There's something to be said about habits and how it affects us. We use habits as a means to put ourselves in a place of comfort, a zone of certainty wherein we are the masters and we know exactly how things will turn out. Habits can be good or bad, that much is true. However habits should never define us. People might remember us because of certain quirks and habits, but I daresay that such things are never truly part of our inherent nature. After all, to be human is to realize our flaws, our quirks, and to the ability to chose to keep them, encourage them, or to do away with them entirely.

Going cold turkey is never easy. In fact the odds of succeeding seem very minimal given the statistics of quitting smokers. But all things must come to an end. My only motivation is that this was a choice made selfishly. Not for anyone and not for anything but myself. Perhaps I will succeed, eventually, or fail, but will surely try again. Still, the idea of deciding on something easily without contemplation gives me a good feeling. In the grander scheme of things, this isn't just about preservation of health, but a challenge of the mind. An inner-struggle to prove that I am not bound by habits and that I have control over my self.

It all sounds oh so melodramatic, but it doesn't have to be. As I see it, inner-struggle is an everyday thing, we all act normal and go on about our usual days, but in reality, each and every person battles conflicts within themselves. The surface may seem all calm and serene, but underneath lies a maelstrom of reason, emotions and inklings. Sometimes we may not even be aware of our own battles with ourselves.

While this started out as narcissistic blabber on my decision to kick the habit of smoking, it eventually, and expectedly shifted to narcissistic psycho-babble about man's nature and the conflict within, all the while stubbing out a stick not even half-way through.... I suppose I'm off to a good start.

But it'll be a cold day in hell before I think about quitting coffee though.

Saturday, May 31, 2008

Luck

Just recently did I realize someone had sent me one those damnable chain letters via email. Granted this one did the usual shtick with a little bit of panache: A Chinese proverb in a power point presentation. While I wouldn't mock people who send me such things, I do however feel the need to rant on it given the ludicrous suggestion that something like this could bring me luck. Never mind that the past few weeks has found me in a fouler mood than usual.

Luck, is not something magical, it's simply a word that is attributed to randomness and invisible probabilities. The phrase "it's better to be lucky than good" can be twisted to become an excuse to people who would prefer to not improve upon skill. I believe in luck, but I never rely on it.

What is sickening to me perhaps, is that I almost actually thought of sending 20 copies of this... drivel to 20 other people. As if I finally admitted that I'm getting a bit desperate and would gladly welcome a guarantee that my supposed luck would turn around after 4 days. Fortunately (and it is somewhat amusing that I say that word) such ruminations are passing and I regained my senses quick enough to dismiss such a notion.

Whether these things are true or not is besides the point. It's all a matter of principle. If I ever got what I wanted out of sheer luck, I would be filled with a certain amount of positivity. But somehow that wouldn't feel as gratifying as gaining something I struggled for. In the immortal words of Kalapana "I want the real thing or nothing at all". When you get lucky, it doesn't feel AS REAL as something that was accomplished through your own actions. Of course, that doesn't mean that I would deny such fortunes, but it wouldn't hurt to aspire to recieve something that your deserve for the sheer reason that you struggled and endured for it.

Courtship

I never really believed in courtship. Granted I've tried it before (successfully and unsuccessfully). But as we grow older it just seem like a dance, filled with the usual pleasantries and tried and tested modus operandi designed to put the best foot forward. While some of that could be sincere, you can never take away that it's all a big giant act, a show, a charade. Theatrics meant to woo an audience with a promise that the script won't change. Unfortunately, that's not really the case, whether you want to believe that or not.

I'm a firm advocate of putting down all the cards, for both sides. "These are my quirks, my idiosynchrosese, my flaws and my true feelings towards you. Let's see if we click." Why is it so hard to do this? Granted there are couples who start off as such, but they are more the exception rather than the rule. Admittedly there is some appeal to age-old romanticism surrounding the practice of courtship, but in this day and age wherein gender roles are evolving to be more and more similar, the appeal is easily lost in steady stream of complexities. The premise (which is mutual attraction between two individuals) remains mostly the same, but the setting has gone beyond the innocent and arguably naieve narrative of olden times.

Instead we're still playing chess, hiding our true motives with a series of strategic feignts, positioning and whatnot. Maybe that's why they keep saying there's a thin line between love and hate. That's not to say, one shouldn't send flowers, forego serenades or pass on writing love letters and poems, but rather ask for something that should be present in any type of relationship: Honesty.

"You Complete Me", is just about the biggest crock of bullshit to come out of popular media. Admittedly, at first glance it does sound sweet, romantic and heart warming. But ultimately it's in line with this incessant web-weaving of deciet that I've been ranting about. Even worse is that despite how much I like the movie in which that line originated from, it's hardly in context and you don't really see how Jerry Maguire was incomplete withouth Dorothy Boyd.

Maybe, instead of fiinding someone to complete us, we should be complete for the ones we love. Because it is at that point, when we find ourselves complete, that we can come up to someone and tell them "I like you. We click, we get along. You know my agenda, my intentions. Your interests and mine may or may not coincide, but I feel drawn to them. What say we explore this and see if this goes deeper?" It is only when your convictions are true and sure that this will come of sincere.

Then again, this could be why I've been single for two years....

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Sensing the Inevitable

There are times when people get a quasi sixth sense, a sort of intuition. The ability to see things beyond the obvious (and sometimes, see what is obvious yet overlooked by many) and predict the impending outcome of situations. It's not magic or innate psychic abilities, but more of a combination of years of experience and wisdom with regards to human behavior that provides these unexplainable moments of clairvoyance.

Most often than not, these moments are best characterized as moments wherein one wishes to be wrong. "People can surprise you", true, but it wouldn't be called a surprise if it happens frequently enough. How then, should one handle such scenarios?

On one hand, you have optimism. Go against gut feel and logic and risk it all. While the Rambler has always ascribed to such reckless, devil-may-care choices which results to a pittance of fleeting regret, we cannot take away that feeling of self-loathing. A resonating "You knew this would happen" plays over and over again in our heads - an afterimage of stupidity, irrationality and a constant reminder of pain. This leads us to question: "was it worth it?" Despite knowledge that the game we are about to play a game that cannot be won, will the moral victory of saying "at least I tried" overshadow the realization that we fell to the grips of idiocy and futile wishful thinking?

On the other hand, we could salvage our pride and dignity by simply killing off such thoughts and feelings. Maybe even walk away, lick your wounds and focus on moving on to the next prospect. As defeatist as it may sound, it is quite difficult to refute the logic. Pull back before you get in too deep. Pain would be minimal, but would there's always that nagging feeling that could easily turn to regret or contemplation of what might have been.

Then again, what if you were wrong? What if, despite all the clear and obvious signs, you actually misread the message? Or maybe prevalent cynicism and negativity has clouded your judgment?

You'd think that having such foresight would prove beneficial. But why is it, whenever we sense the inevitable, we are more conflicted at what to do?

Friday, May 16, 2008

Another year older

I stand on the precipice of age, a quarter of a century in existence. It is quite overwhelming, given that it feels as the years just flew by. But it is also endearing, as I look back to all the joys, the laughter, the tears and wisdom gained along the way, I find that there are still many things in store for me. Most of which would probably never cross my mind today. 25 years is a long time, yet it still feels like I have only finished the first leg and everything seems new again.

Life is a journey, so they say. As we go through it we pass by multiple crossroads and paths, leading to answers (if not questions) on what to do with our mortal lives. Excuse the usage of banal statement, but saying "It's not the destination that counts, but the journey" is probably the truest statement comes to mind. After all, in life, the destination is, as much as we hate to admit it, death.

Experience is a gift. To deny that is foolish. Whether good or bad, memorable or not, anything we experience shapes us, molds our being and contributes to our growth. What I've been through, what I am and what I will become, I owe it all to experience. Still, no matter the cards I've been dealt, the decisions on what to do with them, lies solely on my choice and my free will.

What to expect now as I hit the big two-five? I don't know, and frankly I don't care. Take life as it comes. To plan is good, but in a world that prefers randomness, chaos and unforeseeable probabilities, even the best laid plans tend to falter. Accept and adapt. Savor the moments, enjoy, partake of life's cup of suffering and joy. That is what makes it worth living.

Friday, May 9, 2008

Define Attraction

According to WordNet:

  • the force by which one object attracts another
  • an entertainment that is offered to the public
  • the quality of arousing interest; being attractive or something that attracts
  • a characteristic that provides pleasure and attracts
  • drawing card: an entertainer who attracts large audience

Obviously, that doesn't answer the title. After all, the context of which the title was formulated is quite specific but does raise a valid query when speaking of interpersonal interactions, relations and what-have-you.

There can never be true significance to a relationship without attraction. Notice that the word true was added to that statement. After all, there are still people out there who are capable of deception and manipulation. The question really is whether or not attraction is immediate or gradual, if not both. Should one abandon all hope of progress simply because there was no initial attraction taking place? Of course, this raises the immediate objection that there are external factors influencing that decision. Bad experiences, personal biases, peer pressure and ability to read people are among the chief elements why such notions are made. However, there are times when individuals just get it right the first time, first impressions may last or gut feel can immediately tell one that this isn't worth pursuing.

On the flip side, and if you're familiar with the Disney animated film Beauty and the Beast, particularly the song Something There, there might actually be something there that wasn't there before. The correct term would be "it grows on you", then again the possibility of self-delusion i.e. wanting it so badly that you start rejecting reality is highly probable. Still, the wisdom in looking beyond the facade or under the tip of the proverbial iceberg is quite difficult to challenge.

While our mileage may vary, the conundrum of attraction befalls each and everyone of us. Even misanthropes, since well, they are still human and sentient enough to realize the need for human contact. The problem of determining it's presence is but the first step. Then one moves on to a more dreadful phase.... what to do with it.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Answers

Answers are, and have always been, a scarce resource of human civilization. Granted, answers can be easy to get given the right approach and/or resources, but really, how many of us have that capability? For the rest of us tortured souls, the answers we seek require a bit more questioning, time and luck. It is even unfortunate that due to certain circumstances that we face, some of us will have to suffer never getting answers to the questions that plague our conscience. Truly a breeding ground for regrets and failed aspirations. Meh, you'll live.

Then again, there are times that the answer simply comes with no work on our end. It could be in the form of self-realization or external stimuli. Frankly, such things are quite welcome considering just how much better it is to know what the score really is rather than be in the dark on such personal matters. Creating allusions to the truth, blinding and misleading. A lot more painful and disheartening in the long run to be quite honest.

The difficulty in knowing the answers is dealing with accepting them, if not the repercussions associated with them. Worse even, it seems answers always come in the form or rejection or disappointment that one is forced to ponder on the benefits of being clueless vis-a-vis knowing the truth.

Once accepted however, the answer becomes a thing of humor, a lesson, a reminder. It serves as a case study that you were once foolish, naive, and petty. I've always said that recovery is just a matter of getting to Point B from Point A, the in-between may be difficult, painful and depressing but you will eventually get there.

Saturday, May 3, 2008

Questions

We've all experienced times when we, after an activity or long day at work, are forced to go into a auto pilot state. Of course, the state is hardly without brain activity, as the time spent on this long arduous trips back to our place of dwelling is reserved to more introspective matters. This commute is reserved, rather, for internalizing a million questions in our mind, wondering how this day, or the events prior to it, could've gone another way.

Once alighting your vehicle of choice, the outside world seems to hardly matter. The wonders of the human brain comes into play, despite an absence of focus, we manage to find our way home, whether driving or taking numerous stops via public transportation. Some may claim this time to be therapeutic, and it truly is.

We finds ourselves asking questions that we fear to ask another person, simply because the notion of vulnerability this implies scares us more than any we can imagine. The truth, the most honest to goodness facts are there, ripe for picking. While a few close confidants may know or have an idea of such, they will remain a closely guarded secret. As for how long, that, to be quite honest, is relative.

Was it something you said? Did you do the right thing? Should you have waited or did you wait too long? Should you have said the truth? Maybe it would be better if you lied back there? Would it better to just forget it? Is this something you will regret? Is this what you really want? Were you being stupid? Do you really love her? Does she even feel the same way? What does this mean to you? How will this affect you? Can you even go through with it? Does she know? Do they know? Think you can trust her? Can you trust them? Why are you even asking yourself this questions? Will you even find the answers? When the time comes, can you really say that you will do the right thing, or falter in the end like you've always have?

More often than not such questions have no answers, thrown into the winds of the mind, floating, never finding reprieve. While being plagued with such questions are maddening, it only lasts for the duration of the trip. What seems like countless hours was actually only a few minutes, and then it's over.

You find yourself empty, filled with uncertainties and nothing more. While this may constitute as self-inflicted torture to some, the mere act of asking them, even internally, is a form of release. Because as each question is left lingering and unresolved, you realize that in those few short moments, you confided in the best person in that situation: You.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Zeezoobic

Recently, our gracious employers had the courtesy to send our rag-tag group of misfits and Internet meme geeks to the beaches of Subic. This so-called recreational trip, dubbed Zeezoobic, was months in planning, and the anticipation was on an all-time high. Granted, I already went to the former-military -base-turned-tourist-spot the week prior, the idea of mentally dissecting these diverse individuals was a welcome distraction to the day-to-day boondoggle that we subject ourselves to.

Of course, such long trips would require us to rendezvous on the godforsaken hours of the early morn like some deprived, militaristic gaggle of grunts. Suffice to say, the best solution for some was to forgo the comforts of their own beds and relatively clean bathrooms. Considering I had a prior engagement that night, I decided my best course of action was to give the Sandman the proverbial finger and make him wait until I was riding the bus before I succumb to his restful whispers.

True enough, I arrived early, lacking sleep and in desperate need of a caffeine fix. As exhilarating as the dawn's breeze was, the long trek on foot to the only convenience store of worth and the decision of skipping my usual 4 hours of slumber was beginning to prove foolish. Still, this was caffeine we're talking about, and God forbid I miss out on my daily intake.

The bus arrived rather early, which was a good thing as it only enticed us to consider further the hedonistic pleasures that we were about to be subjected to. Then again, perhaps hearing one such as myself asking for someone to lead a prayer erased all that, a foreshadowing of what lies ahead is a bizzarro world wherein the Rambler is actually religious. Guess what, there is that bizzarro world and you're living in it. You think you know, but you have no idea.

The trip itself was a blur, this was a far cry from my other travels with those of my usual circle of ...well, friends. That, and I was asleep majority of the time except for eating meals and answering the call of nature. I could go on and ramble further about the philosophical value of dreaming in a moving vehicle but quite frankly such things are best kept secret.

In the instance that we arrived I immediately felt the urge to gather insight upon seeing the pristine waters and fine grains of sand that lie before me. The rays of the scorching sun licking my exposed epidermis and the salty sea air has a mystique all on its own. Yes, poetic bullcrap once again, you'll get that a lot when the Rambler travels.

The food was a welcome development, any self-respecting kampampangan will tell you that. Insult their cooking and you're in for a world of fast-paced verbal assaults the likes that would make even the most brutally dry British tosser blush. Other things of note was the various amenities available to visitors. Clean bathrooms, karaoke machine, a makeshift volleyball court, jetski, banana boats, a billiard table and a gigantic chicken that probably owed its existence to Chocobos. Yes, this little shindig was proving to be well worth the price of admission (Seriously, the bathrooms alone are worth it).

Onwards to the itinerary. A pseudo-Amazing Race activity built to explore just how twisted the minds of the committee members are when it comes to formulating subtle tortures toward their fellow man. Weeks of scheming would come down to this, and expectedly, road bumps marred our well-planned gauntlet. Still, there's something about seeing co-workers suffer through a series of tests of your own making. Let's just say the Rambler felt a warm and fuzzy feeling inside.

The rest of the day allowed all to enjoy the amenities Sunset Cove had to offer. Despite the atrocious heat of the sun and sand, the time spent was quite relaxing. While the concept of seeing colleagues scantily-clad in their swimwear provided new... erm.. observation towards such persons, it was the landscape that proved to be quite impressive. The refraction of the setting sun's light against the calm waters painted a wonderland of orange and purplish horizons. The mountainside was donned with a tangerine veil that only added to their enigmatic aura. Greens and blues gave off a different tint, making one think this was some sort of messed-up crossover collaboration between dirty hippies and a drugged-up Van Gogh.

In a manner of moments, it was nightfall and this means only one thing. Booze and merriment. While the unfortunate few may have missed the happenings of that evening, those moments, those little glimpses of possibilities will live on in my memory forever, for the sake of blackmail of course. I could go on detail on the events that night, but then again, let that be our little group's secret. While the Rambler did wish for certain things to happen or to develop, the idea that everyone was enjoying themselves was perhaps enough, and whatever selfish reasons I had were best left in the back burner, or better yet, forgotten forever like the futile pursuit that it was.

After awakening from alcohol-laced sleep, I was surprised to find out most of memory was still intact.... much to my chagrin. Still, this day could only prove to be even better. While it was less controversial as... say, the night prior, the enjoyment was still present. By the way, beach volleyball is fun, as long as the ball does not come to you.

It was time to go home and it felt bittersweet. The idea of going back to your comfort zone is always nice, but leaving Zeezoobic felt a lot like leaving unfinished business. Whatever that business is, I don't know. Still can't help shake the feeling that there was something that I should have done. Meh, such musings are boring at best I always say.

The return to normalcy can be a downer, but the idea of going back knowing that we bonded with each other can be quite exhilarating and overwhelming at the same time. I'd like to think that Zeezoobic is but the first step to a lot of things in our little slacker company's future. For ill or for better, Zeezoobic will always be ours, no matter what.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Sometimes, Games Are All We Have

It is quite normal that people associate life with games. After all, there are certain rules that govern our existence, some to be followed, bended, or simply broken. Some people are better at it and some are not. Suffice to say, whether we like it or not, we all play our own little games.

Our propensity to play these games differ from person to person. At the end though, it is all a matter of knowledge. Knowledge on the other players, the field of battle, our own capabilities and whatnot. Some use influence, physical beauty, sweet and enticing words, wealth and other creative factors that can help in managing the hand we've been dealt with. There's something to be said about people who can do this on conscious level over those who only do it subconsciously. Frankly, caution with dealing with such individuals is the first reaction, unless of course one is capable of going with the tide of the game, scheming, plotting and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Otherwise, it is only pure luck and the randomness of human emotions that decide the outcome of such unbalanced interactions.

Now, this may sound all diabolical, only because this Rambler does not ascribe to the notion that such mind games are intended to one-upmanship and harm. Games are meant to be fun after all. The witty banter and clever retort of two scribes, the listless dance of flirting and the mystery of budding relationships can prove to be just as complex and strategically interesting as the most putrid and disgusting web of lies some players are capable of weaving. Games, just as anything that mankind can cook up is a neutral tool - its intent, motivation and moral direction dependent on its wielder.

The more serious of us would claim that life is not a game. Yet the metaphor matches so well that one wonders if such ideals are but another way of playing. While these people may believe in their hearts of hearts that they are not partaking of such parlor activities, others may still be playing with them, or worse, playing THEM.

After all, try us we might, the world does not revolve around any of us, and a thousand games, each with their own set of rules and nuances, are present in all interactions and relations we have. But there is something that holds such things together, something deep and meaningful, something that goes beyond mere games. Be it genuine interest or the sincere longing for social interaction, the games we play may actually revolve around that very thing. Whatever it is, it must be really worth playing for. Otherwise, and it would be quite melancholic to think so, games are all we'll ever have.

Friday, April 4, 2008

What dreams may come

Dreams have always boggled mankind. A bevy of mental images strewn by our complex subconscious, dreams hold many meanings, some of which we easily misinterpret. Even the so-called experts of dreams have yet to find the definitive truths regarding the uncharted realm of our minds. Of course, can we really blame them? Consider for a moment that no two people are exactly the same, and then you have numerous ideas clashing together in a maelstrom of emotions, biases and whatnot. It wouldn't be a stretch to claim that dreams are unique to their owner, oh no, not at all.

I like dreams, they are certainly preferable to nightmares. But nightmares are just bad dreams, a representation of what we do not fully comprehend. It is simply our imagination twisted by that ignorance, giving birth to the bastard children of inherent reluctance to the unknown and lack of understanding of what is beyond our bubble of knowledge.

I would daresay however, that certain dreams are far worse than nightmares. Take for example, a dream that presented itself quite recently. In this lifelike vision, I saw the past change, shifting to a more desirable outcome, one that has eluded me in reality. Oh Lady Reality, you heartless bitch. How I loathe and adore thee.

What made this imagery even more loathsome is presence of a current prospect, forced to watch as I shut her off abruptly from the possibilities of our collaboration. Would she really care? This musing was fleeting, as bliss took me captive, promising a delightful prison of which I would joyfully cage myself into, or so I thought. While the dream was indeed so life-like that I found myself asking if this is really happening, the truth was slowly beginning to manifest itself. Starting as a slow murmur, it built itself up, slapping me silly and finally reminding me of the cold, harsh truth. This was not real.

One might ask, why do I consider this vision distasteful? Surely my truest desires are coming true, only in my head yes, but the normal reaction would be a pleasant one, correct? It is perhaps my new found grasp of morality, or despite how badly I want this fake reality to come into being I know it to be nothing but a lie. It's a distinct possibility that I did not want to ruin the present, no matter how uncertain it is. Or maybe, just maybe, this was not what I really wanted?

It is for this very reason that despite waking up without the cold sweat and uncontrollable shaking akin to vivid incubi, I would gladly welcome such minute irritations over the nagging feeling of mixed wonderment and muddiness. The aftermath of having dreams that border between true desire, clairvoyance and wishful thinking have a tendency to make us stop and look, wondering what might have been, what could be, and even what may never be.

Questions have a way of popping up like mushrooms, and in this case the figurative fungi was sprouting out in full force. Was I looking at an alternate reality, a path that I was unable to explore in the storyline of my existence? Or was I looking at a sign that there is a second chance and would ignoring this sign close that window of opportunity for all eternity? Or was I simply looking at the mirror image of my regrets and failed aspirations taking shape in my dreams?

Dreams like these, hopefully come and go, however the fallout - the markings - that they leave will probably come back to haunt us over and over again, and unfortunately, the answers and the solutions, may never come to us in this lifetime.