Amazing Grace

Sometimes even the most battle-weary people want a respite from the cold cynicism they employ as an amour. They would like to believe that everything can truly be as beautiful as it's made out to be. Even people, especially people. We all want to have faith that the people we surround ourselves with are innately good. Even when experience or logic tells us otherwise.

The term one is compelled to think of in times like these is 'Blind faith'.
As opposed to Sighted Faith? Words are such curious things.

I find myself suffering lapses in my memory as of late. For the other reason (that of being naive) is far too disgusting to admit to myself.

Someone like me should have given up naivety for absolute, world-weary cynicism a long time ago.

But people like me learn well.

We learn not to let the bastards grind us down.


One random musing of the day--I hate dealing with henpecked men who dare to do shit behind their spouses/partners' backs but do not have the guts to confess to it in front of the women. The fuckers. That's an accurate term for those assholes, both literally and figuratively. Because that's what they will do to your mind and soul, fuck it over and then leave. Like as though it was only so much meat. If you have the guts to do it, be a real man and have the guts to admit it. Who gives a damn whether or not you're rich or brilliant, handsome or suave?

If you ain't got no real balls, all that swagger is just so much fluff.

And you're about as much of a real man as Barbie is. Might as well get your balls loped off. They're just appendages that happen to be there and will function as reproductive tools. Because your genes are sure as hell not worth spreading about. And if I've got more balls than you, you're so overrated, six-pack or not.

So, guys. Really. Just develop some real balls if you haven't already got them.

Excuse my french.

love, lost.

All over the world each day, the sound of hearts being broken resounds and reverberates, forming a melancholic melody.

Tonight, tonight. Tonight my heart has also transformed into an instrument, and the sound of its strings being broken has joined the chorus of that tragic melody.

Alas, what have I allowed you to captivate me with? The fault only lies with my generousity in the affairs of the heart. I have been such a blinded fool.

My father's child

For the second time in as many weeks, I gazed upon my father's face with sadness. How it pains me to see how he has aged! From my towering, strongman of a hero, into a shrunken copy of his former self. No longer generous and strong, his arms are now wiry, and liver-spotted. His jowls and cheeks have begun to droop, as though he is carrying an immense burden that only his heart is witness to. And the imposing frame he used to cut is now lost, leaving behind a man whom I seem on the brink of dwarfing at times. The years have not been kind to him.

Why has he aged so swiftly, as though it all fleeted past my very eyes? Why have I failed to notice these past years the transformation of my childhood hero and star?

This struggle he undertakes, this need to be in a foreign land which I do not consider home, it is in part for me, for my family. And for my well-being, for the sake of the promised better future, he's worked all his adult life. The greatest sacrifice of all.

It is time for me to learn more about him, about his roots...my roots. And to reclaim this half-stranger as my own, my dearest, the man who first taught me that sadness and love could be the same thing.

And perhaps one day, I too, will make the journey to connect myself to our shared roots. To where my forefathers, who gave up so much and endured the toil and sacrifice so that I could be where I am today, came from.

Maybe, just maybe, I will be one step closer to being my father's child. The child of my ancestors. By acknowledging the roots i have been so keen to ignore and downplay all this time.

Somo Novios

I've been dancing again. Tiptoeing about, jumping in exhilaration, spining and turning in circles, gliding across the floor, and then feeling the waves of fatigue wash over me. The smooth, cool wood beneath my feet as I navigate the room. You could say it's also a metaphor for the way my life is right now.

Perhaps it's age sinking in, or perhaps I've forfeited the desire to see everything in a rosy light, but there are days where I no longer bother. The buzz of determination and drive no longer fuels me, and there is a multitude of divergent roads in this dense foilage I cannot fight my way out of.
I do not quite care which one I shall wander down. Que? Life is no longer purpose-driven.

Waves of sepia-toned nostalgia wash over me, insistent and repeatitive. Snitches of sound, fleeting sights, and almost-there sensory experiences. And more then ever, I've been reminiscing about childhood escapades. How fast the minutes and seconds pass, life slipping through my fingers like so many grains of sand.

It haunts me, the creeping emptiness of years past. And the hot, torrential flood of tears often looms, but whatever have they been summoned up for?

Sitting in the shade of a bay window, the warm wooden sun-kissed table and chair were transformed into the perfect citadel for me, but instead of lounging on the chair while nursing my steaming hot coffee, I merely felt the persistent weariness that came from carrying an oversized gunny sack of unknown worries. It has seeped its way into my bones, my very fibre of being. I am bone weary.

Waking up from fitful sleep this past week, I find that I am often huddled with my hands over my heart, like a protective shield. What is there to protect myself from?

Me?

My horrid start to the New Year

Well, just when I was breezing along and doing oh, so well, I managed to screw up at work. Very badly at that too, I should think.
It was a case of miscommunication caused when I misheard my boss.
Needless to say, I'm mortified......And I know the powers that be at work are not pleased.
Anymore mistakes and I'll have to kiss my job goodbye. Ouch.
Apologies are really mere words after all, so I guess I really have to work even harder than before to redeem myself. Courage and persistence will get me there in the end. So, here's to me!

Though I must say, I have learnt through my weeks on the job that teaching is definitely not a future career option for me. Especially after the past 2 weeks.

Otherwise, everything else seems to be smooth sailing. So, thank the Lord for small mercies!

Happy 2009 to all!

p.s. To all CCSS grads, go check out your mailbox on Facebook if you're a member of the virtual Alumni group there. If not, ask me more! It sounds fun (: I have volunteered to be the emcee......don't laugh, now.