Why is loneliness more inspiring than happiness?

Shots! Shots! Shots | Photo take here.

 
Why is loneliness so much more inspiring than happiness?

So so so much more.

Why is that?

...that when I am brimming with joy, I would much rather ramble and jump like a kangaroo than dig deep into my soul pockets and create something.. something worthwhile.

I remember back in grade school, I was a member of our school's literary club and I remember writing so many poems and prose and essays every time my best friend and I would fight, or every time I got bullied, or every time I'd feel like an idiot when I flunk a quiz after studying the night before, or every time I would I get scolded by my parents. These poems, at that time, were what I considered my best work. In fact, three of the many got published. In fact, those three published poems were key to helping pass the high school of my choice.

Why can't happiness do the same?

Why can't happiness be just as inspiring?

And why is it that when we're lonely, a hollow seems to form inside our stomachs?

In mine at least. A hollow that I want to fill with booze! And every time I do, every time I oblige, I still do not fill out the hollow. Why is it that the booze can never fill the hollow (me) in my stomach enough to let me surface out of loneliness? And yet, I keep drinking it, knowing all too well that it will not get better in the morning, that the hangover will only worsen it.

Lonely, lonely, lonely.

A Need to Return to Never Never Land

Photo taken here.

It's like I barely have faith in anything anymore. It's not a hasty generalization. My full embracing of the pragmatic paradigm I carry oh so proudly has caused the death of a big chunk of what made me who I am before, what made me interesting, what made me fun, what made me surprising, what made me quirky, what made me silly, what made me passionate, what made a little bit (that's underplaying it) out of this world. I've killed that part to become who I think I should be. But I wonder now, is it worth it? The change, the sacrifice, the consequence: the person I am right now.

Last night, I went out with Martin and Brian and his sister Louie to Metro Walk to have Martin's and Brian's fortunes told, or rather, to have a peak of what the stars have in store of them, to gain access to that elusive light the stars can give them, the seek a certain someone tapped by the cosmos to be some sort of gateway to the secrets of the universe. His name was August, and he was 30 minutes late from their midnight appointment.

Fastforward to 6am, when Martin and I were on our way home, it dawned on me that I've become a non-believer in most many things! I found it poetic that I thought of this at dawn. And as the faintest sunlight hit the road, that was when it occurred to me that my ego has been, for the longest time now, suffocating my id and thus, the imbalance I'm experience which comes to me in the form of restlessness, insecurity, jealousy, that feeling of inadequacy, that something is missing.

Outside of work, I've a rountinal life which is bad enough considering that my life in the office is routinal too. Nothing shocks me anymore. Yeah surprises here and there abound in our squared life inside our office which is literally fit into a square space, but nothing too extraordinary. And I long for that, and I hate it that I'm making my work my main life to the point that when I'm out of the office "having a life," I talk about my life in the office. That sucks. And I'm not pleased, no matter how much I love my work.

I want something new to talk about. I want to do something new. I want to meet new people and not continue to batter myself over my lack of friends in the office. I want a change in the system. I want to find a hobby. And I find the very idea of wanting to find a hobby weird since that should be the easiest thing! A hobby is something you enjoy, something you find interesting, something that keeps you awake and happy. I'm saddened that I don't know what should be my hobby.

Writing has always been a hobby. I used to keep a journal where I scribbled poetry, prose, essays, fiction, non-fiction, dear-diary moments, and all words in between, but ever since I've carved a career from this hobby, I don't know what else I should do and so, being with friends who've known me since grade school, Martin and Brian, jolt me out of the very square system I've trapped myself in. They jolt me and remind me that there's more out there to explore, that I need to once again open my mind and reconnect with the universe, and by universe, I refer to that time of uninhibition.

I need to return to Never Land, and the first step I need to take is to read my old journals in order to get to know myself again. Though forward is the direction we should be leading to, a look-back on the steps we took prior to where we stand on right now will serve as our compass. That's something new I will believe in.

Conrado de Quiros

Conrado de Quiros never fails to engage me with his writing. He is passionate and sharp and witty and biased and fair and snide and brave and funny and heart-warming and poetic and cruel and kind. I bet it'd be excruciating to work under his wing. But then again, if that's what it takes to close to half as good he is as a writer, why not?

Here are my favorite excerpts from his column today, titled "Pulling through", a commentary on P-Noy's first 100-day report which is called "Report kay Boss":

Photo taken here.

It shows that the Pinoy is not the supine and prostrate and mendicant individual the dole-out approach to alleviating poverty makes her out to be. She is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she just lacks an attribute or two, or an endowment here and there, to bring her to where she wants to go, to enable her to grasp the heights she means to reach. All she needs is a little help from her friends. Or her president.

From the other end, it shows that P-Noy is not the lost and dazed and Hamletian leader his critics make him out to be. He is perfectly capable of grace under pressure, or acting so easily, so naturally, to get people—or a country—out of a bind. He just isn’t loud, he just doesn’t spend his time advertising it. He will yet show his mettle, enabling this country to reach the heights it means to grasp. All he needs is a little help from his people. Or his Boss.

To read the full article, click on this link: "Pulling through" by Conrado de Quiros

Wasn't that beautiful?

I always wonder why brillant minds like this guy don't run for politics. But eventually, I realized that think tanks like them are needed as spectators, to play's devil's advocate, to be a critic, to be a fan--perspectives I worry they may no have the luxury of possessing once they are placed at the eye of the storm, that is, Philippine politics.

First Post

I wanted to become a botanist when I was a kid. I remember picking leaves from our garden, placing them in a jar full of water to soak under the sun, and then adding alcohol a few hours later. It would then emit this rich, intoxicating smell that I thought was pretty awesome. I was so into plants at that time that I even considered pooling my savings to subscribe to this (now defunct?) magazine called Agriculture! Luckily I didn't. Instead, I continued to spend my allowance on those cardboard X-Men cards.

Fastforward to sophomore high school when I decided to become a journalist. I joined all those communication-related clubs to sharpen my skills. Poetry club. School magazine. Debate. That was a golden time for me, in sophomore year, I mean. It was the time I discovered that I could write. My English teacher, Ms. Carol, gave me my first A and the first A she'd ever given in her teaching career, she said. My heart literally grew wings. I realized that I had a talent, that I wasn't just a hardworker. She said that I should honor my "gift" by making use of it. That turning point pushed me to dream to become a journalist.

Fastforward to after college, and I found myself not in journalism but in corporate communication, a field I never even knew existed and yet somehow, it fit me. I love my job! I get to write, travel, attend events, and rub elbows with interesting and important people like politicians, media men and women (whom I feel are kindred spirits), and hotshot executives. One thing I don't like about it though, is that with all the business writing I'm doing on a daily basis, I feel my creativity being stunted. That would only make my creative writing gurus frown even if I was never really their stellar or favorite student. Still.

I was watching Marley and Me in Star Movies earlier tonight when my brother asked me how hard is it to write a column. I said that it depends on the frequency and the number of words. Originally, Owen Wilson's character only had to write a column twice a week. Then, after readership skyrocketed, his column became a daily. And what really did he write about? Everything and anything! Sigh. How lucky.

I've always wanted to have a column. Starting today, I will write on this blog everyday. This is a challenge I will be undertaking in spite of the busy schedule. A time to write and honor a gift. Here I go!