The great escape

A trip to Manila, like a particularly bad dinner's unwanted leftovers, stared us in the face. And we knew we had no choice but to eat it. Think of those poor starving Sudanese children. No yes or no, just a simple waste not want not. We're going to Manila. Why? For a holiday, that's why. We had leftover Air Asia credit, or something like that, and obviously there was some sort of obligation to spend it despite how none of us wanted to go anywhere at all. So Manila it was.

We carried on with this daydream the way a kid fantasizes about a dentist appointment. It had to be done. Mom fell to booking a hotel and whatnot. Apparently the task of securing our accommodation was so stressful that she yielded to the stress altogether. She couldn't do it, not since three difficult critics never failed to moan and groan, every holiday, about her choice of hotel, itinerary, and destination. She threw in the towel. Dad sure wasn't going to do it. The idea! The remaining two members of the family didn't give two hoots about the state of our obligatory vacation, which, by the way, was on the verge of being canceled. To everyone's delight, it was canceled. Talk about a close shave. So we'd lose the credit. So what? Some things are more important than money.

Vanity fair

It would seem that expressing oneself is a perfectly acceptable thing to do, and doing so is generally applauded, or at least entertained, without thought as to how much entertainment everyone can bear. I suppose it can be therapeutic to you (and no one else), when you sing, dance, draw, write, or perform any number of those activities that you feel is a particular strength. Unfortunately, it doesn't follow that you'd be good at what you like. It's impossible to practice talent. Consider American Idol. Why let others see the extent of your self-delusion?

Oh, what a glorious feeeeling

This has nothing to do with getting the SAT over and done with. It could, but it doesn't. It's agony waiting for my results, really. This could be me despite the SAT. This is because the heavens seem to be rather generous as of late.

First Switchfoot - now Explosions in the Sky?

Can this be true? Can it? It sure does. At least, I hope so. I'd pick Explosions if I had to forgo one for the other. As it happens, I wouldn't have to make such a painful decision. I can go for both, provided I manage to lay hands on a ticket. I'm haaappy again...

The why is irrelevant

It matters, having an opinion. It is with this in mind that I write to express my disbelief at people who have nothing to say about anything at all, be it because they're painfully shy or painfully empty-headed. They have no comments, thoughts, ideas. Nothing intelligent to say. Zip. On the occasion that they do have something to contribute to a conversation, said contribution usually takes the form of a timid monosyllable. Which really is nothing at all. Why shouldn't you use what sets you apart from the animals? I blame your school and parents - you can blame your upbringing. Two distinct choices. Pick one if you can.

A positive way to look at it is that our schools are mass-producing the finest lot of hamsters the world has ever seen. They're intensely interested in tiny little things and quite proud of being able to run on their very own hamster wheel. Once in a while one of these honest rodents manages to escape from his cage and starts anew. Such cases are rare, but when it happens I assure you, the angels sing and the heavens rejoice. One might ask why the venom, why the hamsters, why can't we all just get along? It's because I see such hamsters people all the time. And it's incredibly frustrating.

Worse still are those who talk and talk and yet have little to say.

I guess I'll stop now.

Let me eat cake

One more week to the SAT. I got cold sweat yesterday just thinking about it - probably for the first time - and it occurred to me that I was experiencing what others commonly call anxiety or stress or whatever. I've tried, really I have, not to feel anything of the sort. It would seem I've failed. Yes, I've heard about how the test is oh-so-easy. This is like a terrified child about to receive an injection and hearing how quick it'll be over. The child listens but cannot believe, because all he can see is the shiny point of the needle waiting to do him mortal harm. Only a fool isn't afraid when he ought to be afraid, eh?

I took the practice test the other day and came out with an estimated score of 74% (assuming I wrote an average essay). I was delighted. Any score above 50%, I told myself, would be enough. The way I see it is that I've never been to school or taken an exam in my life. Consider that in your calculations and you might understand what an accomplishment it is for me to scale the peaks of mediocrity and reach 74%. This is just me of course. The powers-that-be feel otherwise: enough is ever good enough. If I can do better, they say, why not do better? Squandering opportunities, I say, is the privilege that belongs to the privileged.

Hence the inability to reach for the stars, as it were. I'm happy with the coconut trees and the grass and the good old dirt of the earth. I've been told that this is likely to be a defense mechanism triggered by a fear of failure or disappointment. This has a grain of truth to it. Even lies help us realize the truth, as Picasso once said. But such speculation can hardly be called a lie. It's just a little grain of truth. A bigger grain of truth, a regular nugget of gold to be honest, is that it's probably a ploy to fall on the stars when one misses the coconut trees. It's so easy to exceed expectations when they're ridiculously low.

I guess the problem is that I'm too easily satisfied. In which case, that could be the secret to a happy, care-free life. So why should that be a problem at all?

All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives there lies a mystery.

George Orwell wrote a brilliant essay titled "Why I Write." I've always liked writers who write about writing. They're consistently frank, direct, true, revealing, inspiring: everything I'd like to be. Everything we ought to be.

You should read it.

Ampersand

I'm letting my words be few.

(Tis the season for) what now?

Whoops, I've done it again.

I've stepped on a few toes. I'm more than aware of the whispers going around about my post on the recent FGA youth camp and Louie Giglio's video - and people's responses to said video at said camp. To be fair, I Googled up the video and saw it in its entirety here. My verdict? It hasn't changed a bit. Far from coming out with an apology or retraction, I actually have more fuel to throw on the fire. But I won't. Primarily because I haven't been bombarded with witty, big words yet.

However, I might add that there is evidence of God's love for us more convincing than crosses in galaxies or proteins (or hot cross buns) - and I cannot understand why Louie Giglio failed to mention it - the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Now shouldn't that, if anything, make you fall on your knees and weep?

Mankind is not inherently good.

Brand me for having the gall to say this, but there was something very ominous - terrifying, even - about entering the new year. It was with bittersweet relief that I let go the old and embraced the new. Whether I liked it or not. I tremble. I quake. What travesties and controversies lurk in the mist of the future, waiting to pounce onto the front page and into our lives? What horrors simmer and hiss and listen for the chance to devour the weary traveler? I have no hope, save only the hope that change is life. What changes await? What dreams may come?

Dear Lord.