End of June this year, I folded up the source of livelihood I had run for more than 20 years — which makes me one of the many thousands of casualties of the current pandemic. I feel some relief it’s finally over nonetheless. I’ve never been proud serving as some kind of middleman for a gambling trade — even if it’s very much legal. This time there’ll be no turning back.
So what have I been doing these past few months? Not much. Just chilling out at home. It’s safer and cheaper. Oh and I’ve lost considerable amount of weight I’ve gotten virtually skinny. Never thought I’d become this light, even my hips and legs have decreased in size. Amazing. All because I discovered and have been following a lovable doctor who’s turned into a You Tube sensation — Dr. Eric Berg. Learned from him a great deal about intermittent fasting and very low-carb eating style. It worked for me! Many of my aches and pains disappeared, too. No doubt I look older now — an inevitable consequence of being skinny; yet I feel quite fine. It’s like I’m a new person. Old job is gone and so is my old weight. Hah.
Don’t ask yet what my goals and next steps are. Everything’s up in the air. In the present condition we’re in, lots of things are uncertain. Maybe next year I’ll map out a definite life plan for the coming decade.
It’s nice to do a little bit of writing today. I admit my heavy loss yesterday brought in feelings of despair and sadness again — after their long absence. Events like this never fail to exhume old hurts over knowledge of sufferings gone through by whatever or whoever that’s dearest to me. I’m gonna be okay though. As if I had another choice.
Oh I feel a little better when I come here — home of my heart and soul.
It’s always pleasing to hear of your solitary walks bcz the activity is gratifying for me too. My delayed comment was intentional as others may find it tragic — nothing inspiring. My struggle stems from another sudden devastating loss two months ago whereupon acceptance of the inevitable is the only way to be able to go on. Although I have this need to be spiritual, you might know what it feels like for people who don’t believe in life after death. My whole existence has personally taught me there’s no pain equal to the ultimate separation from those who raised you or you grew up with. I went ahead with my pre-planned trip one month after and surely received flak from kinsfolk behind my back — but they are completely clueless as to the amount of sorrow I’ve been carrying all along. Grief sometimes gets set aside for one’s own survival; the heartache, however, lingers on.
I posted this comment in response to an FB pal’s post who happens to be a Mormon devotee. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so honest this time but I made the mistake of assuming he’ll be okay with the beliefs I hold and my non-religious views in the same vein I don’t judge him in spite of his unpleasant revelations and the unpalatable details reflected by his entries.
It’s not the first time I got discriminated for my views and I am not apologetic about being opinionated. If someone would expect me to be accepting of their flaws and blunders yet have trouble being tolerant themselves, I wouldn’t mind losing their friendship. Good riddance, Mr. Cootey.
Funny how so many things about life still keep on surprising me. More than a few have deemed me smart, very wise, sensible–even though I lack the right amount of intellect and spunk to become exceptional and rich.
Born in the mid-60’s, turned out a loner and a social misfit most of the time, went to college, held a number of jobs, got married at 26 years of age, had a baby, became a single parent (on and off) soon after, struggled for years raising a child by myself, had hoped for the rainbows to rise in the end. And I thought I’d already earned all the wisdom and knew the lessons of the world.
Now I only feel taken aback as to why some things culminate the way they do. What happened between me and my son? How could I have lost almost everything at this stage of my life?
Maybe I’m just in a state of shock these days — losing my mother all of a sudden, tragically. Guilt can be such a heavy burden. For someone like me who feels and thinks too much. Life sucks.
The worst typhoon that has landed Philippine soil (named “Yolanda” domestically, known as “Haiyan” internationally) principally hit the peripheries of the Visayan island and claimed 5,600 human lives. I live in the capital city of the Philippines – located in the island of Luzon – so we residents of Manila hardly felt Yolanda’s barbaric rampage, managing to escape its mission of annihilation early last month.
I listened, however, in horror as my booth operator recounted how her mother perished when a tree got uprooted by powerful winds and fell on top of their house during the relentless storm. According to my operator, her mom was carrying the newborn child she bore two months ago at the time the accident happened. In her last breaths, she managed to save her baby from getting crushed by using her own body as shield. Heartbreaking. The baby miraculously survived. My operator also said much of the province of Leyte has been wiped out by “Yolanda.”
Destructive forces of nature bulldoze their way into Philippine hemisphere one after the other: Earthquakes; typhoons; hurricanes; landslides; sudden, mysterious flooding. Resigned to our ineluctable destiny and unfavorable circumstances, we could only gasp at the total carnage following each calamity, shake our heads in disbelief upon hearing true tales of destruction and the number of casualties , send whatever assistance we could afford to a disaster fundraising organization, then try to get on with our lives. It was quite touching to witness and feel the outpour of sympathy and help we received from other nations. I have to admit, though, that in our country, phenomena resembling “the Yolanda catastrophe” do not shock us much anymore. Majority of us here have become, in a manner of speaking, numbed and deadened by crisis after crisis that do nothing but compete with each other in severity. We’ve also yielded to the reality it’s usually the have-nots who get riddled with severe losses and adversities resulting from such atmospheric assaults.
The story that follows doesn’t, in any way, compete with what has recently happened to my less fortunate fellowmen. It is, however, another testimony to what common people, like me, are vulnerable to – given our unpredictable environment.
It was barely three years ago when a bizarre tropical depression named “Ondoy” brought the heaviest rainfall in the weather history of our National Capital Region. Non-stop downpour on a Saturday morning resulted in several cities going under water. Hours earlier, my son set off for school despite discouragements from me.
It was noontime that day when the commotion I kept on hearing from the grounds all the way to the fifth floor of my apartment building made me look out the window. I was shocked to find out a deluge was unexpectedly rising fast, driving people out of their houses. It was the first time something like that had ever happened in our vicinity. A mere hour after, the water had mounted to a staggering height all that was left to see were the roofs of my neighbors’ two-storey houses. A dreadful sight still scary to recall to these days.
During those moments, I counted myself fortunate for my living conditions. It was nonetheless disheartening looking at all those people who scrambled to the top of their roofs; soaking wet from the rain, watching some of their stuff and the goods from their small merchandise stores float on the water.
Meanwhile, I was also nervously waiting for my son’s text message. But no message came from him throughout the day. The rains stopped in the late afternoon; the flood began subsiding at night time. I went down and joined my neighbors look for whatever belongings they might be able to salvage.
Yet my son didn’t come home that night. It was one of the most terrifying times of my life.
I asked assistance from my sister, who had a landline phone, to call up my son’s school. The people who responded said they didn’t have my son’s name on their list of stranded students inside. My mom and sister started crying on the phone. Rather than going crazy waiting at home for news about my son, I decided to look for him instead. As soon as daybreak came, I rode a jeepney that would bring me to his university. But it stopped midway as it could no longer go on due to the flood ahead. All of us passengers went down, and I started my two-hour journey to his school, wading through three feet of tide. When I arrived, there were still a few students walking around. I asked every junior university student I came across with for information about my son. Luckily, a classmate of his informed me she had seen him leave with another schoolmate very early that morning. It gave me some relief, which made me proceed – with hope – back home on foot once again. On my way, my sister called to say my son had already arrived in my mother’s house. Receiving that good news was one of the happiest moments of my life.
It took some time before my neighbors were able to recover from the ruins caused by “Ondoy.” They were grateful to be alive of course, but the experience wasn’t something they could look back on and smile about.
Many other unfortunate events brought about by devastating natural episodes in the Philippines remain to be told: like the unforgettable earthquake which shook the beautiful city of Baguio highlands some twenty years ago – where hundreds of schoolchildren and some vacationing tourists were killed. But there’s no need to narrate to you that disaster which broke my heart in my early 20s: It might break your heart as well.
Stark truth: With the passage of time, putting up with all this has simply become a way of life for most of us here.
With my last piece, I chose to risk losing all my male blog pals for the slim chance my message would reach the consciousness of even a sole female in our blogosphere. I am tired of filtering out my words here so as not to slight my supposed buddies in any way. But the truth remains cultivating online friendship was not what I originally came here for. It would make me much happier using this medium as ground for expressing what’s on my mind – including the views I’ve held on for several years.
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What was surprising was the dissenting assault that came from a mother in her early 30s, who not once did pay attention to my blog and who I tried to be nice to because, like me, she has had very few followers. Now I know she would dip her toes here – only if she could pounce on something and flex her belligerent disposition. The sharp sting in her particular post is in accordance with the sharp features of her face anyway. Methinks her reaction signifies her marriage sucks and there’s very little she can do about it. Absurd as it was, she even implicated my recent loss and family tragedy as instrumental to my post that dealt with my sensitive views about men and women. What’s the connection? Her comprehension must have gotten misplaced, most probably.
My message for you, married lady with kids: Since you’re younger than me (which translates to the reality I’ve learned nothing from your blog), and your English and writing competence not a bit impressive (to think that you are white), and you haven’t really said anything worthwhile on your site (it does little whether your name is Amy or Nasty btw), you are best advised to spew your vitriol here than doing it at “Your Place” as I don’t intend to click open your blog anymore. Rest assured, I’ll publish your comments and we can have an exchange of perspectives, if necessary.
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If there was any apology to be offered by me, it could only be for the one who served as the locomotive for my previous post. I’m sure she wouldn’t be pleased if she knew the inspiration for that article germinated from reading her pages. My only point then was: if a beautiful, accomplished, well-experienced, talented, single woman would give that whole lot of unnecessary power to men over her life, what chance do average women like me have in gaining or maintaining some respect from the male readers of our blogging world? And where else could the rest of us find fitting role models who’d refuse to let men emotionally monopolize their lives? It’s crystal clear men have needed women more than women needed men, yet the majority of us gals, in comparison, are on emotional overkill just to earn the presence of some dude in our lives.
Maybe I had been guilty of the same deed, too. I couldn’t really tell. But I’m willing to mend my ways, if need be, and try harder to manage singlehood with more dignity. Maybe we could raise awareness for the benefit of the younger ladies who have every right to compel the guys in their lives to treat them better.
Prostitution, gender bias, and other discrimination issues have long been plaguing our role as the other half of humanity on this planet. Perhaps the least we could do is start shaping the minds of the younger generation that females are not as helpless, or dependent on male validation the way we always think we are.
In keeping with my mission to put on record some of my life events here in hopes that someday my son would want to know what her mother was like in her younger years, I’ve decided to push through with this post about my early teenage life, specifically my high school days in an all-girl Catholic school. Nothing spectacular took place during that period. I was just your average student, girl next door type. I never kept a diary so I’ll just state some facts I still remember from that era randomly.
Me in the red circle. Funny that we never got the chance to use the swimming pool in my four years there.
Things I loved: Beautiful, well-kept gardens (which we weren’t allowed to walk into), Art class, kind and amiable teachers, Music class, Drama club, our well-stocked library, lionhearted girls, colorful posters of teen heartthrobs like Shaun Cassidy, Parker Stevenson, etc., Mills & Boon love story pocketbooks, P.E. activities.
Things I Hated: writing term papers, girl to girl cattiness, terror teachers, daily morning flag ceremony, everyday mass, Bible study, loud motor-mouthed classmates who simply crave attention.
– I sometimes “cut classes” because the class was too boring. I’d run to the nearest huge grocery store beside our school and spend an hour or two there. I can’t remember now how I was able to do that despite the security guards stationed at the front gates.
– I was guilty of daydreaming for hundreds of hours in total during classes where the teacher would discuss lessons that were of no interest to me. Subjects in particular: Religion, Chemistry, Statistics, Trigonometry.
– I enjoyed my Physical Education activities and did well at track & field and basketball. Ditto for our C.A.T. activities that had us marching like soldiers dressed in dark green polos and pants.
– It still baffles me why we had to call our every teacher “Miss,” not mam or madam.
– I’d wake up very early to be able to attend the 5:30 a.m. mass intended for the nuns of our school. Their soulful singing of hymns had been a divine way to start my day. Which also meant I often attended mass twice a day. The other one was the compulsory 11 am mass before lunchtime. With that in mind, I sometimes wonder why I didn’t join the nunnery.
– Like most exclusive for girls’ schools, girl to girl relationship had been prevalent. I remember having witnessed a “couple” of schoolmates who French kissed in full view of the class. They did it proudly probably thinking it was a sweet thing to do. I thought it was “Yucky.” I mean, couldn’t have they done it somewhere more private? I never imagined myself kissing a girl. How is that different from kissing myself in the mirror? Or maybe I just liked boys a lot better. Did I ever wonder what these young female “lovers” do behind closed doors? You bet I did. I didn’t have much idea at that time. But honestly, I wasn’t that interested.
– By the way, I only got to know about the birds and the bees when I reached the end of my freshman year. A classmate pal asked me if I knew how girls get pregnant. My answer: when a boy put his arm around her. (That’s what my mother told me and I believed her!) So my friend laughed at me hysterically and told all our other friends about my naivety. I can’t remember who actually enlightened me with the facts. After learning the truth though, I felt sorry for all my boy playmates whom I kicked hard earlier when they playfully tried to put their arms around me.
– My friends were fond of talking withto me because I wasn’t much of a talker and would just listen to them. Besides, whenever something they said really tickled my funny bone, I’d giggle non-stop.
– Some girls could be silly funny. “Your hair looks shiny and smooth. Do you use any special type of oil for it?” was my casual question to a classmate one day. “Yeah, cooking oil.” was her deadpan answer. Crazy conversation like that. Joke stories about nuns and priests had been passed around a lot too. But I’ll stop right here as my son is a lot more religious than me.
– I’ve got to admit boys are a hundred times funnier than girls though. My brother is probably one of the funniest people in the world. I would often laugh myself to tears with his ad-libs. It puzzles me where he could have gotten his brand of humor as both my parents aren’t the hilarious kind.
– Trying out for the Glee club, I passed the vocal and dance auditions held by the music teachers, only to be eliminated days after by the “cool girls” (longtime members) who acted as the final judges. I was utterly disappointed. They probably thought I wasn’t fashionable or popular enough to become part of their club.
– I wrote a few cheesy poems that got published in our school paper. My real purpose then was to see my name in print. That’s all. On the whole, it made me proud and happy.
– The library was my most favorite place inside the school. I wish I could say I spent time reading the classics there. I didn’t. Instead, when I dropped by after class, I’d start pulling out colorful books on geography and leafed through breathtaking shots of skies and sceneries.
– I envied those girls who could talk back to the nuns and terror teachers. We called them “girls with balls.”
– I didn’t like “interaction” parties arranged by my schoolmates. Some of the girls acted weird around boys.
– During sophomore year, a boy who was my best friend’s brother came to like me but I couldn’t like him because he wasn’t movie star handsome. (Yes, I was that shallow. I hate myself now) Without my knowledge, he tried to do my term paper by actually handwriting it. Total: 50 beautifully handwritten pages. There was no computer yet and I believe the boy didn’t have a typewriter then. I returned the papers to him because I had already started typing mine. Thinking about it now, that had been really nice of him. Now you have an idea why I was sentenced by the heavens to eternal singlehood on earth. I was a bad girl. 🙂
I was a junior student during my elder sister’s highschool graduation.(me on the right)
We are observing Holy Week and today is Holy Thursday here. No work. Yay. It’s customary for people to head to the beach during this period. But I’ve no intention of doing so as I’ve longed for this luxury to just stay home for a few days, do some spring cleaning and hopefully catch up on my writing. Yes I haven’t written anything here for several weeks now because of my busy schedule and because of certain personal reasons.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve had the privilege though of browsing through a few of the most interesting blog sites I’ve ever seen at WordPress. It’s mainly due to a highly popular female blogger who keeps a blog that might be the center of this community of intellectuals. Composed of mostly astute thinkers who write penetrating, brilliant posts about their lives and other interesting stuff, it shelters amazing writers with fragmented souls who inspire me because I’m a broken soul myself (although I ain’t an intellectual like any of them :-)). How I love to read their stories and what it takes for them to soldier on despite their torments and handicaps in life. Such a relief to find authenticity from their writings that somehow validate my own feelings of inadequacy and disintegration.
One of them is this lady blogger in her fifties who first caught my attention when she wrote her reasons for blogging in her neighbor’s blog. She definitely writes from the heart, and she holds nothing back. Backed by her more than excellent writing competence, she captivated me enough to become an instant fan of her blog. There can be only admiration for this woman who tells her stories in raw honesty. Her courage to express the agonies she’s been locking in her soul is formidable. Once her story and her words have held my attention, it’ll grip me to the very end. A week ago, her piece as to the deep agony she has been experiencing from the cold treatment she has gotten from one of her sons came out. Her inspiration to write that story came from another equally talented young male blogger whose blog by the way enthralled me likewise (but that would deserve another post here). Anyway, her story resonated with me as I am a mother to a young man too and have felt I made quite a few mistakes being his single parent. (I never abandoned my son though as I couldn’t possibly live without him. My misdeeds were a lot more inconsequential but nevertheless faulty that an exemplary parent should not do.) As this lady blogger peeled each layer of her story, it pierced deeper and deeper into my marrow until I couldn’t take it any more I had to stop and get away from my computer to try to free myself from her pain that was wrenching my heart.
A few days after, she had a follow-up post where one of the commenters blew us all by saying we have no right to expect anything from our children. That we should not mistake their distance as gross misconduct and it’s their absolute right to choose to expel us parents from their lives. We do not own them at all and we simply have to respect whatever decisions they make in their lives, even if it kills us in the aftermath. Period. Tough but so true. The lady blogger took the advice with grace and humility I’m bowled over by it all.
How blessed I feel for taking a part merely as a reader in all those exchanges and gaining such wisdom as a prize.
And how fortunate I feel that my son is still with me. No lady has taken him away from me yet. Sometimes, when I watch my son from a distance whether he’s busy doing something or simply sleeping, my heart gets overwhelmed by the realization of just how lucky I am for having him in my life. It’s crystal clear I am still everything to my child. But only for now. Things will change in the near future I’ve no doubt about that. I just pray I’ll never have to experience what my favorite lady blogger has been going through these days.
And so 2011 is closing down as one of my loveliest years ever, a time span I consider both rough and smooth-sailing in most regards.
Once again, I might have earned a few emotional scars from certain heartbreaks, job missteps, and quite recently, a tragic loss I wish would leave my memory for good.
Yet it all comes down to the wonderful reality that I’m still around, hoping that 2012 can now welcome me with open arms..
This was exactly my parting missive on my FB wallpost on New Year’s Eve of last year. I consider it as my closure for the definitive year that has seen me through a series of ups and downs. I felt like there were events I could gladly take with me at the dawn of 2012, e.g., a certain Muse (whatever it is) that crawled its way to my writing has been delightful, as well as the rest of the swell stuff that have made my stay on this planet worthwhile and enjoyable. Yet there are also certain episodes of 2011 I want to get away from as far as I can. Specifically an unspeakable heartache caused by the unexpected loss of a beloved pet and the guilt I’ve felt for not having spent enough time with it before its demise, and all because I was absorbed in something or rather someone that was not even worth my attention. I wonder, how can someone get over an unfortunate circumstance such as this? Others might see me as being too sentimental. I don’t know.. Letting go has always been painful for me. I am really hurting..
I do hope 2012 is going to be another fabulous year as I’ve no plan of slowing down yet. Sometimes though, my body has a way of reminding me that things aren’t the same anymore. Ah aging, I didn’t know it would come so soon.
I often wonder if the gift of years which endowed me with colorful experiences has made me a better person at all. And the more important question, do I know myself much better now after everything I’ve been through? Honestly, I still can’t provide anyone, even myself with a categorical answer.
Just ruminating..
Well, there’s one thing I can say with certainty. I am earnestly shooting for another year of splendor which, they say, will be but a moment in the sun.
According to my site stats, “What 2011 Holds For Me” was one of my most popular posts. I don’t exactly understand why because it simply stated my fresh hopes for that period and they are no different from the list of most people’s. So I’ll make a go of it again to see if I get lucky once more with this one.
To start things in jest, I’ll share with you my tentative New Year’s Resolutions I posted on my FB wall a couple of months ago. Most of my friends found it amusing and some even took it for real (Sheesh, where’s their sense of humor?.. ).
Here they are:
lose weight and be as “body gorgeous” as Jennifer Aniston.
remind myself over&over, “I ain’t a girl anymore.., I ain’t a girl anymore..” Well yeah, I sort of keep on forgetting that I’m not a teen-ager anymore. I still get crushes and blush like crazy. And I guess I better start dressing up like Susan Boyle or my great Aunt Ida. (Psst.. don’t tell, but yes I still dress young)
stop writing cheesy love poems (erm..okay, so I do write them.. sometimes..).
never EVER take a look at good-looking men again. They’re just “Trouble.” Take note of the capital T (I can definitely blog about this one for hours.. tirelessly)
start buying lottery tickets so if I won, I could date Chris Hemsworth, or Josh Duhamel (Damn, why are all the best-looking guys already married?).
finally realize all of the above are IMPOSSIBLE to carry out so I’ll just DELETE this whole list and go buy myself some choco cookies and ice cream.
So you think that’s funny huh! No?
Anyway let’s get serious now. On to my real resolutions that I’m sure will bore you to tears. And they aren’t even different to my last year’s at all!
But I’m making a list still, hoping that this time I’ll be able to accomplish at least two-thirds of it. Here they are:
1. Eat less. I should! And I must!
2. Exercise at least 30 minutes a day. I should! And I must!
3. Be cold-hearted when it comes to the affairs of the, of course, heart. Oh men, what have you done to me?
4. Be appreciative of the people and things I still have. My health, my son, my job, my family, my shelter, my ability to enjoy life, my love for reading, writing, and English. I guess I’m really one lucky gal.
5. Write about anything at least once a week. Anything. Ideas often slip out of my mind too quickly so I’ll try to carry a small notebook along with me wherever I go.
6. Read something at least once a day. Something worthwhile I hope.
See, my list is that simple. Before wrapping this up, I took a look at my last year’s entry with the same title. Yep, my resolutions are pretty much the same although my prose then was much better. Hmm, please don’t ask me why.
As time progresses, the more I realize how less of it is being allotted to me. I ain’t getting any younger. True. Which means I am running out of time. Fast. Therefore, I must double my efforts to make the most of my remaining years. So Heaven help me..
Long long ago, like any other twenty-something, I was trapped in the ethos of materialism. Accumulating unnecessary stuff which I had mistaken as a prerequisite for my own supposed state of euphoria got a little out of control. And even if I was already aware of my corporeal inclinations, I couldn’t stop collecting anything that caught my fancy at stores or from my relatives’ hand-me -downs. Notwithstanding my lack of funds, forbearance on shopping wasn’t one of my strong suits either. Eventually, all the stuff that piled up went on to clutter my already disorderly younger mind whilst gathering dust inside my house.
Learning my lesson well, becoming a dyed-in-the-wool minimalist has become a top priority for me which makes a whole world of difference now. The realization that I can be contented even without a car or a big home with fancy furnishings is quite liberating. I don’t know. If I were rich, would I be singing a different tune? One thing you should know about me, I’m not sure if I can handle the trappings of material wealth. I’ve never been comfortable dealing with any kind of complications in my life anyway.
A simple life isn’t for everyone. Most people might take a long while to come to the idea and it’s especially considered off the wall within the parameters of my society. Whenever I pass on this particular wisdom to people of this gen Y and even to some older folks here, they look at me as though I’ve just arrived from another dimension. I guess it is always pointless ramming a lifestyle down anyone’s throat.
Walk my talk. So if you peek inside my tiny apartment, you can find only the bare necessities. A refrigerator, a washing machine, two beds (I live with my son), a couple of cabinets and an oven. My dining table and chairs are even foldable so they won’t take considerable space. A television set? Sure I’ve got one (a very old model by the way). But it never gets turned on. And I’m not blowing smoke up anyone’s ass by saying that because my son and I are truly non-TV citizens around here. Owning expensive jewelry, clothes, accessories and whatnot was never my style. I’d rather spend my money inside a bookstore on reading materials that interest me. One thing I can’t live without though in these times is my netbook. Yep, I don’t wish for an Ipad or the latest in cell phones. What I simply need is just a portable computer for perusing internet materials, storing information and of course, writing (I could only work with the traditional keyboard, not the touchscreen kind).
I’m of the belief a Spartan life bears no relation to the richness of your mind or personality as long as you don’t lose that appetite for the sublime things in life. I say this out of my apprehension that I just might be accused of promoting a run of the mill existence. Guilty or not, rest assured, the greatest reward of downsizing is the liberty it will bestow upon you. Freedom from possessions and clutter to be able to focus on the things that really matter to you. Now if you’re gonna tell me that owning a lot of fancy things is your cup of tea, I can’t help you much and you should stop reading this at once.
When it comes to becoming an emotional minimalist, umm, that is another story. I’m at an age where melancholy and rapture can coexist peacefully inside of me. I may be a tough nut to crack and yet I’d be the first to run for cover when confronted with strong messy feelings. Attachment can likewise be my downfall anytime of the day. But as I told you, I’m a never ending work-in-progress so maybe there’s still hope for this old soul of mine.
This is gonna be controversial, but barring people from my life who make me miserable helps immensely. Sometimes, I’m left with no other choice. Sure I get lonely for doing that, although the painful process has somehow given me more clarity and purity on who I am and what I really want out of my existence.
Great people can change their lives at will so they can better make clear and rational choices about the substance and direction of their lives. It’s not like I’m a great person albeit I wish I were. So perhaps I’ll try to be one.
And you know what? Simplifying my life actually makes me feel like I’m bound for the stars. Can there be anything more awesome than that?
Bohemian Sentiments 