Besotted By Idioms and This “Perfect” Language

This lady from Manila gets moved by thunder and spectacle. Or perhaps I am plain easy to please. During an earlier blogging period, a pro writer (Cliff Burns of Beautiful Desolation) blew me away when he injected the idiom “no quarter given bloodbath” on one of his compositions. Dazzled yet barely grasping its absolute meaning, I tried to use it every chance I could – unmindful that I might have been doing injustice to the expression and appalling my reader at the same time.

Idiomatic expressions fascinate me, more so in the not so distant past – in advance of my enlightenment that they’d long been deemed clichés or worn-out articulations according to “The Writer’s Constitution.” The first official post of this blog [I deleted the real initial ones, shh..] was “Idiomatic Nut” in which I gathered a few expressions and pieced them together to come up with coherent sentences. Some examples are as follows:

Don’t talk turkey or you’ll be the talk of the town.

Smart Alec rubs Smarty Pants up the wrong way and becomes a punching bag.

How do you like them apples? Though one bad apple hit rock bottom and gone pear shaped.

A fish out of water drops in the bucket and ends up a flash in the pan.

Cool, huh… No? Anyway, if you wish to see the whole post, click here:  https://justmarj.wordpress.com/2010/11/13/idiomatic-nut/

Caution: I’d merely striven for jocosity. Don’t believe a word of it. 🙂

Is that a Cloud Seven or a Cloud Nine, or just a Cloud on the Horizon?

Well, I found doing that quite fun then; I find it quite fun up to this day. Meaning – I’ve done it again. Take a look at the ones I just came up with:

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire – and it’s bringing down the house.

Beating a dead horse is the height of stupidity.

Find the guts to bite the bullet then have it ram down your throat.

Come hell or high water, don’t get caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Throw your weight around till you’re blue in the face.

If it’s cut and dried, it doesn’t hold water because it’s running on empty.

Grab the bull by the horns and drop dead in its track.

Bad hair day = Dead man walking

Lay all your cards on the table, put two and two together, then play with fire.

Big Honcho and Queen of Hearts are raising Cain and peeping Tom. It runs in the family.

Beyond the shadow of a doubt, the kiss of death is when you don’t hold your breath.

Enough, enough… I know. That’s how hog-wild I am concerning this language. English is an epic fragment of my enjoyment, not to mention it serves as the focal point of my bread and butter – teaching English, that is. I even get a thrill whenever my boss shoves me into a room with more than half a dozen students inside to train. I love being in charge of a group class; even if our subject matter gets down to the intricacies of grammar. Er, that reminds me, I’m far from being done with my own copy and study of Cambridge’s “Advanced Grammar in Use” – because yours truly is a never-ending work in progress with respect to that discipline.

You see, prepositions (is it really “on my list” than “in my list”?) and perfect tenses are among my grammatical debilities. In my earlier years, simple past had been sufficient for me to refer to finished actions; I didn’t want to have to do with any grammar jargon that has got the word “perfect” in it – like past perfect simple or  future perfect progressive tense. Yikes. But ever since making the decision to spend my remaining productive years as an ESL instructor, I’ve rolled up my sleeves getting acquainted with the various conjugations of sentence construction.

Let me illustrate (before capping this post):

Simple past:

The schmoe acted like a jerk.

Present perfect progressive:

The schmoe has been acting like a complete jerk.

Past perfect progressive:

The schmoe had been acting like an unmitigated jerk for some time.

Future perfect progressive:

The schmoe will have been behaving that way for ages by the time I get the urge to choke him into a state of comma, I mean coma.

See what I mean? Dauntingly convoluted, don’t you think? 🙂

Now you’d better not mention to me the issue of spelling and punctuation.

November Babe Musings: Of Kings and Vagabonds

It can get daunting. Thinking of the remaining lessons life has yet to teach me. Sustained by a life that has hoped for a destiny that believes in undying love and happy endings – with the people I have loved – I can never get used to setting a place for the “unexpected guest.”

I often get tired of being viewed as a woman of strength. Or as an indestructible one. Because I truly am not. Not all the time, at least. I’m no different from the rest. At times when child or job concerns overwhelm me, I curl up in bed; wanting to hide away from it all; wishing a higher power would transport me to my personal utopia – where I could feel like “I’m the King of the World.” Imagining of that special place where I could surrender to every thing my heart asks for.

There is nothing solid on this blogging sphere I sometimes lose myself into. Yet we are all in need of an alternative realm to help us in momentarily escaping our blistering truths and chained existences. And I, for one, didn’t come here to alter the state of humanity – which is a boh-ring and futile endeavour (I’ll have better luck coercing a carabao to sing). Nor have I come to impress anyone with some novel ideas, or the freshest perspectives. So please hear me as I say this one more time: I come here simply to put my f#%king thoughts down.

Only through writing can I bare my true feelings, my wounds, my blunders, my joys, my despair, my silliness, my sentiments. That this art is darn hard work I’ve learned to struggle with. But similar to most of the things in my life I gradually warm up to – be it a task or a way of living; either bringing me pleasure or adding up to my advantages – there is nobody and nothing that could stop me. A few have deemed me quietly driven, headstrong, even cold-hearted at times … “There she stays put.” they might infer once more. Well, my time isn’t up yet. I still aim to claim my place in the sun.

Phrases, thoughts, and lines…meaningful in their own way. They walk beside me; under the moonlight, in the rain, by the sea, in movement together with the restless sky… Dispensing with whatever deadwood that’s surrounding me. Eventually.

Oh, I’m going to be a vagabond writer someday.

*****

May Babe Musings (Rehabilitating My Writing Circumstance)

The sentimental in me won’t give this site up. This blog has served me well as I continue to be appreciative of my overall blog journey. I’ve enjoyed reading the blogs of the sparse authors around WPress whose avant-garde writing talents are way off the charts, at the same time that I enjoy rendering my prose here in the form that best suits my style and temperament.

I originally had intended for this blog to serve as a journal. Like a diary in its truest form. I’ve already put too much of my essence in this blog. With – Horror of Horrors – images of me and my family to boot. Still I can’t manage to let it all out most of the time – for one reason or another. You see, I’ve no intention at all to rile anyone up with how I see or interpret things my way. Some folks could find my notions either peculiar or radical, not to mention my concern that someone might take offense – or worse, think I am casting aspersions or getting personal with anyone. No. Ruffling feathers isn’t what I came here for. I really just want to put my f*^#ing thoughts down.

Nothing much could lead me to destruction except for the consequences when my foolish heart lords over my hard-earned wisdom, or when I’ve unintendedly worn it on my sleeve. When my hazy emotions start bungling my reasoning faculty, the best course could only be to write things down. For better clarity.

Sylvia Plath in her element

Ergo, I’ve decided to put up another blog, where I can slam into whatever in me that was screaming to be let out. Perhaps then I can get bolder. No holds barred. The subject of religion will be included. No issue to dodge even if matters start to pummel or tear away too much flesh.

It’s a blog as well for my tiny forays. Where I can tinker with the different arts in the repertoire of my written skills – hopefully spreading tinges of sangfroid and sass to my blogging adventures. Subsequently serving my readers some tea of both light and dark in the diffusion of my presumptuous notions. Pretty slick huh. (So how do you like me now? ;-))

Maybe this time I’d be able to dabble a bit on, ehem, poetry. Finally. I intend that it be the blog where I can speak of love, like a silly girl barely out of high school. Talk about sex even. Hey, I’ve seen some blogs do it. If they can do it, so can I!   Okay, (calm down)  I’m just kidding. I’m not good at description narrative so I’m sure I won’t have any success in writing about it even if I try to.

Rest assured, if the entries are safe enough for your viewing, they get imported here – for this site remains to be my principal, most valuable, and dearest blog.

What about my son, for whom I dedicate all this so that he may know me better as a person someday. The question is: Will he fully comprehend everything – heavy stuff and all – I’ve written here? He’s no longer a baby (I still treat him as such from time to time though). He just turned 21 a few weeks ago. I had a heart to heart talk with him years before. He already has full cognizance of his Mom’s circumstances and life’s imperfections. My son, whose sense of deep peace I get to envy at times, will understand. That I am sure of. One more thing, he also knows how wacky his mom can get.

God, how I love my boy.

Meanwhile, let me hop aboard yonder ship, in case my juncture has begun to roll in to my dear readers’ psyche.

****** The About page in my new blog******

I believe myself a rational being. Which is why I want to take on writing with a new sharpness. A new faith.

I’ve built up this other nest. In this new domain, may the atmosphere of love, beauty, and truth most especially, prevail. Along with my diction, my heart, my visions, my soul. After all, I still aim for a most serene existence – punctuated by wilful or accidental happiness. That I may dance with the never-ending promise of a rainbow, after the thunders unforgiving and the punishing rainfall. May it touch at my own secret thoughts from my own secret self…before the words eventually, are carried away by the winds.

My rose garden is now ready in full flight.

Cherry blossoms are splendid, too. And I think I love her lipstick shade.

October Babe Musings (Setting A Place for the Unexpected Guest)

It’s been a while, yes. I just couldn’t bring myself to sit down and write something in spite of a few notions and bits of sentiments that have been hovering on my mind. Blog reading has eaten into a good deal of my time here instead. But at least, *voila!* I managed to put up a new page enumerating some nuggets of info about yours truly titled “Pocket Facts Tangential to my Existence.” It’s been fun doing it and I hope to add more items to the list as time goes by.

My desire to elevate my proficiency and keep my edges sharp remains strong. I’m actually trying to brush up on my [non-existent] punctuation skill these days. Why haven’t I taken care of that before? But you know, this thing with grammar and vocabulary and idioms is already an interminable struggle for me. How else could I manage to squeeze in punctuation? Oh sometimes I wish I were an English major. (See, I’m even trying to come up with an excuse now. :-))

A lot has taken place this month. My maternal grandmother passed away at the ripe old age of 92. A first death in the family. It had been unexpected, to me at least, as I’ve always thought my mom’s blood relatives would all live up to become centenarians. Durable genes they’ve got I believe. Astonishing.

On another note, my cellphone – where I’d kept the majority of my back-up files: photos, music, and most importantly, tender messages from my son, close pals and uh, former “special” someones (yes I had treasured a few sweet tiny missives; being a sentimental *silly* fool that I am) – got snatched while I was on my way to a 7-11 store a month ago. Absorbed in texting my brother, I forgot I was passing by an unfamiliar territory, which made it so easy for a dyed-blond haired teen-age boy to grab my phone and then race across the busy highway. All I managed was a short shriek. As I was watching him gradually disappear from my sight, it got me thinking woefully of tons and tons of recorded memories that consequently vanished into thin air. Just like that.

A couple of weeks later, my computer suddenly went black and blank which, according to my son, meant it had manifested the “Blue Screen of Death”. Much like a kiss of death?!
Here’s the thing: As my main repository, my computer has got everything, as in all my files; with no more back-up after the cellphone loss. Which means I’ve totally no files left in my possession except for the very few ones I uploaded on FB.
Double->triple Ouch!
I know, I know, it could only be my fault. No need to give me that look.

Oh the-hell-well..

That leads me to my true subject for this post: One of the most compelling lessons I’ve learned in my magazine readings in recent years has been our willingness in life “to set a place for the unexpected guest.” Man, we better make sure not only the chairs are damn sturdy as this certain guest could bring something that either make you jump for joy or bring you down to your knees. And it got me thinking, how come unwelcome guests always outnumber the ones I am willing to greet with open arms? Nothing truly spectacular has happened in my life, so it should follow that nothing earth shattering should take place as well, right? Right?

No denying quite a few of the unexpected guests have brought me pretty swell gifts. Quite several in fact I’m so grateful for them. Come to think of it, would you gladly welcome someone holding a pin that might threaten your bubble? And who wouldn’t want uninterrupted calm in their lives?

When things start to overwhelm, there’s this tendency for me to either fall apart or turn away. Either mode, I have to go look for the light, even if I have to trudge or crawl. I will be letting the sharpest rays of the light pierce through my hand until I feel no more pain. With only a wound to show for it, I’ll begin the process of careful tending so that it may heal soon completely.

This is how I want to feel all the time. Do I envy her.

Even so, I do my best to be happy. I want to be happy. I’ll choose to be happy in spite of whatever circumstance I find myself in. How can I choose not to? Some people wonder if it’s possible. I’m not sure really. I am not hoping to turn myself into some kind of Pollyanna here. I never was in the first place. Though once in a while I’ve got to remind myself; if people who have much less than I do could genuinely be contented, who am I not to adopt the same disposition? Besides, I can really be happy in small ways.

There’s a considerable exception here. That of losing the people very dear to my heart, which reminds me of one dearest person: My father. Each visit to him is like a jolt of reality.. in clear attestation that I’m about to lose him soon. Very soon. I may be ready, or I may be not. Time will tell.

The world of blogging, through my passive participation by reading, is keeping me good company these days. Quite glad about that. It’s been an alternate dimension I can easily hop into at a mere click of a key. Since this blog should mean to serve as a residence for my memories, reflections, convictions, and whatnot, there’s this probability I might have been overthinking things and letting waves of sentimentality wash over me when I wrote this. But then, that’s what this site is here for. I’ve not much desire to come up with world-changing platforms or thundering essays to prove my writing or smarts facility. Neither do I wish to align myself with the consummate bloggers I kind of worship around here. I’m way way way too out of their league, yet. For all I know, even my current “supposed” moderate competence is purely mythical. Is that okay with me? Not really. Each and everyone of us longs to become better and better in our craft. Therefore, I am gunning for hope and effort combined.

More than anything else, I simply want to write my heart out – regardless of cohesion, manner, or my written dexterity in this blog of mine. To be able to merely jot down my every damn thought. Well, almost everything. That would be quite ideal.. for the meantime.

[By the way, how am I doing with my punctuation, hm?]

So, what do I do when the next unexpected guest comes and takes the seat right next to me? I could only hope he’s a very handsome male with lovely dark blue eyes that I’d thoughtfully recognize from out of time..  Boy, would I look straight into those eyes and tell him, “Oh please, do spare me.”

Glad my blog is still here for me, after all.

 

In Appreciation of The Continental Blogging Award

I first saw this Bronx guy when he left an interesting comment in one of the blogs I occasionally visit. I wasn’t exactly in high spirits during the time that got me casually flipping through some of the blog pages I’ve accustomed to viewing. I decided to follow the trail leading to his site and lo, I was pleasantly floored to find out he is actually one of the most popular bloggers on WP. His outstanding posts made WordPress decide he’s deserving of three-time Freshly Pressed prominence. No wonder. He’s very likable, funny, intelligent, deep, whose great command of the language makes him quite an excellent and capable writer. He’s almost perfect. And the gorgeous hair.. I really like his hair.

His post “Aimlessly Wandering Down Memory Lane” was utterly delightful and hilarious, and lifted my spirits instantly. So I decided to post a comment with nothing more than an intention to express my appreciation and admiration for his work. The fact that he responds graciously to readers’ comments, taking into account his present status as a celebrity blogger at WordPress, is a bonus delight.

Like all his other followers, his acknowledgment of my blog in the commentary section gratified me for several days. I wasn’t ready though for what he had up in his sleeves last June 30 when he created The Continental Blogging Award. A special commendation wherein he chooses a specific blog he believes worthy of attention from each of the seven continents. For its debut, he bestowed the recognition to my blog “Bohemian Sentiments” as the one in the whole of Asia. It really caught me by surprise. In my humble opinion, there may be other Asian blogs more deserving of the honor. His choice was exhilarating nonetheless. One more thing for sure, it cemented my regard for this Bronx guy who meant quite well in reaching out and extending support to his less distinguished fellow bloggers with this particular undertaking.

http://mostlybrightideas.wordpress.com/2012/06/30/the-continental-blogging-award/

It’s like during my freshman in college. If a cute, popular guy flashed a friendly smile in my direction, I’d feel like “huh?” So I would have to look at my back if there was anyone else worthy of his beguiling smile. If there was none and he’d smile still, I’d be compelled to mouth something like “me?” as in “Are you really smiling at me?” and it would end up with the cute amiable guy walking away thinking “Aah, never mind, crazy girl.”

Anyway, Bronxboy’s deed is the best thing anybody has done for me in the blogosphere. I was touched by the gesture. It meant a lot to me because just when I was losing my faith on the integrity of online blogging not too long ago (when I discovered the one or two I’ve encountered here who appallingly aren’t true to the decent, tender-hearted, straight-laced image they try to project in their blogs), he turns up and unselfishly extends his arm to be of assistance to his colleagues in the blogosphere.

That day, July 1 here, gave the stats of Bohemian Sentiments its record breaking boost. My blog garnered the highest hits so far and that got me thrilled. He said he wanted us seven bloggers to be read by many others. I’m aware it may or may not happen for me in the long run. If it doesn’t, it’s still going to be ok. Frankly, the probability I’ll be losing him soon as one of my readers is of more concern to me. How often do you find bloggers like him who genuinely promote goodwill in cyberpress anyway?

I happened to peek at a few of his followers’ sites and man, some are really really good. Definitely no paucity of talent in his hordes of readers. I felt “little” and wanted to cringe hoping the ground would swallow me up together with my blog. Other blogs are lovingly adorned with attractive photos and sundry other embellishments. Though I’m contentedly stuck with this WPTheme Twenty Ten because of its airy ambience, I don’t know how to make this site look any more attractive.

I confess to playing around with this blog in its earlier existence, tossing here whatever I did manage to come up with. When one or two discernible readers happened to turn up some months ago, I thought “Oops, time to clean up.” I began to delete the silly posts in a sudden frenzy.

I avoid reviewing my previous entries because whenever I do that, I often find saying any of the three to myself;

“Holy Crap, can’t believe I wrote this maudlin nonsense.”

or  “Yikes! Why didn’t I notice that grammar boo boo before?”

or  “I seem to sound redundant in this part.. and over here.. and here too..”

-Sigh-

A few contradictions might have even popped up that escaped my awareness. It’s because I simply jot down whatever goes inside my head. I admit too to changing my perspectives from time to time brought about by (I guess) dizzying information overload :-). I’m not assiduous either when it comes to confirmation of exact dates. You might have noticed most of my entries have mere estimated periods. Though the idea of keeping a diary or journal in my younger years seemed so quixotic and appealing, I never did keep one. Admittedly, I have been a bit lazy to do research so as to confirm actual dates of my life events. That has been a puny glitch.

This blogging sphere that has accommodated my lightweight mental strength and garden-variety writing dexterity has undeniably supplied me with abundant benefits that truly matter to me. It is my hope everything that arrives on the pages of this blog will constantly be worthy of my reader’s attention. There can be no guarantees though brought about by my limitations being a resident of a country where English is not the principal language.

But that the wheels are in motion now could be enough to cling to the hope.

So from Bohemian Asian lady to Mr. Bronx boy of Canada, “Thank you very much. You are indeed one of a kind.”

Writers’ Take On Passion In Literature Of Modern Times

Two weeks ago while I was casually browsing on the internet, I chanced upon an interesting exchange of perspectives among certified writers taking place on FB as they touched on the subject of passion in prose. Initially, the conversation was set in motion by a lady writer who had just finished watching “The French Lieutenant’s Woman” based on the period novel by John Fowles that tells of a story of passionate love verging on fragile intensity and more than negligible risk. Sarah, the main character is a “fallen” woman who’s unfit for love, yet this French lieutenant guy blindly falls for her. So the questions that pervaded principally in the discussion were: Are dysfunction and hindrances elemental in generating powerful feelings in romantic fiction? Must the strength of passion be tested through the battle against the barrier? And is there really such a thrill in the forbidden-ness of consummated sex? When we live in a world devoid of forbidden stuff like we do now, we try to find what’s missing in our lives through literature and similar other forms of escapism. It could be true then that a substantial impediment is crucial for passion to last or even exist, and the struggle to overcome that barrier is elemental to the success of a love story told through the pages. Hearts must be ready to bleed. That much can be true for the majority of hopeless romantics of this world.

Well, the FB sort-of debate flowed and took some twists and turns until it touched on a colossal issue of the modern writer’s dilemma. Each writer then began sharing his/her valuable insight in what they deliberated to be the contrast between romantic literature of the past and romantic literature of the present. There’s this growing but discomforting recognition that readers of today swoon for passion represented by the likes of “Twilight,” “The Time Traveler’s Wife,” and “The Notebook” despite their obvious flaws. Ruffled by the fact that it just might go on to become the wave of the future, prospects for quality serious prose look dismal considering present literature continues to be awash with vampire love triangles, ridiculous plotlines, absurd settings and sundry other pieces of cheesy romantic narrative. Romance fiction in the tradition of “Wuthering Heights” and “Pride & Prejudice” doesn’t seem to carry weight as it used to. Today’s genre of prose has dishearteningly upended the traditional classics in the book market. A concern these writers share is that they may also have to kowtow to the demands of the market trend somehow and do away with their desire for original creativity in their written art.

Is “bad fiction” really here to stay? As the same flamboyance in cinema-making surges ahead, we may be resigned to the reality of the bastion of banality which ultimately blights on the integrity of “high literature” and so-called certified writers. The FB conversation went on to belabor on the writers’ objection to this moneymaking scheme practiced by fad writers to recycle the same plotlines, characters, settings, etc., expressing in unison their dissent for both the authors and the readers who indulge in said genre. People crave for passion in literature. True. Yet these days, people want to get it from nonsensical fantasy settings that also provide hindrances strong enough to make love challenging or forbidden (which bring us back to the point above). This emergence and success of vampire books, movies and TV shows inundated with tales of supposed ardor and true love, have they practically been ghosts of the real thing we found in Wuthering Heights, Romeo and Juliet, Jane Eyre, etc.?

One writer tried to neutralize the feeling of disdain by saying these fiction authors who cater to the current market might have been highly successful because they were able to explore passion that is meaningful and relevant in present contexts. It’s as though genuine passion cannot thrive anymore in this modern society because of numerous distractions around, that results to us readers being slightly desperate for out-of- this world passion to fall for just about anything.

My idea of Nirvana

Ok, so what’s my personal take on all this? In all the most important regards, I hope writers of any genre would continually be able to come up with literary books worthy of occupying places of honor on our shelves.

And frankly, I haven’t considered things much on their side of the equation because I’m not even a professional writer and I’ve no intention yet of dipping my toes on the pond of fiction writing. But speaking of passion, well..

The goal of love is rapture. There’s undeniably rapture in passion, and love without passion is like eating chocolate without sugar. That’s how it is for me because I’m simply a sucker for all things sweet.

No doubt even the most cerebral of women crawl on their knees in the name of love and passion. Do I go on to confirm that our species truly thrive on obstacles engineered by love and its variety of forbidden constitution?

It’s not something I’d like to answer right this moment so I may have to get back on this topic in another post.

But this I’ve got to ask for now. How did we women end up being vulnerable to such literary crap anyway? Female readers have always been the never-ending target market of what has been established as “Chick Lit” (that presently includes the genre fiction we’re submerged in). Literature of this kind definitely gives an erroneous touchstone for our romantic longings. I wish we have been trained to be more of inveterate thinkers like men which would make all these fabricated stuff about silly romantic fantasies and passion-defeats-all illusion unnecessary. We’d therefore find no urge at all to pine for a 600-year-old vampire, even if he’s as handsome as Robert Pattinson. Neither will we find perfect chemistry between Borat and Jessica Alba (creepy huh?), nor reason out that it’s ok for a woman to suffer for love as long as the man is a superhero like the ever-busy Superman, Spiderman on the go, or the elusive Batman.

Women have a choice. Books that encourage women to be stronger, more discerning and selective in matters of the heart are rare yet essentially precious. They are a must read for us delusional romantics who believe dysfunctional love just might be the real thing, in accordance to what’s been fed to us since we were young girls. I believe we do badly need such empowering books both for the benefit of young minds and for the reversal of all the crap that has accumulated in our not so young minds.

But then, I bet books of this ilk would unfortunately sell only 8 copies.

June Babe Musings

The verdict has been out. Our current Chief Justice of the Supreme Court just got impeached for his major offense of failing to declare his statement of assets, liabilities, and net worth honestly. The drama that dragged on for months on end here like a tiresome soap opera has finally concluded. I’m relieved it’s over, hoping the dust will settle soon, paving the way for a new paradigm of governance in our country.

Early weeks of May also has seen torrential rains that are quite uncommon within the period that is still considered to be the peak of summer season. I have not gone to any of our beaches yet. So I guess that spells the end for my prospect to become this year’s undisputed beach babe. 🙂

I actually envy those with motherlands having four wondrous seasons. Winter.. Autumn.. Spring.. (I left Summer out coz I ain’t a fan of the sun’s oppressive rays and heat) I’ve seen these splendid seasons on movies and photos and had people who have regularly experienced them described their splendor to me. And I go, “ Wow..” or “Oh, oh wow..” Everytime..

My side of the globe has got only two seasons. Summer and Rainy. Just like Black and White. Nothing paramount in between. What a drab.. I wonder if my life is like having four seasons instead of two.  I find myself contemplating on that..

What would my favorite season be? I think I might adore Winter because of the snow. Snow falling everywhere can be the most magnificent sight in this world. Besides, I love the color white in everything, like I’m forever basking in its heavenly glow. Autumn will come in second for the mild, lovely somber mood it can bring. Legends of the Fall is one title I’ve kept to heart for my whimsical love-of-words why and wherefore even though I’ve never watched the movie. Same for the faint melancholy I fancy in the phrase The Autumn of One’s Life.   

a rare ladies’ night out for me during the weekend. That’s me on the left wearing a green shirt

“Marj, you work too much.” A seemingly nonchalant soft remark from the last guy I had been seeing while we were having dinner several months back. That was after he learned I had been working on Sundays closing down a few minor business transactions.

“You think so?” was all I could manage in response. We broke up soon after. Thinking about it, I guess I simply fell naturally in a sort of routine then. I never consider myself a workaholic, because I really am not one. But at that time, there seemed to be no better way to spend my time productively.

Gone is my penchant to casually hang out with colleagues or pals just for the sake of spending time away. For some inexplicable reason (getting older perhaps?), they cease to be my cup of tea. And these days I only go to the mall for the sake of getting my main form of exercise which is, walking. A year ago when I discovered the joy of reading and writing blogs, I was in seventh heaven with my new-found avocation as I find myself spending my time rewardingly indulging in my favorite language. I admit to have never tried Skype yet. (Yes, you must be thinking from what hollow cave did I rush from) Webcam I had done only twice some time ago with a cousin who migrated to Canada.

only 1 bottle of Red Horse and I was done. Ok, perhaps 1 & 1/2, I swear 🙂

I told one of my colleagues the other day I wish I could just spend most of my time reading blogs, honing my “blogging” skills by simply writing. But the thing is, I’ve got a full-time job. An 8-5 Monday to Friday act. When I get home, I’m already a bit worn-out, what with holding a full-class schedule at school.

There’s a confession I’ve got to make when it comes to my reading and following blogs. I confess to following only three or four blogs currently using RSS Feed. These are the ones that have smacked me compellingly enough to become their religious follower way back. I’ll be totally honest in admitting I can’t get myself to click Follow easily even after some bloggers did acknowledge my post by Liking it. The sole reason is that I hardly have the time to follow more than a few blogs. The last thing I want to do is follow a blog ostensibly as it isn’t fair to the blogger who’s been keeping the “Followed” blog. So I sincerely apologize for that..

Before winding up my musings here, let me mention two of my most favorites for now that freezes me right on my track. There’s this intelligent lady blogger who can dish out loads of wisdom in exceptional, no frills, smooth-flowing writing style, whether she does it with her sagacious comments to other blogs, or putting out twenty-four-carat post pieces in her own site. It’s like I’m getting life lessons from a much wiser sister. I do feel fortunate to be one of her followers.

Then there’s this young talented, bright blogger who keeps an adorable blog writing his way into women’s hearts with beautiful, at times metaphorical prose of unsent romantic letters that mention of unicorns, and flowers blooming in secret gardens.. creating worlds beyond time and distance..
Somehow he makes me want to believe again in faithful hearts and pure, undying love. Exquisite..

Girl bonding in Eastwood Centre

May Babe Musings (and My Few Remaining Reasons for Blogging)

Unfortunately, I lost my “free wifi” more than a couple of weeks back. I knew it would end someday somehow. Losing it though wasn’t as meaningful as the repercussions it created that had me stumped. Something more precious got lost in the aftermath and it opened my eyes to a few certain truths I had not wanted to face. It’s like kissing a lovely illusion goodbye for the last time..

Embracing the inevitability of change has always been a struggle for me. As the realization that hit me broke my heart, I couldn’t help but weep silently and curl up in bed in the stillness of some nights.

At this stage in my life when my foremost wish is to make peace both with my past and the people who have mattered to me, I’ve got to be magnanimous in my losses, enough to relent and ask that pardon be granted upon me. The slate has to be wiped clean once more to pave the path for new beginnings.  

Have I revealed too much about my past here? Has this blog reflected more than it should on the secrets of my soul? Perhaps so. I knew I’d run the risk of being judged for failing to mince my words. And that I’d be considered as another flawed human being who has been carrying around certain unwanted baggage. I could have lost my virtual friends and readers alike in the process. Nonetheless, I want to remain true to what this blog stands for. Mythical prose has hardly been my aim which means I won’t in any case compromise the authenticity of what I put in here.., where my anonymity my only remaining shield.., no matter what it takes.

I never pretended to be anything I’m not in my whole life and that has always been essential for my survival. In the same vein, I’ve wanted this blog to be the place where I can be totally myself. A place where I can laugh and dance when in high spirits, or fall on my knees and sob during despondent moments.

More than twice in my life, I’ve been told it isn’t easy to comprehend the complexities that comprise the layers of my core. But for me, after all has been said and done, it’s the simplicity of my mind and my life’s desires that sustain me when I can’t seem to find purpose and clarity in the crucial fragments of my existence.

I’m trudging my way around this time so I might not have to keep skating on the edges of sentimental rains. But I’d still keep coming back here anyway, hoping for a glimpse of another dawn. Or a rainbow perhaps.

Someday when I reach the limits of my life’s journey, I hope I may give a fresh try to light upon a place in the timeless benevolence of your hearts and minds.

 

Thoughts On Writing

Some of the best bloggers write with profound depth and a certain delectable flourish I may never acquire in this lifetime. I’ve a good sense to know they belong to an elite league I can never hope to join. And I’ll be okay with that. Nice thing that I’m one of the most ardent readers in this world, and so what I cannot attain to write I will read in all relish from other more naturally endowed writers.

Love letters and sappy poems I have written and occasionally reread either make me smile or feel sheepish. Inspirational author Sarah Ban Breathnach had said writers often write letters meant to their beloved but always end up seducing themselves instead. That simply validates the magic of the printed word, doesn’t it?

I enjoy sprinkling my compositions with adjectives and adverbs. Likewise, writing in pyrotechnics style can be counted as one of my brash endeavors. I’m wary things might get over the top yet I don’t want to restrain myself either. I intend to be venturesome in some of my approaches here. Not to worry, I’ll make an effort not to go overboard. I can be critical at how I put my words together too. And if ever I’d goof up or overdone it, I would simply hope for the good grace of my readers to forgive and bear with me.

I admit to being guilty of committing more than a few writing sins. Among them is indulging in the use of clichés and hackneyed expressions. I also constantly battle with the problem of dealing with identical words appearing in the same sentence or an adjoining one. Reconstructing a sentence is said to be a sound solution here which I aim to become more at ease at.

I’m not exactly a fan of writing rules and advice, even if they come from the gurus or well-known writers. The use of the passive voice, and running to the thesaurus for assistance have been disapproved by some. I don’t exactly get the reasons why.

I personally believe you can be on your own when it comes to this art and your particular class of readers will simply find you. You eventually evolve with your writing and style. The possibilities are endless. Your capacity can be limitless.

All in the name of good writing I hope.

One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned: “The most original modern authors are not so because they advance what is new, but simply because they know how to put what they have to say, as if it had never been said before.”

A writer has to have a rich vocabulary to make an impact on me. If your flavorful vocabulary is arranged in the right places, the prose becomes more spirited and spellbinding. I believe too that brevity and simplicity aren’t obligatory in the pursuit of sound writing. As long you can hold my attention and interest with the flow of your delivery, then write on.

My site stats have improved reasonably as of late. Sure I’m like all the other bloggers who glimpse at their stat sites every now and then. The rush I get in watching the numbers climb can be exhilarating. To think that I didn’t even bother to touch this account for some four months last year because I was engrossed in my job teaching a certain someone who badly needed my help.

I confess though that earning a reasonable number of readers is not what I really came here for. To reiterate, this blog I have always intended to dedicate to my only child. My all-time favorite American icon Steve Jobs had told his last biographer Walter Isaacson, whom he had chosen and personally asked to pen his life story, he wanted his children to know him as a person. Hence, Isaacson’s authorized biography of Jobs was realized soon after the latter’s death. I had wanted the same thing for a long time now, albeit I wouldn’t want to wait until I’m at death’s door to pen and wrap up my life saga.

It had got me thinking; wouldn’t it be wonderful if my son knew what his mother was like when she was young or what had gone through her mind at certain times?

I guess I need to get the ball rolling very soon as the slowing down of my mind might come in the not so distant future. One of my biggest regrets in life is I didn’t keep a diary in my younger years which means I’ve been struggling from scratch nowadays.

You may ask, ‘why do it in the blogosphere?’ 

Because of the chance that I may elevate the quality of whatever writing I hope to produce here, knowing the possibility a few kindred souls might unwittingly take a peek.

WordPress has advised not to spotlight too much on the “me, me, me” side of blogging if we want wider readership. But 90% of the blogs I’ve subscribed to and enjoy nonetheless are about the bloggers themselves, their lives and all essentially about them, them, them,.. which I certainly don’t mind.

So I intend to start anytime soon. Things will snowball perhaps. I just pray I won’t grate on my readers’ nerves.

 

Sundry Reflections on this Delightful Blog Universe

I confess to the occasional taking for granted on my part the joy our blog world has been bringing me. But a recent happening that left my heart wistful yet smiling sweetly with gladness.. courtesy of this “virtual land” we inhabit as bloggers has got me pondering  how much our blog universe or whatever you call it has benefited our writing skills and, more importantly, our inner lives in a variety of ways.

My original purpose for setting up this blog; To blog my random thoughts about whatever comes naturally with substantial anonymity. It was my son who opened this account for me, which means I didn’t participate much in the details of its creation. Funny that in my earlier years, I managed to complete courses in Cobol and Dbase programming with flying colors, not to mention even attended various mandatory computer seminars, yet these days I get clueless in the latest technology involving cyber matters. Most often, I’m reduced to simply turning on my netbook hoping nothing ever goes wrong.

There are times when I get tempted to include exquisite, eye-catching photos like what the majority of creative and resourceful bloggers do, but I always end up deciding against it for two main reasons; First, I want only my prose to highlight my entry. Second, searching for the right images might take up too much of my time (read: I’m lazy to do it.). Ditto for links and other blogger paraphernalia. Now you know why this particular abode of mine is totally unadorned.

I get to look at Freshly Pressed blog posts once in a while. Some are good, some are mediocre. I mean, maybe they’re not just my cup of tea. And it got me thinking what it would really feel like if one gets to be featured up there. Honestly, I believe it can be daunting. I don’t think I might want that many readers or followers who would expect the same quality of output in my succeeding entries as a consequence. One case in point, a pretty gifted blogger who’s probably a couple of years older than me got to become so popular in the blogosphere after figuring on Freshly Pressed. I began to get enamored of her site that tells about her colorful yet tumultuous life punctuated by her witty and brilliant sentiments on the truths of life, lost loves, passionate romantic encounters, hopes and dreams, and even her bipolar tendencies. Those were her previous subjects. A selected number of her literature had me going “woo hooo..”  Then her writing gradually changed. Until one day she suddenly bid her followers goodbye giving personal excuses about certain family problems. I sensed that she might have felt overwhelmed by the sudden deluge of readers and felt obligated to write more about urm, wholesome topics. I’m still waiting for her to turn up again one of these days.

Different strokes from talented writers with interesting personalities and dazzling writing styles. Oh you’ve no idea how often I get blown away by these delightful circle of bloggers and their incandescent works in the blogosphere. I tend to get absorbed in their stories and perspectives, reading non-stop until my eyes start bleeding from the glare of my computer monitor, or when the intensity of their tales or convictions makes me want to lie down for a while.

So who needs TV when the world of blogging has much more to offer? Definitely not me. Magnificent blogs continue to bloom around everywhere. What a bonanza for readers and writers alike indeed.

That convinces me we’re all fortunate to have each other here.