There are some people who cannot just comprehend or wrap their minds around the idea that there are others who enjoy being alone not because they have nowhere to go or lack friends for company. There are just those who prefer a solitary existence.
Is being alone bad?
If I’m going to ask that very question to select members of my family, there would be a resounding answer of “YES.” I beg to differ though.
Since I was a kid, I’ve always been an introvert — this is something so ridiculous to even contemplate by those who’ve only known me in the latter years. They would scoff it off as a lie when I’m completely being honest when I tell them there’s nary a naughty bone in my body during my formative years. Living with both disciplinarian/autocratic parents and going to private Catholic schools did me in. I always take home the “Most Silent” and “Best In GMRC (Good Morals and Right Conduct) ribbons at the end of the school year. That was the scenario until I moved on to college.
When you’ve gone through years of debilitating self-doubt, no amount of coaxing from other people can get you out of that slump other than yourself.
I learned it the hard way when I’ve hit rock bottom and no one can help me out of it. I even begin to have a not-so-pleasant view of people in general during that time — something that is both true and sad:
[Most] People only help those in need when they can get something out of it. In short, the moment you ask a favor from them, they’ll own you for life even if you’ve repaid that favor a thousand times.
Pessimism aside, it was an excruciating experience not worth repeating. In spite of all the crying and the sleepless nights, nobody was able to help me other than myself. Therefore, I hardened myself and face the facts that the only person I can depend on is myself.
I know that no man is an island and we are social beings. But being rejected a lot of times tend to be too painful and therefore, going along this mentality is a form of self-preservation.
Nope. I’m not going to talk about that thing women experience during menopause. The title is metaphorically used in this post for something else. So . . . here goes.
Whilst the west is experiencing the scorching and unrelenting heat of summer, it’s wet and rainy here in the tropics. One might think it’s the best time to catch up on writing. But, one is experiencing a writing “dry spell“, no amount of cozy weather can bring a bright light of inspiration to get the creative juices flowing.
I am experiencing this “dry spell” much like what the earth experiences during summertime.
After having a short but enlightening conversation with a friend, I suddenly realize that it’s been months since I did updates on my manuscript. I know that it happens to the best of us. However, with the recent events that somehow jump-started my formerly non-existent social life, my fiction writing world was put on-hold – something that should have happened because writing brings me more joy than the other stuff happening in my life.
There have been plenty of reasons and excuses that hinder the human heart to finally achieve some semblance of happiness.
Guilty as charged, I’ve been one of those whose pursuit of happiness took more than a decade to come into fruition. For different reasons that are both logical and sometimes plain idiotic, I have been plagued by my passion to do what I want, creating less than pleasant dreams and making me wake up both defeated and sullen. Because I always find myself in that infernal intersection, trying to weigh the never-ending pros and cons, practicality always win — hands down — paving the way towards a less fulfilling endeavor, leaving me to question myself WHY.
Regrets are a poor bedfellow to a craving heart.
Being with friends who likes to psycho-analyze me A LOT, and had no qualms in pointing out how I’ve been wasting my talents away, I have achieved clarity upon careful reflection.
If you love something so much, you’ll make time for it.
I have been vacillating whether to write this post and publish it or not because I know for a fact that there might be some who would get offended by this. However, a close friend told me it’s the right time to write something that I can very well say a lot about. And so, here goes . . .
When summer comes here in the tropical paradise I call home, it comes with a not-so-welcome price — sweating and irritating body odors.
One of the most important thing to have or include in your personal hygiene’s daily routine when living in a humid country is a deodorant. None of those extra gentle ones. You’ll need the strong ones — the one that makes you feel like your armpits are wearing a thick coating of Teflon. If not, you’ll be sweating buckets and carrying around the proof of it in your sweat-mapped shirts for all to see. If that’s not embarrassing enough, you’ll end up getting snarky looks and stink-eyes when crammed in a public transportation and you’re unconsciously (or consciously) emanating a funk like nothing else.