Sunkissed

*Typed this up over a week ago on my phone when I was reminded that it’s okay to write poems and prose. I haven’t written any in so long since writing more serious things for school and work

I never liked the summer
No matter how they wrote it up in films
Of young romance and seasoned possibilities
Beach trips and tropical booze
Sunburns and how the sun burnt
But some days I find I don’t mind
How the light seeps through
All the corners of peach wallpapered rooms
How the shadows play on tiles and concrete
The occasional rainbow on the countertop
Passing through water bottles
Spaghetti strap sundresses
And sunkissed furniture
I think some days
I don’t mind the summer
🌞

had too much fun decorating this

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In defense of the Alex Tizon article 

*I tweeted this discreetly after a blow up on social media from various parts of the world about the controversial long read. I noted there: article, because I intend to defend the article, not the things that happened in Alex Tizon’s piece for The Atlantic about his family’s secret

People demand truth but they blow up when it’s not to their liking, failing to recognize that the work was not a lie, in fact, a brave truth. It’s naive and idealistic to demand stories to paint black and white portraits of explicitly good and bad characters and behavior. Real life is a web of intersecting good and bad, where people, customs, mindsets, and the ways of the world, are allowed to change and grow. Scrutinizing and nitpicking issues from the place of privilege where one “knows better” is self righteousness guised as righteousness. People wanna intellectual-speak instead of opening up their hearts to a writer who poured his into this. Their bond, in spite of all that was wrong in their circumstance is more genuine than how subordinates anywhere in the world get treated. Note that you can hurt and walk all over people without having to break any laws or violate any basic rights. This was a lovingly written memoir of a family that captures the ff. very crucial phenomena in the human experience:

(1) There are remnants of servitude that haunt us as revamped forms of it still exist today.

(2) There is love in dark and difficult places.

We are all Alex Tizon when we are silent, but we can also be Alex Tizon when we choose to be kinder and softer.

Baby blues

*Had a little fun w my haircut and a new polo dress, the first thing I’ve gotten from Zara in sooo long, haha. And my Tretorns are about to break anytime sooo 

baby bangs, baby blue, baby doll dress, baby everything but anyone’s baby

The plight of the baby’s breath

*I tend to revisit photos I took from one of my favorite writing assignments for the school paper which was a Valentine’s Day feature a year ago. Wish I could revisit Dang Wa again but it’s gotten too hot so maybe on a cloudy cool day. I have a thing for wild looking flowers, as in roadside wildflowers haha

Florists have tucked stems of baby’s breath in and around larger centerpiece breeds for bouquets and flower arrangements for a long time now. They come a lot cheaper than the average showstopper rose and tulip. However as the wallflower of the flora world, in bundles especially, it has a standalone charm despite appearing precarious and delicate rendering it an extra on rotation in a commercial shop. Imagine being the decor for what’s already regarded as decor. But the baby’s breath’s hushed prettiness tugs at you in contrast along the dampened streets of a busy flower market against the medley of vendors trading in green for a sea of colors, a sight already typical in a place where bigger is usually better.

Flowers for your thoughts

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was supposed to do something else for class and I ended up doing this

Safe to say my classmates and I have been thrown outside of our comfort zones for the rest of the term because of contemporary epistemology class. I’ll admit that although it’s been so daunting and stressful, the sort-of-Socratic method-entailing-actual-hard-work kind of teaching style will inevitably be for our own good and growth, hence you’ve got yourself some sun flowers for all that thinking and analyzing.

While reviewing the philosophy textbook for senior high school, one of the reviewers quipped that the book is not an easy read. She worries that teachers and students might not understand it. A colleague replied that unfortunately, there is no better way to teach or do philosophy. Though philosophy students generally think that philosophy is difficult, I think they often forget why it is so. It is not because of the language or the concepts, it’s because philosophy deals with the very realities we struggle with everyday, sometimes unconsciously, for others more deliberately. Philosophy is a loving struggle with life and its questions. Therein lies its value. So perhaps the best way to begin is to have a loving struggle with the text.

—M.A. Dacela, my contemporary epistemology professor

May the struggle prove to be fulfilling!


Featured image in collage artwork: © Chris Kolupski (2008) for his amazing representation of The School of Athens on canvas

From behind the typewriter

So much of my dislike and disappointment towards my own previous blog posts are mostly because of the scattered-ness and negativity of it all. It started to seem like an Aidee Ever Downwards spiral, actually. I have my reasons behind each and every post but I’m not proud of it all the time. I wondered if I was just always sad or something in real life. I then realized I only do a majority of my writing on the blog when I’m really really sad. I’ve had a habit for years to only do a whole lot of writing when I’m down in the dumps like an angsty teenager awake past 2am. Although we all hear a lot about how the best artists are always depressed and cuckoo. I have to admit that negative emotions seem like a powerful fuel to make, write, and create, but my lack of creating when I’m happy is out of both fear and carelessness.

I can reason by saying, I don’t write when I’m living out my happiest moments simply because I’m busy living them out. But really, I don’t write about the happier bits of my life because I feel like jotting them down at the end of the day just might jinx em. I have long feared admitting simple joys because that might just spoil all the goodness in it. In fact I just let moments happen to me, let them pass like any normal individual, and look back fondly in silence without realizing they’re really ever gone.

It might have been my task to gruelingly capture the gone-ness in my life. I did this to both hold on and let go. And it might continue to be so, but I would like to add a new task to even more challengingly capture the nowness of my life. For years I’ve dreamed of writing bits of a Murakami-like novel in my head because I seemed to fulfill every formula of his lead characters: sad, regretful, never really getting over anything, and absolutely flawed, usually above 40. I’m not yet above 40 though. I thought I had a fair amount of experiences that would vouch for a gripping novel filled with prose about nature, city life, and a love you’ll never get over. That certainly made up for the crappy experiences themselves.

Sadness had therefore become power. I would collect the broken pieces of everything I’ve ever broken and gotten broken for a rainy day at home. I would type away to make magic out of magic that’s gone by. I can resurrect the gone-ness in front a blank screen. I can turn the goodbyes I lived through into a fictional hello and fiction gives you the power to add a little twist and maybe decide to give everything alternative endings or no endings at all.

But I’ve realized I’m only ever so sad about all that’s ever gone away because they for the time being made me so happy. Otherwise, I typically wouldn’t care. I have only been in so much pain because I have known so much joy too. The only difference on paper or rather on this blog, is that I didn’t try just as hard to capture happiness while it encompassed me.

I promise to tell some happier light-hearted stories too. I’ve given it some thought and figured since I’ve gone through worse, it might not be such a bad thing to write about little joys too. It’s just as tough to be truthful about the good and the bad equally. But what’s the truth if it’s not a lot of it or all of it at least? I will strive to create from a balance of my many truths.

typewriter

sprouting from behind the typewriter