I was supposed to post this yesterday, but given that I obviously didn’t, here it is: I had a long and intricate dream comprising of many different situations and people, but the one part I clearly remember and would not be too uncomfortable in posting would be that voting scenario. Part of my reality’s background as of late, actually, would be the elections in school, just so you know.
Anyhow, around fifteen different people gave me a small sheet of paper, each containing their votes for the different governmental positions. The thing is with these people was that most were old schoolmates from high school, and I don’t remember ever really being close to any single one of them. They asked me to cast their votes for them, and I don’t remember why I agreed, given the long-ass line of voters in the voting area in school. I remember falling in line – there was an unfamiliar man in a suit and had a cane, but he wasn’t old. He was asleep, and the line was moving. However, the people before me made sure to leave a space next to me, but I didn’t find this weird at all. The fact is, I remember even feeling sort of expectant, banking on the fact that this space was for him. After a while, the man wakes up, stands up, walks with ease and grace with the cane, and takes the seat next to me.
I left the voting booth with that man. We hardly talked, I hardly looked at him, but he was there. It was actually a nice feeling despite the fact that this man, probably old enough to be my father, was someone unfamiliar. I don’t recall seeing him anywhere or anytime in the past. But oddly enough, I knew him. Anyhow, going back to the dream, an electoral official approached me and asked if I cast fifteen votes on behalf of other people in addition to my own. I said yes, and he said that they had to nullify the votes unless I could give him the COMELEC (Commission on Elections) cards of all fifteen people. Panic washed over me, and I told him that these people did not give me COMELEC cards of any sort (and now that I’m conscious again, I don’t think there are even actual COMELEC cards in existence… are there?). And I just remember that man watching me panic, amused somehow, and when I was done rambling about the injustice of losing fifteen votes and my effort to actually fall in line for these lazy voters, just led me on to wherever we were going. I’m not sure if I woke up after that, but that’s all I can remember.
Is anyone into dream analysis? :)
**
I find it, all the same time, refreshing, frustrating, and surprising that my mom, who is just about the most rational and placid person I know, believes that emotions just simply cannot be rationalized. I don’t get it. Aren’t our feelings triggered by an outside factor we call ‘reason’? I can’t imagine my moods being what they are without knowing the proper cause of it. But that would probably just be me being the infuriating number one fan and patron of the flat world of logic, as my mom implied.
For the first time in years, I picked up my copy of Veronika Decides To Die by Paulo Coelho. I never thought I’d be able to relate to Veronika’s world in the way I’m currently connecting to her now. As a matter of fact, my state of being these days have been eerily linked to books, songs, anecdotes… I think that my life has been so cliché the last months that I believe it’s beginning to get boring. I cannot begin to describe the strangeness of catching myself in the middle of an involuntary mannerism that I would realize only in that moment is a mannerism that was never mine. The prospect of living this life for someone else in this sense dawned to me only recently, and it scares me. The way things have been going as of late, I can only aptly deem it as becoming my own doppelganger.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but the concept of a doppelganger, or so I’ve heard, is that it is another you walking around on this earth. The catch is that you can never meet your doppelganger, because if you do, one of you has to die to make room for the other living his or her life fully, because your lives will meet at one point that cannot be shared. Think of it as a skewed Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort relationship (pardon the avid fan), minus the apparent antagonism.
Going back to my warped theory, I have come to realize that the way I have been ‘living’ my life for the last three months has been zombie-like and hollow. There has been no trace of real productivity, zest and sincerity in the way I have been walking, talking, eating or simply being. It was as though more than just a certain smile, gleam and brightness died along with whatever had to go. It’s amazing how one instance can sway my entire being so badly. That wasn’t supposed to instill in me the want to push people away – it was supposed to teach me to bring people closer to me and tell them, in all possible ways, that I care for them and I will make do of my time with them while we’re all still here.
How could I have believed that there was no more reason or motivation to get through each waking day? I could practically slap myself for being so selfish and egocentric. Though it was not their obligation, people cared for me and I have been unjustly reciprocating by questioning their motives, their intentions and doubting their sincerity. Add to that would be the fact that I simply couldn’t care that they did. I have been wallowing too much in the muck I have whipped up for my own self, constraining the happiness of other people with my misery.
What I have been the last months – it simply isn’t me. It was a miserable hag that did all sorts of crazy things to cover up what was essentially my own self and what I was essentially thinking and feeling. It was that witch that thought cutting her hair would remove whatever had to be taken out, that thought pushing it all to the back of her mind would help matters, that thought living in her own world would make things better.
But hey, in line with that, I earlier did talk about being my own doppelganger. At least this time, I know exactly which person should die – and it isn’t going to be this sleazy bipolar hitting the grave. ;)
**
It is said that people regenerate every seven years – hence the amazing fact that we become a totally different person every seven years, but essentially maintain what people have come to believe what and who we are. Then again, if we all regenerate, I suppose nothing new really happens. If everyone does it, then where’s the surprise or uniqueness in that? We change with people. We change with the world. And since everything changes, we can logically say that everything stays the same.
Oh, Christ. I’m rambling here, I’m sorry. Currently, Go The Distance is playing in the background. I’ve been pretty much addicted to Disney songs ever since I watched on video my dear Lit classmate Yanyan sing this wonderful song. I totally *heart* Yanyan. The way he sang the song was absolutely wonderful, which is saying something, because I always believed that song was one of those that covers simply tried but failed to do justice to. I am now officially naming myself as the founder-president of The Yanyan Proliferation. Oh, I like that – The Yanyan Proliferation.
Anyhow, around fifteen different people gave me a small sheet of paper, each containing their votes for the different governmental positions. The thing is with these people was that most were old schoolmates from high school, and I don’t remember ever really being close to any single one of them. They asked me to cast their votes for them, and I don’t remember why I agreed, given the long-ass line of voters in the voting area in school. I remember falling in line – there was an unfamiliar man in a suit and had a cane, but he wasn’t old. He was asleep, and the line was moving. However, the people before me made sure to leave a space next to me, but I didn’t find this weird at all. The fact is, I remember even feeling sort of expectant, banking on the fact that this space was for him. After a while, the man wakes up, stands up, walks with ease and grace with the cane, and takes the seat next to me.
I left the voting booth with that man. We hardly talked, I hardly looked at him, but he was there. It was actually a nice feeling despite the fact that this man, probably old enough to be my father, was someone unfamiliar. I don’t recall seeing him anywhere or anytime in the past. But oddly enough, I knew him. Anyhow, going back to the dream, an electoral official approached me and asked if I cast fifteen votes on behalf of other people in addition to my own. I said yes, and he said that they had to nullify the votes unless I could give him the COMELEC (Commission on Elections) cards of all fifteen people. Panic washed over me, and I told him that these people did not give me COMELEC cards of any sort (and now that I’m conscious again, I don’t think there are even actual COMELEC cards in existence… are there?). And I just remember that man watching me panic, amused somehow, and when I was done rambling about the injustice of losing fifteen votes and my effort to actually fall in line for these lazy voters, just led me on to wherever we were going. I’m not sure if I woke up after that, but that’s all I can remember.
Is anyone into dream analysis? :)
**
I find it, all the same time, refreshing, frustrating, and surprising that my mom, who is just about the most rational and placid person I know, believes that emotions just simply cannot be rationalized. I don’t get it. Aren’t our feelings triggered by an outside factor we call ‘reason’? I can’t imagine my moods being what they are without knowing the proper cause of it. But that would probably just be me being the infuriating number one fan and patron of the flat world of logic, as my mom implied.
For the first time in years, I picked up my copy of Veronika Decides To Die by Paulo Coelho. I never thought I’d be able to relate to Veronika’s world in the way I’m currently connecting to her now. As a matter of fact, my state of being these days have been eerily linked to books, songs, anecdotes… I think that my life has been so cliché the last months that I believe it’s beginning to get boring. I cannot begin to describe the strangeness of catching myself in the middle of an involuntary mannerism that I would realize only in that moment is a mannerism that was never mine. The prospect of living this life for someone else in this sense dawned to me only recently, and it scares me. The way things have been going as of late, I can only aptly deem it as becoming my own doppelganger.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but the concept of a doppelganger, or so I’ve heard, is that it is another you walking around on this earth. The catch is that you can never meet your doppelganger, because if you do, one of you has to die to make room for the other living his or her life fully, because your lives will meet at one point that cannot be shared. Think of it as a skewed Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort relationship (pardon the avid fan), minus the apparent antagonism.
Going back to my warped theory, I have come to realize that the way I have been ‘living’ my life for the last three months has been zombie-like and hollow. There has been no trace of real productivity, zest and sincerity in the way I have been walking, talking, eating or simply being. It was as though more than just a certain smile, gleam and brightness died along with whatever had to go. It’s amazing how one instance can sway my entire being so badly. That wasn’t supposed to instill in me the want to push people away – it was supposed to teach me to bring people closer to me and tell them, in all possible ways, that I care for them and I will make do of my time with them while we’re all still here.
How could I have believed that there was no more reason or motivation to get through each waking day? I could practically slap myself for being so selfish and egocentric. Though it was not their obligation, people cared for me and I have been unjustly reciprocating by questioning their motives, their intentions and doubting their sincerity. Add to that would be the fact that I simply couldn’t care that they did. I have been wallowing too much in the muck I have whipped up for my own self, constraining the happiness of other people with my misery.
What I have been the last months – it simply isn’t me. It was a miserable hag that did all sorts of crazy things to cover up what was essentially my own self and what I was essentially thinking and feeling. It was that witch that thought cutting her hair would remove whatever had to be taken out, that thought pushing it all to the back of her mind would help matters, that thought living in her own world would make things better.
But hey, in line with that, I earlier did talk about being my own doppelganger. At least this time, I know exactly which person should die – and it isn’t going to be this sleazy bipolar hitting the grave. ;)
**
It is said that people regenerate every seven years – hence the amazing fact that we become a totally different person every seven years, but essentially maintain what people have come to believe what and who we are. Then again, if we all regenerate, I suppose nothing new really happens. If everyone does it, then where’s the surprise or uniqueness in that? We change with people. We change with the world. And since everything changes, we can logically say that everything stays the same.
Oh, Christ. I’m rambling here, I’m sorry. Currently, Go The Distance is playing in the background. I’ve been pretty much addicted to Disney songs ever since I watched on video my dear Lit classmate Yanyan sing this wonderful song. I totally *heart* Yanyan. The way he sang the song was absolutely wonderful, which is saying something, because I always believed that song was one of those that covers simply tried but failed to do justice to. I am now officially naming myself as the founder-president of The Yanyan Proliferation. Oh, I like that – The Yanyan Proliferation.
And I won’t look back
I will go the distance
I suddenly had the compulsion to watch the videos Jessie gave me – the ones she took from this semester’s music recital. Apart from Yanyan, there was of course Ina dear. Ina is another one of those few goose-bump singers for me. By goose-bump singers, I mean when I hear her voice, I get goose bumps in a good way (because there is an amusing alternative connotation for goose-bump singers – think, the tone-deaf like me on unlucky days). Her rendition of Time To Say Goodbye almost made me cry in the middle of the Filipino classroom. =’( This summer, apart from the ‘fitness’ regime I am going to subject myself to (so an advanced warning to any bouts of crankiness you might come across, should we get to talk over the holidays), I am going to bring back the music in me (oh, HSM 2, hah). I did not invest five years to that field to just throw it away on account of an inability to balance schoolwork and something that used to be a passion of mine. No, no. Christ, I really need this summer. Come on, Summer Love! :s
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