Facebook Delirium: How Badly Do You Want It?

To be honest, it had come to a point that I wasn't able to share anything at least once a week.

Which technically defeated the premise and point of this blog.

However, as the point and focus is simply to publish an entry once a week, I shall commence in writing and continue what I started, despite the lapses of entries.

Facebook Delirium: How Badly Do You Want It?

Recently, I've just deleted my first and only Facebook Account that held 400+ friends, 0 applications and a couple of entries on poems, blog entries and my personal favourite, my history of status messages.

My turning point was staring at my Facebook personal page and waiting for people to comment on my photos or greet me with anything. I would type in status messages that was supposed to catch attention, or inspire thoughtful conversations. For a while it worked how I visualized it to. Definitely I was amazed by how far and fast Facebook could connect you to people.

Without even trying to talk to them up close, checking their profiles seem to be enough to tell you how they are at the moment.

And the same way could they identify with me.

I understand how creative and resourceful the mechanics of Facebook could be, but as the weeks pass by, I get the feeling that I was starting a habit that was bound to push thru if I didn't put a stop to it.

The question was, is it a bad habit, or a good one?

The nature of Facebook on the first place is most obviously understood from its welcome page,

'Facebook helps you connect and share with the people in your life.'

With that said, how can anyone not want to get a free account?

I put up an account for myself to share pictures from high school. I thought it was a long overdue responsibility to inform others that I have stolen snapshots of our good times together, and I took several of them that never got a place in any of our school yearbooks. So I finally decided to give it a place in Facebook.

It worked and I was an FB-user for almost a year.

My friends, I noticed, would constantly change their pictures, their stat messages, and update their activities. I was amazed by their snapshots and their fast-paced lives. I was personally motivated to document mine by regularly taking pictures of myself and updating my stat message according to my mood, or to a major activity/project I concerned myself with.

Until I got tired. My life. My current activities. Do they all have to be in Facebook? Because it's become so personal, it became so trendy, it was an Idea to reflect your every-moment or current position in the Internet by the powerful Facebook.

I was aware that other people deleted their accounts 'permanently' due to security reasons.

Although I have my own worries (my account had been hacked and FB asked me to change my password, and ever since I never left my Messages without deleting all traces of correspondence--which were my only FB treasures.)it wasn't really due to security reasons why I deleted it.

It felt like a fun-pressured rat-race. I know it's different for each one of us, but for me, Facebook became a place where you're ought to share something online if you care for your 'cyberspace-identity' or your online-representation.

The truth is that I can hardly keep up with my reality-space life. How much more for a cyberspace, Facebook-empowered identity?

It's still online. Despite the many blessings found in the Internet, let alone Facebook, I find that cyberspace is still a fickle world to trust in.

I still believe in technology however, which is why I rely on e-mails when it comes to online-correspondence or sharing of pictures. As for getting in-touch with my friends, texting is next to breathing here in the Philippines, and that comforted me at the thought of losing my FB account.

I may not be able to use all the 'cool' applications served in Facebook (which I never partook in on the first place; I always thought it was a waste of time--that I could've been doing more important things--which I did--instead of using them.) or 'connect with friends' the Facebook-way, but one thing's for sure:

Friends are friends, with or without Facebook.

Family is family, with or without Facebook.

However,

Facebook cannot serve its purpose, without the support of the people.

As for all Facebook-users, each has a grateful or special story to tell. I don't contest that. Even I have my own good memories in FB.

But it tires me and I find that it's been eating a lot of my time.

As good and tempting as it can be, I just don't want it any longer.

Romance VS. Friendship

Is Courtship overrated?

Panliligaw, archaic?

What of Dating?

All the same?

Going through all those men and women, in the end, had it all been in vain? Not just the middle; there may have been an err at the beginning also.

And for a while, I debated with myself:

Why do I allow myself to be entertained by those I hardly understand?

My Aunt J, who professed that she preferred thrills and confusion in relationships, may give evidence or proof to our inclination of feeding our curiosities.

Back to the question, why do I even bother (rephrased) being with others whom I either find difficulty relating to, or have no interest, simply put, of relating with?

Surprisingly, the answer, is the same way why I bother relating to those I am interested with, to those I am comfortable with, and to those I admire.

They say Openness can build friendships.

Friendship entails, to me personally, that lack of expectation from a person doing good for you; I don’t expect my friends to do something good to me, because their being there is good done unto me already. Their presence (near or far, you feel and know your friendship exists), their characters, and consequently their words and actions are the basic reasons why I am friends with them. Because I trust their presence. I trust their character, their words and actions. But I don’t expect them to be ‘this kind of person’ or ‘to do this or that’. Because as individual persons, only they have the ability to want what they want to show to me or to others. And I am the only one in control of what I want to show to others. And no one can control (or be me, intricately and internally) how I give. Only they, and I, can only expect ourselves, to do what we want, the way we do.

Hence, we support and respect our individualities and our principles as separate entities. And in that respect, we were surprised that what we wanted for each other was actually our well-being. Where you look after one another. And in the process, you learn how to love.

My failure and mistake in terms of courtship stemmed off from the assumption or stereotype that it ‘must’ begin with interrogation, a strict exchange of information, and of reading the other party’s motivation in wanting to know the other.

Worse, that only the man ‘make the moves’, or efforts, while the woman waits and even entertains others.

It took an old friend, and a book by Blaine Bartel to remind me of my philosophy courses in UAP, especially in that of The Family, where good marriage is founded by Friendship.

I am not married. And I don’t know if I ever will be, but for us who are, and for us who will be, let it be known, no matter how redundant, that Friendship, in fact, lasts longer than Romance.

Yes, you need both, and it is not true, according to my Professor, Sr. de los Reyes of The Family of UAP, that courtship stops before Holy Matrimony; it goes on throughout married life. It begins before married life, and continues (as long as you both shall live…perhaps even beyond.)

I have had so much trouble being with somebody that I forget, a simple small truth, that before I expect so much commitment, so much exchange, that I listen so we could be friends first.

And if there had been no friendship to begin with, how could I have expected that the relationship would last long? If all there is were romance and promises, the ‘bond’ was due to die young, and, whenever renewed in vain, frequently.

Consequently, I burdened myself senseless because it was not sensible to begin with.

Of all things that are contained and maintained in relationships, Friendship is the rock by which all senses and sensibilities are tested.

Had I reminded myself this mere simple fact before, I would have spared myself long, scarred connections where some continue to haunt me today.

But as it is, I can only hope and pray, that I find a way to be more open, and more importantly, to love better.

Through friendship.

Wishes for Everyone

Wish-Broken…

I have heard of broken hearts, broken promises…but broken wishes, seldom do I hear much of the matter. And if the concept ruled in different terms, this is the phrase I thought of using.

I’d like to think it carries a much simpler, lighter degree of disappointment.

This way, it wouldn’t be much of a shame to admit that you had your wish broken. May it be an excuse for something worse, at least we all have an idea of what was, somewhat, taken away from us. Or broken.

For whatever is broken, logically speaking, if it is needed, if it is what is supposed to be, if it is good and for the good, then it ought to be mended. These requisites, although may look like one, don’t necessarily have to be fulfilled, but in my personal view, they have to be.

Wishes of the heart, if they are the only wishes that truly exist (apart from plausible others) they are the hardest wishes of them all. They go far beyond death, and they shine the brightest. I noticed even if it fails to be granted, it remains the same. Something you may frown at, smile at, or nod at whenever you look back.

Decisions, decisions…how do you make the best out of it? How do you contemplate without thinking for the worse, or the worst? If it’s bad enough, it can’t get any worse, right? If it’s good, it’s not supposed to go away?

In one of my Educ classes, our professor told us a message whenever we’re out there, teaching students,

‘Preparation, preparation, preparation.’ Just three words, and all the same.

But how do you prepare for things you don’t know? I’d go on about values and virtues all day (and may not even get it right, nor succeed) but at the end of it all, I know one thing for sure.

It was a line from a movie, and the man said to the woman, because she lost trust in the world,

‘If something good happens along the way, you hold onto it, until it’s time to let go.’

Is man selfish, that even in the end, it’s always been a journey with one’s self?

The truth, perhaps, is that journeys are made like adventures. You’re not alone. You’re on your own, but never alone. Something is always out there. For all of us. And how we deal with it, how we overcome, go through… it tells us who we are.

So as far as broken wishes are concerned, I know for sure there were adventures that dealt with more than one wish. And every time a star dies, could a new one be born? I hope so. Even if not, let’s make as many wishes as possible.

After all, they’re wishes. Some of them are bound to come true.

Mrs. Corpus-Caraan

We used to call her Ms. Corpus.

It was Art Class, and we formally began attending this 30-45 minute classes in 1^st grade. (I think it was 1^st, and if not, 3^rd.) I can still remember the aisle made out of wooden tables, assembled in a pair of columns, each segment comprising of rectangular drawing boards facing each other. I can’t forget the messy papers and the residue from the erasers. So many mistakes, so little opportunity to cover it.

There was an issue with the borders. 1 inch on all sides, or was it 2 inches in some sides? Write your name, section, class number, name of teacher and the title of your work, or the topic at hand.

There was shading, sketching, exploring dimensions, ‘point of views’ (my baptism to ‘bird’s eye view’ and the beauty of corners), abstraction, and mock paints.

Once I mock-painted the ‘Women Running on the Beach’ of Picasso, so I could get my work featured in the annual exhibit (it was an annual project to create mock-paintings of renowned painters.) I was already in 6^th grade, and I wanted to give back something to my art class so I painted this abstract rendition from a Picasso-inspired book I found in our drawers at home.

The exhibit came and past, and my painting was nowhere to be found. I thought to myself, ‘too many good paintings were out already. I guess Ms. Corpus had her hands full.’

During one of our last art classes, Ms. Corpus took our attention and showed a painting in class. It showed two women running half-naked along a shore, and she asked, ‘Who’s painting is this? I was so busy during the exhibit, I forgot to hang this up. This is one of the best we have. It could have been our focal point.’

I was slightly uninterested in taking a look, but when I finally did, I couldn’t forget that moment.

I slowly stood up from my chair, bringing my odd 5 feet 4 inches body up to walk along that long aisle. I heard gushing voices and saw disbelieved faces at the corner of my eye. And then Ms. Corpus showed a pained face, ‘I’m so sorry, I forgot, we were doing so many things. I forgot to write your name …’

To be honest, it didn’t matter to me anymore that my painting didn’t get itself the opportunity to be hung in that exhibit; the fact that one of the best teachers in the world recognized my work as a great one was more than enough. And that half-a-minute walk of fame retrieving my work was so precious, it must’ve been an exhibition in itself.

Some time later, as I was still holding my rolled work, checking it every now and then, a good old friend from another class saw it and was shocked, ‘You made that? Ms. Corpus was asking us if any of us made that. So you did?’

Getting offended is out of the question already. I understand that whatever skill or talent I have in sketching or painting had long been overlooked, but to myself, whatever learning I had, wouldn’t have been possible on the first place, if it weren’t for that Art Teacher who taught us how to free ourselves during her class.

So thank you, now-called, Mrs. Caraan. Our beloved Ms. Corpus. Now still a passionate Art Teacher, inspiring students alike, and a family-woman to boot.

I know for a fact she had been inspiring generations of women to pursue art, a lot of them I had the pleasure to speak with (some continuing to Fine Arts in UP, or an art-related course in other respective Colleges.)

I just had to give this recognition, this memory as well, because if it weren’t for this past, I wouldn’t have gotten the praise I get in my preschool, from my co-workers and ‘bosses’, and even from the people I study and work with in UA&P.

SHSians, Holy girls, I know you feel me :) and I am sure you have stories of your own with this remarkable woman.

4. Power Dynamics: Then and Now?

For the rest of us, I wonder, how much has social status changed?

I just had a talk with an old friend yesterday, and we remembered, how difficult it was to survive in our secondary school, and how, ironically, it resembled the corporate world.

In business, especially in your typical office where subordinates and bosses rule and don’t rule, how different has it been compared to younger years? If you were fortunate or unfortunate enough to have been exposed to horrible power dynamics, how little and how much is the same?

You still got your ever-present ‘ocheseras’, the numero uno back-stabbers and fire-starters. And then you’ve got your best pal, or at least the person you think who’s got your back. If the relationship backfires, that’s even more disheartening. But in some cases, if not often, you still got your best bud supporting you, or cheering you on in OTs now, or science projects then.

You’ve got your bully, or bullies. (Sometimes the same jocks.) Boy, do they make a reincarnation or what. Worse yet if they’re the same set of people! (the latter idea was inspired by Hollywood, but let it be assured that the first is entirely based on reality, existing in different offices, as discussed and shared with my own friends.)

You have the hot, attractive female schoolmate, future tense, officemate, and the jocks, the bullies and the rest of the office population drools when she passes by. She could very well be the boss, perhaps the executive assistant of the boss, or one of the assistants. She could be anybody, yes; one thing in common though: boys want her, and girls envy her.

But isn’t it strange, how undesirable power dynamics could still exist in the realm of what ought to be the ‘adult’ world? What does it tell us?

Assumptions: that ‘adulthood’, once reached, cannot be equated to maturity.If you find yourself exposed in a scenario where your office feels like a blast from a horrid past, then something’s wrong with the group you’re working with. Or, you haven’t changed one bit.

Then again, is that a bad thing? What you were then, and what you are now? How far have you gone? Changed? Reached? Accomplished?

Are you less forgiving, or even more considerate? Your virtues, values and principles, have they added up, improved, changed? How?

Do you find yourself in a favourable position, where morality is at stake, how did you react before, and how do you react now?

The things is, as much as we want to redeem ourselves from a possible unfavourable past, or a pallid one, or improve further from a great one, we can’t control the growth and reaction of others, not as much as we can control ourselves.

The only sure control and improvement you can reign on is yourself.

So I ask myself sometimes, how was I then, and how am I now?

Quite surprisingly, from separate people, they tell me,

‘You haven’t changed.’

Post 3: Comparisons

I am in fact late with one entry.

As the title and premise of this blog, I'm supposed to post a short memory once a week; and last week, I forgot to. Yesterday, I compensated for that, although I must admit I wanted to keep a religious every-Saturday-short-blog-sharing kind of routine, I obviously ruined that chain now.

However, to keep up at least with the 4 times a month postage, I am on my third.

Post 3: Comparisons

When recalling the days of our teenhood, at least here in the Philippines, people often tell me that high school was their best years.

Personally, I beg to differ.

Childhood was a dream. It wasn't just a fantasy, because it really happened, and I was really happy. But after the primary years, elementary school was brutal. Compared to high school however, elementary felt like the Secret Garden.

High School on the other hand was roller coster. It wasn't just earth smacked right between heaven and hell, it was puberty, and it reigned in all of us supreme.

Primary years in the Philippines start around nursery until preparatory school. After that, we graduate towards grade school, and mind you, we're approximately 7 years old by 1st grade, and that even depends if you were accelerated. The trend before, and even until now, is to graduate as young as possible, and get into college before puberty runs dry. Some kids make it by 17, others by 16. I went to college at 17. Most from my school did.

College was your marriage to reality. For some of us, it was liberation. 'Freedom'. Although not long after you get settled in your first year, it wasn't as 'free' as we previously thought.

I loved/love going to college. Right now, in my last year as a full-time apprentice and taking my last class that only goes along with the practicum. Dating back from 1st year, I daresay, compared to high school, college felt like an overseas experience and you actually bring back what you learned.

Strictly speaking, this blog is for short narratives only. How I'd love to expound, but somehow, I'm finding a kind of pleasure in sharing gists of my past.

However short, gists.

Post 2: Late Nights. Typing Words. Just. Words.

How did I even start writing? I recall those long nights that began in late afternoons, when I'd just returned from school. I was in first year high and I was obsessed with a fanfiction I was making. One chapter led to another and sheer bliss exploded. That was the first time I posted a fictional story in the Internet. And people loved it. Not long after, my father reprimanded me from writing, primarily because I hardly studied at home. I resumed in senior year, where in between I in fact 'snuck' into writing, when the act as I remembered was good and legal.

Too much of anything too bad for ya?

Nah. The good stuff is bottomless. The real good stuff.