Faith is the bird that sings,
because it feels the light before the darkness dawns.

Hope is the man that smiles,
because he has been shown the glory of Heaven
while still upon earth.

Charity is the heart that grows strong,
for even when it breaks itself to give to others,
it is made whole again by God's love.

Happy New Year! *\ ^_^ /*

(~ Found this by the Guadalupe shrine in the Church near UCLA one December evening)

Music-- its rules, and the breaking of them, are all subject to laws occurring in nature.

Fools who imprudently squander Music do not understand that the discipline is every note, every line, every bar and staff, as precise and sacred as Mathematics itself, the foundation upon which the universe was formed. In many ways, to tame Music and Mathematics is to learn the language of God.

Even more astounding is how those laws confer liberties that breed diversity, rather than impose restrictions that lead to dead-ends. This is the same philosophy with which we must understand free will:

For how must each and every one of us be truly free, if we injudiciously use free will as license to do whatever we wish, even as we encroach on the most basic entitlements of others?

I am a dynamite. There are instances when just a little bit can send me raging. I am easily assuaged, though some of the anger requires extra effort to extinguish. I will reframe this quality of easy igniting in such a way that I can use it to feed my passion for the things I must do on the road to success.

I am an uncertain firecracker. I can perform an amusing, although rather reluctant, display. It happens when I pay partial attention to what I am doing. These moments when I can think about what I am writing or saying and fully engage myself in what I want to write or say-- they have been rare in the last few years. There is much to do in daily tasks, and much noise comes with those-- noise carrying things from the past, things in the future, things I assume to be happening or that might happen. None of these really exist in the present. Indeed, the secret of happiness is to mourn the past not, to worry the future not, but instead to live the present earnestly by using one's talents to achieve the fullness of self-trust, which is key to gaining prosperity in material needs and, as well, social relations.

I am a very deep ancient well. Look in, and you'll see tides of all sorts-- including, yes, tides of regret about things I missed, or things I could have had but watched pass by without an effort to catch. I am very deep, because my fears and disappointments run deep, deep into the heart, piercing right into my soul, attempting to dissolve the debris from the many floods that washed at my spirit. I am ancient, because I am very old, but nobody knows I am old, because I am full and wet. Nevertheless, the earth beneath the wetness is almost always instantaneously dry. It is constantly extracted of the water it produces, sometimes bubbling up to the surface of my mouth and gagging me, until I choke it back down.

I am a young philosopher. I know many things, some truth, some fiction. I don't necessarily believe them, even when I know they are true. It is, however, wise to remember that faith, rather than doubt, makes a philosopher.

I am a very compassionate, intelligent person with a big, big heart that nurtures many big dreams. Past the anger, frustration, worries, and disappointments, is the truth that I am brim-deep in potential. I want to burst forth like a supernova and shower the universe with my light. I want to give rise to so many stars and to be immortalized by the phantasmagorical spectacle I made and the stars that I birthed.

I am who I am, and this is what I can do. Watch closely and be amazed.

Sometimes, priests' homilies are a joke.

Take for example the Church's teaching to “Condemn the sin, not the sinner.” Well, in some respects, it works. When someone is sick in the head, his fellow can condemn that person's actions but not lose sight of the fact that the person is ill. In this case, the open-minded thing to do is not to hate the person, and just detest the act. But what about issues like homosexuality? Does “Condemn the sin, not the sinner” really apply? Or is it just bigotry and condescent, because it assumes that homosexuality is some kind of illness that also happens to be a sin, because either it or its manifestations are "inherently evil"?

If so, what made it evil?

I love God, and I think it is okay to ponder:

Just because the Bible documents God's disapproval of something, doesn't mean it is automatically inherently evil. For example, in Deuteronomy, it is stated that animals which have split hooves and do not chew the cud are unclean. To eat those animals constitutes an unclean act. One such animal: the pig.

From an evolutionary point of view, survival may indeed be diminished by eating pork, since there are many things that can cause more harm by eating pork rather than eating chicken or beef (which I will not even attempt to list). So maybe it is better, after all, not to eat pork, and that idea meshed well with the admonition from Deuteronomy.

But is eating pork really inherently evil?

It is not. The reality is that pork can be taken from a pig. It happens to be edible; some people have a natural preference to eat it, and there is no innate malevolence in doing so.

Similarly, homosexuality is an undeniable reality that exists. In evolutionary theory, it is a grey area. Homosexuality has persisted through thousands of years because it confers protection on a weak individual, let's say a weak male, and is an ego-booster to a more dominant male. Of course, a male likes a female. Unfortunately, sperm is cheap, since it is produced by spermatogonia throughout a male's life and released as fast and easy as the McDonald's burger. Meanwhile, the egg is precious; besides that females are born with all the egg cells they will ever give in their lifetime, it takes a discrete event to release an egg cell. Hence, females are selective. Having been rejected because of the presence of other dominant males, where does the rejected male turn to?

Then take into account how females have an estrous / menstrual cycle. Estrogen rises and falls and upregulates progesterone. Progesterone takes precedence, and females are unwilling to mate. Nor are they looking too attractive to the males, with all that progesterone. But primp up the femme guy and hey— even an alpha male may think femme guy doesn't look too bad? And femme guy's testosterone is still at a significantly higher level than that of a regular female's, so yea, he probably wants it bad, too. Hm. In this respect, evolution worked for homosexuality.

[FYI, testosterone is present in males and females. It is a prohormone that gets converted by different pathways into estrogens or androgens. Males have more testosterone, estrogens, and androgens than do females, and male sexual behavior is dependent on testosterone, estrogens, and androgens.]

Conversely, male-male anal copulation poses a greater risk to transmittance of disease than all other forms of intercourse. In this respect, evolution worked against homosexuality.

But is homosexuality really inherently evil?

I don't know. Is it an illness, and is that why “Condemn the sin, not the sinner” applies? I don't know. Homosexuality used to appear on the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders, but it isn't there anymore. I guess the current view is that gayness is some type of personality, not a personality defect. If being homosexual is not a disorder but some kind of personality, how can you separate the person from his personality? Isn't the person defined by the personality?

Hence, assuming that heaven and hell exist, and one is sent to hell for being immoral, and assuming that being gay is immoral— it makes sense for a soul that turned out to be a gay embryo to skip going to earth, and just dive straight into hell. And divine intervention should have taken care of it, because hell is where gays are sent anyway.

I mean, I don't know about gay souls, but gay people are born gay, dudd. If the hormone levels became atypical of your regular male or female levels as early as during embryonic development, that person would and would still be gay. In mice, there are certain critical windows that make way for treatment of that hormonal imbalance— just the words "treatment" and "imbalance" already presuppose a disorder— in humans, we don’t know. Mice and humans are similar but they are also in many ways different. For example, Leukemia Inhibiting Factor (LIF) plus serum prevents differentiation of cells in mouse neurogenesis; in humans, LIF leads to differentiation.

While my sympathy is almost always extinguished by irritation when I see some rowdy gay folk (not a fan of "flamboyant" noise here, and that is just a preference), I imagine gay people, rowdy or not, are already in hell during their lifetime on earth, anyway, thanks to the massive stigma that society has placed upon them. So why even waste energy trying to assert that "gay goes to hell"? We don't even know if there really is a hell, or whether it is a place or a state of mind.

We are often reminded in Church about salvation, without knowing concretely what *it* is that we need to be saved from; why we are so vulnerable to *it*; why the milieu is dangerous, and why we are placed in that milieu. Assuming hell and heaven are places, it seems as though heaven is some kind of factory for souls, earth the testing ground, hell the siphoning dumpsite, and, I guess, heaven again doubling as a retirement for survivors. It looks like the point of "salvation" is "surviving an earth that is very vulnerable to sucking of hell."

It is a contradiction to advise to love the homosexual and hate just the homosexual behavior, because a person's behavior is, to a large extent, biologically determined. The Church’s position doesn't make sense. Does not. And if you ask the priest after he has given the sermon, he will— in a perfect display of controlled irritation— go around in circles trying to restate everything but explain nothing.

In line with restating everything and explaining nothing, let's look at penance and confession. We all know priests are very highly educated. Despite what seems to be a close-to-extraterrestrial academic achievement, however, it is amazing to me how a regular parish priest cannot even explain how exactly confession and penance work or why "it's the only way to be saved from sin." Remorse, I understand, but the formalities of confession and penance, I do not.

And so I asked.

And what confronted me was that skillful display of controlled irritation.

And I ended up speculating that this skill must be an integral part of a priest's education.

But I learned nothing.

Is there really salvation in the absolution received as reward for telling one’s sins to a priest? It is human nature to protect oneself from socially awkward situations with as much will as in guarding up against physical elements. It is also human nature to find the easy way out— hey, that's what years of evolution created such an advanced brain for. Following this line of reasoning, what is the chance that a person will tell white lies to protect himself from shame? The miracle of what I will call “umbrella sin categories” presents an easy way out. And how about that priest, also a human, who claims to "become" Jesus himself in that confessional box? It is not too difficult to imagine his head swimming in adenosine and melatonin on a lazy, sleepy Thursday afternoon.

Sometimes it helps for people just to say what they really mean and not try to rationalize beyond the level of rationalization that their reason really can afford. Why not just say, we disapprove of homosexuality, because we live by the teachings of our Bible, and because we don’t like what homosexuals are doing, and we think they are being immoral. Unfortunately, it is the nature of a homosexual to display homosexual behavior, so we think they are immoral, too. But we will try to be civil, because this is supposed to be a civilized world. Period.

Otherwise, one would have to think about a person apart from his sexuality— which doesn't make sense. See, when you "love" a person, you don't pick which parts to love and which parts not to love; that person is one whole being. How can you love unconditionally (as the Church teaches you should), if you are also loving deconstructively?

Liking or disliking something is a matter of preference. Even newborns display a natural temperament, and with that, a set of preferences. An exhaustive explanation as to why we prefer some things and not others cannot really exist, because eventually, the series of *why?'s?* and *OK, but why?'s* will outnumber the available answers. In other words, just disapprove of the behavior and be civil. A sermon that preaches pretend love is probably the most insincere agendum there is— it is also needless.

Principle of parsimony: “Nothing is to be assumed that is absolutely unnecessary.” Or applying the principle of parsimony to itself: “Keep it simple.” Preference can be dangerous, however, because it could be a very harmful pretext. I don’t really know if Hitler hated the Jews because: A.) of some deep-seated personal history issue against Jews, or B.) he just didn’t like their noses.

The issue here is tolerance. If one can’t help the situation on a macroscopic level or help individuals on a microscopic level, then not inflicting harm on others should be good enough. I think that a religious person, who preaches that his religion and beliefs are *the best and only way* to salvation, deserves no space in wherever he expects to land saved from whatever it is he wants to be saved, when compared to someone who knows that some things are just unknowable.

It is hard to think about an omnipotent being that is concerned with the morality of creatures on some planet lucky(?) enough to be alive in a vast, unchartered expanse. But I believe in a God (and that's just me), because I cannot disprove something which I cannot prove, and, meanwhile, look at all this wonder around me. I think it is better to accept that there are many paths to a Truth which we do not understand. Despite the explanations we pick, we must therefore respect that other people have their ideas, too. As long as one does not encroach on another's right to life and safety, getting along in the face of differential understanding on such an abstract idea shouldn't even be an issue.

As for confession— and a miscellany of other ideas like the existence of a purgatory (as if time can really blur how the idea of a “purgatory” was made up by a council of priests)— I don’t have an explanation. Of course those priests have their thoughts about the world, too, and I respect that. But sadly, I have sought low and high, and none of the people and priests who practice confession can give a simple reason why they practice it. I personally think it's just a ritual, noble in intention, but a ritual nevertheless. They primp it up to be more than a ritual, though— it's supposedly "the only way." Non-Catholics are the same. Jesus is the only way to salvation, they say. What if you were really unlucky and never encountered Jesus in any teaching— where do you go? Hell? What if you pray to some other god, and you pray with all your heart— will the prayer come to Jesus? I mean, I was told in Catholic school that the Holy Spirit of God helps our prayers to be sincere, so it can reach the heart of Jesus, who is also God. As for Islam, I know their God is the same as the God of the Jews and Catholics and Christians. Which is why I don't understand why extremists feel like God favours them. I mean, he is also the God of lots of people they want to destroy.

I have, hence, come to a conclusion that God’s mercy is a mystery. That is also why I do not think God’s mercy flows through the priest and the priest alone, even if I am thankful that they are keeping Churches intact— although in a wider sense, a whole host of the Church’s attitudes breeds more alienation than solidarity, really.

I remember a passage from the Bhagavad Gita, one of Hinduism’s greatest literary treasures:

“And the Lord Krishna said: ‘To whatever god you direct your prayer, by whatever name you call the Supreme, your prayer immediately comes to Me.’”

This is the kind of philosophy that celebrates the commonness of human "spirituality," regardless of the differences among polytheistic and monotheistic religions— and sure, even of those who deny a higher being but find that they are operating in a living, dynamic system; whatever happens to them is a result of their own conscious action on the elements of the system, their hopes that their actions will better their lives (this is the "spiritual" component), and the corresponding reaction of the system.

First item on this year’s Thanksgiving list: I am thankful that the narrowing of the mind is reasonably reversible when it occurs with the opening of the eyes and ears, and the strengthening of the heart, when acceptance is given where it is much needed. This reversal, to me, is what it means to understand.

I've realized that
I'd been throwing away lots of good stuff
just because the useless ones are easier to keep.
In the end,
I open the bureaus, drawers, cabinets, and chests
and find nothing but garbage.
All because it was easier to keep.
There is, after all, no depth in keeping meaningless things.
Better throw them all out.

I've realized that
I'd been making lots of noise
in an attempt to drive away all the other noise in my head.
In the end,
I find that what I had to do was to be quiet for a bit
and deal with the noise that's already there.
All because that noise was already there.
There is, after all, a certain depth in stillness.
Better to keep noise competition out.

It's book time! ^_^ A few short reviews of books I like and didn't like:

All The Places You'll Go by Dr. Seuss
>> The cheerleader book of all cheerleader books. It tugs at the heartstrings of everyone who has tried, failed, dusted off, and tried again-- and of those still needing to do that. 'All The Places You'll Go' is indeed simply written, but beyond being just pretty poetry, it is deep and very inspiring.

Harry Potter by J. K. Rowling
>> I especially like the 4th and 5th installments, and my heart goes out to the 2nd, 3rd, and 6th. Throughout the 7th, some parts of the story are a little too convenient, e.g. Ron's return with a spare wand just when Harry needed one. Also, Rowling dragged on the battle chapters to borderline boring. There are a few other ideas that were left hazy (e.g. what's behind the curtain at the Department of Mysteries; why Harry is the Master of the Elder Wand, when it wasn't *this* wand that was forcibly taken from Malfoy when Harry disarmed him), and the epilogue is a disaster. BUT yea, the 7th should make you weep at some point.. I admit to mourning Dobby for 45 minutes.

Hey, in regards to that curtain-- I guess if anyone knew about it, it wouldn't be a mystery anymore. So, it does make sense not to expound.

The Giver by Lois Lowry
>> I wrote something of a detailed (dramatic! har!) review for this book in June 2006. It's in the archives if you wish to read.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
>> It is about a shepherd boy named Santiago who journeys to find a treasure that has visited him many times in dreams. Round his travels through Andalusia, Morocco, and the Egyptian pyramids, this story is rife with packets of wisdom. It has some religious reference, so I guess if one is an atheist, he might find himself snorting sometimes? Maybe one can instead think about the 'Higher Being' in terms of "time" or some other dimension, if not an entity. For me, this book is a keeper, though.

Holes by Louis Sachar
>> Stanley Yelnats is a young man accused of stealing a famous athlete's shoes. Instead of going to a juvenile correctional facility, he is sent to Camp Green Lake, where he is obliged to dig holes five feet deep, five feet wide each day. It has a very nice warp to past events in the context of the story, without the character actually doing the time travel (no science fiction here, just a real feel-good story and maybe a hint of "magic"). Not only does he discover why holes have to be dug, and why it has everything to do with him; Stanley's sweetest surprise is finding out that throughout these events, he has turned himself into someone he likes.

The Arabian Nights
>> Wow. Translated from the Persian manuscripts, this series is ancient and clever and very long -- 'long,' as in you'll find it in volumes. I'm not done reading. Won't even likely be done in two years. You could, though, if you pore over them all day and do nothing else.

Getting Rid of Matthew by Jane Fallon
>> It's a "hen lit" that I picked it up with every intention of abandonment, but, yea, surprisingly funny it was.. will fish you out of a bad day. Must be the dry British, ah, humour. See review two posts below.

'A Temporary Matter' and 'Sexy' from 'The Interpreter of Maladies,' a collection of short stories by Jhumpa Lahiri
>> 'A Temporary Matter' tells the story of a married couple, Shukumar and Shoba. The narrative begins six months after Shoba had suffered miscarriage of their first child. Shoba and Shukumar continue to live together, get along, and treat each other well, but they could not seem to communicate in the same way that they used to. As Shoba neglects her former habit of constantly refilling the house in ever-readiness, Shukumar watches their cupboards and supplies-- Shoba's cupboards and supplies-- gradually empty. In the darkness of a temporary blackout for one hour each night, for five nights, Shukumar and Shoba are able to communicate again... (*giggles* on the ellipsis =^_^=)

'Sexy' is about Miranda, a young woman in a relationship with Dev, a married Indian man. The premise might sound like 'Getting Rid of Matthew' but apart from the idea of a woman in a relationship with a married man, the plots are nothing alike. In 'Sexy' Miranda spends an afternoon with a friend's very young nephew and learns an important lesson from the child about what 'Sexy' means.

Now, not because it's a Pulitzer Prize winner means I'm going to superglorify it. I especially liked, in 'A Temporary Matter,' the emptying of the cupboards as an allusion to the "emptying" of a person, and in 'Sexy', I quite liked the juxtaposition of a child's innocence with his wisdom about an idea supposedly beyond him. Not crazy about the rest of the stories, though.

And while we're on a roll, let's go ahead and mention those people who go on facebook, friendster, and myspace and fill the 'favourite books' section with all sorts of big scientific textbooks. I, for one, don't believe a lot of those who say their favourite books are 'Biochemistry' or 'Development of the Nervous System,' (btw, my book hasn't arrived) just because they're studying it, and especially if they didn't write a dissertation on those subjects to warrant credible obsession, or even at least just *having finished* the book.

As valiant as it is to want to be seen as 'smart,' you don't really whip out those books for a happy night-time read, do you? It can be said that one *likes* the book, but it would be a stretch to claim it as a *favourite.* I love Neuroscience, but I read lit for relaxation, and Lehninger and Sanes for school (Lehninger, which is actually a biochemistry text, is really good; Sanes is pretty dry).

Of course it's a different story if one really loves and lives for textbooks. But I would expect someone to have read that textbook from cover to cover and be able to replicate many parts of it from memory even after ten years, as is wonted of any favourite book. A favourite textbook is not necessarily a favourite book, even if a textbook is also a book, yeah? OK-- enough ranting.

Poison Study by Maria V. Snyder
>> Yelena is found guilty of murder and is sentenced to die. But in the land of Ixia, the next person on the deathrow is offered the position of 'Food Taster' to the Commander. This same position may save her life-- or it may kill her even before she gets to execution. Reading.. liking it so far.

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
>> I want to read this. I don't know what it's about, but it is supposed to be funny. It's a Pulitzer Prize winner, too. We'll see about that.

*not* Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
>> This is a classic. It is about a seemingly uncaring, otherwise intelligent boy who has been kicked out of school and... honestly, I don't know. I never finished it. Containing some of the most horrible syntax in literature, it gave me something of a psychosomatic indigestion. Really. Although, I admire the consistency of the author in writing in the main character's voice, as well as the profundity in capturing the character's psyche.

There is a book called 'The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time' by Mark Haddon, which is dubbed as a "modern-day" 'Catcher in the Rye.' It was a little hard to read for the same reason, but the milieu had a charming quality to it. SO, that, I read and quite liked.

*not* The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy
>> Arundhati Roy's imagery seems impressive in the beginning, and soon they're just page-fillers.

One reviewer commented that it's as if, halfway through the first chapter, the author suddenly realized that the book could be a blockbuster hit by virtue of the "lush" descriptions, and so ran away with them. I agree.

One might as well just get a travel book on Indian scapes. This is a family story dripping with heavy drama.

When you encounter a task standing in your way, and you find yourself saying "I cannot do this," first collect yourself, take a little step back and ask, "what is this?"

Then try to learn as much as you want about what there is to know. No limits. You will soon realize that it was naught but a curious thing, and it wasn't bad after all.

Cheers!

It was a random pick on a lazy day at Barnes and Noble that espoused my reading Jane Fallon's "Getting Rid of Matthew." Fallon herself has called it "hen lit" (a play at "chick" literature), and perhaps the target audience is even middling-aged women. Needless to say, I'm a guy (really) in my early 20s, and the hilarity in this book kept me hooked.

"Getting Rid of Matthew" tells the story of Helen, an almost 40-year old secretary involved in an affair with Matthew, her former boss who is 20 years her senior. Four years into the begging- and disappointment-rife relationship, Helen realizes she doesn't want or love Matthew after all. As if on cue, Matthew conveniently appears on her doorstep, declaring that he has left his wife to live with her. She embarks on a mission to get Matthew back together with his wife, "fixing" her life and collecting a few friends (and enemies) along the way.

Some of the opinions in this book may seem offensive. One reviewer who happens to have an autistic child wrote that she stopped reading after two casual lines that used "autistic" in a manner of which noble causes for autism probably would not approve.

In my case, it was reading about Filipinas' not being trustworthy in the kitchen. There are about 17 Filipino chefs in my extended family, and I have always trusted the Filipino kitchen to be a source of dishes that are delicious and delightfully varied. And as for being sanitary-- in my family, as in every Filipino household that cares about hygiene (a ridiculously high number), we're almost obsessive.

In contrast, a hefty laugh is much deserved for the thought that the superstars of "English cuisine" (if it exists at all) could easily be boiled mutton, muffins, and deer meat that has been seasoned with spices that could never be grown in England. Come to think of it, the simple imagery in Fallon's novel of English people cooking seems to me almost an incredible revelation. In any case, the character who dropped the line is depicted as a pretentious, affected idiot, anyway.

The point is that one will miss out on a very entertaining read if he lets the "offensive" opinions get in the way. To her credit, Fallon merely employed the sort of characters one would find in the real world-- even, yes, at the expense of politeness. Not everyone will like Filipino cuisine, and not everyone will appreciate the intellect of an autistic child. Deal with that and move on. It is a loss to gain the respect of a narrow-minded person who makes facts out of opinions.

One other reviewer complained about the book's being into British culture, and that American audiences might not enjoy it. Well, guess what? The setting is London, and Fallon appears to have provided enough context clues for an American to know, for instance, that Joanna Lumley is supposed to be sexy, and Barbara Woodhouse should be something else. Though, I admit I laughed my arse off when I googled these names and found that Lumley is an English actress and model, while Woodhouse was a dog-trainer. [In the book, one of Matthew's sisters attempted to do a Joanna Lumley when she said, "you, naughty boy!", when it all really looked like Barbara Woodhouse playing with a dog.]

While I understand the point of view to be omniscient, I wish there was more clarity in Fallon's movement from character to character. The miracle of page breaks could have easily solved this.

So, what did I learn from this book? Hm. Not to have an extramarital affair when I'm 60... kidding. ^_^ Maybe it's that some people indeed are like sand, and the tighter we hold on to them, the faster they escape. When we learn to let go, we get back a free hand, and maybe we can find ourselves a nice pebble that fits just right-- and stays.

I didn't expect to enjoy "Getting Rid of Matthew," but I did. Check out this book and laugh. Audibly.

Does anybody know whether tree-trimming definitely causes roads to be closed, and if it lasts all day?? The choked part of Sunset just before Beverly Hills ("before" if going Westward) is having a tree-trimming this week, beginning tomorrow. I don't know of a better way to get to school-- and I promise to leave for school early and go home in the afternoon-- but I hope not to feel the tree-trimming at all. I mean, closed roads and flying leaves and somersaulting branches would just make driving more disquieting than it already is.

Someone from Orange County has been calling (and not getting a hold of) me on my cellphone. After about ten calls since Friday, I wish this person would just leave a message; I believe I have encouraged this anyway by my "unattended" greeting: "Hey, it's Max; please leave a message. Thank you."

*UPDATE* I checked my voicemail again, and it turns out he left a message: "Hello? Hello? Hello, Maximo?" Apparently, the dude knows me? And I could hear a Filipino accent, so this person must be a friend or an acquaintance or something. But, really, who leaves a message like that and doesn't bother to give his name, aware that this is the first time he is calling me using this Orange County phone number? I don't know anyone from Orange County except for my grandparents, one uncle, and another uncle and his family-- and neither he nor his children, who are half-white and had been raised in California, have Filipino accents. Mystery dude, if you read this, kindly leave your name with your message.

So Physics final on Friday. I don't like writing about exams and hoping to do well and such on my blog, really. I have this belief that things don't go well when I do. Odd and irrational, but, oh well.

I feel like the last six weeks have zoomed by, and I lived through them sleeping or walking around like a zombie. The last I remember vividly is taking a Mechanics final on the first of August and going to the library to check out books. I am wondering whether the room I occupy at home has something like heightened metallic activity, because it's a job to concentrate in there (that sort of thing is true). I think I am awake now.

As a kid, I dreamed of riding a robot and vanquishing evil.
As a teenager, I dreamed of getting a license and driving a car.
Now a licensed driver, I no longer need to pretend to be in 2050 Tokyo to find myself operating a robot and fighting off villains.

Driving proves to be one of the most harrowing activities ever. How can scores and scores of people refuse to drive safely, and then have the audacity to be irked when they get into trouble?? That's like purposely going into the water and being annoyed to find oneself wet. Psh.

I have henceforth resorted to taping a sign at the back of my car that reads, "Please maintain safe distance." What, you may ask, has come out of this. Hah-- proof that the education system needs to emphasize on reading skills. There are just too(!) many who haven't learned to read properly. Using BIG, RED, BOLDFACED LETTERS seems to help little.

~ * * * ~
I've been taking summer classes since June. I actually am missing Mechanics-- and Dr. Nassar. Dr. Nassar is to physics as Dr. Gago is to biology. I think I really enjoyed the first summer session; not only did I do very well; I was able to find spare time and read library books, as well as learn a little Russian. I have a Russian class in the fall.

I'm mostly tired and sleepy these days, which is something I'm going to work on. It's funny I feel this way, but I don't get to sleep until very late. Or early. Early morning, like 1 am. I don't like sleeping late and then starting the next day late. I don't like going through days and not remembering them, because that means nothing was done that was worth remembering. I don't like feeling tired and sleepy when I get home, because that keeps me from getting schoolwork done (driving makes one tired and sleepy, btw).

My schoolwork is important to me. I love school. Really. School is something I happen to be very good at. Many of the glories of my life are born of my schooling. Sometimes I get complacent, which isn't the way to go.

Current wish: to come alive again. And, um, find more things I am good at. And, yea, do the things I have to do, and do them well. Lighting a candle now... mmm this one smells like pretzels.

The fastest ticket to a life spiraling out of control is when someone's giving you shit, and you take a backseat. When people forget to respect you, you help them to re-learn. If they still don't, and you KNOW you deserve that respect, or at least a bit more than what they're giving you, you MAKE them-- unless their respect is not worth having after all.

Whether or not a person worries about things beyond his control does not change what he has to do. At least over the things he has to do, he can exercise some control. Now that doesn't even fall in the "least" category-- because it is quite a BIG thing. Thank you for this Winter; I learned a lot. Cheers.

"Coach, I'm hurt-- I'm not dead."

- from Remember the Titans

"What if they are?" he said. "It don't change what you gotta do, Chick. You stay in those cages, work with your coaches, and be ready when the time comes..."

- from For One More Day by Mitch Albom

My "hot" chocolate is not working,
and so is my raspberry danish.
I picked it for its sweetness.

The sugar on my raspberry danish is so sweet,
just like me.
And I stare at that half-eaten bread on the plate,
sitting there like an offering to my Schaum's outline of Physics.

Fundamentalist theism and atheism have presented strong arguments for their beliefs. And yet the same passion that fortifies those arguments gives rise to the flaws-- the passion is itself the flaw.

Unwillingness to move away, even momentarily, from something into which one has invested much of his faith makes one an advocate, not a philosopher. The only future there is for his thinking are those "truths" that render his beliefs 'right.'

On the other hand, if truth is infinitely relative, what future is there for those in the middle?