The modern food network.
Yesterday my mom placed a banana in front of my plate after lunch. I like the fruit but I’m not into the habit of eating them after a meal. Maybe only when I’m forced to, like what happened yesterday.
Curious, I asked her why she gave me a banana. I thought she would pull off some health crap or an it’s-good-for-the-mind lie, but she didn’t. I guess I didn’t know what I was in for, because guess what she said instead that made me laugh in a cruel, mindless way?
“Baka mabulok na eh,” she said in response. [She said it in a way that didn't highlight the weight of her words... Like it was almost a joke, only I know she was serious because she was speaking the truth.]
What’s so funny about that, you ask? What had me laughing like I was on drugs?
I didn’t laugh the way anyone would at a good knock-knock joke. It was a dark one. Maybe I really was amused because it wasn’t about me at all, but in the end it made me think…
I mean, what the hell? So many people are going hungry because they have nothing to eat, and there we were almost being forced to eat just because the food might go bad. I’m not even talking about bananas anymore. I’m talking about leftovers and food left on the table that got spoiled or whatever. I’m talking about food that’s getting wasted.
I’m talking about the rice that we can’t cook or eat again. My family is currently consuming NFA rice–out of some humorless joke. Well, it wasn’t a joke. My dad ordered one cavan–yun ba yun?–from work because he fell in love with the Price. Heck. Now we’re kind of just eating it for the sake of… Not wasting it. Or something.
Which really sucks–that mentality. I’m not exactly part of it, because although I hate it when I spot (or WORSE, chew on) the tiny little rocks that come with the rice (that should be some sort of ad for them: Hindi lang bigas, may bato pa! Ugh.), I know I shouldn’t be complaining.
[Besides, I'm usually the one who has to cook the rice, so I always make it a point to wash them thoroughly.]
I should be thankful I even have rice to consume. We should be thankful. Again, not just for rice, but for all the meals.
Erase any mentality that will render us less thankful, like my wonderful conversation with my mother up there.
Gratitude can only go a long way, though. Maybe we should try preserving what we do have. Don’t let the broth/soup get spoiled by leaving it out on a hot afternoon. Learn to reserve food you can recook or something. (You know those things that can enhance the taste of food? Like the things you add to pancit?) Have a balanced diet so things like fruits, vegetables, and milk don’t just sit in the refrigerator or on the counter. And most especially, finish your meals. Don’t leave some parts of your meals untouched, because those suffering from hunger can only pray for those parts…
[Know what? I think I'm only talking to myself here, especially in my suggestions. What are these, new year's resolutions? Hahaha. Hey, except for that last part. I always finish my food.
Or at least make others finish them for me. KIDDING. :]
Wish I knew what I was looking for.
I’ve been veering away from writing these past few days because I felt that any topic I’d end up writing about would be sappy, crappy, and just plain self-absorbed. I’d like to think that I’m not as selfish as I seem, that I’m just spending too much time on myself because I’m sad… but I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m having trouble concentrating, I’ve been so anxious, and whatever else.
That’s why I’ve been looking for a new form of self-expression. I need something other than writing. My eyes are open to things like photography and bowling (which happens to be my PE class this semester), and I’m excited to learn both.
I just feel so empty. Like there’s a monotony in my life and I want to break it without ruining crucial elements.
I got sore with my dad because of a comment he made during dinner one time. He said something like, “Why don’t you try to learn how to cook so you can have some sort of a talent?” I was so insulted that I didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night. It doesn’t help that even my parents think I’m such a snore. Of course I know that I should have something in me other than studying or working, but is it my fault if I don’t have anything in me?
And I know that it’s your persistence and commitment in/to something that matters, because you may know how to do something, and you may have potential, but if you don’t realize that and marry yourself to it then that would mean nothing, but what if I really don’t have anything?
Which is why it’s ironic that, with my father’s observation in me, he should discourage me from something I wanted.
Last week, believe it or not, I was seriously considering joining an organization. I felt like I’d grow a lot by joining. But I declined under my parents’ advice. Funny how much power they hold over me. And it sucks that I care so much about certain…things. But the decision has been made; I’m not joining. Too late now–the time for presenting myself as an applicant has passed.
But in some way, I guess I’m not too upset. Because I had a different time in mind for joining. There are just some personal prerequisites I need to gain.
I just want to find a love for something that would make me want to wake up each day eager. Because every time I open my eyes and face a new day, I’d just want to collapse back in bed and just stay there. That isn’t healthy.
Oh yeah, take note of my statement above: I want to find a love for something. Not someone.
Sigh. I don’t care what it is–if it’s fashion, or painting my nails black, or getting a new haircut (oh this I need), or eating.
I’m going to find what I’m looking for soon. Whatever it may be.
Political Thoughts.
I went home for lunch today, and boy was I glad I did. I got to watch Bolante’s hearing when Sen. Chiz Escudero and Sen. Mirriam Defensor-Santiago were the ones doing the questioning. I actually enjoyed it, since the senators’ approaches were interesting. Since I have no exceptional skills or talents in reasoning, I was in awe all throughout the part of the hearing I was able to witness.
That was during lunch time. I got home around 4 pm, and when I turned on the television an hour past my arrival, the hearing was still going on.
It’s ludicrous, the hearing. Sure, if I were a senator I would love to grill the accused like that–make the whole nation aware of the guy’s faults–but seriously what good would it bring about?
Bolante’s fertilizer scam will most likely end up like Lozada’s ZTE case: interesting and fun to monitor at first, but in the end, forgotten and dead. What was resolved? Nothing. I remember Lozada visiting schools like PUP and UPLB, thanking the masses for their ’support.’ But then what? Nothing!
I can’t say that the senate is wasting their time on these hearings, because they raise a good deal of awareness for people like me who aren’t always up to date with the latest happenings in the nation. Plus they showcase the senators who have personality and integrity. Of course you might say that some of them may only be putting on a good show because the whole nation is watching, but I bet you would see through that. Seriously. People like Lacson, Defensor-Santiago, Escudero, and some others who have proven themselves ‘good’ politicians are highly unlikely to just pretend.
Hmp. Then again these are my beliefs. Call me naive, because I’m definitely not a political analyst (nor do I plan on being one).
There’s a battle in my mind.
Today was my first day back at school. Just like most of the first days I’ve endured in the past, at least one of my professors had the need to put me on the spot.
I hate it when they do that. They all have the same “coincidental” action of throwing me a perfectly sane question (thus earning the attention of virtually everyone in the class room and easily labeling me as a poor, pathetic student), except that it is never sane enough for me to answer eloquently.
I’ve always been at a loss for words. And it isn’t the speechless kind of being at a loss for words. It’s the literal loss–not finding the right words, not knowing the right way to respond, not comprehending the question enough to fish out a good answer. And it sucks. You’d think that because I’ve had so many “opportunities,” (what with professors always randomly calling out that mysterious name) I’ve been able to perfect my speaking skills.
But no-o. That isn’t the way it is for me. I’m just horrible with my speaking; I don’t know what to answer to normal questions; I don’t know how to control my audience when they’re obviously not listening to my kind of well-prepared speech; I don’t know how to speak clearly and audibly, such that the person at the back can hear me; I just can’t speak well.
Which is why I think writing is so much better. At least when you’re a writer, you can play around with your words until it’s time to submit a composition. At least when you’re a writer, you can publish anonymously and not lose it when people criticize it to be trash. At least when you’re a writer, you’re the one who’s in control. You don’t necessarily have to care about your readers, because if this is what you want to write, then you should just go ahead and create your masterpiece. What does it matter to them if this is what you know and feel like writing? What is it to them if they don’t find it as marvelous as you think it is?
Don’t get me wrong. Constructive criticisms, when completely unbiased (although sometimes biased comments can do tricks), help improve something, so writers should not shy away from them.
What I am saying is, it doesn’t matter to anyone if your work looks like trash to them because it’s yours. Your work is layers of experience and your interpretations, and you have the right to feel darned good about it.
If there’s anything I don’t have a stock of, it’s self-esteem, so this post has just about exhausted any sense of self-esteem I have been able to pile up. It’s actually a sudden burst of emotion, if you will, since minutes ago I was just wallowing over my underdeveloped writing skills.
To turn to the negative side of my rant…
It feels so awful that I own no creativity whatsoever in my humanity. I can’t think up a quick answer, can’t look at paintings and comment on their beauty, can’t draw or paint, can’t write creatively…
I say so because my class in Literature earlier shook me. It briefly introduced me [again] into the world of ComArts–why I didn’t choose it, why I will forever be fascinated by it, and why I suck at any form of literary writing. Once upon a time I wrote poems. Or at least tried to. I’ve had my sad attempts at short story writing. (Of course, I could never get past three pages so I just gave up.) I’ve had my pathetic thoughts for a novel.
But I’ve never really succeeded.
I never knew it took so much effort to write that way, until I tried last semestral break. I am so used to essays, research papers, news articles, feature articles, radio scripts and what-have-yous (I appreciate having these around because they, more or less, have a structure that I/we can understand or imitate, but creative writing doesn’t give you that. There’s no formula for poems and short stories.), but I have nothing to be proud of when it comes to creative writing. I’d much rather read, than write, when it comes to creative pieces.
Sometimes I think I’m just too boring or dull to have anything good to write about, or that I’m too lazy, too unexperienced, too unconfident, too… well, you get the idea.
But my professor earlier made quite a good point: literature is interpretation–it’s a pile of meanings, and this is where you will find answers to the questions you most want to be answered (not the exact words).
…which is why I know more attempts in creative writing are worth it, because I may not have felt every texture of life or tasted every flavor of it, but I do have a way of looking at things that are mine alone (i.e., my personal interpretation), so maybe there is hope for me yet. Maybe I do have something to say after all.
[And I say this after an hour of contemplating my complete lack of communication skills and shortage of creativity. Nice. There goes my credibility.]
Today.
Today’s agenda includes looking for a scholarship. I thought it would be easy once I had names of noted undergraduate scholarships-study grants, but I just can’t understand the stuff. I can’t find one compatible to my course. My parents should be doing this. I feel so worthless.
