Do I Know You?

We interrupt your daily programming with a little nonsensical food for thought...

I find it interesting when someone you absolutely don't know bothers the f*ck out of you. Is transference a subconscious thing or a pre-conscious thing? 

I was thinking about this yesterday during the brawl. Victorino bothers me. And it's not even about the brawl or about last year... his face bothers me. He's not overly gorgeous or overly ugly... which is why I don't know why his face irks me. And it bothers me that I can't pinpoint WHY he bothers me. Maybe I'm making too much out of it... Maybe I need to stop asking why.

I don't know. I think I'm trippin'. 

Jessie Spano "I'm so excited" Status at a cool 65%.

Free Your Mind

I was cleaning up (at 12:15 am on a work night... no idea why) and stumbled across one of my babies... so to speak. My sophomore year in college was nothing short of amazing (still don't know how I survived)--I was living with 6 other people (5 of whom I'm still friends with, 4 of whom I still see during the holidays), I took 17 units during the fall and 16 units during the spring--14 of those units being organic chem and two semesters' worth of physics, I wrote and directed for PCN, and on top of that, I had this little tiny literary magazine that I edited/managed for.

...She's not your typical anything... if you think you know here, think again... She's "rageful" inside, a pessimistic optimist... but then again, she's not your typical anything... Blacksheep-ness oozes out of her pores--it is who she is... she has no distinct shape... she can go in and out of phases, read your mind--and at instances, predict the future...

--My staff bio from [m] 17: Renaissance?

One of the first Filipino-American literary magazine to hit the nation, Maganda Magazine is student-run and based at UC Berkeley. I laugh now at all the all-nighters we pulled just to have a voice. A separate ethnic voice... something that we could call our own. Different experiences, different stories. But still... it was (and still is) a forum where we could speak our mind and feel safe. There aren't that many safe places left. 

People take for granted the strides that we've made in the our society. Yes, we should all be equal, but is that reality? And if you are the proletariat speaking up against the privileged, are you safe from persecution? How do you explain to the suburban white-collar kid what it's like to know that the sales rep look at you more closely than other patrons when you enter a store? How do you explain to a white kid what it's like to be colored? How do you explain to a golden child what it's like to be in the shadows? The problem is that people who are on the greener pasture refuse to see the other side. You can't push for more equality if you think that everything is already equal. As they say, ignorance is bliss. ...Uh... I had no idea where I was going with this...

I invested a lot into that little lit mag. And I don't invest cheaply. I think finding it was a sign. I think it's time to bring that mindset back into play. Maybe this is the world's way of telling me to stop investing in things with a negative return. Positive things. More positive think.

P.S. I wish that bio wasn't the last thing of mine that's been published. In my defense, I wrote it after a couple of insomnia-filled days. But I totally need to rectify that.

War

I had one of the strangest dreams last night. I had a dream about the colonists and Native Americans... but it was switched... It was the Native Americans who waged war on the Europeans, slaughtering thousands of the invaders while the invaders hid within the shadows of the forests hoping that their God would save them. 

I don't know about you... but I think it shows the power of the proletariat if banded together. All that from a dream? =D Yes. Ahahahah.

Right as Rain

Perfect song for the weather and mood I'm feeling. O_o. 

The light splash reminds me of the tingle in my throat. The stress of everything boils down to physical manifestations... you can call me Gimp, I guess. From the forearm hurting to the bruises that happen to appear out of nowhere... I don't know if these things are just spontaneity at its weirdest or if these things are of my, unconscious and/or intentional, (un)doing.

The forces (by the way, totally need to stop watching Star Wars here... I'm getting too Jungian for my own good... or is it light force?...) within me are just pulling me in opposite directions. I'm supposed to write with purpose, write with the intention of objection--and here I am actually scared of what people might say. People have called my stuff inappropriate and shouldn't be allowed to go into production (thank you, Bosses, for believing in my story and for refusing my edited/sugarcoated version of my skit)... I've faced worse criticism and yet, here I am, afraid to speak my mind.

I hope this goes away soon... I'm expected to actually write opinions and critiques in the next few months and the last thing I need is failing at something that I thought I was decent at.