Ad Infinitum

I had this thought stewing around in my head since the night of the lunar eclipse. The night the moon turned blood-red in all its ethereal glory.

It struck me that all I could think about of the eclipse was that the moon turned blood red, something eerie and ominous. Something that comes out of a videogame, where I’d be ambushed by some random monsters on the way home from kendo. That image stuck on my mind so much that I couldn’t really appreciate any other aspect of it properly. Sure, it was blood red, but that’s about all I cared. I didn’t care for any cultural significances, or celestial movements. I had effectively limited my scope to one that I was comfortable with.

Not that limiting you view is always a bad thing, really. To even try to view anything from all angles, whether physical, mental, emotional, or whatever, would drive you insane. Thus, it’s sometimes necessary for one to place a certain view on things, in a way that you’re comfortable and able to cope with. I believe it’s part of being human.

Example, a person who is not hungry can view an apple in many ways. That person may look at it and appreciate how flawless its complexion is, how healthy it looks, or how its placement in a fruit basket looks. On the other hand, a person who is hungry will most likely view the apple in less ways, probably only seeing the apple as a fruit which can be consumed.

Alternatively, we could use personalities. I believe that if my many aspects of personality are hooked out of me and extended, I’d probably reach China, or maybe even go around the world. However, the ‘me’ that people see and perceive is but a fraction of that length, in a spectrum which people accept me in. One of my juniors, a girl who knows me only through words and bits of information scattered throughout online conversations, sees that ‘me’ as a loving (perhaps doting) elder brother that she might not have had. What she will think of me once the cybernetic barrier is lifted and we finally meet in person, that will be something to look forward to. Would I meet her expectations of what she perceives me to be? It’s easy to give advice and talk to a person you clearly don’t know, but to do so once you have extended the boundaries of perception and become emotionally involved with that person...that’s a whole different story entirely. Probably most of the people who talk to me over MSN (discounting close, ‘real-life’ friends) hardly know me as anything but the ‘big brother’ presence which assures them that things will be fine and tries to give them good advice to learn from. Ironically, my arbitrary advice on romantic relationships seems to work on others rather than myself. Personal experiences drawn from observing the love lives of others doesn’t automatically work, useful as it is for reference.

On that same note, most of my best friends first saw me as an annoying, somewhat snooty jerk who kept getting his foot in his mouth and complicating affairs. Likewise, my relationship with them mostly started out on the wrong foot (e.g. arguing with Han on the bus because he couldn’t shut up, starting an unfriendly rivalry with Nda in drama class, immediately showing Yaz my photo albums the first time she came to my house, constantly ‘harassing’ Apu because I had a huge crush on her...the list just goes on and on) and ironically end up with a strong bond of camaraderie. Their perception spectrums (as well as mine) were gradually broadened after a rather constricted first opinion, generally because of some event that shows either or both parties in a light the other hasn’t seen. Or just that we have nobody else to hang around with, as was most cases of my friendships. The best of comradeships are formed in the most difficult of situations...even if it’s because of a difficulty in hanging out with other people.

I could put this in a religious/political perspective, but why bother? My views on those things don’t really matter. As far as I’m concerned, my religious perspective is wide enough to tolerate others (which don’t try to impose their perspectives on me) yet narrow enough for me to keep focused and detailed on. Politics...well...let’s just say I have a thing against politics. It’s all a big, convoluted, hypocritical mass which is as fickle as lady luck. Perspectives in that change as often as thoughts in someone with ADD.

The whole point of this entry was just to remind myself that although the world around me really has no boundaries if I want to view it that way, I automatically constrict myself to a boxed-in viewpoint, much like conventional maps. I do it because it’s convenient, comfortable, and less complicated. I could choose to try to view people in all their aspects, but all that would do is make me stalk a few people for years just to know every angle of them.

And why the serious rant all of a sudden? No real reason, I'm just feeling pseudo-philosophical.

[End Transmission]

Whoa

I just figured out that all if I had been doing my essay with the amount of inspiration and time I spent on making these rantings, I'd probably have had a less guilt-ridden 2-week break. Crap.

[End Transmission]

Noctural Feeding Habits

I have a confession to make.

I have developed this strange tendency to suddenly wake up without cause and unable to sleep in the wee hours of the morning every now and then. This one of those nows and thens. Coincidentally, I also wake up hungry when I do so. Just as 1 + 1 equals a positive integer and the Star Wars franchise will remain a cashcow till Lucas buys the farm (on Tattooine, one guesses), I revert into my noctural predator mode. Unlike other nightcrawlers, those who prey on others out in the deep darkness, I prefer to recede to the confines of my kitchen. And the rabbits around here are too skinny anyway.

Thus, it falls upon what meager stores I have amassed (an oxymoron on its own) to provide me with sustenance. I'm not talking midnight munchies here; I'm talking full-scale dinner. If possible, a properly done one. If not, a half-assed (and half-edible) abortion of the culinary world would suffice. As it were, tonight I felt a subtle lust for...wait for it...flesh. Such carnal longing, such primal instinct! The other not-so-primal lust was for potatoes. Scratching my head and checking the fridge in a vain attempt to see instant meals which included potatoes and meat, I did the next logical thing (or illogical, if you're not me); looked for a recipe online. Then it struck me. Potatoes? Meat? An equation formed, albeit a rather simple and delusional one.

Meat + Potatoes = Shepherd's Pie

Having at least half a pound of mince meat (and half a teaspoon of good sense) as well as four potatoes taking root in the dark bottom of one of the kitchen drawers, I set upon the task with great vigor. That vigor was to last ten minutes, during which I managed to peel and dice all four potatoes and get the meat mixed and spiced. Upon reading the next set of instructions, my vigor was shattered. Beef stock? Flour? Eggs? I had not counted upon the use of ingredients I did not have and began to curse towards the ceilings (a psychological phenomenon otherwise known as denial). Also, I noticed that the meat in the mixing bowl was...less than adequate...for the task at hand. The pie was doomed. Nay, it was never meant to be.

My head spun with the options now left to me. Regardless of my decision, both meat and potatoes would have to be cooked, no bargaining with the dread ghost of decomposition. I could either attempt to create a potato pie with a garnish of pan-fried meat, or I could have pan-fried meat with a garnish of potatoes. Such a choice, heart-wrenching as it truly was, had to be made. Quickly (and while still chatting up people on MSN), I pulled the proverbial trigger. I made my stand. Stir-fried meat and a side of potatoes it would be.

I wouldn't dare bore anyone with a mundane description of how I cooked it. Instead, allow me to display this passage from the lore of O-Soe-Ma (Chapter MCXII, Volume XXII).

And thus it came to pass that O-Soe-Ma, the young general and amateur gastronomist, came upon a valley where two races lived side by side, neutral to each other. One was of beings made of minced beef, the other of potatoes. A species of mobile onions also lived nearby, flitting in and out of holes in the ground. Being a sly and crafty (though altogether bumbling) strategist, Soe-Ma saw an opportunity to bring both territories within his burgeoning nation-state's grip. Also, it was about time to feed the men.

Soe-Ma waited till nightfall, when the villages would be off their guards. Splitting his small army in half, he order one half to storm the mince village and the other to storm the potatoes. Show no quarter. Take every one of them, dead or alive. A glint of madness came to his eyes, and even his trusted captains shuddered. The man had done some strange things (including rumored fits of madness where he'd begin to sing and dance for no apparent reason in the moonlight), but this transcended all. To utterly annihilate two innocent villages in a five minute decision was, indeed, madness. But they too felt hungry, and watching the villagers all day only made them hungriers. The general smiled as he let his dogs of war loose, brandishing knives, peelers, and seasoning. His men would feast on the flesh of innocents, stain themselves with the starch of the unsuspecting.

There was no battle worthy of mention here, save a dispirited defence made by the few potatoes who managed to retreat to the village's stronghold. They lasted only an hour before giving up. For their insolence, they, as well as most of those who survived, were skinned alive and put into pots of boiling water. Those unlucky enough to still be conscious after the boiling witnessed yet another atrocity; their bodies were crushed and mashed till none would recognize. Weak cries could still be heard from within the bowl of doom as soldiers worked the mashing contraption.

The minced meats had no chance; they were taken from their beds and beaten, soldiers pouring the torturous seasonings all over their wounds with great relish. They were then taken and tossed into a contraption on the most twisted people could think of; a gigantic frying pan. Some pleaded for their lives, some fainted on the spot. All were doused in flammable olive oil and tossed in the sizzling den of metal. Their screams were drowned out by the sound of crackling flesh. It was all over.

That night, Soe-Ma's men dined on a special meal. Some felt horrible, others simply ate. The had literally dined on the remains of the defeated. The General himself tucked into his grisly dinner with great gusto, smiling all the way through. Truly, a monster among men.

Wow. I managed to put myself off something I already cooked just by reading that. Oh well. There you have it. Kind of. Not really.

Good night.

[End Transmission]

Oh, Them Halcyon Days

It’s funny. I’ve spent so long not thinking about home, and all it takes for me to feel a little pang of longing is looking at my old highschool’s website. Strange how memories of a place that is no longer the same for me affects me more than images and conversations with people from home. It’s as if the whole notion of home is overshadowed by that of friendship and camaraderie. Not that I see home is unimportant, that is. But home is something I…well…go home to. And hopefully will always be able to return to. On the other hand, highschool was different. Those were days of close-knit companionship, first loves, and thinking of little else. Back home, most thoughts were of either going abroad or looking forwards (or dreading) to a new day filled with fun and misadventures.

Yes, I do miss my highschool. Not so much the school and the studies themselves, but the people who were part of my experience. My friends, for sure. I found that friendship can be as thick as blood (though not as thick as my skull, at most times) and lasting friendships can be forged out of the fires of rivalry and hardship. My best friends, more like real brothers and sisters than simple friends. My juniors, those who saw me as less of a senior and more of a big-brother figure who was willing to lend a helping piece of advice or two. My film club comrades, people with whom I shared work, pain, joy, food, and the occasional bed. My teachers, who were there to teach and support me, in all their quirky little ways. Like Jacqueline Z. Cussen, the ‘Mother of the Revolution’ and year-level coordinator for the last years of my highschool. Truly a character straight out of a Shakespearean satire. And my principals…well, they were there, and they were always pretty fun to mess around with (like the time *some people* issued the fake announcements detailing uniform requirements…Ronald McDonald shoes, anyone?). In short, it was an entirely different world. And it still sticks to my heart like that piece of gum I stepped on earlier this morning stick to my shoe.

A testament to our glory days.

Alas, even if I return, it will never be same experience. My friends have gone, my juniors grown up, my teachers off to new horizons…even the buildings have changed and improved. And that was only a month after I graduated. So I can only look in longing at the photographs and smile as I read the online newsletters, all the while reminiscing the ‘good old days’ I once had. I certainly won’t forget them, but they’re just that; memories, and nothing more.

C’est la vie, shikata ga nai, and whatnot.

[End Transmission]

One Evening

The young swordsman looks up, scanning the blurry faces which greet his gaze. He swallowed hard, hoping not to let his new subordinates know how nervous he was. In truth, he was slightly trembling; he had only come from a recent injury during training to be put immediately in the position of squad captain a few hours before the battle. Eight other warriors, standing gaunt and silent, were to be under his command, at least before the fighting broke out. Knowing that time was of the essence, he hurriedly tried to recognize his fighters to draw up an improvised plan of attack. He cursed inwardly for his poor vision; but even if his eyesight was perfect, he doubted his leadership skills would have sufficed for the sudden occasion. Hearing that the enemy were approaching fast, he promptly gave out his orders. Each nodded, and ran into position to greet the opponent.

There was silence as the opposition arrived, almost gliding out of the woodwork. Exactly nine other samurai stood in formation across their lines, each with swords at ready. Not a soul moved, not one noise was made.

Then they clashed.

One by one, the warriors rushed forwards to intercept their foes. In pairs they fought, swords shimmering in the last rays of the day. Battlecries and howls were flung at one another, both to discourage the enemy and cheer on tiring comrades.

Still standing in the rear, yelling out support to his squad, was the Captain. But even as he cheered, from the corner of his eye he could see several warriors already falling to the blades of their foes. Some lasted longer than others; some had barely begun to fight before they were slain. His heart began to drop, but he forced himself to keep strong. As Captain, he could not afford to let his men know he was afraid. It was then that he saw a sight that made his heart skip a beat. He had seen his adversary.

The one person he knew was in the enemy's squad, the one person he hoped not to meet. He had, in fact, set himself up to face the champion. His mentor. Curiously, he felt no further fear nor hesitation when he stepped out from the rear to meet his opponent. There was no turning back. There was also no way that he could possibly win against the person who taught him how to kill another. He took a deep breath as he went into his kamae. Faced with the realisation of certain death, one thought took precedence over all else. He would certainly not die without a fight. With that in mind, he roared and sprang towards the woman he called teacher.

His first strike was immediately parried, though he was able to close the gap between the swords in one bound. Face to face with his teacher, he was able to look into her eyes from under her helmet. He had no time to think before he jumped backwards, hoping to strike down the centre of her head while she let her guard down. But the blow was weak, and only managed to bounce off the helmet. Gathering his courage and strength for another attack, he roared once more as he leaped forwards, sword raised high. It was then that he knew he had failed.

He had jumped too far, and too soon.

Within a split second, his opponent had disappeared from sight. It was also at the moment when he he felt something slip between the right side of his stomach to the left side of his hip. A moment passed before he, still flying forwards, felt the searing pain. He landed heavily on his feet, still in the final position of the strike had it actually struck his foe. He looked down and saw the damage that had been done. His armor had been sheared completely through; where the metal parted crimson stains grew on his gi. He tasted and felt fresh blood trickling out of his mouth as his vision grew even worse. He noticed that there was no longer any feeling his legs, and toppled forwards. Everything became slow, and bright. His sword had long fallen from his hands, his face half-buried in the mud. His breath was shallow and ragged, and his mouth moved as if to utter words. Words which would never be heard by any other ears.

He gave a shudder, and exhaled for the last time.

The captain was dead.

The battle was lost.