Strange algorithm

It's Sunday evening and last night, when I was passing the time on the internet, the algorithm invited me to two ghost-themed topics: the film Ghosted and the Appalachian Mountains. I saw the film Ghosted when it was released about 3 years ago and enjoyed it very much. The plot was absolutely outrageous and hilarious and I enjoyed all the little symbolic details and dialogue. I forgot which short reel I clicked on IG, which likely prompted the algorithm to show me similar videos. Interestingly, the algorithm also showed a couple of videos about eerie things or things that one should not do when one is on the Appalachian Mountains. I'm easily scared about things like that, but like a moth to a flame, I kept on watching related spooky videos until I got really sleepy. Luckily, I didn't have a bad dream. But I did have a dream. Like most dreams, I've forgotten the majority of it, but that it was a long dream and involved characters and conversation. I'll end with the Psychedelic Furs: "Inside you the time moves and she don't fade."

Sleep lessons

Image by Ri Butov from Pixabay

I’m reading Fast Asleep by Dr. Michael Mosley, and the “Challenging Your Thoughts” section on page 100 resonated with me. Like many others, I have thoughts that surface before I go to bed (or throughout the day), and these affect my sleep. Dr. Mosley suggests a bit of cognitive behavioral therapy or CBT, which I've actually gone through when I had therapy years ago. The author suggests that we challenge the thoughts that run through our minds. For example, if my current thought is on worrying about sleeping late and its implications the next day, I can challenge that thought by telling myself that I will eventually go to sleep like I always do, and it's going to be fine. Dr. Mosley further suggests that these forms of negative thinking are long-term patterns and if one needed to do it effectively, a professional therapist could be consulted. 

Last night, I wasn't worried nor did I have any difficulty sleeping. In fact, on the couch while watching a YouTube video of an orchestra with my family, my eyes started to become very heavy, and I went to bed shortly after. I don't attribute the sleepiness to the video, but the stressors last week that bled to the early part of this week. These unchallenged stressors became mental overload. I need to consciously challenge any unnecessary ideas that would result in physical exhaustion. After weathering that storm and clearing the major items from my mind, my body seemed to say, “Alright, she’s not in crisis mode anymore--time to repair and recharge.” I’m writing now as part of that maintenance process--and also because I had a vivid dream last night about an artist I admire who, while walking away, glanced back and said something poignant to me. So, thanks for the feedback loop, subconscious, I'm hanging up the phone now. To end this post, I'm sharing these nostalgic songs--the first one I heard at a Home Depot last weekend, and the other a reminder of my younger years and that the great indoors could be one's mind.

Continue to give myself permission

I've been writing for myself for approximately 30 years, which is equivalent to two-thirds of my life. That includes diaries and this medium here. I recently joined a mailing list of an academic centre focused on humanistic inquiry (they offer degree programs in philosophy, theology, and the like) that also features a variety of short workshops. They have an upcoming half-day workshop on writing as spiritual practice and I've been thinking about registering. I had the impression that it may simply be a space that gives me permission to write freely and without critique. I've been doing that already, so I'm trying to understand where my knee-jerk interest comes from. Was it that I want to write with others and be prompted externally? There is a cost, which is reasonable, given the expert facilitators. There is hesitation, so I guess, I won't register. I could just continue to give myself permission to pause and write. I've mentioned the benefit of blogspot before in terms of longevity, because I currently still have within reach only three diaries out of maybe four or five that I know I've written on. The chronology is already broken across those paper journals so I can forget about wanting to review and learn from my past thinking tendencies. I may have downloaded up to a certain point of this electronic journal, but I have to remember where I saved it. So, for now, this is the most accessible way for me to capture real-time train of thought. To my future self: carry on.

Cycling through cycles

It’s a worry-filled day, and it’s probably a sign that I’m coming out of an almost burnout situation. That was about two weeks of nonstop, robotic hyper-processing with no mental real estate available for anything else. When the plate has been finally cleared, all these other stuff stampeded inside my head today. Unnecessary worry on top of exhaustion. I have to remind myself that I'm safe. I just need to calm down and relax. Crossing the finish line is a cause for joy, not worry. Anxieties are insidious, like a predator waiting to pounce when the prey is most unaware. I help myself by acknowledging that I feel off, then I think of the obvious stimulus that is directly causing the unsettling feeling, and finally evaluate whether the intensity of the feeling is commensurate to the seriousness of the stimulus. If time permits, I can park any decision for later (e.g., jot it on a to-do list) when I'm no longer tired and anxious. Writing these things down here is additionally helpful.

side eye-ing the universe

 As the lunchtime celebration I attended earlier today was about to end, a large tray of fortune cookies was served. I grabbed one at the edge of the pile and got this:

Although random and surely inconsequential, it's nice to feel like I'm interesting even if in a fictional sense. I thought about being some person with some relevant insights about some particular topic and people would like to better understand why I think a particular way about that specific topic. This self-aggrandizement must cease right after I end this sentence. Why? Because I just recalled the final statement in today's Gospel reading from Luke 18:14 that states "...for whoever exalts himself will be humbled, but whoever humbles himself will be exalted." Whether the self-promotion truly ceased is debatable, because I still posted about it. Huh.

I thought the phrase abject penury sounded sophisticated despite its definition. I didn't know what penury meant while I was reading yesterday's daily meditation from volume 3 of Francis Fernandez's In Conversation with God. The sentence on p. 549 states, "God asks us always to bear in mind the abject penury of our condition, so that we may avoid the danger of ever becoming conceited."

Abject penury could also refer to how how one feels, like being in despair even when living comfortably. Isn't it fascinating how a nice sounding pair of words can mean something undesirable? Well, undesirable is my subjective description. It's unimaginable to think that there are those who chose to live in abject penury, like St. Francis of Assisi and the unknown author of the book The Way of the Pilgrim.

Some ways to live better

 I began writing this post while waiting at the venue where my children were having their winter extracurricular sports activity. Ambient sounds included conversations between parents and children who had just finished with their gymnastics, swimming, music, or multisport session, or parents doing flexible remote work on some corner of the centre. What a unique experience! I situated myself at a spot where I placed two chairs with all of our belongings. I had just taken a sip of decaf coffee that I brought with me in a coffee tumbler--that thing I did for myself earlier today while preparing for this parental waiting situation so that I had something to look forward to once the kids are in their activity.
I also brought with me a copy of Og Mandino's "A Better Way to Live" that my father used to own and that I posted about over a year ago <link>. On page 64, it states:

"Always reward your long hours of labor and toil in the very best way, surrounded by your family. Nurture their love carefully, remembering that your children need models, not critics, and your progress will hasten when you constantly strive to present your best side to your children. And even if you have failed at all else in the eyes of the world, if you have a loving family, you are a success."

What a nice passage to read while in this circumstance.

----

In other domestic-related news, I have successfully made my first eggless tiramisu. One of my sisters make excellent tiramisu, and we enjoyed it over the recent holidays. I asked for her recipe, but I cut corners and used lazy mom alternative ingredients, and it still turned out okay. I made a large container and two small containers that lasted about 72 hours. On the topic of tiramisu, my other sister introduced to us this viral song called "Tiramisu Cake" <link> by a Korean band and it apparently created some dance craze in Asia. I now have a fondness for mascarpone cheese, which I consume in the morning with a mixed berry jam on a piece of toast. Couple that with good brewed black coffee and I feel like I can face any manic Monday like a pro.

To close this post centered on ordinary home life, below is a scene from the film "Kate and Leopold" featuring mascarpone. Enjoy the weekend, folks.

brace yourselves

Snow is nigh according to latest weather forecasts. This clip above of Robert Frost reciting his poem is an invaluable treasure--an auditory and cognitive balm that is bittersweet. As the younger millenials would say, it gives me the feels.

On the topic of snow and this season of premature sunsets (sadness inducing), I had to take deep breaths during these past few days due to being overcome by unexpected yet unavoidable events. Like an Energizer Bunny fueled by its compulsion to check off lists and do stuff but caged within a physical space. As I write this as a form of mental release and to obliterate the limits of the physical, I am hopeful that the next part of this tiny experience is The Average. I like the average, and I've alluded to this in the past. Like I'm going through life as if hiking on my designated path (I chose 'designated' because it's convenient, and I know I will sound like I embrace determinism, but I will stay in my zone of dumbness where I state 'I do not know'), and majority of the path involves a relatively flat paved road where treading is not difficult (The Average). Then there are those parts of the path with walkalators, where everything is just super fine and dandy (Better than The Average). There are also those parts with treadmills in varying degrees of speed and incline (Below Average) and the band OK Go appears out of nowhere singing their song 'Here it goes again' and doing treadmill choreography to accompany your struggle.
Then there are those parts of the path that are obstacle courses a la American Ninja Warrior (Worse than The Average)--where I am an out of shape librarian type woman and I fall down some pit so frequently yet still carry on, because there is no time limit and I can only go forward because of rules in the universe. Where am I right now? Maybe in the average-leaning section of the Below Average spectrum. Like this section:



In other news, here's an AI-generated image of a smoothie. It's grayish because that's how I like it. I'm kidding. It's how the color ends up when you mix a banana, a scoop of chocolate protein powder, flaxseed meal, powdered peanut butter, frozen kale, frozen blueberries, and unsweetened almond milk. There you go, a smoothie recipe for your consideration. Adjust to taste.

Colder and warmer

Happy Thanksgiving--Wishing you a nice holiday or regular day, whichever applies. Spreading comfort and coziness...☕️🫖📚📖

The Name of the Rose

The 1980s mystery/thriller film "The Name of the Rose" starring Sean Connery and a young Christian Slater felt like an emotional workout. It was riveting, disturbing, and grotesque. It's from a book by Umberto Eco--I haven't read any of his books, but I remember a very thick hardbound copy of his "Foucault's Pendulum" at the library of the university where I studied in undergrad and later worked. I never touched it, but it was noticeable because I frequently passed by the aisle where it was and that was from 1998 to 2015. But I digress.

"The Name of the Rose" deals a bit about intellectual pride aside from distorted religious fanaticism. Sean Connery's character, William of Baskerville, is a Franciscan friar who was investigating a mysterious death at an abbey--very Sherlock Holmes. In many occasions, William is rebuked for being too rational and stubborn. It was his intellectual pride that led him to dangerous predicaments yet it gave him the determination to unfold the truth. I once read someone's comment about how this film had the ugliest looking characters (except for the ones played by Sean Connery, Christian Slater, and Valentina Vargas). Ron Perlman's hunchback crazy character was so comically gross, and his performance was effective in relaying that weird air of dystopia. 

The reason why I'm writing about this film now, after seeing it for the first time over two weeks ago, is that I just thought about how intellectual pride is both a boon and a bane. I used to admire intelligence...correction, I admire intelligence, but not as a standalone thing. I admire intelligence coupled with unassuming humble confidence and curiosity. Intelligence as a mediator for a greater virtue. Maybe like Gregor Mendel? These days, a vast majority can easily access information  using their portable devices (woe to you, Britannica, Colliers, and dictionaries/thesauruses). But true wisdom and wit, not the cynical and obnoxious kind, those traits are hard to make up on demand. William of Baskerville didn't possess admirable wisdom. The story is obviously molded to make the audience root for him--I certainly did--Sean Connery is portraying him, my goodness! But William was consumed with being right and that's a very annoying and off-putting trait. I'm not posting this to rant, I'm  writing to document some observations. I think I'm only seeing a superficial view of the story and it's probably studded with allegory. Did I enjoy it? I don't know--as I mentioned at the start of this post, it was like an internal exercise. It was hard not to feel anger, disgust, pity, etc. So I guess the film achieved in me something that any other art form aims to achieve and that is to express a kind of hyper reality to the audience. Part of art is to entertain, yet it is also a way for us humans to appreciate what only we humans are capable of as a species: sentience.

civil war in the cerebral cortex

"Purity of mind and idleness are incompatible", according to Mahatma Gandhi. How about when one is preoccupied? A degree of busyness that is still manageable? Is one's mind more likely to be pure? I'm sure you will agree that one's mind is never exempt from less than ideal thoughts at any moment. Like exposure to microbes and viruses, which are constant. When we are free from disease, it means that our immune system is fully equipped with ammunition to combat the constant and insidious attacks. It doesn't mean that the microbes and viruses are absent.

Insidious and blatant exposure to bad ideas are brought about by sensorial stimuli regardless of location. The only way, I think, that we can markedly reduce exposure is to move to the mountains, or a cave in the jungle, or migrate to an inaccessible island, or go to outer space. Or find a way to strengthen our conscious mental resistance in order to avoid succumbing to thoughts and hypotheticals. When I say "succumb", I'm not even talking about leading to some form of action...I mean entertaining and replaying thoughts or going down the rabbit hole of what ifs. Including a constant battle between unguarded thoughts and our conscience. Imagine being in "locked in syndrome", and there is a civil war in your mind. Daily. Sometimes the good guys win, sometimes the baddies win. Everyday is a battle. Except that the outcome is highly dependent on which side you allow to win. 

I was today years old when I learned about scrupulosity. This just made things harder. After being aware of this phenomenon, one may slide a bit towards the opposite side of the spectrum and become lukewarm...slide further away and now you're in the realm of disobedience. Abruptly slide back far towards the opposite side and there's that small interval of a Goldilocks zone, probably where most properly religious and spiritual folks are...and then there's scrupulosity that makes one a little bit of a control freak. Like wanting to reach for the divine outside ourselves, but ending up rapidly imploding into the "me, me, me...woe is me" myopic-with-horseblinders worldview. What is the lesson here? So hard to follow you, Jesus.

How about we all pray for each other, eh? 

I think adding those few pieces of frozen avocado chunks in my morning smoothie has caused some odd dynamics in my gut microbiome, which is apparently related to brain activity. Nah. Just trying the reduce the intensity of this post. Didn't work. It still feels like an awkward and uncomfortable ending. Oh well.

petty insecurities

I joined a summer weekly yoga class that accommodates all levels. This is my attempt to incorporate some structured exercise in my current routine. It has been 24 hours since my first session and I can feel the delayed onset muscle soreness. The yoga teacher was a lithe and soft-spoken lady with the body structure that I can only dream of. Like Michelle Pfeiffer as Cat Woman. After acknowledging this, I then became aware of the women around me with their yoga attire and painted toenails. I wore a loose t-shirt and ankle-length leggings all in black. My feet were dry and my toenails were unpainted. Ugh. You know what I did? I curled my toes during the first couple of minutes. My goodness, what level of sef-consciousness is that? But I was feeling really insecure. The class was 1.5 hours so I convinced myself that no one was paying attention to my feet and it would be torture to curl my toes the whole time. So I tried my best to follow along. I made sure to breathe and I softened my gaze or closed my eyes so I could focus on how my body felt per pose. Oh boy, I would shake occasionally and felt some odd sensations whenever my dormant muscles were forced to wake up and work. The class is probably considered very light for most people, but I surely struggled. And I am uneducated when it comes to yoga pose terminology so I couldn't understand the names of most of the poses as the teacher announced each one. Anyway, I resolve to control my petty insecurities and pat myself on the back for signing up for this. Have you ever been insecure about the most frivolous things? Maybe we can try to learn how to think less of those, eh?

Here's my anthem for today, aptly titled "Insecure" by Tom Misch: https://youtu.be/OF7rpAfBUSM?si=KCR8y5zR4gQZF7jb

carrels and anonymity

 Ninth floor stacks and the lights are mostly off. I walk along the bookshelves labeled with the "B" Library of Congress classification. The motion sensors overhead begin to sequentially turn on the lights along where I pass through. I notice a designated lockable carrel by the wall at the end of one aisle. It had floral decals and fake vegetation that festooned the inner walls. This person must be in a PhD program--that much homey-ness is likely for a long academic life. 

I didn't find a book worth borrowing--I still had 2 on loan from this library anyway. I have 3 loans from the public library. Will I finish any of those 5? Slim chance. Maybe. We'll see. 

I enjoy old libraries especially when rarely occupied, but I get a little spooked sometimes when I entertain my weird imagination. In those moments, I'd walk briskly towards the elevators and go to a more occupied floor. 

This particular library guard began to recognize me for being a frequent visitor. We wave hello or goodbye when I ingress or egress. I almost didn't have a choice when the first non-verbal acknowledgment happened, because I didn't want to be rude. A part of me wished that I remained unfamiliar and anonymous to this guard. I suppose it's much safer and less suspicious if guards were familiar with patrons, eh? Or it's customary to acknowledge regulars...I shouldn't over analyze.

Asceticism of the mind is hard...

...because my mind is the only place where I experience liberation. I imagine my physical self as an inanimate object: a wrist watch, for example. You know I'm functioning because the dials move as expected--it does what it's expected to do...what it ought to do. If one were able to peek through the innards of said wrist watch like the opening credits of Game of Thrones (which I honestly do not watch--just clips here and there), you will see vibrant machine activity. Only I know what those things are and this blog is the tip of the iceberg of what's going on up inside my cranial cavity. Majority of the conscious mental activity and thoughts are challenging to concretize via words or language. As I've become older, these things in my head have become ever more intense--whether involving some idea, emotion, or hypothetical circumstance. Nothing extraordinary is happening outside. I appear like I'm just randomly looking through my eyeballs. I may even be doing some manual labour or proper work. I could be listening to someone speaking and allow the mental activity to pause and receive the communication; perhaps, find a place for these foreign generated ideas and concepts inside my already moving internal machinery. Like trying to shoot ping pong balls inside a fast moving train. Ah, that is a perfect object for comparison too. How about a wrist watch with a perpetual bullet train deep inside the machinery? And I'm talking about an ordinary, affordable, reliable, unremarkable looking wrist watch. Like the Casio watch I wear. Hmm...

And so an indulgent mind can be difficult to temper. 

Have reserves

If you have a few minutes, I invite you to watch this uplifting video by a wise woman named Dee: https://youtu.be/p1x_h5xkRDk?si=Es1-MvEN4HEPHM3E

Dee has given us a lot to ponder today and so I end this post with the poem that she read at the beginning of her video...

"Dust if you must" by Rose Milligan

Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better 
To paint a picture, or write a letter,
Bake a cake, or plant a seed;
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there’s not much time,
With rivers to swim, and mountains to climb;
Music to hear, and books to read;
Friends to cherish, and a life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world’s out there 
With the sun in your eyes, and the wind in your hair;
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come round again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it’s not kind.
And when you go (and go you must)
You, yourself, will make more dust.

Increased vertical distance

 

One Thursday afternoon about 2-ish. What a view. How about yourself? Things okay? Yeah? I'm pleased to say the same thus far. I took advantage of this view from a room where I had a meeting. I appreciated how different the buildings look like when viewed from the top. I'm usually one of those ant-looking folks you can see from the building reflections below and the perspective at that vantage point is obviously different. I also realized that there are risks when one is constantly exposed to this kind of view, because the usual details of life on the ground get pixelated and blurred. The sounds become muffled and muted until one becomes indifferent. Being blissfully ignorant all the time isn't ideal, isn't it?

snapshots in transit

 I started writing this while waiting (on a layover) at a DFW boarding gate where it was warmer than what I'm accustomed to. The PHL skyline surely lifted my mood despite the tiredness. The flight on the way here was very far from ideal--it was dense, stuffy, constricting. 

(I paused for a few days here)

I'm back from bereavement, reunions, and traveling between eastern and pacific time--south of the border. An assortment of emotions were felt; majority revolving around the melancholy and bittersweet. Happy to report that I started and finished James Rollins's The Crucible during this trip. Also, my eyes feasted on scenery and my gustatory sense delighted on new fare including coffee.

This is an instance when I relearned that a lifetime is brief and that we are all transients. That all the little moments of our daily lives matter.

Off to the city of trees

 The melancholia and nostalgia associated with the loss of kin is strange. It's certainly sad. I haven't been to the west coast in over 2 decades and I wish I were travelling the first few days this upcoming spring month for the purpose of leisure. The silver lining is the chance to see familiar faces...stating that made me think of the song Mad World.

In other news, I have been exploring alternative work spaces mainly from my alma mater. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom and as I was walking this morning, I saw a number of folks taking photos of the beautiful trees beside this big library building that I was about to enter. Cherry blossoms are supposed to represent mortality...a fleeting existence.

So I raise my imaginary glass to the brevity of life. What a time to be alive. What a wonderful realization.

Moka pots, peach tea, and lipstick

 How relieved I am, now that I have hump day until the end of the week off. This past few weeks was studded with deadlines and overtime yet there were 'glimmers' here and there. For one, I have been fantasizing about espresso machines. I just couldn't commit to the cost and maintenance involved so I diverted my attention to the idea of a classic Italian Moka pot, but we have an induction stovetop. After much sleuthing, I discovered the portable Moka pot with its own heating system--very much like an electric kettle. I can now enjoy espressos, americanos, affogatos, etc.

One of my siblings drove from south of the border and brought us treats. For yours truly, my wonderful American siblings gave me Dunkin Donuts and Wawa coffee and I am over the moon! I'm very easy to please. I also requested for peach tea, which I can't find in pure form lately. You see, during the recent holidays while waiting to board our red eye, long haul flight, I asked the airport cafe staff if they had any warm non-caffeinated drink available and when the lovely lady at the register mentioned peach tea, I thought why not? It was surprisingly soothing and calming and all the feelings associated with its taste was memorable for me. The tea is called peach tranquility and it seems that it cannot be purchased outside the coffee shop. I can only replicate the sensation with a different brand peach tea...the kind that isn't blended with passion fruit or ginger or any other substance. It's a wonderful discovery, honestly. I rememeber that I liked peaches when I was younger when my mother would serve fruit salad with canned peaches and in high school when Snapple was very popular and there was a peach tea flavor. I suppose years of not being able to taste peaches and then drinking peach tea at the airport last December sort of opened a file folder of nostalgia in my brain that I could only interpret at that time as "...that hits the spot!" 

I've recently been working at the office lately and I found myself rejuvenated and motivated. I realized that I find comfort in physical order and structure...that work happens at the office and leisure happens at home. Boundaries are easier to establish when there are actual physical boundaries. I'm not sure if I'm making sense to you, but I hope I do. And because I would like to complete the whole going-to-the-office bit, I've made sure to wear lipstick. I recently rotate Revlon Mink, Mac PDA, and Mac See Sheer. Not very noticeable to others, but I feel like I'm in business when I wear any of these. Outside those colors, I wear a lot of Nivea Vanilla Buttercream lip balm (which I have in random bags and areas of the house), Aquaphor, or Lucas Papaw ointment. It's unusual that I'm enumerating these lip products, but I really enjoy these.

Anyway, cheers to life and having time off. I hope everyone is well and that challenges get sorted out smoothly. Let us pray for those who are in precarious circumstances including those living in conditions of civil unrest or natural calamity.

writing on paper

 

Photo by Letícia Alvares

My sister gave me an agenda book during the holidays and I've been enjoying writing my daily to-do list on it. But my main agenda is on my personal calendar app. I also keep a digital organizing app called Trello that I treat like cyber sticky notes and use for myself only even though the app is meant for collaboration. 

The benefit of having a physical agenda is that I can unplug from the digital world yet still have peace of mind that I won't forget some important upcoming meeting or task. I check it at the end of the day to have an idea of what the next day will look like. I enjoy writing very much--in fact, I purchased a bunch of cheap pens from my favourite local school supplies store during the holidays. I noticed that my penmanship isn't as nice as when I was younger. That's expected considering that we run our lives through computers and smartphones. 

The digital revolution certainly improved the speed and efficiency in which humans conduct business and the mundane. There is one aspect that I don't like very much and it's that prevalent culture of immediacy, which is directly linked to a marked reduction in patience. I resolve to follow my own pace...a pace that is slower than the rest, I realized. Taking reality breaks via four seconds of inhalation followed by six seconds of exhalation at least thrice in a row. Oxygenating my body to banish any lack-of-proper-breathing-induced tension or negative thinking tendencies. Entertaining inspiring thoughts and mental pictures. 

Lent started last Valentine's day. My husband and I celebrated early during the weekend prior to February 14 with a nice dinner. Valentine's day and Ash Wednesday fell on the same day this year, that's why we decided to celebrate early. Interesting contradiction.

During this season of fasting and almsgiving, I was challenged by the following:

Daring and tough, methinks.