nourish yourself against dark imaginings

 Overwhelmed...I thought to share the section of the poem Desiderata that provides some comfort:

"Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here."

Many times I'm tired, hungry, and/or thirsty on top of whatever it is that I need to do or am going through. I think my cheeseburger helped. Cheers.

"Leaves will soon grow from the bareness of trees"

Image Source (Pexels)

Overt abuse of power and transgressive leadership are tolerated by supporters who assume that such behaviour is justified for the sake of group or identity advancement (interesting link to a scientific paper here). People identify themselves as belonging to a particular coordinate within the left-right political spectrum and/or cardinal directions (north, south, east, west). And once the decision has been made, it becomes a package deal. It doesn't matter that the figurehead is morally corrupt, as long as the group or platform that this figurehead represents wins. Dishonorable. Unfortunately, non-support for this group is assumed to be support for the opposite extreme, where one may also find similar kinds of moral corruption.

I think the drastic difference between the present time and earlier periods in human history is driven by access to information. The caveat is its overabundance, a substantial amount of which are non-informative noise--primarily aimed at provoking human emotion. Because when the stimulus is strong enough and the emotions are unleashed, the source of the non-informative noise wins by creating a chain reaction. Either geared towards magnifying a particular sentiment or by just creating chaos. 

We are in the process of an election and I'm glad to have been able to vote early. Hoping for good results for my country (my province)--my country that is not the topic of my rant above about another young country that is a jigsaw puzzle of little countries. I have to admit to being silently amused by the interwebs. I get basic facts from AM radio then I go online for both facts and entertainment. Like snorkeling in the ocean where I find a variety of interesting stuff including beautiful coral reefs of things that have always inspired me and made me happy (thank you) or schools of fish that educate me (I learn something new all the time), including encounters with suspicious looking open water creatures with grotesque features that want to either scare me away or lure me (no thanks).

But these dismal, wintery circumstances will be replaced by longer days soon. Here's a nice song by the band Ben & Ben...

cozy activities

...and self-soothing strategies. I have written and deleted this following section of this post a few times, because I initially wanted to go on a tirade about how my morning started (travails related to vehicle parking during a holiday parade day). Over it. Hakuna matata. I wrote the words, experienced catharsis, and avoided regret. How wonderful is the ability to edit, eh? If we could only have the same kind of backspace/delete/ctrl+X/track changes capability with our real lives, wouldn't that be great? No? You don't think so? Life will be boring, you say? Alright, I get it. Our mistakes are as important as the right choices we've made in leading us to this very moment. Even the most incremental modification...like the difference between 0.506 and 0.506127 (famous numbers by Mr. Lorenz and the butterly effect) can lead to drastically different outcomes. Anyway, let's instead think about Timon and Pumbaa and their problem-free philosophy...

Meanhwile, the bucolic old lady in me has returned to repursue some crafting. I am quite proud of a matching off-white beanie and cowl I made about 2 holidays ago. I saw a skein of the perfect shade of purple (or violet?) so I am attempting to make another beginner hat. Good luck to me. I hope this was entertaining and wasn't a complete waste of your reading time. 

wanting what is easy

 

Photo by Anna Tarazevich from Pexels

January isn't over and you think you're ready for December? Hypersensitive to any type of communication you receive in whatever medium? Somewhere around the middle of January, I was on edge...with some dregs still present to date. It could be post-vacation blues or the transition towards middle age grumpiness. This recent video by Fr. Mike Schmitz was a sort of virtual commiseration for me...I felt the same way during the peak of January's busy-ness when I couldn't catch up with tasks and messages and everything felt like a piece of hot coal being thrown at me. There was a point when I thought to myself "why does everyone want everything from me?" So obnoxious, I know. I actually ended up having to assert and advocate for myself (diplomatically) and I'm surprised that I didn't feel an ounce of guilt. I was utterly overwhelmed. As Fr. Mike mentioned in the video, it's likely because we want things to be easy. I want everything to be easy and quickly figure-out-able, you know? Sometimes or most of the time, my mind is just at capacity. There were occasions this month when I became so tired at the end of the day that my speech was almost slurred and my eyes needed to be pried open. 

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On Sunday, we went to a local breakfast place and I saw a man on the table in front of me and he was writing on white letter size copy paper using a fancy pen. He was wearing a black knitted sweater on top of a white collared shirt and there were two other fancy pens hooked on the right side of his sweater collar. He had chunky gold rings on his right ring finger and his left middle and ring fingers. The ring on his right hand looked like a wedding band. The chunky rings on his left hand looked like various college rings--probably one for each degree? I don't know. He looked like a stockier version of Phil Collins and St. John Paul II. Based on my sleuthing, he was making an exam or a math problem set. He would briefly stare into space and then write a number, a close parenthesis, then symbols. There was a page with a parabola. That man isn't taking things easy...he's completely analog. What a refreshing scene. He could have modified some problem sets online or from a text book, but no--he went the careful thinking route. His dedication is admirable. Thought to share that experience.

Schrodinger-ing

Increased online anonymity. I’ve been trying to do this recently while maintaining a digital footprint as minimum verification of my existence. I recently learned that what is available about you online can be utilized as a trap. Imagine this scenario: you receive communication from a legit individual that an unnamed entity has name dropped you as a good fit for some adventure. You know it’s legit, because it is a legit project. The communication seems flattering on the surface, but it’s not through proper channels. So you thank them for the message and direct them to the standard ‘aboveboard’ procedure, which they decline to go through. Like Ultron sending you a text message saying that you were recommended to be included in the roster of folks who will be deployed in the next SpaceX mission to the ISS, because some unnamed person mentioned to him that you are an expert in docking. You’ve never docked a spacecraft before and then you remember writing a general interest article about your fascination about docking simulators. And you also remember that a similar tactic was done to you by someone with whom you experienced toxic business with (let’s say Count Dracula) who once copy-pasted your details from online and messaged you saying that they have a deadline the next day and needed you to sign off as part of a new Sokovian project that you only found out about at that moment and that they already prepped your profile and everything (the stars collided in your favour and you got out of it). Now you put two and two together: Supervillain and Vampire. Wow. If this were a film, I guess you’d be a character that gets thrust into an unfortunate situation. I think that’s a naughty way to operate, eh? Habitually twist someone’s arm? If you were close friends or if you’ve had a long-standing professional relationship, that may be acceptable. Otherwise, it’s not palatable. You can look at it in the light of, perhaps, an opportunity for growth. Who wouldn’t want to go to Space? Sure, that’s a valid point to consider. But being attached to strings connected to Ultron and Count Dracula? That may be a quick choice for some and not for others. Consider this an exercise in personal ethics.

Invictus

Today’s post is around the theme of ceaseless criticism. This Pinterest quote states, “Some people who flood others with their distasteful criticisms ironically cannot handle even just a drop of their own medicine.” When the sources of the aforementioned distasteful criticism should have otherwise been the sources of upliftment or motivation—there’s the rub. Putting it out there that the recipient of said distasteful criticism isn’t yours truly and suffice to say that fierce maternal loyalty was instinctually unleashed. Anyway, we shall keep mum, flip the emotion to that of compassion, and shower our spawn with overflowing love, affection, and motivation. Cut the intergenerational trauma. That doesn’t mean that we never correct nor discipline, because that is foundational. Throwback to a previous post: https://annaswhatnots.blogspot.com/2021/06/telegram-from-omniscient.html?m=1

—

On a lighter note, I realized that I don’t have to endure excessively bitter caffeinated beverages to be the mysterious, grumpy woman I aspire to become (joke). As well, daily walks around the park/neighbourhood, drinking lots of plain water (more than caffeine), and those quick targeted exercises online have been mood-boosting. You’re probably saying “well, duh” 😄. My attempt to offset the negativity I wrote above.  I have updated a short playlist I called “Steady Stroll, which is in progress. There’s a nice song I just recently discovered called “Never gonna be alone” by Jacob Collier, Lizzy McAlpine, and John Mayer—it’s nice and reminds me of 90s R&B. Catharsis. Have a good evening. *curtsy*

constricted

Current sentiment. The gatekeeping is perpetual, and when brought forward, gaslighting follows. A never-ending process; by rote. It’s probably pointless to further pursue. Will never win. What a hopeless endeavour and trap.

Insidious return of jinx hendrix

 

Photo by ROMAN ODINTSOV from Pexels

Didn't knock on wood enough times. Let's call the bane of the current reality as jinx hendrix--the non-musical, bad-vibes, PTSD-causing version of the uber-talented Jimi Hendrix. Does not even deserve a proper noun status so we'll leave jinx hendrix uncapitalized. Once again, creeping in slowly and slipping what it assumes to be unnoticeable machinations. You know, we should really be wary of things we cannot immediately see with our naked eyes...the havoc these nanoscopic creatures can wreak. Some of them causing pandemics and whatnot, you know. Anyway, call this finger tapping on the computer keyboard as my equivalent of deep breathing--asdf--jkl;--asdf--jkl;--asdf--jkl; 

Grateful for coping mechanisms including those that exist and embrace us with a blanket of mental comfort. Thankful for that. Their existence. For the inspiration. Also, more than ever, the medallion on my chest exhorts me to state Ô Marie, conçue sans péché, priez pour nous qui avons recours à vous...okay, I cannot pronounce that, let's go with O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee. I wear it since it was a gift from my sister and that it inspires me to seek for graces including graces that I lack but don't think I should ask for. Isn't that a nice predicament? To be given something you didn't even think you need?

Desperate times and the self-representing spin doctor

 

                                                              Photo by Markus Spiske from Pexels

 Beware the spin doctor. Too much twisted thread. The twists and turns are targeted towards the enduring quad--bonded more strongly despite these hard times...and these days are much harder than other hard times. The spinner's threads and knots have become uncontrollable and flammable. Why so much hate? Always, the parsimonious path is the Truth. It is simple. It is consistent. As Maya Angelou remarked, you may shoot me with your words, you may cut me with your eyes, you may kill me with your hatefulness, but still, like air, I'll rise.  Kaawaan ka ng Diyos. 

Global social media toxicity needs neutralization

Presenting some de-stress kitchen activities during physical distancing brought to you by my attempt to spread only good vibrations *cue The Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations”*...

I’ve removed the handwritten recipes taped on the fridge (it’s steel and doesn’t attract magnets) and organized them in letter size papers inserted on plastic 3-holed sheet protectors within a red binder. Got a bottle of Weiman steel cleaner and now the fridge is so shiny. Very happy. Better use of my time than exposing myself to all the political and really disheartening social media posts back in the Republika ng Pilipinas. 

Humblebraggarts, feeling influencers, myopic-blind-towards-people-who-are-starving

I scoff at people who dictate how the humans of this world should live their lives and practice something that they can easily practice themselves. Oh everyone should cartwheel from point A to B because it's good for your core and volumizes your bangs---and how about blah blah blah *insert privileged first worlder mundane activity*

While the rest of humankind has to maximize the time they have in order to earn per hour, afford health care, afford food, afford a roof above their heads, afford an education, afford a computer, afford full-text journal access, afford a phone, afford an internet connection, afford a decent toilet with a flush, actually be able to drink potable water, escape war, escape human trafficking...

Judases

/** I am commenting here as a note to myself in case I go back to this post with an attempt to update: Let it go, Anna. Let them go. Let your blessings and the love that you have around you help you overcome this little cross that the Lord has given you. A cross that is a means to help you on your life's journey. Whatever you learn, keep it. Focus on the good things--there are so many things to be grateful for. **/

Betrayal is such a wretched act. To gain one’s trust, only to exchange it for a quick thirty pieces of silver is an act that can never be vindicated. An act that only provides temporary respite and a life sentence of regret. Do not betray someone who has trusted you. If you have, nothing that you do afterwards can make things go back as they were.

Judas Iscariot by Carl Bloch

My thought process has been stolen and I know who stole it. Someone who has become familiar with how I think and write and may have become delusional and drunk with the idea that the guidance was equivalent to absolute possession of my ideas. Unfortunately, the deed is something that cannot easily be incriminated—especially since it seems as if the thought process has been the thief’s (and all those complicit) all along. If one bothered to look closely, one will be illumined. I feel sorry for the primary complicit human shield—a mixture of naivete and arrogance. Am I going to do something about it? I may not need to. I will let Divine Providence be in charge. I will let history tell the story. It will be laid bare...it will be laid bare. May God have mercy on their souls.

/** My need to unload the emotional burden has led me to update this post intermittently. I feel much better now after Update 3. I'm slowly moving towards peace of mind. I am reversing the order of the updates. Thanks to my friends, family, and my imaginary audience for your indulgence. **/

Update 3: Denote A as the current trigger event and B as my thought process (e.g. a scholarly endeavor). When I initially examined A, due to an icy feeling that slowly crept through me due to its semblance to B...I stopped my examination. After further examination of A, it also included C. Thus A=B+C+other things. Incidentally, C was first and foremost the idea of the more senior person I mentioned in Update 2. Alas, we were both robbed. You know what, they can have this. With this dog-eat-dog environment, I’m certain there are equally ruthless hyenas (also carnivores like dogs but are predatory in packs) that they have wronged and will find any opportunity to pounce. Whether or not they get caught, it will be a lifetime of self-imposed atonement assuming they are capable of remorse. There is still mercy inside my heart and I’m sure their end in mind was really just to fulfill an obligation except that the desperation compelled a Machiavellian route. I am praying and will continue to pray for their redemption.

Update 2: I was hoping for this to go away, it’s like 3 years ago again and couldn’t stop weeping. The weeping 3 years ago was after a more senior person told me the truth...that what I had done was rejected because it was redundant to something that had already been submitted (I am paraphrasing in a tamer manner, she didn’t want to show me the exact message—only the contents of what had been submitted including the complete list of names). I had invested time and shared what I knew thinking that it was a collaboration. My work was different. I knew then that they didn’t want to collaborate with me and I still don’t know why. And that was when I began telling myself that maybe I just didn’t fit in.
While the more senior person who broke the news dictated snippets of the email, I felt so humiliated, helpless, used, and it was unfair. It was like when Peter denied that he knew Christ thrice before the cock crowed. I’m definitely no Christ, but that’s how it was like. She then gave me another opportunity—having had to propose a dissemination idea to another group who welcomed me without question on short notice...it was a wonderful collaboration that produced relevant works. I started writing and unloading from this point. Why I miss my father now is because when I shared what had happened then, his replies (which I have kept) were “Owww. Well, a little bump won't hurt much. Just smile it off and move on. Love you 😘😘😘”, “Okay anak, quiet ka na lang, wish them well and move on”, “Don't quit. Fight on anak! Give [redacted] the benefit of the doubt. Basta do your best next. Banish negative thoughts anak & pray harder for strength.”
I read these messages now and then. I will do my best to banish negative thoughts. But I need to unload what I feel. I’m sure I will get over this in time. And the truth will liberate all.

Update: I may do something about it. It is not right, and no amount of gaslighting can hide the Truth. He may have been doing it habitually. Such a pity. I’m running out of pity, though. A good name requires integrity—if you don’t have integrity, it will and will always be revealed. Justice will be served, slowly but surely.

Visceral Reactions

Raise your glass if you encounter inconsistent behaviour from persons you initially deemed as trustworthy. I feel duped when I discover that what was agreed upon is presented differently to others—packaged in a seemingly neutralized but obviously modified format. The worst feeling is the delayed discovery that my naïveté led me to this trap of politicking. The worse than worst feeling is realizing that this wasn’t the first time; a viscious cycle.  I detest being a pawn in someone’s wicked chess game. Raise the drawbridge. Build a great wall. 

Trust your innate wisdom

Image source

I was prompted to write this entry due to current events encompassing harassment, normalization of hate and bigotry, violence, false news, divisiveness, and an article shared on Twitter about how harassers use "gas lighting" to sow seeds of self-doubt on their prey.  The term gas lighting was also used a few hours ago by a writer (who identifies as a person of color) who decided to leave the online newsletter she used to work for due to the "hipster racism" that one of its creators represented.  

Gas lighting is a manipulative tactic employed by a person that begins with provocation (e.g. a racist remark) and then when called out on it will divert his/her action by stating that the provocation was not intentional or that the other person is over-reacting or making things up.  This strategy effectively causes anxiety and oftentimes (a sort of) submission by the manipulated person.  I have witnessed this and even experienced this through the years.  What my parents taught me was to trust my gut. 

My mother had excellent intuition--a lot of us think she may be of the supernatural kind, actually (haha).  My visceral reaction is what I (up to this day) trust.  If I feel I am being manipulated, there's a twitch that happens inside my head. I blink. Red light bulb flashes. It is not something you can read on, unfortunately, but really only develop after years of various interactions.  My simplistic course of action is to disengage cordially.  No volcanic eruption-type confrontation or pyromantics.  Honest words. The low-syllable count kind, if possible.  I often pride myself as being able to handle many difficult situations, negotiations, and confrontations in a sophisticated manner without being sly or dishonest. 

Dishonesty and sesquipedalian rhetoric--just not classy. Hah, I used sesquipedalian. Anyway, I do not mingle with the low integrity, insecure types. I would rather befriend an uneducated street sweeper (who, based on experience, tend to be the wisest kind of people you would meet) than a multi-hyphenate, multi-trillionaire, who owns multinational companies with the business acumen of Mojo Jojo....you understand my drift. I also detest witnessing a gas lighter gas lighting a gas lightee.  Ew.

Thought cloud filler: You can cover the smell of excrement with bottles of lysol, but really, excrement is excrement. Correct? High five.      

Snarky

Source

I felt uncharitable today. In fact, I wanted to throw imaginary snide darts onto an imaginary dartboard. Why, what happened? A spontaneous conversation that unleashed specific memories which I have buried deep in my mind as molecules of the recent past. It was as if Pandora's box was unlocked inside my head and all these unpleasant emotions emanated like noxious miasma. All the while struggling to maintain the most socially acceptable facial expressions and mannerisms--a la Victorian restraint.  Yes, friends, despite the apparent desire to possess every virtue--I can be capricious. As in "argh#&@*%^ *insert expletive*" levels in my head but looking like Wednesday Addams on a good day.  People who are very close to me are familiar with the unmistakable deaf-mute state I enter when I'm pissed. I try to veil, of course, just so it does not become too much of a big deal especially when there's really no point communicating that I'm pissed. But in times like these, we must go the Elsa route and "conceal don't feel, don't let them know--let it go." Let blogger absorb the cyber-soliloquy where self-preoccupation is masking as self-deprecation. Hopeless. Wretched self-examination. Ayayay.

 Source

Note to self: disengage from negative emotions. Think happy thoughts: unicorns, narwhals, rainbows, chocolates, potato chips, refillable coffee...etc etc. Oh, brownies, pasta, cream cheese, picturesque rural places, etc etc. 

drown the vociferous with placidity

I've posted twice about the poem Desiderata--earlier this year and in 2007.  The unfortunate reality is that in spite of one's conscious effort to be objective, calm, and composed in the face of tumult...upheaval...chaos, it is natural to be affected. Tame the tempestuous version of one's self and as in the opening line of Desiderata: "Go placidly amidst the noise and haste." While it is acceptable to nurse one's pride, let us introspect about a Google-able Yoda quote: "..when you look at the dark side, careful you must be...for the dark side looks back." 

Finally, as the managing director of the International Monetary Fund (IMF), Christine Lagarde, once said--"if you respect people...if you have a good worth about yourself...providence will take you."

Embrace your uniqueness

Source

My youngest sister would jokingly complain about how people would chat her up using Chinese or Hawaiian references, because people assumed her ethnicity. I would get asked for directions in any East Asian language and I find it very amusing. I made small talk with someone who began ranting about how he was always mistaken for a particular ethnic background and that he would be treated badly at shops which he assumed to be because of his appearance and accent. Despite being highly educated.  Meanwhile, a former schoolmate unburdened herself of her sadness on social media, because she was tired of being told that she needed to change her appearance.

To rationalize all this, I realized that perhaps the acts of aversion we receive from people may be due to the twisted fact that we somehow do not conform to whatever norm exists in whichever place. There is a temptation to blend in--speak a certain way, wear certain garments, pretend to engage in certain activities. At the end of the day, it becomes exhausting. It is less stressful to be one's self. As in the Shakespearean "to thine own self be true." I once read that to be different means to be "limited edition."

I am sure no one is exempt from feelings of insecurity. However, the variation lies on how people choose to deal with these unnecessary stressors. In relation to a previous post about dealing with those who debase what we value--when our identities are devalued, we can respond in a number of ways. We should definitely choose our response wisely. Choke on tears, admit the hurt. Just don't concretize your violent-Thor/Godzilla/Mr.Hyde tendencies. Not cool.

atmospheric pressure, my lungs, and daft beings

Source

The scarcity of public transportation on this appropriately rainy morning was the impetus for hind leg activity from point A to point B. And since our lower extremities are voracious oxygen consumers--as a result of mitochondria-filled skeletal muscles--I found myself relying on my thoracic (intercostal) muscles to systematically expand my torso (to decrease pressure) and allow air to ventilate my lungs.  This sequence of realizations has led me to think about density. Density has various subject matter-specific definitions. I would sometimes just think of it as level of crowding. Too much stuff. Too many people. Too much particles.

People are occasionally described as dense. I think I can be dense. Filled with thoughts. Thoughts about how the strings of the universe are conspiring against me. The usual. And then there are other dense people who are so impenetrable--who just don't get it. Even Thor's Mjolnir wouldn't be able to crack their myopic and deafened state so as to turn on the light bulb of "there's something that needs to be done."

Source

Salt of the Earth people

Millet's Man with a Hoe source

Are we on a blog roll this month, it's like going back to 2006/7 when MySpace and Friendster still existed. This morning at work, I learned about a man who did a lot of gardening and other manually intensive activities. I think it's an admirable hobby and when someone is very hands on in terms of labor--I automatically put that person on an imaginary pedestal. I've met too many people who scoff at getting their hands dirty. People who prefer to pay other people to do what they obviously are capable of doing. Just because manual labor is too blue collar--doesn't go well with an Onesimus or Zara suit. I find that off-putting. Especially for a man. My husband doesn't like suits (unless he has no choice) and prefers to stubbornly tinker and do a lot of DIY projects. It doesn't always result to his planned outcome, but when he achieves whatever he wants to achieve--screened windows, bidet spray installation (LOL), extended extension cord--oh, that smug look on his face. Cracks me up; but I pat him on the back. I remember one of the first gifts he gave me was a paper weight he made in shop class--a chrome-plated dice (or die) where one of the corners was screwed on an x-shaped base so it looked like it was permanently tipped diagonally. Well he took it back and made it a reference model for all his students when he taught a machine class in university. But I thought it was a fantastic gift.

Going back to getting one's hands dirty as in gardening--I think it says a lot about a person. That there's a certain degree of humility and unassuming-ness. I like blue collar jobs; not to say that I want to shift careers and go into construction--but you know what I'm implying. I suppose being overexposed to a few persons in air-conditioned, hard-wood themed offices who can't be bothered to go get their own coffee made me "umay." When I had the fortunate opportunity to run an office with 2 administrative staff and a few student assistants, I made it a point to make my own coffee in the machine, clean the coffee maker myself, and get my own lunch. I remember at the beginning, one of the staff would ask what I wanted for lunch or what they could get me--I would respectfully decline just because lunch was across the street. I tried to avoid using the Intercom, because the walk towards the administrative offices was good exercise. I thought my office was excessively big. Too big. Look at me being all hypocritical when it was only last year when we moved to a different country that I started to do chores. I'm technically berating myself right now for letting other people do things at home in the past--things I could clearly do myself, sort of. Guilty. It was convenient. Feel free to judge me, I'm not proud of it trust me. But there's always a form of rebirth right? While I feel incessantly exhausted now, I feel more decent--more real.

My point is, we shouldn't succumb to the social norm of being impressed with superficiality. Wealth, stature, and power worn on one's sleeves don't necessarily equate to character and dignity. I'm not making a hasty generalization. And I'm not saying that blue collar is better than white collar. That all blue collar people nor all white collar people are decent. There are always exceptions. This morning's events simply triggered a reexamination of what makes an ordinary person extraordinary. Wouldn't it be great to aim for that?

Paroxysms of catastrophic emotions

The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory by Salvador Dali

(image from wikipedia, click on image for source)

I mourn the travesty going on in Nepal as of the moment. 

I mourn the decreasing amount of hope I have for my aspirations.

The normality that remains is that tip of the iceberg that is the monotonous daily routine of waking up, doing what needs to be done, and going to bed. 

I am spent.

I am so spent.