Black Saturday turned out to be a grey one.
In the strange workings of fate, whenever I am back in Batangas the weather never fails to turn grey. Rather than downing my spirits, however, I actually savor grey days at home, with the sky looking beaufitul in a sad, somber way, hazy and always threatening to bring in rain but actually never doing so; with a gentle breeze that from time to time blows a bit strongly but calms itself again, eventually. I especially enjoy taking trips in such grey days. Any music junkie with artistic tendencies who enjoys a hint of melancholy in their lives (whoever doesn't, I wonder?) ought to try it - driving down long stretches of empty roads lined with trees and fields (or sitting in the passenger seat while someone drives for you - in my case, my mom, when we go home to the province), listening to a mix tape (or CD) that is the soundtrack of your life, in my case Volume 3, "Of Melancholic and Morose Melodies"*. It shall induce a calming, near-nirvana state, the closest you'll get to enlightenment without religious rites of whatever sort.
On such grey days I feel there is a certain haze that blankets over my world and just makes everything more peaceful - perhaps because anything that is seen through a blurry fog becomes more bearable, because whatever its effect becomes less effectual, whatever it is becomes less real. Reality always hits harder than fantasy - a happy moment in your actual existence is always happier than a happy moment in your dreams, in as much as a sad moment in one's actual life is much sadder than any sad moment in one's dream life.
In such grey days is also when I most enjoy reading a book. These days I am reading Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, not by choice, but because I have to read it for Modern Literature class. I am not fond of it. Everyone keeps saying it's a marvelous, amazing novel, but I don't know. All I see in it is a soap opera set in a much fancier time and with much fancier detail and told in much better narration. I don't know, I just don't get it. I guess it's because I'm more into Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Nick Hornby, Alex Garland, those kind of writers. In Anna Karenina, all the women are perpetually blushing, their suppressed hormones coming out in the tint of their cheeks. I don't find such things in the least interesting, and it's not to insult my own gender, just that it's how I feel about the matter. I told this to my lit professor in the beginning of term - told her I was adamant about reading Anna Karenina, that I had a feeling I wouldn't like it. She said give it a chance. Because I love literature and I particularly like my professor's literature class, I'm reading it and trying to discover the beauty of it - with my fingers crossed.
My baby cousin Theus is sick - everyone in the family is worried about him, including me. He's such a cute, nice baby it's painful to see him sick. I feel a bit guilty in saying that he looks utterly adorable even when he's sick - I think it's because he's not too malikot* while he's got a fever, so when you carry him he just rests his head on your shoulder, and it's adorable. But he's sick, so I wish for him to get better and I guess be "malikot" again.
Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. Mom will be driving me back to Ortigas. I don't like grey days in the city - the city is grey enough as it is, with all the concrete and with all the buildings blocking the sky and all. But I am hoping for it to be a grey day while we're on the road tomorrow - rest assured I'll be in the passenger seat, with the morose and melancholic soundtrack of my life blaring in my headphones and right through my ears.
*In the unfortunate event that you have yet to make the Soundtrack of Your Life, I suggest you start ripping and burning, right now, and for your grey-hazy-day volume I recommend these songs: "Sleeping to Dream" by Jason Mraz, "Crash into Me" by Dave Matthews Band, "The Blower's Daughter" by Damien Rice (from the movie "Closer"), "Pour Me In" by Ari hest.
*"malikot" is Tagalog for naughty, an adjective that describes people (often kids) who can't seem to stay in one place for 5 seconds. I can't seem to describe it in a better way, sorry.
In the strange workings of fate, whenever I am back in Batangas the weather never fails to turn grey. Rather than downing my spirits, however, I actually savor grey days at home, with the sky looking beaufitul in a sad, somber way, hazy and always threatening to bring in rain but actually never doing so; with a gentle breeze that from time to time blows a bit strongly but calms itself again, eventually. I especially enjoy taking trips in such grey days. Any music junkie with artistic tendencies who enjoys a hint of melancholy in their lives (whoever doesn't, I wonder?) ought to try it - driving down long stretches of empty roads lined with trees and fields (or sitting in the passenger seat while someone drives for you - in my case, my mom, when we go home to the province), listening to a mix tape (or CD) that is the soundtrack of your life, in my case Volume 3, "Of Melancholic and Morose Melodies"*. It shall induce a calming, near-nirvana state, the closest you'll get to enlightenment without religious rites of whatever sort.
On such grey days I feel there is a certain haze that blankets over my world and just makes everything more peaceful - perhaps because anything that is seen through a blurry fog becomes more bearable, because whatever its effect becomes less effectual, whatever it is becomes less real. Reality always hits harder than fantasy - a happy moment in your actual existence is always happier than a happy moment in your dreams, in as much as a sad moment in one's actual life is much sadder than any sad moment in one's dream life.
In such grey days is also when I most enjoy reading a book. These days I am reading Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, not by choice, but because I have to read it for Modern Literature class. I am not fond of it. Everyone keeps saying it's a marvelous, amazing novel, but I don't know. All I see in it is a soap opera set in a much fancier time and with much fancier detail and told in much better narration. I don't know, I just don't get it. I guess it's because I'm more into Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Nick Hornby, Alex Garland, those kind of writers. In Anna Karenina, all the women are perpetually blushing, their suppressed hormones coming out in the tint of their cheeks. I don't find such things in the least interesting, and it's not to insult my own gender, just that it's how I feel about the matter. I told this to my lit professor in the beginning of term - told her I was adamant about reading Anna Karenina, that I had a feeling I wouldn't like it. She said give it a chance. Because I love literature and I particularly like my professor's literature class, I'm reading it and trying to discover the beauty of it - with my fingers crossed.
My baby cousin Theus is sick - everyone in the family is worried about him, including me. He's such a cute, nice baby it's painful to see him sick. I feel a bit guilty in saying that he looks utterly adorable even when he's sick - I think it's because he's not too malikot* while he's got a fever, so when you carry him he just rests his head on your shoulder, and it's adorable. But he's sick, so I wish for him to get better and I guess be "malikot" again.
Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. Mom will be driving me back to Ortigas. I don't like grey days in the city - the city is grey enough as it is, with all the concrete and with all the buildings blocking the sky and all. But I am hoping for it to be a grey day while we're on the road tomorrow - rest assured I'll be in the passenger seat, with the morose and melancholic soundtrack of my life blaring in my headphones and right through my ears.
*In the unfortunate event that you have yet to make the Soundtrack of Your Life, I suggest you start ripping and burning, right now, and for your grey-hazy-day volume I recommend these songs: "Sleeping to Dream" by Jason Mraz, "Crash into Me" by Dave Matthews Band, "The Blower's Daughter" by Damien Rice (from the movie "Closer"), "Pour Me In" by Ari hest.
*"malikot" is Tagalog for naughty, an adjective that describes people (often kids) who can't seem to stay in one place for 5 seconds. I can't seem to describe it in a better way, sorry.
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