The Things That Keep You Up

Pictures of Success
Rilo Kiley


Two years and three months is a lot of time to get lost. I took my time. It was great at first--learning new things; meeting new people; settling in to a new stage of my life. But slowly, I was making a habit of shedding the "silly" things in favor of filling my life past the brim with the "serious adult stuff" (you know, the stuff that they say really matters).

Blogs that serve as online journals? Quit that--my writing's too sappy anyway. Better just stick to fine-tuning my emails for that perfect tone. That photo blog? Put a stopper on that, too--I wasn't improving much; more of a hit or miss, really. The only jpegs I should scrutinize are those banners that need to launch tonight.

In a life where 85% of my hours are spent at home or at work, where do I find the time to look at something through a lens and give more than half a second's thought to it? In countless months where I end the day so drained that meeting up with friends feels Herculean, from where do I draw the energy to synthesize my thoughts or feelings beyond Facebook's simplistic, emoji-laden descriptions? Feeling angry. Feeling exhausted. Feeling burnt out. Feeling existentially insignificant.

Today I left 2 hours earlier than (my daily) average to go on a dinner double date, which we extended by waxing nostalgic about our teenage days over coffee. A friend tagged me for a photo challenge, which led to a revisit of my dusty photo blog, which then reminded me of this corner of the internet where I used to spend sleepless hours trying to squeeze substance out of the best and the worst of my moods and musings.

All this time I prided myself on rarely staying up at night to finish work. On some occasions I'd clock in for 10- to 12-hour workdays, but later, at home, the work mostly stops, and I mostly spend my precious remaining hours talking to my family and my girlfriend. Then I sleep. Then I wake up the next day. Rinse, repeat.

But now, I'm thinking part of this aimlessness comes from giving up on the things that keep me up, and the things that used to make me take a moment to observe and admire my environment. They stopped being a part of my life--either through work, or through hobbies. I always thought that I was square enough to be able to lead the generic drone life, but what do you know? Guess I have a much bigger need to be actively creating, rather than just consuming through books, shows, movies, and music. Maybe it doesn't even have to be creative work--just something I feel very strongly for.

As with anyone who's ever been lost, I've been trying to move forward, but maybe part of why I couldn't was because I'd forgotten my compass: the feeling of being so immersed in something that it keeps you up without you even trying*.

*Might not apply to insomniacs

Dissociation

The last seven months have been wildly busy, but that's not my only excuse for being absent from this blog in a while. Truly, I have so little energy left to write anything coherent on most days, but whatever could be mustered is now being split.

I've been cheating on this blog with another one. Not much, really. It's just happened three times so far. My main reason for keeping two separate writing blogs, is that the other one focuses more on...uhh, spiritual stuff, I guess. Not that this blog, in all its angst-filled glory, hasn't revealed too much about me already--I just find that I'm a lot cheesier in that aspect.

It's also a kind of experiment. On one hand blog, there's this angsty kid who fuels the frequently emo and definitely-less-than-holy posts. On the other is the more hopeful, kinder person who drops by my consciousness from time to time. I might've also failed to mention that my other blog is mainly about trying to reconcile my faith with the fact that I'm a rainbow-loving homo. Now, how to manage all that without developing a dissociative identity disorder?

Yeah, this is one of those trying-to-find-myself, what-am-I-doing-with-my-life projects. This could probably count as a symptom of early onset quarter life crisis, but these things happen far too often to alarm me at this point.

Life is a continuous cycle of self-improvement. I just wish I didn't have to be so emo about it.

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If you want, you can check on me at The Closet Christian. Don't tell me you haven't been warned, though.

The Future Is Not Meant To Be Feared

Now that I think of it, I spent a great deal of 2012 being afraid. I started the year with anxiety over the possibility of not graduating on time. Then I graduated and spent the next three months worried about what kind of job I would have--and if I would have any, for that matter. But divine providence led me to a good job, which opened a whole new box of worries--mainly about whether I could do well and face up to each responsibility. This past week, I've been thinking about the future again, in terms of some personal matters. That didn't turn out so well, either.

As much as I hate to admit, I'm apparently more cowardly than I supposed. The habitual worrying, anxiety, and cynicism acquired over the years have all eventually concretized into a fearful, negative view of the future, which I often adopt under the guise of being a realist.

In hindsight, though, all those situations I spent so much time worrying about turned out to be the best experiences of the year. I gained so much knowledge and insight, met the most inspiring people, and even got to know myself a lot better. For those, I am immensely grateful; and this gratitude has helped me gain a new perspective.

Part of that perspective also serves as my mantra for the coming year: the future is not meant to be feared.

I know that the coming days and years will bring new challenges, surprises, and changes, and I'll probably still get nervous and excited about it. But I resolve to let faith and optimism reign in the place of anxious, cynical fear.

Hope is a wonderful thing, and aside from having more of it myself, I also wish I could inspire the same in other people. (Hey, I think I've just found my resolution.)

Cheers to the new year and the great things it will bring!

Photosynthesis

When you were younger and (impossibly) more self-centered, you whined like the world owed it to you to listen. Eventually you learned that happiness should be shared, and negativity, in all its nasty forms, should be shelved. Nobody loves a loser.

Dark Reaction

So you keep the bitter, the sad, and the angry in specimen jars and examine each of them in your spare time, always having to be careful so as not to end up trapped in those jars yourself. 

While you wish you could share them with someone, you almost never do, because you almost never can. Some miseries are simply inexplicable and are thus easier borne by one than by two.

Light Reaction

So you keep on, and remind yourself to smile and laugh about the good things, of which there are quite a lot. In those small moments, the universe is wonderful and everything glows in the light of an idyllic summer sun.

And that light is enough to fuel you, for today at least--and for tomorrow, and the day after that--until one morning you wake up and there's more light than dark. 

And that's how you know you've made it through, and can make it through again.

Bibliophilia

I should really write more. It seems like I'm always holding it off, waiting for that next drift of inspiration. On days like this one though, I remind myself that this blog isn't in the running for a Pulitzer, nor a Palanca--it's my personal blog, so maybe sharing more of my (not overly) personal thoughts wouldn't hurt.

In line with that, I have a realization to share!

That's basically it, sorry for wasting your time. If you found that boring, you can move along now. 

See, I like girls who like books. Almost--if not all--l of the crushes I've had like to read. My girlfriend goes through audiobooks and actual books like they're popcorn. Even my very minor crushes are/were apparently bookworms.

At first I thought it was just because reading is kind of an "in" thing now (my inner hipster slightly resents this), but my crushes are legit bookdorks. They're Lit majors, Booksale hunters, or polygamous readers; the type who'd spend an entire week's budget on books with (almost) no hesitation nor regret.

Maybe this is also due to the fact that I could never imagine myself with someone who doesn't read. That's like half a relationship's worth of conversation we'd be missing out on. And apparently, even for minor crushes, I'm attracted to something other than looks.

On a related note, J and I were at National in Glorietta 5 last Friday night (because bookstore dates are the best). We were talking about the Harry Potter chest set, which I said I wanted for my future kids. She asked "what if you have a kid who doesn't like to read?" to which I objected, since their hypothetical fetus will probably be listening to stories at the first sign of a heartbeat. 

Okay, enough about my hypothetical future bookworm offspring. My point is, literature really plays a big part--not just in my general life, but in my love life too. After all, I was in love with reading long before I was thinking about things like crushes. Also, words are sexy, and girls who read are hot.

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I haven't written such a light post in a while. It feels good to give this blog a break from all the angst!