The Incessant Ramblings Of A Narcoleptic ADHDer

The W O L F of w0lfhouse.

[the1975music]

[redlipstickresurrected]

[afternaomi]

(image credit) due to 8tracks’ limited availability to the US and Canada, i’ve had to make the switch from 8tracks to Spotify and i could not have regret it in the slightest. thus, i’d like to share with you the greatest benefits i’ve come across during this exam season ~ enjoy!

the theory of everything soundtrack: lifechanging. this is incredible for any subject, for any situation - complete with instrumentals for any mood. +check out “cambridge, 1963″, “rowing” and “the wedding”.

kill your darlings soundtrack: much like the “theory of everything” soundtrack, it is so reminiscent of soothing and motivational atmospheres. throws you into a world of romanticised poets of the 1940′s. +check out “typing” and “plan on a boat”.

500 days of summer soundtrack: for something indie, calming and motivating at the same time. throws you into an indie romance and tbh, you’re gonna love it. +check out “please please please let me get what i want”, “sweet disposition”, “quelqu’un ma dit” and “hero”.

relive harry potter! : complete soundtrack for all 8 movies of the franchise. didn’t want it? too late, you’ve got it.

studio ghibli collection: the magic that is joe hisashi and hayao miyazaki, complete in one playlist for all your focus/relaxing needs.

8.5hrs of disney: 175 of the most timeless tracks from the animation industry of our childhood.

spotify’s intense studying #classical collection: i haven’t yet tried this one however i’m going to, especially with over 14hrs of listening time.

sensuality: i found this just the other day however it’s a beautiful collection of bass-heavy, strong-beat, simple melody pieces.

my own instrumental focus playlist: this works without fail for myself, perhaps it can offer you something too - however do make your own and collate some tracks which are 100% no fail for you!

and finally, your discover weekly playlist: i’ve linked mine, however spotify creates this playlist for you on a weekly basis, publishing every monday to provide music recommendations. i cannot emphasize how incredible this service is and the amount of music i’ve discovered is phenomenal!

[b0yinabox]

I don't understand people that well, sometimes. I don't understand passive aggressive undertones and behaviors. I see them as a defect. I'm pretty straightforward with what I feel and I don't usually take detours when it comes to emotions. I don't think I have the luxury to do so, due to circumstances that haunt me from the past. I'm not comparing myself with anyone at all. I'm not saying I'm better off than anyone, though I come off as egotistic and narcissistic to many. That's not who I am. However, I just don't understand it. People tend to show a certain dislike for you all of a sudden, and want your attention. But once you give your attention, they become vexed that you tried to show concern (or whatnot). It's pretty annoying. I don't understand passive aggressive behavior. I'm not looking into solutions at all for such either. I'm simply addressing my own personal distaste towards it. Ho hum. *flies away*

[b0yinabox]

Before falling into a coma, with a pain drilling deep into my head, I cried for death. I didn't ask for a second shot at life. I didn't beg for anyone to make me better. I just wanted all of it to stop. That's honest humanity for me, or at least a display of my morality and a reflection of my outlook towards life.

Nothing mattered at that time, until I realized how many people who loved me were around. I'm thankful for my mom & dad, my sisters, the love of my life, and my family & friends who came to me when shit hit the fan. I'm also thankful for all the dipshits who wanted to see me that my loved ones kept out.

You see, considering what caught impact was the occipital area of my skull, I literally lost sight. I'm thankful that I can't taste or smell anything all too well now instead of losing vision, but it was my sight which was lost at that time.

I couldn't see shit. That takes a toll on you within those moments. "Is this forever?"

But I guess I calmed the fuck down when I heard their voices. I calmed down when she held my hand. I went silent when I felt that I was not alone. It was assuring.

Then I had fallen asleep.

[b0yinabox]

After waking up from all that - what was the fist thing that came into your mind?

I never really did wake up. Everything remains surreal. I could expound over a cup of tea.

[b0yinabox]

So, it's been a long time since I've written an update. The first week of the 2nd semester is over and here's me writing on a Friday night 7 minutes to 12MN.

The week was tiring and I feel nothing like myself. I just feel that: tired. Dry. Sleepy. Asleep. Unmotivated.

I'll be studying over the weekend in prep for the days to come. You know, oiling the gears and churning the flames. I need to get my head out of my ass and into my academics. I gotta get myself back on track.

Call it an academic existential crisis or whatnot, but I panic when it comes to this because I don't want to go back to where I started from. It was hard to climb out of the pit, and I still feel like I'm clawing my way out. One little mishap and I'd be falling back to point zero. I was a wreck.

I don't blame it on my ADHD or depression or anything; that was all me, or at least a version of me taken apart and for granted and abused for my weakness. But it made everything worse and I felt even more distracted and depressed and worthless.

I don't want to to back to what I was back then. Maybe because a part of me is scared that I still am that person. Only now, I know that I embrace the anger and sadness and fear and utilize it enough to become motivation…but what if I fail? What would that motivation become?

That's one thing I don't want to find out.

[b0yinabox]

History + Art

According to one of the books I’ve read by Ambeth Ocampo, we find meaning in history. My interpretation of his take on it is that the word kasaysayan can be split into two: salaysay which means narrative and saysay which is translated to the word meaning. We find meaning in history. We find our identities in history. We find who we are through our history.

Without knowing such facts, we might as well be categorized as a bunch of weird little brown people colonized a bunch of guys (because they could) and adopted the name Filipino (which was meant for Philippine-born Spaniards) because, well shit, we didn’t know what else to categorize ourselves as. If only we could belong to the world, eh? We could’ve been called citizens of the world. That sounds artsy-fartsy, right? But things don’t work that way.

In order to figure out who we are, we must look to our past. What makes us who we are? What makes us true Filipinos? Is it our sense of belonging to the nation? Is it our passion for our bayan?

I’m no history expert but, recently, I’ve found my way reading into different accounts of our patriots and our artists and people who considered themselves Filipino and wanted to be worth a damn to make our country worth two or more damns.

Partially, blame the take on the film Heneral Luna. I did not feel a sense of pride overcoming my soul nor did I feel the urge to go all Braveheart and pain myself blue and white (and red and have three stars and a sun somewhere along my skin). All I really wanted was to understand. Sure, I loved the cinematography and the scenery and the script and the acting...but this was a film. This was a work of art. What really happened?

In search of answers to my question, I read Ambeth Ocampo’s Bones of Contention. It wasn’t about Heneral Luna but who came before him: Andres Bonifacio; and what came before him: The Katipunan.

I chose Mr. Ocampo’s books because I enjoyed his style of writing: like an old friend discussing things for shits and giggles of clanking beer bottles and laughter from the kabilang la mesa. I am not ready to delve my fragile mind into the world of expert academics (I’m not saying Mr. Ocampo is not an expert, he just explains things in a way that a feeble minded goat like me could understand).

I enjoyed the book. I’m on my second of his. But I had to go further. It was art that brought me here, thus it would be through art that I will slide along.

Sining Saysay: Philippine History in Arts is a project by the University of the Philippines and National Artists. It was held in a gallery found on the 5th floor of the Gateway Tower located in Cubao, Quezon City. The aim of the project was to kindle minds and spark enthusiasm and curiosity regarding the events and, most importantly, the people who shaped the history of the Philippines...or better yet, the people who contributed to giving the Filipino an identity to be proud of. (It’s totally up to us, however, to continue being people who we’d be proud of...or simply, and unnecessarily, proud.)

I’m grateful that I get to experience such. Honestly, things like this which are for free don’t come along everyday. Might as well take advantage of it, and of course take it all in. Absorb it. Analyze it. Apply it. I’ll keep reading and researching. It’s become somewhat of a hobby, now. I’d look to the past and experience the present, learn from them both to prepare for the future.

I’m no nationalist. I’m not the #1 Filipino. Heck, I wasn’t even born here. Some instances make me question why I fought hard for a citizenship. But at the end of the day, I realize that being Filipino is worth it. Generally, the nature of Filipino people is something we can be proud of. Our history and culture is so wonderful and colorful! The folklore and mythology and creepy tales are something the child in me long to hear (but shit, I never grew up, so I long to hear it everyday. My parents are sick of me begging to hear a scary story. HAHA. sadness). I’m no nationalist but, for what it’s worth, I do love the nation for what it went through. I hope it will endure longer. I still believe that it’s worth more than what my generation values it as.

[b0yinabox]

This is Not a Book Review

Title: The Beginning of Everything

Author: Robyn Schneider

I used to hate YA books. I was hard into post-modernism, realism, horror, classics, and SNAFU takes on fairy tales and folklore and mythology and whatnot. I still am heavy into the said genres. Surprisingly now, I’ve got YA lit on my list.

I probably grew to have a distaste for YA lit because it always seemed too much about love and happy endings and the likely shit. That cannot co-exist with my world. No, my world does not end the way stories tell them. Happy, yes. But not due to “the power of love” and whatnot. I realized life through heartache and failure, vice versa, and a cup of nails to swallow. Impulsivity and spontaneity leading to something beautiful or quicksand I had to struggle my way out of…that’s how I learned about life. I had bad tendencies and ugly thoughts. I wanted to end things quickly one minute through something I can’t think of now. The next minute, I wanted to hop back on that horse. It was a rollercoaster for me. The bad part was that I never learned until something really bad happened to me.

Catalyst for the change of heart?

My little sister told me to read The Beginning of Everything. She said “It’s about you.” Apparently the book’s protagonist found himself in a circumstance similar to mine which had changed his life forever (as it did mine). That intrigued me. Coincidental. Similar story (not entirely so, but I can relate to him). In the end, it did reflect a common coin found in life: the lack of a happy ending. A rather sad one it had, actually.

Though the events that lead up to it were oh-too-coincidental, and of course there were out-of-this-world situations that happened in the land of obviously fictional literature, but the essence at the heart of the story was real.

Beautiful things have to come to an end. Circumstances make decisions we aren’t ready to make because of the pain it will bring, but we’d have to make them anyway. We lose people, we try to move on. We try to save people. Sometimes, we fail. We hurt. We let people go. Sometimes, we wonder of the ones we let go. These are everyday issues that an average person experiences, but does not find it in himself to talk about. I like how The Beginning of Everything talks about it. I like how open it is. I like the honesty. Sometimes, reading another persons take on a situation (whether fictional or so) helps us cope with our own situations. It becomes a voice where we let our own angst go. If it’s not that, then at least we know we aren’t alone with our thoughts at night. At least we know that someone else is feeling the same way we do. That is enough to calm me down.

Each character had his or her own fucked-upness that displayed the flaws of random persons we encounter on a daily basis. I liked that. It felt real. Even though most of the time felt too high schooly, it still felt real. Besides, everyone from high school remain the way they were back then. They just manifest differently. People stay the same, only habits change.

Tragedy warps things. It alters peoples’ realities. Personal tragedies, I mean. It changes the perspective of things. Sometimes, that little instance of tragedy was all you actually needed to get your [derailed] life back on track.

I’m sure as hell my own personal tragedy did that to me.

[b0yinabox]

Gravity

OST: So Long, Lonesome - Explosions in the Sky

Have you ever imagined how it is to fall from a great height? The word is called free fall. According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, it’s a noun. It’s defined as the state or condition of falling through the air to the ground. It’s also given two other definitions, such as: a fast or continuing drop and the condition of quickly becoming lower, less, or fewer.

In my perspective, I see the word free fall as a verb, or better yet, an adjective. It could be the act of deciding to fall or a description of the act of jumping. I’m pretty sure that makes no sense, and I can’t blame you for feeling that way. It always makes sense in my head, and my head is, well, different. I accept that now. Anatomically, it is now. Physiologically, probably in a way. Now, back to the topic (or maybe further off it…I mix myself up sometimes. Apologies):

“the state or condition of falling through the air to the ground”

He peers down the ledge, between the toe caps of his Chuck Taylors, to the pavement below. Nothing seems to matter. No one seems to matter. This is the only option left.

He takes the step and cuts through the air, like a swift knife through butter. Accelerating at 9.8 meters per second squared, he soon meets the pavement.

In that quick moment between ledge and pavement, that’s where he felt life. That’s where he felt meaning. That’s where he felt that he belonged.

a fast or continuing drop

The keyword was, and always had been, continuing. That’s how it always seemed, anyway. Continuous. Never ending. At least for him, it did.

Yeah sure, within 12 seconds he was part of the ground we walk on. But to him, that moment in between meant forever. It felt like forever. Euphoric, even.

At least we could settle for the fact that in the most important moment of his free fall, he felt happy.

People call it selfish, what he did. But it’s not like that. Self-righteousness leads to the well-deserved label of “pompous ass”.

I’m not romanticizing the thought but, at the very least, he found a reason to be happy about the world within his last seconds on it. That moment in between the ledge and pavement was his life’s highlight, no matter what his accomplishments were.

the condition of quickly becoming lower, less, or fewer

He felt this, before his decision, more of a solution rather a condition. To become lower, less, or fewer. It seemed like the perfect answer to his question. The world doesn’t need more fuck ups. Why would it?

No matter how many times he tried to fix himself, it never seemed enough. He was tired. To the world, it did not suffice. To him, it was enough.

“The world would be better off without me.” He said. Then, he leapt.

But the truth is, the world is not better off without you. No one is better off without you.

If only someone would have told him to stay.

Look at the little signs. Be that someone. Tell him to stay.

[b0yinabox]

Backyard Adventures

I’ve never really paid that much attention to the Quezon Memorial Circle. In my seven years of living in Quezon City, I’ve been there only once (and that was just for boyhood kicks, not for exploratory purposes). I just thought it was something to focus on while you clench your sweaty fists in fear of sudden collision while aboard public transportation along the elliptical road. Little did I know that the QMC was actually worth a day to explore.

From ballroom dancing to a mini carnival to exercise equipment for both mind and body, QMC was filled with surprises. Whether you’re strolling along gardens or looking for a place to dine, there were TONS of activities. I, however, was looking for the historical and cultural aspect of the place.

Like a kid, I viewed the place as this HUGE park. Shit, I wanted to let loose and run out of my comfort zone and into other peoples’ (which is not a good idea...but I will be back to do it. I SWEAR). But I had my mind on getting understanding why QMC was worth being the centerpiece of Quezon City.

First thing I encountered was the World Peace Bell. To be completely honest, I do not know the back story or the history of the huge ass bell. Fuck, I didn’t even know it existed. But I’m glad I ran into it, because if I didn’t I wouldn’t have this picture (HAHAHA...ha..ha..ok). My sister and I ran into it by accident while looking for the Quezon Memorial Shrine Museum.

Next stop was what my sister and I were actually looking for. Lo and behold: THE QUEZON MEMORIAL MUSEUM *insert trumpets and cymbals and fireworks here*.

Highlighted in the museum was the aspect of Manuel Quezon’s political history to his death. The life of the visionary and all he had done for the Commonwealth Republic of the Philippines was honored through the exhibits.

Thinking the journey was over, steps were being taken back to the point of origin to meet up with the parents when we stumbled upon the Quezon Heritage House.

The Quezon Heritage House is 60% original; made from all the original parts of Manuel L. Quezon’s house. From tiles to the ceiling to the furniture, most of the house was transported from it’s original location to be displayed to the public here in Quezon City. The house was called a “Bahay Bato” (or something along those lines) and the entrance to the house was all the way up at the second floor. Exhibits in the house showed Mr. Quezon as a family man, a father, and his life at home. Apparently, MLQ was a great dad. He even played games with his kids (ilong, ilong, iloooong...mata!) It was amazing how the history was laid out to us by our really awesome tour guide, teaching us why the bahay bato had a first floor installed and where the maids came in from (I forgot his name. Sorry po!). Props to him, after giving a tour to 10 buses of elementary to high school students, he ran up to us and accommodated us for a tour, even though it was just me and my older sister. He even went out of his way and showed us the way to our next destination:

The Quezon City Experience.

QCX is the premiere interactive museum in Quezon City. QCX focused mainly on the history and culture of Quezon City and its population. Boy, was this place interactive. You could see, touch, feel, smell, and...taste...all the exhibits! It was amazing, actually. Unless stated otherwise, the exhibits are made personal where you actually experience the whole thing. You could sit down, interact, take pictures, jump, slide, run, and whatnot! It was something else, entirely.

All I’ve got to do now is look for more adventures from the backyard. There’s so much to see around you, all you’ve got to do is look.

[b0yinabox]

This is Not a Book Review

Title: All The Bright Places

Author: Jennifer Niven

Now to be totally honest, I knew how this book was going to end. I just didn’t know to who. I didn’t know the impact would be that strong either.

This book was something else, honestly. It tears you apart and builds you back up. It makes you long and yearn and wish that a miracle would happen, but you know it wouldn’t…and that’s how life is.

You start to feel a strong connection with the characters. They progress so well. Then you feel loss. But you keep reading, and discover hope. All in vain, of course.

You will go through the stages of accepting loss, and no one who read the book and felt it would judge you. That’s just how it is.

Maybe I felt that way because of tiny coincidences I found in a character that are similar to myself. Instances, reflections, realizations, mode of thinking and way with action; it was waaay too similar. I didn’t like that fact, but I shit you not. Nevertheless, I did not like the fact. The likeness was not flattering, but sad. I was affected because there was a part of me that walked that same line. I wish I would have understood sooner, however, how it would be for everyone else. Then maybe I would have never thought that way. Maybe, after reading this book, I wouldn’t think the same thoughts again.

Losing people you love is a part of life. But if you could have done something is different.

Don’t romanticize suicide or self-harm. There’s nothing romantic about it. No one is better off without you. Things get better.

Theodore Finch & Violet Markey’s story tore me apart. It’s not one you want to hear, but one you have to. It’s the truth. It happens. Losing people, and losing yourself, is never easy. Nor is it pretty. Nor is it romantic. But it happens, and something can be done about it. All that has to be done is to look closer, and listen harder, and pray…and never give up.

[b0yinabox]

I like all my flaws and scars, both seen and otherwise. They make me feel like me.

[b0yinabox]

Historical Adventures in chronological order.

[b0yinabox]

I never thought I'd be able to go to a concert again. I'm happy I proved myself wrong with the people I love.

[b0yinabox]

2015 November 5. 12:00MN.

After a personal tragedy, however shallow or grave it may be, the expectations of people can be categorized into three. The first, the expectation of change. “That boy is never going to be the same again.” The second, “He should be back to normal by now.” Lastly: no expectation at all. None whatsoever. People simply don’t care.

It’s been more than a year since my “accident”. All in all, I have a scar at the back of my head from surgery for evacuating a huge hematoma. It resembles a slash, so it does give me a little air of badassness. There’s a few holes in my head as well as a result from the craniectomy. Anger, sorrow, resentment, et cetera. I’m tired of explaining myself for sudden changes in mood and whatnot. It’s either I stopped caring any more or people who actually ask could care less. Not that it matters, though. It doesn’t really affect me that much anymore.

“That boy is never going to be the same again.” Well, that is true. As hard as I can, I try my best to be who I was before June 4, 2014. Sometimes, I get pissed off when I can’t get it right. (Now that’s one explanation to why I get sudden shifts in mood). But aside from the negative, after the whole ordeal I found myself getting back on track with life. I realized what I wanted to do with it, and why I should stop wasting time to get where I wanted to be at. Life’s way too short to procrastinate more than 30% of the time.

“He should be back to normal by now.” Whenever I hear this first/second/third-hand from people I find the pleasure to converse with, I try to look at the glass as half-full. People probably miss me being able to do things I used to. No fear. No hesitation. I admit, I miss being able to do those things to. I regret not doing everything while I still could. It’s hard to be put in a box with specific boundaries and limitations. Looking on the bright side, I guess this is the point where I exercise extensive creativity to be able to substitute an activity in the past for an endeavor in the future. The glass is always half-full.

My favorite is when people expect nothing from me. Nothing more nor less. In fact, nothing at all. The thing is, with a slash very apparent at the back of your head and scars around certain parts of your body, you tend to attract attention. Attention draws curiosity. Curiosity demands answers. I hate answering questions over and over again. I enjoy it when people simply don’t care and treat me like they would anyone else. I like the lack of special treatment due to sympathy, or worse, pity. I like feeling ordinary or normal or whatever synonym you’d like to call it. It makes moving on easier.

OST: First Breath After Coma, Explosions in the Sky