TO LIVE MY DAY

I'm so happy because today I found my friends - they're in my head.

-Kurt Cobain

Never have I had a post that's based solely on the occurrences of my day. I never really thought my days were ever that interesting until I started to smile at all the "bad" things that actually do happen to me. I mean, instead of waiting for a couple of years to laugh about it, why not laugh about it then? That's life.

So, today morning my brother's alarm went off at 5.30. I could hear it because I chose to spend the night in his room. From what I could gather it was pouring heavily and I immediately decided to to go for my morning run. That was an easy choice that led up to a series of unfortunate events. You see, my morning run, however gruesome, is what gets me ready for the rest of the day. It gives me the psychological punch needed to get through with "it". So I went on sleeping with the idea that I would get out of bed at 9 am and head on to school at 1 pm. That was not going to happen. 

The previous night mother and I had agreed that we would go and check out an apartment that my brother and I are to move into next semester. 

Back to today morning. Mother got me out of bed all pissed at my laziness and decided that since she was ready she would not wait for me to take a shower. Oh god. It was bad enough that I had to miss my run but it had then been decided that I would spend the rest of the day under the stench of my overnight odour. Easy. I could deal with that. Yes, being in an all boys high school had taught me to survive with the pungent trail. 

Without the comfort of breakfast in my belly we were out of the house and headed towards the city when we were met with a week's worth of traffic. Mother was rather frustrated so she kept on saying, "it's your fault. Just sleeping all the time," and in all honesty it was rather funny. Being the "smart" driver that I am, I knew all the alternative routes one could use to avoid the traffic so I had her follow one. We avoided the traffic on the main road only to meet myriads of obstacles on the alternate route. Oh, the look she gave me was priceless. 

Eventually, we got to the city where she was to get some forms signed and pick up my brother who studies Chinese in the city so we could all go to and view the apartment together. Within the city things were as typical as they could be but mother decided that she was tired of driving and asked me to take control of the car. That I did but driving across the city was something I lacked knowledge to do but I popped up with my motto, "nitajua leo" which basically translates to "I'll learn today". 

The route to the apartment was quick and free of traffic. Mother and my brother got to see the apartment and she actually loved it.  It was decided that my brother and I would move in which is perfect. 

Lunch was great courtesy of mother's wallet and the cooks at San Marino but then the rain decided to wet me mercilessly. Masculinity and stupidity had me leave my sweater at home and carry nothing but an umbrella. My entire outfit got wet and I faced the threat of pneumonia. Everyone was either in class or off campus so I didn't have anyone to waste my time with. Droll. 

I tried to register for my classes next semester but I was side-tracked by a fine that I acquired without my knowledge. 

Later on in the day a friend of mine turned up and we completed some very creative work and just chilled under the clear sky (the rain had subsided) and talked about life. It was beautiful. 

That was a rough summary about my day. The last time I did something like this was at the age of 10 yet it feels so rejuvenating.

HEREIN LIES MY MUSE

Discipline allows magic. To be a writer is to be the very best of assassins. You do not sit down and write every day to force the Muse to show up. You get into the habit of writing every day so that when she shows up, you have the maximum chance of catching her, bashing her on the head, and squeezing every last drop out of that bitch.
-Lili St. Crow

I've been suffering a mild case of the writer's block. It was a bit strange that someone of my age would suffer terribly from such a crippling condition. What causes this condition? I don't know and as far as this moment is concerned I don't give a fuck.
Why is that so? The answer lies in the text that follows.
Recently, I have been reading the Zahir by Paulo Coelho and the narrator of the story is a writer who describes to us what gives him the power ti write. He speaks of a boat called the word that takes him to an island where his thoughts are nothing more than what his soul needs to drop down on paper. Every time he tries to write he experiences the same thing. It starts with a will to write, the inability to write, and eventually the journey on the "word".
It had always been the same for me. I need a wind strong enough to push my sails to the island. Ever since I took heed to my calling I was sure that the wind was rage, pain, and disdain. Writing under such atmospheric pressure bears down on the mind. Only so much anger can be expressed on paper but this week I discovered another wind that is blowing even stronger. I call this wind joy.
As of Monday I have been encompassed by this immense feeling of joy. It may have been because I experienced something utterly overwhelming on that day but nonetheless, my writing has been fluid. No longer do I have to think so much about what I am writing but it just flows out of me like a seasonal river during autumn.
It was two weeks ago and I was trying to blog. This was a bad experience because writing while suffering from writer's block is like having to have sex immediately after jerking off- not fun. So, there I was trying to force witty phrases and deep commentary when I realized that I was wasting my time. In my head the question kept rolling, "when will this end?". It's never fun to pride yourself on an art that you struggle to express. So, there I was in front of a computer keying in paragraphs of  things that made no sense to me. Agonizing was the name. Every word was heavy and paralyzing. If stress could kill people the certainly my words could do and at that moment they took the life out of me. When I completed writing the post I felt relieved. Oh joy! Maybe that's when the joy started. The end of that post was the beginning of my high moments. The lack of marijuana in my bloodstream was made up for the seizing of a post. Yes, every high moment is a high moment.
But after Monday all that has changed. Right now I'm here keying down these words about the end of my condition and what does it feel like? It's like someone is standing besides me and doing all the writing. All this is nothing but an illusion. I'm not the writer. Yes, that's it. As long as I write there is another entity responsible for the magic that unfolds before me.
With that I bid thee farewell but before that.....
Writer's block is not a debilitating condition, it's a failure to acknowledge the presence of that divine being encompassing the essence of your inner artist.

ANOTHER DEFINITION TO A COMMON STATE OF MIND.

Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.

-Mohandas Gandhi

Today I received a wall post from a fellow blogger, Meghan (this time I'll go with an alias), on facebook. The post was pretty clear;happiness. My reply to this was rather odd; the ever so, dare I say it, prevalent "huh". What was that post supposed to symbolize? Obviously, being a fellow blogger, I assumed that she was handing me a topic to write about since I had made it ever so clear that I took pride in the fact that I can turn any pile of shit into pieces of work that would look like that from Hemmingway (yeah, it's a constant fight with my ego).
So here I am. In front of a computer screen contemplating how I should go about this diverse topic. Huh! Maybe even I have problems with creating gold from iron.
I have known Meghan for a couple of weeks now and I'd like to consider her as a friend even though it is pretty clear that we haven't met. Our only "region" of convergence is the virtual world. Yes, the world wide web. Through her blog, awanderingfirefly.blogspot.com, I have been able to see the places she has seen, taste the food that have graced her tongue and drown in the myriads of emotions that she has gone through.
When her world was opened to me I made a statement that cynically humurous, "I hate you cause your writing is better than mine". What a guy I must be?
Being the sweet person that she is, she replied by saying, "no, I don't think so. I love your writing."
What can I say about such a person? I can say that this person isn't modest about humility. She made me feel absolutely amazing without even knowing it. That wandering firefly lit up my world and caused me to leave teardrops everywhere with her kind words and not-so-modest humility.
Maybe that's what happiness is all about; receiving support not only from those who love you but those that simply know you.

Drinks to you Meghan. You made writing that much funner for me.

P.s I do guess that I have found a way to make gold out of iron. Yeah, Hemmingway is definitely looking up at me plus maybe Meghan wasn't really giving me a topic to write about but just stating a state of mind. Who cares? In the end I gained just another thing to prove that I am a fairly decent writer.

10,000 HOURS OR 1 HOUR OF PASSION...

If passion drives you, let reason hold the reins.

-Benjamin Franklin

You may or may not have realised that for the past week I have been blogging on a daily basis. I have been doing so because I love writing and I'd like to get some of my work out there. It not only makes me feel accomplished but it also makes me feel anxious. Why do I feel anxious? I do so because I would like to know what the audience thinks of my work. It doesn't really matter to me whether they like it or not but it would be a great motivator if they were to give me a thumbs up.
Today, however, I have sat in front of the computer for minutes on end with not a clue as to what the topic would be. I always thought of my self as gifted in the field of writing. Since childhood I had never needed to plan what I would write about whenever we were to told to write a composition. Once I sat down the idea came to me. You know what they say, if you fail to plan, you plan to succeed-in a serendipic fashion(well, "they" don't say that but I do). So, why do I still write even though a reasonable topic may have evaded me? Is it because I simply want to complete my 10,000 hours or is it because of passion?

If it is passion that drives me then you do not have to worry about the content that is conatined within the blog but if I am looking to simply cover up my 10,000 hours then this is all about quantity rather than quality. If so, then you should move on to another blog.
This is my definition of passion- passion is the difference between Eminem and Gucci Mane, passion is the difference between Natalie Portman and Keanu Reeves. You can see where I'm getting at, don't you?

If you have a work instead of a job then everyday is a holiday.

My question to you today is this; do you do what you do because of passion or because you feel that you have to? If you are passionate about what you do then kudos to you but if you are doing it because you have to then quit your job and check yourself before you wreck yourself.
Passion; the difference between a happy man and a miserable man.
Go and get happy. No one likes a miserable person because you make everyone else miserable.