Recently I had the chance to view one of Anderson Cooper’s 360 Specials entitled “Being Thirteen: Inside the Secret World of Teens”. What followed after I clicked on the “play” button on the video itself shocked me: teenagers in middle school, with their seemingly childhood innocence intact, spewing vitriol on social media against peers who do not click with their interests, humiliating a classmate by failing to tag them on Instagram just because they looked “uncool”, or posting heart-wrenching cries of help virtually invisible to their parents’ watchful eyes. Indeed, gory details of parking lot encounters with bullies from higher grade levels—once a flavour of a typical high school in the 80s and 90s—have now escalated into an even more volatile medium of spite, wherein teenagers channel their unbridled angst for all the world to see, even unto those unbeknownst to them on social media but still accepted into either their “friends” or “followers list because, as one student remarked “The more the merrier.”
This very alarming trend happening amongst teens are all done betwixt class discussions, with sexting as the norm while good ol’ teacher expounding on the American Civil War continues to take on her tasks diligently, unwary of all the equally perturbing activities happening online in her students’ lives. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, we begin seeing headlines on Fox News about a middle schooler’s lifeless body merely dumped in the woods, with two college students who “followed” her on Twitter as perpetrators. All these and more, plus the neverending assault on young students’ minds by pornographic images on Snapchat, notwithstanding a diversity of attempts by parents to monitor their children’s online activities. Indeed, the perversion of social media has gone too far, eventually compromising a youngster’s self esteem and mental health.
Without further ado, here is the video which I believe is a must-watch and a must-share. Likewise, kudos to Anderson Cooper and his CNN team for fearlessly exposing the dangers that America’s kids—and ultimately, all kids regardless of race or creed—face on a day-to-day basis.
God willing, my hours tomorrow would be filled with such joy and placidity yet again as I embark on a trip to my second alma mater, the University of the Philippines Diliman, so as I may meet with my adviser on my plans for the upcoming semesters—apart from this one of course, where I didn’t have the chance to enroll due to various reasons. Alongside such a mission of mine would be another one of those job hunting routines I’ve been undertaking since November of last year; and this time, I’d be submitting a resume for one of the available vacant positions under the UP Department of Extension Programs. And this time, I hope to be considered for the (permanent) position since I badly need a job!
Updates on my trip shall I post, hopefully, on Thursday. Till then, please pray for my great desire to have 1) a job once and for all; 2) be reconsidered for enrollment for the next semester after my brief hiatus at University.
About 3 hours ago (as I start writing this piece it’s 12:27 AM), my mum and I were invited to my uncle’s wedding anniversary. There were lots of food, my cousins were there, my cousins’ children were there, and my anxiety was there too. I barely spoke a word—bouts of anthropophobia kicks in during social gatherings of like nature—and the relatability of my thoughts appear not so much in conjunction with the moment I was in so, as expected, my ruminations became more intense as I sat there staring at the TV. Sure it was prime time, which means series upon series of soap operas grace program spots thus it became my utmost resolve to remain glued to the idiot box while each individual would be dallying with their affairs (not that I actually like soaps, especially local ones with all the slapping and shrieking supposedly for cinematic effect… which I don’t agree to as much; look at my penchant for movies such as the current nomination for the Academy Awards “Spotlight” that entails more of normal conversations as each scene’s focal point).
But I did eat and the food was gastronomic heaven.
It made my day in some odd manner because food serves as a catalyst for self-reimbursement (if there would be such a term, since vocabulary sometimes can be tedious for someone who had severe epileptic seizures in the past). It was at that juncture where I figured my moment of redemption imminent, so I ate a sampling of most of the servings, erstwhile skipping carbonara because I had never endeared myself to anything with white sauces or les blanches garniture**. Admittedly so, the arroz valenciana was a blast that I had to eat additional spoonfuls of it along with a slice of chilled mango graham cake. I’m a food freak.
Still, there were other sorts delectable delicacies: for all you know, hot coffee along with ice cream—for exotic palates, no doubt—was served and everything was inviting; however I decided to take a step back and rethink my yet another round for the table. The Weight Armageddon shall definitely take place if I do and that would be catastrophe personified.
It was 10 PM when the little party came to a close; and while all my cousins were getting ready to pack up and go, mum and I decided to exeunt. We were benevolently handed a package of take-home goodies from the reception which I figured my other family members would enjoy. Oh yes, they did because the cake and carbonara were present, not to mention the shanghai spring rolls—all four of them left because people were picking things up here and there at the party. So no take-home arroz valenciana for me either.
When I got home, I thought my gastric juices needed help so I sought my ever-reliable panacaea for everything that needs tummy first aid: green tea. This time I had something with jasmine so I eagerly boiled water and finally let my tea steep according to instructions (I am a stickler for instructions when it comes to tea). Two cups felt like sunshine within my intestines, thus alleviating my oft-belligerent paranoia for anything that sends my tummy to occasional sequences of gastro-flagellations.
Either way, I think I had a pretty good time notwithstanding my flair for silence and the tragedies of overeating. Food has some trickling of magic after all.
** Pardon my French as I was supposed to say “white glazes: I just like how it sounds, supposedly, and was applying my finite knowledge of Latin; but I’d like corrections so feel free.
It’s 2016! Well, of course this should mean in terms of the Gregorian calendar as we know it which, for some, would not make sense at all since there are tonnes of calendars extant in the world depending on particular creeds or traditions, preferences even. However you may put it, though, the new year—again in terms of the Gregorian tradition—has been a usual source of drive to change oneself for the better if not be more productive during the onslaught of a Monday-to-Sunday cycle occurring 365 times (which should then compose a year). Given this fact, most people would dare redeem themselves by a myriad of other tasks to “make themselves better” or finalise some overhaul they’d like to append themselves to so life would flower into such bliss, away from all the mayhem of the “year that was.” Given this fact, new year resolutions begin to crop up with all those duly-worded pledges aimed at making good at one’s dabbling with daily affairs—sometimes all too gallant, professing indignation over the anathema of 12 months’ past. Well of course this would indeed be of noble cause since new years almost always signify new attempts at reforming those which need reform, despite how inconvenient.
In light of the aforementioned, I too have my personal resolutions which I have dared myself (in all true mettle) to hereby reveal—not so much to brag about agendas but more of a resolve to transcend my personal flaws (some of which have been totally ingrained in me ever since childhood). Indeed so, I need change in a myriad aspects of my imperfect life, given that I’ve been mainly embroiled in a diversity of abhorrent life routines that consist mostly of the depression-mania-depression-anxiety-depression cycle. This, as far as I am concerned are borne out of my own flair for indecisiveness, not to mention indiscretions concerning a plethora of life choices sort of muffling my own inner voice. So, for this year, I decided to decide: I want my own inner voice back (plus an unbridled personal force to execute ideas into completion) and not those run-of-the-mill conversations in my head spawning different aspects of ruminations muddled by hurt and hatred notwithstanding some sort of pining for a long-lost almost-love interest. Relatively so, I began having other things I believe would make my 2016 a tad bit more cultured than Shakespeare’s ruffianesque characters or a smiling macaque; and such I sought to list down here as accurately as possible… before they slip away into a black hole’s oblivion.
Without further ado, I hitherto present to everyone my aspirations for 2016, goals that I shall strive to achieve but without any rumbling desire to pressure myself unto perfection (the list shall be divided into short-term and long-term so some items seemingly impossible or far-fetched may be categorised appropriately):
Short-term goals:
Commence a habit of prayer;
Not overthink;
Seriously, once and for all, keep up with my writing tasks given me for various websites;
Be more diligent in job applications since I am desperate now for a job;
Blog more often about better things to satiate a burgeoning desire to write and write;
Sleep on time and not overwork myself to Gehenna’s pits;
Wake up early and jog every morning to keep myself fit;
Eat only what’s healthy and required AND stick to my prescribed dietary regimen;
Drink my meds diligently;
Read a book often to prevent dementia (concurrently am on a selection discussing E.M. Forster the novelist);
Write a poem each day;
Watch at least one movie per week (sensible ones and a trickling of Pinoys’ version of hilarities for comic relief);
Keep my temper in check (mine could rival Henry VIII’s);
Develop a knack for patience (it’s a virtue after all);
Rein in social media presence because I have bounding pulse syndrome whenever I get hooked up the computer too much;
Be more punctual and organised;
Delegate my time wisely;
Be more prudent;
Watch out for sudden outbursts and be amenable in apologising for those (the legend of such outbursts is a long story);
Settle my library dues;
Embody the “cleanliness is next to Godliness” slogan (not that I’m utterly messy but that attitude of beholding the cleaning occupation as tedious and allergy-inviting… uh, unbearable those)
Long-term goals
Learn to face challenges head-on and not complain about them;
Adjudge oneself worthy of tasks being given especially in the workplace;
Remain longer than two years in a job despite numerous challenges;
Be more open to possibilities beyond my own safe-zone;
Become less scared in venturing into different writing projects (currently I’m focused on poetry but short stories and novels do not seem to be a bad idea);
Be more appreciative of children—I am not a fan of children actually, in contrast to most of those I know whose hearts melt easily as they get to see cutesy little tots in their most humourous and innocent ways, and I’ve struggled with that for years;
Take the initiative to seek other people’s company more often and not let my anthropophobia get the best of me;
See the brighter side of life even when the going gets tough;
Practice humility as it ought to be practiced;
Dwell not on hurt, anger, and disappointment but make these as means to edify my attitude towards things;
Explore new interests;
Love family ever more than before;**
Make sure to consult God primordially before any endeavour;
Know what I really want;
Stick to sound and Godly decisions
Sure, my aforementioned list seems to be a mouthful but they all boil down to the following: a rejuvenated personal take on things I live with and live by. Sure, I do have desires of acquiring some worthwhile possessions, some luxurious in a sense (like a car and a hefty amount of cash that I can spend on whatever I find necessary, like insurance) but I believe those should take a backseat for now. All I’d envision for my 2016 is more of the immaterial, intangible: how I may possibly translate from living a ruckus of a life to that which fulfills Maslow’s hierarchy of needs (sort of like that). Veritably enough, I want to change with a viable goal to elevate myself from being a “loser” in my own terms. As God definitely gives us more chances to live in His version of perfection—his mercies and love are new every morning according to the book of Lamentations—the more do I vie to live up to that which incidentally forms one of His longings for us as His adopted sons. 2016, therefore, must witness a transformation on my end and this shall be my mantra.
Ut in omnibus glorificetur Deus.
—–
** My parents and I have never had an equally cordial relationship due to some issues that have blurred my self-esteem; and for years I could not forgive them who I have branded miscreants in my own definition of the word.
This post, I think, shall be the progenitor of all things that calls for my own sweet demands and idyllic wishes that I’d like for the holiday season; and yes, I know, I am not much of a dubious little fiend who would bombard good old friends with text messages or Facebook PMs hankering for attention just so I could get any gift I want but of course, I can dream of charity wells springing across town so I may eventually acquire what I fancy, right?
Now, since the holidays are now forthcoming with all them jingle bell carols and churches opening their doors for dawn masses, likewise with fireworks lighting up the sky every New Years’ Eve (so much for the litany) I might desire to have something that might set my year straight. Since I am not so much of a spanking spic-and-span sort of individual but very much obsessed with the untidy—in terms of managing my daily affairs, that is—I need to have something to get me by through all the diversities of responsibilities as well as menacing job-related endeavours. In the same manner am I not a person easily spurred when in a circumstance of much-needed attention: sometimes details escape me that I end up remembering only a word’s three final syllables, regardless of 1,500 of the original piece. True enough, I don’t register that much except that of imaginings that dabble on far-fetched fantasies of wealth worthy enough to make Snow White blush (Oh wait, she dreamt of a prince and not wealth; I didn’t see that coming). Anyhow, my singular point is this: I am a tad bit more disorderly than many people whether in terms of the concrete and abstract so I need a notebook with calendars in it so I could scribble some markings indicating with precision those exact times I ought to shower. In short, I need a planner.
But, hurrah for that since I found a perfect solution to the problem—a planner at the expense of 12 drinks available only at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, which I should say has such coffee that matches my personality (if there’s such a thing). In order to take a good rendering of what the heck I am talking about, here they are:
Image courtesy of CBTL’s http://brewyourbestyear.com
Aren’t they classy and grand? All one has to do is collect the entire roster of the needed 12 stamps from certain “genres” of drinks and you’re all set. Problem about this, though, is the money whereby I might procure even just one: I don’t have any. I am penniless since I live in penury most of the time, no thanks to a deep-seated resentment my body has towards jobs that make me brain-dead. But of course, I won’t force my friends to give me one because I definitely have to mind my own penury business such that I would, in the long run, have a car and a mansion that would hold more cars and cats in it (as if that would happen). Nonetheless, with all the punitive attempt at humour I have been facilitating until the last sentence prior to this one, I could only say that having the planner might be something that could summon me from my misery. Seriously, I have been in a slump for quite a while now that a respite is badly needed. Having the journal might be salvation personified.
Therefore, regardless whether I have the money or not, it still is worthwhile to dream of any of the featured planners in the above image I snagged from the official website. Hopefully, someday, a surprise is waiting that beholding (and owning) a CBTL planner once and for all may not be too impossible as it seems. And oh, before I forget: all proceeds from purchases has some percentage to be donated to the Real Life Foundation which sponsors financially-challenged students to make their way through college.
