I get sentimental on New Year’s Eve

As much as I enjoy Christmas—evident on how I’d always wind up straight to the table to help myself when I’m “hungry”—I see New Year’s as a more meaningful event. First, there’s no compulsory gift-giving. Secondly, almost everyone from all religions ~celebrate*~ altogether, for once.

True, I maybe branded as a killjoy for avoiding those dangerous, startling pyrotechnics hurled by brainless brats on the streets. However, I’d make up on this nonconformity by loving fireworks. Just staring at the sky to watch those colorful fireworks shoot, explode, disintegrate. Ahhh.

Staring at fireworks, especially with a captivated mob, enlivens a communal longing for beauty—a kind of beauty that’s not touched but can only be seen from afar. There’s a shared feeling that we’re all just puny and powerless. It reminds us that we’re all equal, whose dreams fling beyond the stars.

Gotta get “Naked and Famous”

It’s the most surreal feeling listening to a song that exactly speaks of YOU, and all your aspirations. It’s what I felt when I first heard of Standing in the Way of  Control, or in a musical level, Jesus Christ Superstar (go away, preachy ones!). Those two songs, respectively, bemoan of living your life as it is, and questioning religion. This time, I’m getting goosebumps from the vibrant tune of Young Blood by The Naked and Famous.

What Lent means to me

It’s Lent. Although I don’t exactly know what The Lent means in the big picture aside from more movies like Ten Commandments to adorn free television, and given my non-practicing Catholic… ways, I still kind of celebrate it.  I grew up a Catholic whether I like it or not. The only thing I like about Lent is that it’s peaceful and my fave faith movie The Prince of Egypt is also aired interminably.

Stethoscope World

I am an ammidyphobic, meaning I have a great fear of losing a loved one over death. Against death, my pretentiously strong, over-the-surface happy-go-lucky personality is threatened. Against death, I am left with no control. To put it simply, I hate hospital beds, my mother or father lying helplessly on these beds, my emotionally frail self leaning over these beds and all the shit that look like a sad snippet of Grey’s Anatomy. Assuming I even watch things like Grey’s Anatomy.

It takes some courage to watch your loved one lying helplessly in an infirmary. Two years ago, my father was hospitalized due to panic attack. Caused rather psychologically, he had a hard time to breathe till he was rushed to the ICU. An ICU is like a danger zone, and that’s not a place I wanted to see my father when I couldn’t do anything. I just had to watch him inhale oxygen via tank and cables, and greatly trying to not cry. The old man was holding on to me for strength, and the neurologist suggested that I weather a better setting to channel away any further ~negative thinking. I had no choice but to appear very positive even if deep in me, I controlled every pinch of my softness. If I was good in anything, it’s holding back my eye’s tear ducts.

Now my dad is good and well, and yet I hadn’t anticipated worse things to come.