I was pretty certain February will end without any new happenings on this part of ze intarwebz but I just have to post this.

You see, I've been re-watching a lot of movies because I'm bored (as always). Yesterday's flicks were The Dark Knight and Batman Begins, among others. In the latter, I was surprised to see a familiar face:

 

Batman Begins was in 2005. That little boy with the cute accent is now this annoying brat I so want to punch in the face and kick in the... yeah.

It just amuses me to see actors (from when they were younger or starting out in the biz) in movies I've previously watched but haven't taken notice of until I saw them in "bigger" roles and remember them, or recognize them when I watch the movie again.

And yes, that is all.

I want to go back to school. That may not be the best way to go because I want to try a few different things:
-I'd like to take Anthropology/Sociology/Psychology, which is quite weird knowing how anti-social, shy, and introverted I am. I don't think there's short courses available for these fields. You know, just to try and see if you'd like to pursue a career in any of these or if it's for you.
-I'd like to go into Linguistics again, which is my first course (for a full week, before I hit my head and everything went crazy). I'd like to do translation work. Learn a handful of foreign languages. The good thing about learning other languages is that you can be self-taught or take up lessons. But I want to be able to go all technical about at least one. Hence, the longing to take up Linguistics.

It's frightening to post such personal thoughts here, knowing that these inclinations may vanish all too soon. I remember posting an entry (just a few months back) talking about how I wanted to study again, and looking back, I don't think I feel the same about the degree I was thinking of taking up (CommArts/MassCom), but still considering. What scares me more than not knowing for sure what I want is the fact that by no means can I go back to school anytime soon. Maybe not even after 5 years. Family duty, if ye know what I mean.

I've been miserable for who knows how long, I don't even remember feeling otherwise. I just don't know what to do anymore.

When you have the best father in the world and a perfectly adorable stepmother, life gets better and better doesn't it?

When you've got the opposite of both, though, what then?

Just read.

Read.
Read books old and new. Read books obsolete and mainstream.
Read books from fiction to non-fiction, from children's to memoirs. Have a taste of different genres.
Read good books. A whole lot of 'em.
Read bad books. Hopefully not as much. And when you come across a book you deem to be worse than the last bad book you held, think about how it'll make you appreciate the good stuff more.
And then read even more good books. Read fantastic ones.
Choose several favorites. You can never have JUST ONE. Today you may prefer this, tomorrow another. Yesterday's favorite may not even be one of those.
Read. I beg you.
Just read.

--note to self

. . .

Buying or not, I almost always stop by bookshops whenever I'm at the mall. It feels nice going through the aisles, looking for new titles to add on my list, touching books big and small, looking at the covers, checking the availability of items from my list etc. Lately though, I've been feeling a little guilty of my book expenditures. Don't hate me, but I feel like it's been more of an extravagance on my side, especially because I'm unemployed. It's like a sin. I don't need it yet I've been emptying out my wallet just to take home that shiny (really?) book or that one which randomly caught my eye. Secondhand shops doesn't make much of a difference since I tend to always hoard.

But, still, I buy. That guilty feeling doesn't have much effect on me so you're free to give me a pat on the back. Who can possibly stop buying books? I mean, seriously. And why deprive yourself of something that makes you happy? So long as you don't go overboard (walking home from EDSA going south; fasting for one week), then you're fine. AND HAPPY. So, you know. JUST KEEP READING. (to the tune of Dory's "Just keep swimming")

Flying books and reeling words

Don't you just love Vimeo? It's impossible not to like (or even love) 4 out of 5 random videos you view. I saw this video, however, from a blog over at Tumblr. I'm so glad I found it.

Inspired, in equal measures, by Hurricane Katrina, Buster Keaton, The Wizard of Oz, and a love for books, “Morris Lessmore” is a story of people who devote their lives to books and books who return the favor. Morris Lessmore is a poignant, humorous allegory about the curative powers of story. Using a variety of techniques (miniatures, computer animation, 2D animation) award winning author/ illustrator William Joyce and Co-director Brandon Oldenburg present a new narrative experience that harkens back to silent films and M-G-M Technicolor musicals. “Morris Lessmore” is old fashioned and cutting edge at the same time.

“The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore” is one of five animated short films that will be considered for outstanding film achievements of 2011 in the 84th Academy Awards ®.
Film Awards Won by “The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore”
To date, “The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore” film has drummed up fans all over the world taking home the following awards:
· Cinequest Film Fest: Best Animated Short
· Palm Springs International ShortFest: Audience Favorite Award
· SIGGRAPH: Best in Show

I have not much to say aside from THIS IS GUHREEEAAT and IT ALMOST MADE ME CRY. Book lover or not, I'm certain that you'll like this as much as I did, maybe less, maybe more, THE POINT IS YOU WILL LIKE IT. Get it? Now watch.

Bill, what's happening out on the street today?

I've been seeing raves about the documentary Bill Cunningham New York and, though I had no idea who he is or what he does (that is, before I saw them blog posts), decided to watch and see for myself what the fuss is all about.

The "Bill" in question is 80+ New York Times photographer Bill Cunningham. For decades, this Schwinn-riding cultural anthropologist has been obsessively and inventively chronicling fashion trends and high society charity soirées for the Times Style section in his columns "On the Street" and "Evening Hours."

Bill is such an amusing and fascinating man! He is funny, quite shy, but definitely has an eye for fashion. His lifestyle is very simple and far from the fancy world in which he moves. He admits to loving clothes and can be quite obsessive in what he does, but he himself does not care for donning expensive garbs. He is well-known among the high society circles which events he often chronicles, but doesn't give a damn about money and paychecks (more than once did he rip his paycheck). He doesn't get fazed by them younger photographers with their digital SLRs and 200mm lenses huddled in a certain spot (as seen during the fashion week part of the film), clicking at every single model strutting down the runway.

He moves around the city in a bicycle, his 29th (he already had 28 bikes stolen), with an old Nikon dangling from his neck. When it's cold, he has this dark blue jacket over his signature street-sweeper-blue-shirt. And when it rains, a black DIY raincoat is always on hand. His room at the Carnegie Hall is full of file cabinets of his work. I really really admire his humble, simple lifestyle and his being down-to-earth. I guess you don't see a lot of that in New York, especially if they're as famous and respected as one certain chap of the name Bill Cunningham.

This docu is entertaining, very amusing, and at times heartbreaking. He reminds me of James Nachtwey in the sense that he is a loner, dedicated his life to his craft, and didn't have time for romance/starting a family.

I do love documentaries about photographers. Which reminds me, I have yet to finish the documentaries on Henri Cartier-Bresson. Might get to that later, I think I'll re-watch this first.

Coffee

You wake up in the morning and start for the kitchen. One cup of coffee to start my day right, you said. You didn't even wash your face first or drink a glass of water. You finish it standing up, with thoughts filling up your drowsy mind.

You walk about the kitchen slowly, as if every step should be well thought of. Patting the heads of your energetic puppies, your face curls up into a sad smile declaring: Here's to another day of aimless breathing.

You stood up upon feeling dizzy from the rush of blood from your head. You still held your cup and, upon finding it empty, started to make your second dose of caffeine.

You let out a loud, gratifying sigh. As if only one as loud as that could make you believe you're still living. Downing your drink as if it were ice-cold water in the searing heat of summer, you push away things that's been living in your head for too long. You fail. Miserably.

Upon finishing your second cup, your eyes start to well up with tears. You made your way back to your room as soundless as when you went out. Lying down on your unmade bed, you close your eyes, while thoughts swim in your drowsy mind.

Lately

- Finally done with Austen's Emma, after more than a week (more or less) of struggling to finish it.
- Mind is full of family-related issues.
- Work, or lack thereof. I don't know how I can still be so choosy at this point. Or useless. Or worthless. With all the fuss about money and my siblings' schooling, how can I still be here? So freakin' stagnant. I have yet to encounter something to motivate me.
- Allergies. Every single friggin' type of allergies I have.

No pleasant stuff on this part of the intarnets. Sorry.

Just a thought

I'd like to own a small café which is also a bookshop. It may be a mini-library where customers can check out books or a secondhand bookshop. It can also be both.

I see a lot of similar concepts in other countries (through Tumblr) and I love the abundance of independent bookstores in these places. That's not really common from where I live.

I won't mind manning the store myself.

The one who has no dreams (still)

Is it possible for a person to have no dreams? No personal goals? No life plans?
I don’t know what I want to be.
I don’t know where I want to be.
I don’t know who I want to be.
Just what the hell am I going to do with my life?

. . .

Those are the opening lines of an entry in my old blog dated August of last year. I've been able to catch up with a friend these past few days and since we've already both graduated from college, talks about what we wanted to do came up.

She wants to study IT, and have already processed some papers. That's another three or four years but her parents don't mind so all's good. It's quite far from her first course (i.e., tourism), and just as far from the flying course she took afterwards. And while she's preparing for this IT venture, she's looking into visa applications for Australia. She says she wants to live there someday and probably study, too. I admire her for being interested in a lot of things, being very talented and an academic achiever, and good at whatever she does. She's determined to pursue her dreams (and she claims to have a long list), and that's great. I am genuinely happy for her.

Naturally, we talked about myself as well. What I wanted, my dreams, goals, and such. I have none. Five months after I first declared to the world wide web that I am a "dreamless" creature, here I am, reminding the interwebs of the existence of one such earthling.

She says it's impossible to not have even one dream. There's got to be something I wish to be, or have. She told me to ask myself, to find out once and for all what dreams lie dead in my heart and mind. I've done it a million times. And believe me when I say I truly, genuinely want to know. I still don't.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: It scares the hell out of me. It's like I'm walking in the woods, which never seems to be penetrated by the sun's light, never knowing which way to go.

I just hope and pray I'll be able to get past this dreamless phase. Because I would very much like to have dreams of my own. Then maybe, just maybe, I would chance upon a path where I can aim my anxious gaze.