I have decided to use “Word” for my daily diary. There’s nothing odd about it, I just thought it’s an interesting thing to point out. But then again, even interest is relative; what may be interesting for me may not be for everybody else. The world is governed and powered by relativism. ¬People can never agree on a common quagmire-like ground, and even this adage is no exemption. Why have I decided to use “Word” as the victim for my nonsensical and nonchalant reminiscence? That I do not have a satisfactory answer. All I know is that I have been using “Notepad” since I began this vice, for lack of a better term, and when I repost it on my blog, countless typos surge up as I re-read. Not that I do not reread them before posting it officially (I do not know if official is the correct term), I just do not notice them. I get lost when I read. When I read, it’s like I’m being put in a labyrinth of words and thoughts that I indulge so much with it I tend to deviate from what seems to be real. And that doesn’t happen when I happen to read school books. I’m just not too inclined on reading them heartily. Though I too get lost reading them, but not because of them. I hate reading, believe me, I really do hate it. But because of a lack of sensible things to do during my wan and tedium times, I usually decide to just scan some pages, and end up scanning more than I pre-decided.

Let’s cut off to the chase. I just noticed I have been swimming on shallow waters. And I don’t want to be too high-flown either. I have been staring my glaring monitor, the effect of which is squinting my lachrymose eyes as an after-effect of a retaliating sinusitis, and nothing, has visited or even knocked my mind. I’m in a predicament of nil, of emptiness, of nothingness. But then again, the world is governed by relativism; what is nothing to one, may be something to another one. Relativity! My friend for the night.

Let’s talk about expectation. For the most part of my life, or the most part of my life where I am now able to think expansively (I’d like to think that I have an expansive thinking), I have been plagued, thwarted, and bullied by it. Sometimes, it fuels you to achieve what you are capable of. Sometimes, it brittles the bones, dries up your blood, and atrophies your muscles. Too much of it is no longer fit for living. It not only puts you in an ordeal of confusion as to who is the rightful owner of your life, it also forces you to attain what you do not want to attain. Expectation, if anything is virulent (biology jargon). But like any diseases, it too has a mend. And it is within us. It is either we get eaten up by these expectations, or we get to deflect it. The latter is easier said than done. But just like living, it is doable. We have been living for so long our own lives, why let anything get in that way? Sometimes in our measly and insignificant lives, we get to passionately assert ownership to our lives, and it is only then do we realize that no one but us owns what we have been calling as our lives.

The next million dollar question is then, are we really living? People haphazardly think they are, but to the precise extent to which their way of life is showing, they are only surviving. Not that it is a bad thing or anything. For if we do not first survive, we won’t be able to live. Then again, surviving is an instinct of man. While living, is an instinct of the man who wants to discover the world. At this current point in my life, I’d like to think I’m still in the process of asserting life. I have just recently wanted to live again, not survive, for I have always fought for survival all my life. Life is precious to me, and I will not waste it even in simple qualms and self-destroying ideations.

Life is precious! How can I ever accentuate on that to make it glow, glimmer, and shimmer? It is too precious to be wasted on hesitations. No one but us owns us. We have nothing in this world but ourselves, and it is in that realization that you get to live life with potence, passion, and conviction. I can’t say I’m already racing, but I do know that I’m warming up behind the starting line, waiting for my turn to run.

The soporific murmurs of the AC has brought solace to my turmoiled sinus. I have been able to get by the recurring tickling sensation inside my nose, thanks to the songs of Jack Johnson, the quiet night, and someone who has always, though recently never fails to make me smile. I am en rapport with the night’s betrothal to me for sleep. I’ll heed your proposal later, wait for my response.