Life and Lies

My  problem with writing a memoir was that my memory of my entire life is buried 6 million feet under. 

I always have difficulty in configuring the years that have passed. They just come and go. And I guess I am more like of a “carpe diem” person. The past mattered but I dwell in the present. Unfortunately, the memoir needed relinquishing the past and finding out an “inheritance” handed down to you through an action or an object. And I could not remember any gift that my father ever gave me which I have treasured so much.

Presenting your personal (and rather shaky) relationship with your father to the public seemed like an invasion of privacy unless you are too willing to flaunt your life to the world. And I never had the intention to show my sorrows to the world. And so, I depicted my father the way I wanted him to be. 

My memoir was a yin-yang of truth and lies. My father never gave me a shell but he was the one to reveal its precious secret to the too eager ears of my innocence. He never taught me how to swim but he gave me tips on how to survive in this vast world and how to interact with the ocean of people. He tried to ‘father’ us but not quite exerting an effort. Yet, I wanted him to be portrayed as a good man. And since I was going to barf out my life, why not lay it out in an inspiring light? The world is such a miserable place to live in and it gets worse every time and most people don’t want to be a part of the misery. They’ll rather prefer reading “happy” lives of other people not actually realizing their “sad” subtexts.

I decided to set my ‘life story’ near the sea. It was my life, literally. It opened up my eyes to the subject that I was and I am. It wasn’t the reflection of my life but rather of the society whose constant change and perils helped in molding my ideology. 

But I credit my sensibility to my father. It directs what I believed in. Somehow, I believe that one’s ideology is nurtured at home. The society just concretize or justifies what is being fed to you. It might influence your ideas but the beliefs will always be intact within yourself.

Alpha

November 18, 2007

             There weren’t any writers in our family so I surprised ‘myself’  by choosing Creative Writing instead of other science courses closely related to Chemical Engineering. I really wanted to be a chemist, or so I thought. The desire probably rooted from my mere fascination of the nature of elements and their mysterious way of combining themselves to form new substances (& a fraction of my admiration towards my Chem. teacher).

               Sad to say, my father did not encourage me to take it for some reasons I still don’t know. He wanted me to take up Nursing instead (NO-NO). Fortunately, I recieved a letter from UP confirming that I’ve passed the UPCAT. I didn’t hesitate and opted to enrol there. Without further contemplation, I took up BA English major in Creative Writing. The choice was initially out of rebellion.

               Realizing what I have done days later, I wonder what possessed me to do it. Probably anger (I was angry and frustrated then). It was unbelievable! I’ve decided to meet my doom. I better shift to another course before it’s too late. No! I was determined to punish my father - indirectly. I went to school everyday for a year without an established goal. I got 3s and an INC, knowing I could’ve done better if I just wanted to.

               This school year, I stayed with the program. The first semester introduced me my first taste of majors. We got a new professor who seemed to dig up our lives through writing reflections. I wrote up my first flash fiction (actually, it’s a collaboration between my classmates) and it got the highest score along with another group’s. I was surprised and very happy (of course) at the same time. The sem ended and I got fairly good grades.

               The enrolment for second sem started and I found myself in BAE - still. It was never a tough decision. This wasn’t rebellion anymore. Almost two years in the program and I’ve never even thought of shifting. I’ve already established a reason though not yet a definite goal.

                I found my ideas and myself being slowly molded through the course. It brought the same fascination as that of my first interest, Chemistry. I’ve discovered life’s elements though I’ve never fully understood them yet. I’ve learned to combine them through words and developed a certain degree of enlightenment. It didn’t teach me of numerical and scientific technicalities but of life’s essentials, their complexities and how they greatly and constantly affect us (maybe even greater than the effect of GMOs).

                We were always reminded of the lack of monetary inflow in writing but I’ve always remained positive. Money was never a problem to me. Aside from having my name inscripted at the back of a bestseller book and on history books (there’s no harm in dreaming high - very high), I desperately needed this course wholly for self-preservation. I’ve been so bottled up for years and I need an outlet to keep my remaining sanity intact. Creative Writing have already created a tiny crack.

 

Who would have thought that chocolate bar is not equal to Cadbury, “semiotically”?

Is the current society the posterity of aliens?

What mystery lies beyond the Pyramids?

Does the Central Dogma explains how the genes are able transcribe feelings in the mRNAs and translate them into proteins of abstractions?

If genes dictate body processes, are they responsible for our dreams?

Are dreams already transcribed in us since the day we are conceived as a ball of multiple cells?

 What is “myself’s” second and third order significations?