mentalNoise

To all those reading this, please raise your hand if you like tragic stories.

Okay, you can put down your hand now. Not only do you look funny raising your hand in front of a computer monitor but I cannot see you anyway so there’s no way I can tell how many of you actually raised your hands.

Seriously, this entry is my follow up to my previous post. Remember I was ranting about how I went back to reading books to find even an ounce of inspiration to keep this blog going? Anyway, the book I read was Nicolas Sparks‘ “A Walk To Remember”. I wasn’t expecting to read this book given the fact that the lead actress who played in the movie adaptation was Mandy Moore. Not that I despise her, I just have this disdain for teenage pop stars. I have NOT seen the movie before I read the book. Being open-minded, I looked past that and read the book anyway.

So, how was the story? Well, it was okay but rather predictable. The boy’s persona was that of your typical passive guy who loved making fun of people among other things. The girl was the exact opposite of the boy — helpful, obedient and conservative. Events in their lives somehow found a way to intertwine. They both fell in love. Then the boy discovers that the girl is dying and decides to marry her. The girl eventually dies and the boy probably starts singing Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” in his head. LOL!

Ah, tragic stories are so, well, tragic! I wonder what it is about stories like these that make some people starry-eyed wishing that it, too, was the story of their lives. I guess I will never know just yet.

I admit I haven’t been updating this blog as much as I want to. Maybe too much alcohol intake in the past month has finally fried all the good brain cells that I have left. So what’s a sloth like me got to do to keep this blog going? I got forced myself to go back to the basics — back to reading books that is. It’s what spurred my writing enthusiasm some years back so I think it’s a great way to refresh my already depleted brain.

There are a lot of available books at home that I can choose from. My father has his own collection but they are more on the serious and “based on a true story” side — that’s too much for my brain to handle right now. My mother has a handful of books but they are too holy for my current state of mind. My sister’s collection is better, ranging from love story novels to those of inspirational calibre, you know like the Og Mandino stuff. But since I have read most of them (the Og Mandino books that is), I am left with only one recourse — ask my friends what they were reading (or have read) that could possibly be of interest to me. Fortunately for me, a friend responded to my pathetic predicament and she lent me a book. Before she did, she warned me that it was of “girly” stuff and you probably know what that means. But, hey, if it doesn’t kill me then I’d give it a shot — to which I did.

I have actually finished reading the book (hooray, I am not a total sloth after all) but since I think that it warrants another blog entry, I will leave it hanging here.

A good friend of mine introduced me to this poem. I won’t post it here since it is quite long. The link I provided should suffice. After reading it, I felt like I was looking at myself in the mirror — only in this case, I was seeing myself through words. I was so enthralled by the poem that I have imposed on myself to memorize it by heart. Yeah, I know it sounds queer so kick me.

All of us are much too familiar with situations wherein we must build invisible walls around us. All of us are guilty of wearing a myriad of masks every single day — masks that hide who we truly are. So why do we go through all the trouble of wearing masks and building invisible walls? Maybe we put up these walls so that we could get some attention, to act as some kind of bait. Then we wait for someone to come along, someone who will not merely look AT the wall but take time to scale it and look OVER to see what really is inside. Some boneheaded theory I came up with but that’s pretty much the best I can do to make some sense out of my thoughts right now.

Perhaps the most probable reason why these personal masks and walls exist is because of the fear of rejection — the nagging thought that by showing our true self we are openly inviting pain into our life. Being human is not easy maybe that’s why some tend to be inhuman and/or indifferent. Yeah, whatever! I’ll stop here since I’m already blabbering nonsense. And I have to go and try memorizing the poem.