a sketch of a diary entry and a blog post of hope
If we look no further than its etymological meaning, patience appears to be just a simple letting things alone, or allowing them to take their course, but if we take the analysis a little further we find that such non-interference is of a higher order than indifference and implies a subtle respect for the other person's need of time to preserve his vital rhythm, so that it tends to exercise a transforming influence upon him which is comparable to that which sometimes rewards love.
...
It is not that strictly speaking I impute a causal efficacy to the fact of hoping or not hoping. The truth is much rather that I am conscious that when I hope I strengthen, and when I despair, or simply doubt, I weaken or let go of, a certain bond which unites me to the matter in question.
- Gabriel Marcel, "A Sketch of a Phenomenology and a Metaphysic of Hope"
She cooks you sweet potato / You don't like aubergine / She knows to boil the kettle, when you hum bars from 'Grease' / She senses you are lonely / But still she can't be sure / So she stands and waits, stands anticipating / Your thoughts // How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you?
...
He brushes thoroughly / He knows she likes fresh breath / He rushes to the station; he waits atop the steps / He's brought with him a Mars bar / She will not buy Nestle / And later, he'll perform a lovelorn serenade / A trade // How can he become the psychic that he longs to be to understand you?
- Sia Furler, "Sweet Potato"
My heart seems to have a better sense of my impending graduation than my head, because while trying to make sense of the scratches in my notebooks and calendars, I've been having more major reflections than I think I've had in all three years previous. It's interesting. I try to write most of them down (properly, and in a non-school notebook), so that I don't forget, but I feel less inclined to share it with people.
I mean, It used to be that when something caught me, I'd race to the keyboard to type it up and cross-post it on Xanga, Multiply, and LJ (one for the friends back home, one for the friends here, and one for the people who made me get an LJ just so I could read their locked stuff). Lately, I've only had one thought-set that's gripped me like that (see previous post), and even then, when I blogged about it, I didn't really say anything new. :p I think that I'd rather leave it to other people to find things out on their own, or consider that maybe they've known these things for longer than I.
I want to visit this place. (View that site in full screen mode; the site designers did not put a scroll bar. Forgivable. :p) My current desktop uses a photograph of the apartments as the wallpaper:
Hmm... If I couldn't have something like the old Luneta Hotel, this would look really nice as the facade for the children's library of my dreams. :D
I've come up with a name for this dream library since I first thought it up: it's Ely and Nene's Children's Library. Ely and Nene are my maternal grandparents, Eliseo and Alejandra Bañas. Lolo was once the head librarian at Silliman University, and Lola was a favorite English teacher there. While I've gotten older and haven't known them as well as I'd like, it somehow seems very fitting to name a library after them. After all, they helped me to build my own when I was a kid; they sent me books every Christmas and birthday or handed me down some of my mom's own childhood books.
I should make friends with an architect.
This library idea goes onto the "when I'm stable and financially better off" list. ;p
Now, how's my life? (As if you don't already want to leave and write your own self-centered ramblings.)
This week, I felt a little lost. I don't know, in the middle of the week, I suddenly had no idea what I was supposed to do. I wasn't procrastinating, I just had some kind of selective memory loss that wiped clean the "this week of your Ateneo stay" board. The week is over, and I'm still trying to recover. What was I supposed to work on? Who was I supposed to talk to? What errands were I supposed to have run? I have the feeling that it's all going to come back to me like that bucket-over-the-door trick. I'm just waiting, waiting, waiting for the cold splash of recall. And the thump on the head.
moar funny pictures
What else...? Requisite boy talk, I suppose. :p But the Marcel passages and the Sia lyrics up there have a little to do with that. A little. A lot more to do with my life in general, but a little to do with Tim. So, if you want an idea of how our relationship looks to me at this point, you go, scroll back up and mull them passages over. I'll just say that I don't mind, and that it all seems to come with the fun of friendships like this one. :)