ANGELA LEARNS TO FLY

Bottled Sleep. A Short Story

2012-04-28T11:24:00.001-07:00

I had a short day today. For that reason, I was able to organize my old files. As I go over my files, I saw a copy of a Short Story I wrote around October 2009. The story is about a person struggling with insomnia--more like a story of my own struggle with it in fictional form. The title of the Short Story was, Bottled Sleep; and the story goes this way...

That night seemed usual. The clouds were murky, and the zephyr still wraithlike. The luminaries above the firmament diffused ubiquitously, and nothing above the grounds has the demeanor of some may regard strange. The grass swayed in the rhythm of the twinkling stars, and the flowers danced in the cadence of nomadic breeze, but my whole being oddly succumbed in insolent distress as my peepers furled vigorously.

Everything was diametric from the antecedent hour, such gruesome shuffling caused my head enough cataclysm; so appalling and so uncanny. This is what I get from ruminating excessive introspection, I said to myself; as I looked outside my room's window, in the second floor of our humble home.

I started toward my bed, turned off my lamp, but left my night light on to illuminate my cozy space. I stared over the expanse of the ceiling, and then rolled my eyes from one corner to another. In a tick, I found myself trying to thwart myself from reaching the drawer on my bed’s left side table. I did not desire to warts-and-all grab my Bottled Sleep--you know what I mean, a sleep which can be bought wherever ingestible remedies are sold. I must stop dependence, I thought, else this baby will always be part of my forty-winks-forsaken-life.

I tossed and turned--for God knows how long , and alternately fused my pillow above, and then under my skull; atop my chest, before I planted it underneath my back. I did every slumber position known to man: Log, Fetal, Starfish, Yearner, Freefall and Soldier-You name it, I did it all. Not one whacked me out.

Then I rose, did eighty-eight rounds of jumping jack, a hundred push-ups, and then sauntered around topsy-turvy. When I got tired of it, I faced my full length mirror, and found myself doing some may call outlandish. In my reflection, I made the familiar Zhang Ziyi’s stances in the Crouching Tiger; how can I miss Bruce Lee’s souring jolts in Enter the Dragon--I almost knocked down the mirror tough, or Jacky Chan’s boozed antics in the Drunken Master. Then, I suddenly thought of being a Rock Star--my long hair laid anterior, partly concealing my scrawny face, my head jerked up and down, as I held an imaginary amplified electric guitar, screaming vast amount of decibels--loud enough to obliterate my eardrums. Then I paused, bent forward, posed holding an imaginary Walther PPKhandgun against my own image, and then spoke with a swag: My name is Bond, James Bond!

Then I hurled towards my bed and thought of it like a trampoline. I bounced beyond count, O yes! I absolutely hoped to faint in mid-air. Then I found myself screaming from my window--half of my body from waist up stooping forward atop its ledge, "Can anybody out there gimme’ a sturdy upper cut please?" But when I saw Mrs. Walters--our ever ornery neighbor, turned on her lights, and her potent silhouette opposite her lacy curtain seemed to suggest dreadful agitation. I hastily pulled myself in, and slammed my window closed.

I hid underneath the ledge--I almost slipped but ended up having my rear slammed sharply on the wooden floor. I sat and waited there for a reasonable while, as I painstakingly peeped across the panes sporadically. When I sensed no signs of Mrs. Walters anymore, I stood up and lifted the lower sash of my window. Cool unsullied breeze went past my faded face, as if the Almighty God--Himself never sleeps, exhaled a fragrant breath right into my face. Then I saw the lonesome full moon--poignantly hanging up there just like the other nights, and wondered how she finds her rest while she comes and go in a regular orbit. It did not take much time until I felt the glum. I already conjured up myself with those hideous dark circles around my eyes. I can foresee people utterly convinced in my wakeful adventure. There is no need for a clairvoyant to reckon my dilemma; There is no need for a wiseman to decipher my restless extramural.

I concede. This dawdling gets me more overworked than restored; a reality I despise in my insomnious interlude. With arduous heart and derisory will, my left hand crawled trembling towards my side drawer. I hesitantly pulled its handle, until my most avoided thing peeked towards me claiming its imminent victory. In a jiffy, my right hand diffidently seized the yellowish half-filled bottle, though I am still undecided to regard it as a friend or enemy or both.

Both of my hands hurriedly contested over the lid, when my left hand claimed triumph, my right scooped whatever it will discharge, then tossed it straight to my mouth. Without a need to flood it with water, I swallowed a capsule with compunction. Then it hit me. I lost another battle, just like what ensued last night and the night before last night. It was indeed a battled sleep against a bottled sleep and though I hate it like hell to lose, I am once again defeated. Am I a swift remedy buff? I really do not think so. I am just another pooped flesh yearning for the most forsaken inertia.

On Finding Time For My Passion

2012-03-08T13:47:00.002-08:00

I wonder where I lost my fangs for Belles-lettres, the passion which was my addiction--the scimitar I used to fritter away my ferocious imagination; the supermundane contraption I manipulate to spiel my theorems, either to imbue somebody else's life or to cut somebody else's craw.

Have I given up my vivacity for my fancy to something that is worth my while?

Well, yes... that was when I made my choices, the consequence of which was, a significant permutation of my priorities. But then again, the intrinsic reason of the screeching halt, isn't really those that are within the scope of which I could categorize as from within my choices, but more of those that are more universally called, the inexorable contingencies this life has brought me into--aggravated further by the number one calumniator of Productivity--that is, Procrastination.

I certainly want to go back and revive the predilection of my heart... the propensity of my whole being. I just don't know when and how to start with my occupied lifestyle right now. I need extra time and stamina, can I buy it?

The Gift Of Motherhood

2012-02-23T18:22:00.003-08:00

There's nothing much to say, I am just... happy. Thank you dear GOD for this wonderful gift YOU have given us. I do hope and pray that YOU'LL still be there-as always, in our new adventure in this world. Love YOU lots my LORD--YOU know that, right?

A Retaliation To Plethoric Expectations

2012-01-16T13:39:00.000-08:00

It's unnerving how people could just so suddenly misconstrue your substance just for crumbling short of their expectations; for not doing what they calculated you to do. Some would even appraise your sincerity by your consistent participation in their life. I just thought, this world will surely be a better place, if more and more people would be less egocentric; latched on with their realization that each one of us has an arduous life to tussle with too.

Entrenching expectations maybe considered a grown-up kind of stuff, but hoarding too much of it--to the point that it has become unrealistic, could be comparable to nothing but the temper tantrum of a terrible brat. I tell you what is realistic: Do not expect to receive 100% of "whatever" from others if you cannot do the same for others yourself. GOD expects 100% from us, because HE is there 100%, but none of us are, that is why it is absolutely nonsensical to set your expectations like GOD.

I write this in response to people who are making a fuss on my online inactivity/absence lately. I am quite in a challenging stage of my personal life these days and this is one of the moments in my life that I just want to think a little more of myself and my family. To sit still, be quiet and enjoy the growing miracle that GOD has blessed my womb with.

I wish I could just tell everyone what to think, but that's the Devil's job. So much as I want to mess with that Wicked-Dude-From-Downstairs every single time, my usurpation of his reputation wouldn't do anyone any good either. Instead, I'll just send a message, something GOD made me so good at: I will still be around, but may not be as often as before. I will not ask you not to think less of my friendship in my absence... I'll just hope you wouldn't.

The Clapperclaw Of The Murphy's Law

2011-12-09T21:32:00.000-08:00

You have this covert proclivity to premeditate detrimental possibilities, but on the other hand, you've also kind of have a reputation of a positive thinker--you understood that your image and your real self, are two different things. For that reason alone, you invariably give each of your withheld negative musings the benefit of the doubt. There is no freaking way... that would be your response to each of your abrogating rationalizations--though you're not really sure if you actually believe in any of your catoptric conjectures. It's just that, there are days that you cannot seem to antithesize who you are trying to convince with the words you are exhorting, between yourself, your other self (if any) and the people around you.

A regular person may fancy about anything entangling their attention. But since you do not consider yourself a regular person, you do something that is scarcely done by the vast majority. But then again, since you also believe that your mind is capable of devouring the whole of the universe itself, your brainwork swelled into your reverie of the breathing abstraction of all possibilities: the sun shines--before it gets really cold--the fluffy snow didn't stopped gravitating until its accumulation reaches 10 feet high. You lost in a dancing competition--before you got depressed and got hit by a truck--but survived, losing everything except your head, torso and everything in it. You're so broke--it could still get worse--and menacing--then you found out you won the lottery--after you accidentally pitched your winning ticket in the blazing flames abiding in your fireplace.

Now, have a deep breath--because you really can't stand repugnant fantasies. So do I. But these are just few of the undeniable realities that happens in the real life. Things happen beyond our control--good or bad--from comprehensible to the unimaginable. And sometimes, no matter how hard we try to convince ourselves that we've already snift the worst crap, we've actually not inhaled anything yet.

You must be curious about what could possibly prompted me to write about these horrendous things. If not, I will tell it anyway (this is my blog, remember? ).

It was after I blogged about how things could possibly go wrong without the electric-powered-man-invented-gears (see entry), induced by our home computer's consistent reminders of its desire to retire, our workstations at work--the Local Area Network (LAN), all went down and offline for 2 straight days. Which requires us into carrying out the antediluvian ways of doing our operations. I mean... really? All these things has to happen the very day after I hurt my writing hand, when I accidentally (stupidly) slammed an aluminum door right on it. Of all the time the circumstances should have made it easier for me to write manually, I just had to injure it first. These, more than anything else, propelled me to excogitate the Murphy's law--an apothegm or a traditional saying that typically states that "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong"

Lemony Snicket calls these form of anomalies A Series Of Unfortunate Events, to others just stark sequences of bad luck, while to some just sheer unpropitious coincidences. But as for me, these mishaps, howbeit they must be defined, unambiguously makes me as fidgety as the lodgers of the infernal regions.

Just Another Episode Of A Daytime Nightmare...

2011-11-27T13:24:00.000-08:00

It's a lazy Sunday, it's kind of cold and damp outside; the sky's covered by gloomy gray clouds--ought to release drizzles of the wet stuff. I sat on my cushioned wooden chair--fronting my study table, with my first cup of freshly grounded brewed coffee; opted not to turn my desk lamp on, that way I'll feel a little cozy. I have decided to rely on the flaccid natural light coming from behind the frilly curtain hanging on the window; for a change. As I did my first sip, so I commenced my favorite activity of the day, and any day--thinking.

In memory of Metatron, my laptop.

I looked over my desk and saw my concept notebook--bound in a leather organizer--written by my own hand, an old Warriner's English and Grammar Composition Complete Course book, Strunk and White's The Elements of Style book, my handy Webster's electronic Dictionary and Thesaurus, a metal box filled by catalogued index cards, my smart phone and stylus, a conglomeration of junks and whatnot. Something is missing... Ah! My laptop. I missed my laptop since it decided to retire--I can't afford to replace it with a better one just yet. I thank GOD, however, for allowing me to own an awesome super powered phone, teamed by a pair of fairly swift and precise texting thumbs, and an intrinsic HTML programming skills; at least I can still enter this blog entry in its most presentable form, using a smarter-than-the-smartest-man cell phone.

After my second sip, I held my pen and began to write--in my usual calligraphy, of course--I cannot really write in cursive with the same consistency. What will happen if our contemporary technology dissappears? That's the first sentence I wrote, and then I paused. My mind froze. It went blank as a devoid sheet of paper. I am convinced that it was such a horrid thought--for a known techy geek as myself, at the very least.

I'll probably own an electronic typewriter, I wrote underneath the question. What if, even the electronic typewriters cease to exist because there will be no more electricity? Was my ensuing thought before I could even finish my writing (Got to let you know that I'm in real deal of displeasure when my chain of thoughts comes faster than my writing hands).

(Paused)

I really find it ironic that after I typed the last sentence before the pause above, I needed to do an urgent 15 minute break. Hubby and I drove to the nearest convinience store to buy a couple of Duracell 2032 battery, after my electronic Dictionary/ Thesaurus flashed a warning sign, that its batteries are getting low of power.

Yes--back to my introspection. What if we wake up one morning and find out that the power--the electricity as we know it, cease to exist? That would mean, no more Facebooking--I subsequently wrote, no more Tweeting, no more emailing, no more online streaming to watch, no more e-books to read, no more blogging... no more blogging-- excuse me, I want to take note that I intentionally repeated the last one with a grimace.

Everything will be as it was before, I continued. The world will look and feel bigger, and slower, and... tedious. Everything has to be done manually again. The Art of Handwriting--which is apparently vanishing these days, however, could be revived.

Candles and gas lamps will be a big hit, I carried on--but there will be more reports of fires and getting burned. There will be no phone lines, so it will take forever before the rescuers do any rescuing--that is, if there's anybody and anything left to save (Duh?). There will be no television, no radio, no washing machines, no dryers, no more of all those electric-powered-man-invented-gears specifically made for human convenience, no more... arrrggghhh!

Ugh! I am raving over a prototypical form of a daytime horror, again. I got to let you know that I am really like this when I do not feel very well. My positivity seems to fade like the daylight during sunset. All sorts of negative thoughts subdue my mind as an imperial army moving vigorously for their ultimate conquest.

Got to end this episode for the better good.

Now...

I want a piece of cake.

Confessions Of The Invisible Girl

2011-11-26T16:27:00.000-08:00

Few of my old original comic drafts and manuscripts.

You thought you didn't felt me, but you did--you just didn't saw me. My identity obscured, but my existence a no secret; such a paradoxical articulation, but an irrefutable axiom.

It's humbler for me to say that I'm just an ordinary girl--I look very much like it--a quotidian piece of creation that is. It's just too sad to disappoint the many cynical haters of me, however, that I do not, at all, resemble such cliché.

I am the invisible girl--of many names. You wept over those stories you never thought I told; laughed over those funny things you never thought I created. Should have you known, would you even pay attention? For how true it is that it's easier for all of us to admire and praise a total stranger than the person we have always known.

Many people used to behold me so freely. People who have touched me--and whom I've touched; have watched me--and whom I've watched. But the one vital thing I have learned from all those exploits, is how harder it is for those people who has seen you, to truly believe in you and what you can do.

The dismal truth I want to disseminate is, the more people see you, and feel you, the least they really could--such a stinking human nature, even GOD HIMSELF has to endure, when HE once chose to walk over the surface of the earth, in corporeality and visibility.

Taciturn...

2011-11-08T17:11:00.000-08:00

I am speechless...
when the world scourge me bad enough,
that I couldn't find the most precise word to describe my paroxysm.

My GOD, My Defender Against The Evil One

2011-09-13T17:39:00.000-07:00

Prayer Translation

GOD is good.
HE protects me from all the assaults of the Devil,
HE allows me to see his wicked schemes,
and let me catch his disguises in all shapes.

GOD is Almighty
HE is my defender against the Evil One,
HE comforts my soul by the warmth of HIS mystery,
and let me live my purpose according to HIS plans.

Let Me Fear No One Besides YOU!

2011-09-11T14:37:00.000-07:00

Prayer Translation

Make my wings strong, LORD GOD ALMIGHTY,

My flight to the unknown petrifies me.

Strengthen my heart, my spirit and my mind.

Let me not weep on what I shall leave behind.

Don't Leave Me Alone LORD GOD of Israel!

2011-09-04T13:59:00.000-07:00

Interpretation Of Arcane Text

LORD GOD of Israel, YOU who have plucked me from where the sun rises,

Leave me not in this flight. Aid me in all my tasks and rescue me from all my troubles.

My obstacles are too tough and the horizon is too dim.

I can't do this alone. I need YOU by my side.

Come, oh come, CREATOR of heavens and the earth,

wrap me with YOUR power and protection,

For while my spirit is souring high,

My flesh is plummeting down low.

The Original Prayer On Paper

Rescue Me Oh GOD, Mend My Wings!

2011-09-03T11:39:00.000-07:00

Interpretation Of Arcane Text

Come LORD GOD ALMIGHTY and rescue me!
My wings are broken and my loads are plenty.
Lift me up, my MASTER! Rescue me faster.
My spirit is tough but my vessel's facing disaster.

The Original Prayer On Paper

A Secret Prayer To The LORD GOD Of Israel

2011-08-30T17:09:00.000-07:00

When I turned 7 years old--probably with divine help--that part I am not really sure, I started to develop arcane symbols no one can understand besides myself. My clear intention back then was basically to just keep secrets in my diaries even if somebody take possession of them for whatever reason. My playmates back then, once mistaken them as Chinese characters, because some of them I made my guinea pigs, sending them notes using these symbols--just to make sure they are truly indecipherable without my help. Some of them were good sport--they just gave me a good laugh, while some got agitated for the reason I am not really so surprised--for why the heck would I send a note nobody could read and understand? I didn't gave them answers back then, now I say I just did it to test its capacity to conceal the real message. Let us take the image below for example. At first glance, you will think this is just an ordinary drawing, but the truth is, it is a drawn journal with a full prayer to GOD hidden in arcane symbols within and around it.

Description of the Secret Prayer

This is a prayer of deep sorrow and need, asking for immediate divine intervention coming from the LORD GOD of Israel. I always address my GOD referring to the LORD GOD of Israel for the reason that the word God seems too generic these days, considering not all people are thinking of the same God when then talk about GOD.

The Original Doodle On Paper

The Forbidden Tree

2011-08-28T21:47:00.000-07:00

The Original Doodle On Paper
Inspired by Genesis 2:9: Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil

Every Person Wears A Mask

2011-08-13T15:26:00.000-07:00

Every person wears a mask, whether one is tough enough to admit it or not; a subterfuge to conceal exactitude, like a cloak of strength to cover the chink in armor. The Bible said, "All mankind are liars." [Psalm 116:11], I couldn't disagree, for even those who said they hate liars, are liars themselves; as I told my friends in this topic, some people even lied about that they never lied.

My husband said, I am a very bad liar; when I lie it is just too obvious, he sees it in my eyes. Some may call it an inability to tell a lie, but I say it is still an ability to lie, only that I am not apt to it, that I always get caught. Just like these days, while extreme sadness, stress and frustrations seems to devour me--body and soul, he said I invariably shroud my face with a smile, only to be betrayed by the gloom in my eyes.

There are days that I am just too sad, so much as I want to express my emotions as it is, my call of daily communal duties just can't make it an acceptable mood; and so I have to smile, even if my heart bleeds to demise. Did I lied? Yes, I did, by wearing a pretense of cheer, for the better good. For even if you are too agitated in one instance, enough to break someone in half, would you act according to your true emotions, or wear your facade of Temperance? The former is the act according to your true ardor, but the latter is the more discerning choice of action.

So now we have to accept, everyone of us are capable of lying, of concealing what is deep-seated in our hearts, of wearing a camouflage, a disguise, at least once in a great while.

About the Doodle

I doodled this using an Ultra Fine Point Shapie Pen.

I Submit All My Troubles To You, My LORD!

2011-08-07T11:36:00.000-07:00

The world is trying and cold, my LORD. It's gyrating hypersonic, I can no longer keep up. YOU said I cannot really fly higher with too much weight on my shoulders, so I ask YOU now for YOUR succor; that I may ascend as YOU will. YOU have given me a charge on this lonely surface--of less hellos and more goodbyes, yet none of them has yet to dawn; tenacious personal impediments and distractions wears me down. My LORD, my GOD, my LOVE... help me! Come to the rescue of YOUR humble servant who has gone so weak and tired. Help me fulfill the duties YOU have fastened on my shoulders, for I cannot do them all by myself. I need YOU my GOD, I need YOU my LORD, I need YOU my LOVE, I need YOU my FRIEND, all the days of my life.

About the Doodle

This is one of the many doodles in my Journal and was created using an ordinary roller pen. I made this to express my yearning for GOD in this wearisome world. This was inspired by Psalm 91. Just so you know, I always use drawings in my Diary when I feel like words can no longer express what I exactly feel.

My orifice for this life's necessary evils

2011-07-30T12:35:00.000-07:00

Let's face it, all of us, whether one is living in an ideal lifestyle or not, had been into some form of stress in one way or another. If stress could only make me richer in each attack, I can say that I could probably be one of the plush Homo sapien in this cold earth. Stress, according to studies and researches, is a necessary evil. Without it, our body and brain will not be able to operate effectively when pitfall arises. Some people, on the other hand, believes that, any deadweight done without some sort of pressure is not worth doing; I am one of those people. I am not insinuating that this big "S" is something that all of us must have to be into, because too much of it, like food or drug or hustle is just as bad as a Bugbear.

People have different ways of handling stress. Some choose to engage in relaxing activities of their own choosing. As for myself, I usually do three things, dependent on my mood. The first one is I pray or cry or scream my heart out to GOD-who never fails to listen to me no matter how moronic the words I am saying. Sometimes I just try to quibble with HIM about anything-when exigencies seems too much for a little person like me. Second, I engage in physical activities as brisk walking and dance-even without music. Third, I doodle (unfocused drawing), Illustrate (Serious drawing) or paint. Since only the doodling strategy is somewhat bloggable for me at this moment, I can only have the most recent ones I did as my sample for now.

I was browsing my previous year's Journal (Diary), when I found my sample doodles-which I posted above and below this blog. According to my Journal, I did the doodle above, to relieve myself from stress using an ordinary black ink pen during my lunch break at work last year. It was specified there that I leisurely did this for only 45 minutes, while I was masticating my food in our break room. The doodle below, on the other hand, still according to my Journal, was languidly drafted to relieve myself from stress, also with the use of an ordinary black ink pen, while I was preoccupied watching TV last year; I completed this one for an hour.

Stress is unavoidable in this world because the world-itself, is under stress. Stress is both a Necessary Evil and an Undertaker (Grave Digger). It is very vital that we learn how to ease ourselves of this silent killer, that is, if you intend to prevail alive and healthy for a little bit longer on top of the earth.

Mom's Win-Win Proposition

2011-07-24T10:36:00.000-07:00

Mom just found a way to get rid of 32 years from her age....

Metamorphosis

2011-07-23T11:33:00.000-07:00

The hen must have gone berserk with its bad egg.

Well hey folks guess what? It's my 35th birthday tomorrow and I did cast the die since the beginning of this month, to give this link-my official website [www.gaatienza.com], a new look and content. If you are looking for my old blog entries, I had them all kept in my personal archive to practically start up with a clean slate. I know I have not been seriously blogging for quite a while, but hey I'm back and I do want to bring my blogging habit around in my regular routine once again; once a week-at the very least.

In the past months, I received a couple of emails from my cyber friends and co-bloggers who have seen me through all these years and I am pretty glad they were gallantly honest to say that for the past 3 years, my blogging style crumbled from FUNNY to BORING, ARTISTIC to PLAIN. They said I was-apparently, losing my OLD SELF for the NEW SELF I am trying to rivet. One of their emails have this exact wordage "...You were interestingly funny until you became too boringly spiritual." Then I started to envisage, could it be possible to remove the 'boring' part; I mean, can I be interestingly funny without losing my spirituality? Or should I say, can I be interestingly-spiritually-funny? Heck, I want to give it a try, and that begins today.

THE BATTLE OF ANTIQUITY

It has been a decrepit colloquy: Which one was created first, the Chicken or the Egg? No, I do not want to start up another perpetual donnybrook here, but wait, I actually kind of... I could be intermittently belligerent, you know.

I postulated once in an extemporaneous pettifog with some good ol' friends, that the Chicken could have been created by GOD first and then GOD could have just given the creature a reproductive facility that produces the Egg. Just like how GOD created Adam and Eve, HE created Adam and Eve first and then just gave their bodies the complementary reproductive ability to produce human babies.

This is what I thought is the most logical-yet simplified, sequence of their ancientness. Now, if you think what I adduced was the dumbest analysis you have ever heard, feel free to drop me a note.

ABOUT THE DRAWING

This manual illustration isn't the best straight by the pigment liner drawing I've ever made, but this one fits this blog entry the most. My drawing hand is a little bit rusty these days. It haven't held its slashing sword for years; its muscle memory is passably suffering from hypomnesia. It kind of irritated me a bit because, I used to draw Cartoons in a breeze (as 1, 2, 3 and it's done), but this facile piece of work took me 30 minutes! My hubby said it could have been because of lack of practice, as he advised me that drawing is a perishable skill. Heck yeah he's right. For that, I told him that I plan to commit myself to draw at least an hour a day and get some of them published here at least once a week. That way, I can give myself a little push to protect my flair for this craft.