Friday, August 5, 2011

It's either blogging or praying.

It's either blogging or praying.

And since I get more responses when I write, I don’t have to put my hands together and silently bow and possibly weep the hell out of my heart.

Kidding. I don’t cry.

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So while waiting for my own life to blow up and leave me to pieces, across the floor, bloody and messy, let me tell you how it is doing. And later, how I think it would look like after the awaited catastrophe.

First, let me tell you how my place is rat-infested. by infested, I mean I see a small mouse or two at times, running the corners, picking on bits of food that I may have accidentally forgotten to clean up. It’s not really a problem, it being unsanitary -I just hate it when they turn up, and run surprisingly fast, with their thin black tails crooked in slight angles that make me wonder how they got to be that way. Obviously, evolution has made them unattractive with a purpose: to make pilfering food so much easier. People just hate ugly things.

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And here's my real dilemma:

I am out of work, since having just graduated from a good university with a degree for a not-so-simple medical practice. I haven’t yet acquired a license to practice. I am set to leave for the states, get licensed there, and then work, as how my parents have planned out my life since I was born.

Parents do not take my life choices seriously, seriously.

I had wanted to take up journalism, or a fine arts course, both a whole million yards away from the medical field. I had wanted to live my life smelling the flowers I wanted to smell, and not examine the stench of somebody else who I possibly hate.

And on with the dream-slaying propagated by parents, and my dreams were left to rot. Now I wouldn’t even try to take a short course under any arts program. My parents told me that arts would give me no money, and it was possible that they didn’t even believe that I could do something to be called art -so supportive, these parents.

Parents never understand.

Now, I'm fighting with my entire good boy [well, I still am] rebellious angst [bad writing, but I had to use these words] to keep them from abducting me to live in the states. My decision could either make them leave me be, and let me try out how life's going to be on my own; or disown me. The latter I expect them to do, so now I can’t ask them for money.

I don’t even know what to tell them to make my decision be worth their respect or support. Honestly, I have never felt genuine support from them, but it could be because I always have ideas that are more or less crazy and/or fatal to me. But still, I might have had some good decisions that they didn't let me explore. so I keep telling them that I won’t be leaving til I have exhausted all my choices here [verbatim; this is what I tell my friends too]; and when I face the dead-end of my life here, I’m flying to them without even thinking twice. So my choices are: to work as a writer, sell some awesome cookies [free of marijuana, if you're going to ask], or whatever. I plan to become a yuppie, with the mandatory question in mind, "where will life take me?"

I have neither work experience nor ethics. A good work ethic is easy to gain, of course. I just need to smile a lot and compliment their shoes, which I learned in my medical internship. And never be late, but I have yet to find the loudest alarm clock I could find.

In short, I have to work. And earn. And ultimately prove myself worthy of something.

And until I exhaust all of my chances in here, I am staying.

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