March 22, 2009
Autobiography
What I am makes who I am.
I am a writer. I am not a formalist. I create my own standards; I have my own style. I do not write about facts; I write about life. My compositions have their roots on experiences and feelings. I write to express and never to impress. Writing is partly explaining the once inexplicable, and it can never tell the whole story. For a writing’s essence depends on its reader. I write that I may remember and that I may be remembered. For an author himself is more important than what he writes. People is my favorite subject. Nothing is more interesting than discovering the depths of the human soul, and delivering its message to its fellow souls. My purpose is to influence, for knowledge is dead when it is not worked out. Writing is my pacifier; a part of me is restless until I have written. My hands are my instrument, without which everything would be different.
I am a thinker. I do not look for mistakes; I just keep on wondering. I seldom conclude; I frequently ask. For facts are more dangerous than opinions; they are believed to be true and you will never know when they are false. I question questions and restate statements that I may communicate with their spirits. I analyze events then synthesize them that I myself may see the whole picture and unfold the drama.
I am a beautifier, a lover of nature. Beauty is God’s gift and everyone has his or her share. Our gifts are to be loved and nurtured, not to be hated and abused. Beauty is internal and ethereal; it comes from within and inspired by One above. Beauty shall produce good and shall not bring harm to itself and to others. Beauty shall be loved; it shall be preserved.
I am a teacher. I teach through words and deeds, not through chalks and boards. My tests come without warning, and I give perfect scores. I don’t have a regular schedule but I am always present. I don’t check notebooks but I remind to write. My books are carefully chosen, but often times I only use excerpts. For not all that is written is true, not all is good. I was once a new teacher, but I do not have plans to retire. My teachings will never die as my soul will be eternal. I am not the only teacher, and my only wish is for my students to become teachers in their own rights.
I am a reader. I read words. I read faces. I read actions. I read events. Reading is a fountain of wisdom and maturity. It is a good job for the bored, a good leisure for the tired. What I read I either digest or spit. Reading must be done with a critical mind, for one may come across a line that is either constructive or destructive. It must be done with an open mind, for the reader is the master of what he reads and not the other way around. If a writer must be zealous in what he writes, more so must the reader be in what he reads. If the former must be mighty to affect, more so must the reader be to be transformed.
Tiny Creature in the Very Vast Universe
Posted by erald17 on January 31, 2008
It has been more than a week since I wrote a full blog entry - talking with the stars. How long has that been. Nine days have passed, constituted by debate activities, with late-night sleeping and early-morning waking up. The hell, going back and forth the school is killing me, I yawn on traffic and get exhausted sitting on the bus for a total of 80 minutes a day. Sometimes, rather most of the times, I would have to read - major subjects, magazines or newspapers so I could get rid of boredom. At the end of the day, I’d find myself crawled up in my bed, dead tired. Then the next day I would have to wake up early for school, I almost lose sanity.
There are times when I close my eyes and imagine myself being a tiny creature in the very vast universe, and I see other people on earth too. I can see pictures of people who have their own businesses to fulfill, some of them can offer a good talk, others simply don’t mind at all. Because they are so busy with their own businesses, whatever they call it.
And I am one of those people who sit down and wonder why things happen the way they do. Few people who try to search for answers before they die. People who get unmoved by the non-stopping activities that take place in the whole of earth. I exist, here and now, but most of the time I might be thinking of the movie, Serendipity, which setting I cannot fully specify. Or I might be thinking of the Tower Bridge where people with greatest dreams go. Sometimes I see both my past and my future, inasmuch as I want to deny and disbelieve, they enter my mind sometimes.
In the future I see a woman sitting on a park bench, shivering, watching the autumn leaves fall and get blown by the wind. After a few while, she would walk to her home where everything is set in its proper place. She knows exactly where the pictures of her family are. They are placed on top of the piano, all the faces are flashing smiles.
And after that, I do not know what will happen next. What I am just sure is that the woman I saw never gets satisfied. That is the sad part of the story…
She can die, she can live. But everything will not be enough for her… But one thing is so good about her. She will never give up, her hope will never die. For that very day to come when her search is finally over.
Filed by erald17 at 4:06 am under Uncategorized
