mispronounced

Love burdens itself with a whole lot of things – from the (yes, perhaps I could admit a little) truly important to the out rightly insane. For such a small word, love has come to mean the universe for some people, and yet, absolutely nothing for others.

I fall in the in-between.

People say love reside in the heart, and that the heart is the one part of the human body that is capable of loving, of understanding what it meant to love and be loved. They say it is where the human soul rests, and that it is the greatest gift one can possibly offer to another. By giving one’s heart away, one is giving out love.

An anatomist would disagree. There is nothing in the heart that can closely, even remotely, be capable of loving. It is simply a muscle, an organic pump that brings blood to where it is needed most to stay alive. To demystify it further, the heart has no other function other than that. There are no chemical processes that allow it to understand love, much less to give it away.

So why all the fuss about the heart? It is the heart that beats, signifying that the body is still alive. It is the one that aches when we feel something bad, or lonely, or sad. It is also the one that comes alive with excitement over some cute guy or a lovely girl. It is the one that pumps blood into our faces when we blush. It is also the one that doesn’t pump blood enough when we faint. It is the refuge of emotions that the brain cannot process with all the reason and logic it was programmed to do. The brain is much like a computer, processing information by standard logic, maybe a little arithmetic, and a lot of the man-made reasons. But like all equations, there are difficulties, and sometimes-undefined results. These are the emotions brought about by infatuation, anxiety, or longing for someone. And it is the heart that gets blamed for all these emotions.

Love is not logic. Love is not reason. It is for these reasons that love sometimes is not welcome in our minds. The brain cannot process the chemical reactions that produce love. That is why as an outcast, it needs to find a different venue for expressing itself. And love chose the heart.

The heart as a home of love is an idiom, one that is collecting dust. We do not, cannot, and perhaps even with a million years of evolution, will not think with our hearts.

“mind over heart. but in truth, you sometimes allow yourself to lead with your heart.” A friend once wrote of these wisdom-filled words. She could have changed the last word. We oftentimes allow ourselves to be led by LOVE.

why are we here?

Today I read a couple of good blogs. A couple that fails my taste for intellectuality. And still a couple that simply falls under absurd. It makes me think though, what are really blogs for?

A: entertainment. But whose? The blogger’s or the reader’s? I simply cannot dismiss the playful thought that someone could amuse himself with writing passionately for hours on end, about the same incident, and on the same emotional level every time. Don’t they have doctors for this? If I could convince myself that it is indeed for the blogger’s entertainment that blogs were created, then I must reconcile to myself that perversion is rampant, and that self gratification has evolved into the cyber kind. It’s scary. But if I could convince myself that it is for the reader’s entertainment that blogs exist, then by all means, the selfless souls who write for other’s joy are growing in numbers, and that probably the end of the world is not too far away… that’s even scarier!

Do not argue for the in betweens! It can only be either one or the other, never both. Otherwise, go somewhere else and plant something, like camote maybe?

B: expression. Who the fuck cares!?!? Since the so-called liberation of the Philippines from twenty years of imagined oppression, never have the words “freedom of expression” been so irritating. Wars have been triggered by expression. Families have been destroyed by expression. An eternal conflict between the religions of the world can never be quelled because of that freedom to express one’s ideology. Ideas are born out of other people’s opinion, or even an unknowing remark. The whole world can end with a simple expression of emotion – a profession of faith, or a criticism for fashion. Surely blogs aren’t created to ignite the next world war.

C: cultural exchange. The only exchange coursed through blogs is the knowledge that everyone else is as sick as you are. It’s more of a domination of one culture over another. There is hardly an exchange in culture, but a proliferation of the dominant one. It is like a virus – the only way to spread is to find readers to convert and start their own blog sites.

D: money making scheme for the thousands of computer geeks passionately writing computer codes to make and unmake a new blog site. If indeed blogsite hosting is that profitable, the stocks would have skyrocketed in the Dow Jones. E-bay has a bigger stock in its warehouses than all the blogsites combined.

There MUST be something else, something that drives the intellectual to continue pounding on the hapless computer keyboard.

I cannot think of any more reasons why people are so addicted to blogging, or why blogs sites exist. Surely there must be a logical reason. It’s sad to classify this dilemma with the one about the existence of flies, mosquitoes, terrorists and other pests that in all logic and reason shouldn’t even have evolved but somehow did. Whatever your reason for blogging, stay firm to it. You have the last true ideology of this century, you are part of the last remaining souls that will inherit the earth. You will live long after all the bacteria have disintegrated. Your legacy will endure forevermore!

After all, some freaky scientist who probably blew up his high school chemistry lab would find someday undeniable proof that blogging is genetic. The human genome shall need re-writing once again.

oxymorons

There is joy to be found in sadness. There is closure in between sobs and tears that trickle down your cheeks. Within that single second, you find yourself stronger than you were the second before.

There is unity to be found in loneliness. In being alone, you become one with yourself, with the emptiness that envelopes you, and with the void that you forcefully keep at bay, not letting in to your heart. There is no one to hurt you, no one to hurt, and no one to blame.

There is satisfaction to be found in longing. Anticipation is an end by itself. Every second that come and go brings you closer to that moment when your life’s wishes and wants are obtained. It is a step higher into that stairway to your stars.

There is truth to be found in lying. This one… I cannot explain.