Monday, 28 February 2011
I
I NOTICED HOW MUCH I LOVE THE PRONOUN "I" FROM MY PREVIOUS POST.
This could mean few things:
- I am serious about the idea of pursuing a full time teaching job
- I am just channelling my REAL inner thoughts
- I know what I finally want in life
- I am a selfish, ungrateful bastard
This is alarming.
peaked
I love my job.
I have been saying this for the nth time and truthfully, I really do. But the peak of loving it is starting to wear off gradually. I feel something strange about the whole thing with regards to my motivation and drive to better myself. I say I love my job but for selfish reasons. It is because it is lighter and easier to cruise along week in, week out. I love it because I am comfortable with the familiar system it operates on. I love it for the perks that allow me to take charge even in most inopportune time.
I woke up today feeling that it's the wrong way of progressing through a career. It is just debilitating to remain stagnant in your present career trajectory which is almost synonymous to taking on what you hate doing the most. I see myself reaping the benefits of a job that doesn't want me to reciprocate by striving hard and aiming high. I need to regroup and focus.
I see myself in a direction that is concrete and less half-baked than what I do now. I want to be moulding minds of people in it's most primal way. I want to be a teacher who goes to university and teach... not a teacher who listens to bureaucrats and their ways of conquering economics. I don't see myself becoming an asset to an institution where I think of my value as a change agent through improving people's working styles and habits. I'd rather see myself watching people realise a learning objective and learn from it like that joy from a father's perspective seeing his child learning to ride a bike for the first time.
I'm having a JOHN KEATING moment.
I have been saying this for the nth time and truthfully, I really do. But the peak of loving it is starting to wear off gradually. I feel something strange about the whole thing with regards to my motivation and drive to better myself. I say I love my job but for selfish reasons. It is because it is lighter and easier to cruise along week in, week out. I love it because I am comfortable with the familiar system it operates on. I love it for the perks that allow me to take charge even in most inopportune time.
I woke up today feeling that it's the wrong way of progressing through a career. It is just debilitating to remain stagnant in your present career trajectory which is almost synonymous to taking on what you hate doing the most. I see myself reaping the benefits of a job that doesn't want me to reciprocate by striving hard and aiming high. I need to regroup and focus.
I see myself in a direction that is concrete and less half-baked than what I do now. I want to be moulding minds of people in it's most primal way. I want to be a teacher who goes to university and teach... not a teacher who listens to bureaucrats and their ways of conquering economics. I don't see myself becoming an asset to an institution where I think of my value as a change agent through improving people's working styles and habits. I'd rather see myself watching people realise a learning objective and learn from it like that joy from a father's perspective seeing his child learning to ride a bike for the first time.
I'm having a JOHN KEATING moment.
Sunday, 27 February 2011
repose
Jessica (Zafra) writes on command. I envy those who can do that whenever they feel like writing and come up with the goods. I have everything going for me since I have a less stressful job and I have weekends to myself. Aside from that, my life has never been that monotonous either. With all the constant happenings, there's no reason why I shouldn't be writing more.
I am thinking that perhaps too much happening could mean jumbled thoughts and would lead to inability to process brain activity into that writing mode. So many precursors that pinpointing the relevance of each single entity means being deductive to the greater picture.
I am really justifying lack of motivation to write. However, I could say that I sense my own mortality with the way my physicality reacts to the bombardment of stimuli of living. I am getting too old. My recuperation to the series of events that happened these past days is taking longer than it normally takes.
I must sleep.
I am thinking that perhaps too much happening could mean jumbled thoughts and would lead to inability to process brain activity into that writing mode. So many precursors that pinpointing the relevance of each single entity means being deductive to the greater picture.
I am really justifying lack of motivation to write. However, I could say that I sense my own mortality with the way my physicality reacts to the bombardment of stimuli of living. I am getting too old. My recuperation to the series of events that happened these past days is taking longer than it normally takes.
I must sleep.
one of those days
The house is in a mess. I have tonnes of clothes to wash. The dishes are begging for soap and water. The toilet is mingin'. I am tired.
It will remain like that for the next 12 hours (or more).
It will remain like that for the next 12 hours (or more).
restriction
I am lazy.
I don't want to explain myself in a long prose. There are things that already mean something without the complication of too much elaboration. What I'm trying to say is... life's a lot of restrictions. As if it is not enough to know that, we also need reminders for it.
I don't want to explain myself in a long prose. There are things that already mean something without the complication of too much elaboration. What I'm trying to say is... life's a lot of restrictions. As if it is not enough to know that, we also need reminders for it.
Saturday, 26 February 2011
Friday, 25 February 2011
the day of VERY
very cultural London
very yummy
very cute
very chic... very sleepy
very... wrong!!!! (plastic flowers)
very yummy
very cute
very chic... very sleepy
very... wrong!!!! (plastic flowers)
sliding doors
Life is a series of confusing labyrinthine mazes.
The minute you are certain, the more it confuses as you enter another door... another bend... another nook.
Wednesday, 23 February 2011
meet Vilma
I should really feature my other friends here... like Dexter, Erwin, Joel etc... but I had this conversation with Vilma and decided that she deserves this slot. Vilma is one of the Clinical Nurse Specialists for ABOi and what is remarkable is the fact that she married a PMA-er and she has a rank of First Lieutenant back home.
She's trained in martial arts and firearms.
She was telling me stories about her physical and mental training at the camp and the woman inside me was frightened to death. Que horror!
1st
My first ever blog.
Recovered from a dying blogsite.
there are no runners-up to pain-lashings when your pain threshold’s non-existent. i cried when i had my left ear pierced by the bedouin woman in kuwait a day before i flew to london years ago… i do not even have to enumerate the sequences of 2006 events for it’d just be like a build up of dust that would cause me to sneeze and leave me runny and teary-eyed.
but after unrobing that black swivel chair out of its plastic prison amidst the cheer of my sweet scottish colleague calling me "pet" every minute, it was inviting……. sat on it and whirl-ed my cares away… few minutes and there went the bleep…. out of the office with a diary and notes in my left hand and arm, thinking…. bugger it…. shit happens….
2nd
This is the second post in my original blogsite (Friendster) before I laboriously transferred most of the entries to Facebook, then eventually, this Blogspot. Past is catching up nicely. I wonder what else is in-store for me.
Growing up in a place where kerosene lamp was a necessity after 10 pm made me believe about wanting more… the place, where you walk just over a mile and you reach the shore.. full stop….. the shore… and you tend to look beyond and like most uninhibited dreamers, vividly envisage maturity intertwined with happiness.
Fast forward ten years. The siren…. the hustle and bustle of londontown and myself staggering, poorly mimicking J. Wayne’s gait out of King George. Another friday night (one of those friday nights) and I have downed litres of gin-tonic and wine. New job… new colleagues… new ventures. The bottomline of that is having a perfect excuse for fun.. incited by alcohol. A dear friend turned a year older and he said he’s a year wiser… On that night however, no matter how much I’d like to inculcate in my white/gray mater the evil that’s alcohol, the lure of dreamy cocktails served by uniformed bar angels (or you can call them, demonites) proved to be intoxicating. Colours of spirits and fancy glasses seductively entranced a weak soul to sweet surrender despite the truce and uttered vows to healthy cholesterol and blood pressure. Yea, I was a lot wiser, grinning as I hailed bus 24 at Tottenham Court Road in yet again, my signature staggering saunter.
I was young and naive. Nightime in Romblon, year 19-something was simple. I clearly remembered that moment I was up the bamboo house my father built where I was studying Biology under the kerosene lamp and I was drowning myself with kalamansi juice. I thought it was pure heaven.
Growing up in a place where kerosene lamp was a necessity after 10 pm made me believe about wanting more… the place, where you walk just over a mile and you reach the shore.. full stop….. the shore… and you tend to look beyond and like most uninhibited dreamers, vividly envisage maturity intertwined with happiness.
Fast forward ten years. The siren…. the hustle and bustle of londontown and myself staggering, poorly mimicking J. Wayne’s gait out of King George. Another friday night (one of those friday nights) and I have downed litres of gin-tonic and wine. New job… new colleagues… new ventures. The bottomline of that is having a perfect excuse for fun.. incited by alcohol. A dear friend turned a year older and he said he’s a year wiser… On that night however, no matter how much I’d like to inculcate in my white/gray mater the evil that’s alcohol, the lure of dreamy cocktails served by uniformed bar angels (or you can call them, demonites) proved to be intoxicating. Colours of spirits and fancy glasses seductively entranced a weak soul to sweet surrender despite the truce and uttered vows to healthy cholesterol and blood pressure. Yea, I was a lot wiser, grinning as I hailed bus 24 at Tottenham Court Road in yet again, my signature staggering saunter.
I was young and naive. Nightime in Romblon, year 19-something was simple. I clearly remembered that moment I was up the bamboo house my father built where I was studying Biology under the kerosene lamp and I was drowning myself with kalamansi juice. I thought it was pure heaven.
2 years & 2 mos later
Yes.
That's how long it's been since I navigated my Friendster account. It somehow wafts a bit of nostalgia in the process. It's like finding an old diary and then memories come flooding in. Sensory overload becomes your main course and dessert.
That's how long it's been since I navigated my Friendster account. It somehow wafts a bit of nostalgia in the process. It's like finding an old diary and then memories come flooding in. Sensory overload becomes your main course and dessert.
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
learning vs anorexia
Today's Tuesday and it's university time. King's modules are somewhat confusing as to what pathway of learning one needs to follow. A student has to be more proactive in their approach to grabbing the essentials of professional development. To get into the program, I had to chase up some acadaemicians to plot my study trajectory. Yes, more blah and even more blahs.
I didn't bother check on today's topic of discussion. The course leader isn't really the terror type unlike his other crony who runs some of the sessions. He is the exact opposite of what makes you as a student crumble and tremble during a class interaction. As the minutes passed by, it dawned upon me that I'd be revisiting research statistics and matters that make studying a hell lot more complicated. He talked about OUTCOME MEASURES and META-ANALYSIS. During the course of discussion, I was able to deduce that men understand statistics more than women (although there are only a quarter of men in the whole population of this class). Most men kept quiet and validated understanding by some sort of nodding and un-skewed faces. Most of the repetitions came from women and the majority with furrowed brows.
The first half of the session ended at 12 and I began hunting for brain stimulating food. I saw McDonalds and pigged out on fish-fillet large meal. I think nutrition has to do with mental acuity to understanding complicated matters. But I also think it is either you have it or you don't when it comes to understanding logic in numbers.
Or sometimes, learning may not be naturally innate for me but I'm a fast learner. The battle is when motivation becomes as stubborn as an anorexic and scarce as that nutrient to anorexic's brain.
I didn't bother check on today's topic of discussion. The course leader isn't really the terror type unlike his other crony who runs some of the sessions. He is the exact opposite of what makes you as a student crumble and tremble during a class interaction. As the minutes passed by, it dawned upon me that I'd be revisiting research statistics and matters that make studying a hell lot more complicated. He talked about OUTCOME MEASURES and META-ANALYSIS. During the course of discussion, I was able to deduce that men understand statistics more than women (although there are only a quarter of men in the whole population of this class). Most men kept quiet and validated understanding by some sort of nodding and un-skewed faces. Most of the repetitions came from women and the majority with furrowed brows.
The first half of the session ended at 12 and I began hunting for brain stimulating food. I saw McDonalds and pigged out on fish-fillet large meal. I think nutrition has to do with mental acuity to understanding complicated matters. But I also think it is either you have it or you don't when it comes to understanding logic in numbers.
Or sometimes, learning may not be naturally innate for me but I'm a fast learner. The battle is when motivation becomes as stubborn as an anorexic and scarce as that nutrient to anorexic's brain.
Monday, 21 February 2011
missin' DSLR
I had this conversation with my friends about the proper way of using a DSLR.
I gave it away as soon as I got hold of iPhone4 last year (practicality of carrying a small device with good camera and videocam functionality). But I had fun with it... with the very little knowledge I have about the way it works. Reading a voluminous manual is not my thing.
See below (some of the last shots I took from it):
tech sorts it
I am known for having memory dysfunction from time to time.
With the advent of technological advances, I am glad to know that history is safe.
December 2, 2010
16:40
HEY RYAN.
With the advent of technological advances, I am glad to know that history is safe.
December 2, 2010
16:40
HEY RYAN.
austere part deux
While life is hard and living it is expensive, I'd stick to what I could pilfer from the kitchen. All you need is a smile and a good rapport with the kitchen staff. I have mastered that fortunately.
appreciative lot
Finally, the 3-month Advance Haemodialysis Assistant Course comes to a close.
After doing few sessions for them, it is still surprising to get tokens from the appreciative lot. How often do teachers get a banquet, flowers, chocolate and 6 hi-ball glasses at the end of a module/course?...
I'm tickled pink.
Sunday, 20 February 2011
Boracay .... errr... Romblon
This is Tiamban beach - just one of the pristine white resorts in Romblon.
Paging all Korean businessmen!
This one is ready for exploitation.
Paging all Korean businessmen!
This one is ready for exploitation.
myth
Is it true that touching a turtle makes one DUMB?
My elementary teacher told me that.
Photo: From my Romblon Holiday...
My elementary teacher told me that.
Photo: From my Romblon Holiday...
analysis: self over self
NAM is a pseudo-despotic old fool - the saccharined version. I don't blame him for that since he has fine-grained command of thoughts and brawniness of expressed opinions reflecting this manner. But the pre-requisite to maximum effect of invasion of one's psyche is foundation. I mean, a solid foundation of friendship. When he types on FB or YM, I read beyond the hints and insinuations.
He says, I am Peter Pan, Narcissus and Norma Desmond all in one.
At least I'm glad I have concrete characters as archetype to my existence instead of relying on the word self indulgence to the hilt of frictional over-usage.
He says, I am Peter Pan, Narcissus and Norma Desmond all in one.
At least I'm glad I have concrete characters as archetype to my existence instead of relying on the word self indulgence to the hilt of frictional over-usage.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)