Uncool

The stretch of EDSA has instinctually been a recurring stream of empirical numbness to me. Even if I sleep when I travel, I would know when to wake up when its time to get out of the cab. Kind of like a learned sub-consciousness when you know when to stop talking before everyone else start to notice you. Well, something like it, but that’s EDSA when you look at everything pass by moving forwardly. In a perspective where our instincts tell us to always look forward, I saw a different view when once I looked at the view from the rear and see an image of the things we are leaving behind.

Our view of reality is subjective. Mostly, it is relative to the beliefs that we want it to go together with. And when our own brand of reality is mixed with a perspective that pushes us towards a mile high of uncanny future, important memories of life are gone unnoticed.

I’m not sure how a great deal of our subjectivity on reality has affected our incapacity to look at everyday as an experience of our greatness as human beings. How sometimes a small cut in the heart would reveal our true joys someday. As of my inability to specify and elaborate on details is I guess as broad as my own view of life in general. Maybe a lack of towards progression on my part to conquer it with a smile has caused my outlook of it as a mere series of mockery on how we cannot stand idealism or how we hate to achieve perfection. I guess I have to lessen my expectation, but that would mean compromising my standards.

At work is where most of the selling out and comprising happens. To me, that is where a luster of politics and power grabbing means slitting throats and stabbing backs to get there, where a top position means an easy target for bullshitting and where a promotion is a sign of good ass licking. No matter how we try to precisely imitate goodness in its purity it has been smothered with something else that is undesirable, or maybe the idea of imitating goodness is a bad idea in the first place. I’ve yet to see pure kindness in this place. Each billboard and neon sign that flashes towards me has become a dream of personalized poverty and underachievement, a weaving of products that I don’t need but most importantly, things that I will not be able to afford. I’m not broke but every ad makes me look like one.

Broke, or may be broken.

Maybe we are all stranded in our own island.