JAE FEVER

Ambitious. Delicious. Seditious.

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    When, in a drinking session, someone suddenly tells you, “your naivete is what I love the most about you” it makes you stop and think. Especially when you’ve been, of late, trying to pass yourself off to those who don’t know better as a world-wise twenty-something sophisticate, right at home in a generation that thinks cynicism is chic. So I’m naïve. I believe in being part of a struggle much bigger than yourself; daring to reach for a heaven far beyond your grasp; doing your part to assuage wounds wrought by many lifetimes of strife and knowing that it will take double that number of lifetimes to completely heal. I can look every bully in the eye and I know I will not flinch. Very few things threaten me – probably more the result of the brashness of youth than the wisdom of years. I think the best kind of job is not the job that gets you a fat paycheck or gives you generous car plan. It’s the job that makes you sleep well at night and eager to get up the next day. I love knowing that I’m working with the good guys – and drinking with them later at night. I believe that the fire in my belly can quell the butterflies in my tummy, and that my phantoms are no match for my passions. I maintain that the Left is right (but also that social justice is impossible without procedural due process). I believe in love, purely and utterly: insisting on it, finding it, keeping it, allowing yourself to be swept off your feet by the violence of its current but at the same time rocked to gentle sleep in the constancy of its embrace. I believe in the certainty and constancy of my friendships. I believe I’m fabulous and beautiful, and if you don’t agree with me, that’s because you’re wrong. I would say I believe in a Higher Being that holds everything together, and allows us to find that glint of light amidst hunger and cancer and injustice and oppression —- But then, that’s not naivete anymore. That’s faith.

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Archive for August 30th, 2007

Insomnia

Posted by Jae on August 30, 2007

Had a freakin bad dream. Nightmare actually. Woke up in cold sweat. Trembling like crazy. Tried to fall asleep again. Proceeded to dream I was plunging headlong into a dark tunnel. Very Haruki Murakami. Except that this could be called the Wound-Up Girl Chronicles. Wound-up by a wholatta things this week. And wounded too. By a wholatta things as well. Banal melodramas included.

keys.jpg

Walang konek. Saw this tonight at postsecret and liked it. Deathly afraid of losing my keys and my last chances.

Antok na ako. Will delete this post in the morning. Maybe.

p.s. someone said my blog was too self-absorbed. e di stop reading. no-one’s holding a gun to your head, sir.

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