ON IDENTITY

Hello everyone! I’ve been very silent lately because of schoolwork (it’s 2 weeks deep by the way). As always, I take homework not as a task but as an exploration as well. Here’s a journal entry for my HE 101 Class. I just wanted to share it with you guys 🙂

Right now, I am facing very dire conflicts concerning my identity. First of all, I haven’t fully realized who I really am. I’ve always felt more grounded taking the person I should be as a guide in identifying who I truly am. I’m also still in the process of finding answers to my probing existential crisis. I believe this also has something to do with my decision to become an agnostic. I’ve found out that it was actually easier to predestine myself if I were to consider my former religion. Unfortunately, doing so would contradict the new principles I follow, which took me countless nights of unbiased reflection and guided inquiry to craft. I’ve gone this far to understand my own existence and going back to my former state would simply feel like I’ve given up. No. I find it quite unacceptable. As small as this problem sounds, it has taken quite a toll on me. Sometimes I’d have some sort of panic attack as though I feel completely vulnerable given the fact that in the long run, certainty is actually quite elusive in this world. I mean seriously, what is reality to be exact? I cannot trust my senses on this one, probably not even with logic. It is probably something that can only be resolved if I were a higher being or something. And this is exactly what worries me, to the point that I’d also have moments of disorientation with the reality I’m living in, as though I’ve gone lost somehow, which is probably what dying would feel like. Nevertheless, I’d always find a way to keep my cool and resurface back into the common reality which everybody else claims to be true. Unfortunately, I’m afraid that I don’t know how I’d be able to keep pulling myself back together all on my own. Another contradiction that messes this up even further is that there is no well-designed method or guide in finding the meaning of one’s life which in the end also defines who we are. One must create his own meaning for his life. I’ve done a lot of things that would help me resolve this. I’ve taken Philosophy classes, engaged in more meaningful conversations and also did my research. Though I haven’t really found the answer yet, I have to say that I did make a ton of progress in the long run. Right now, I’m planning to take this self-declared mission of mine up a notch by catching up on hobbies and interests I used to have before. These are the things which I used to consider as indicators of my identity. Unfortunately, as one grows old, he becomes pestered with even more responsibilities (which I find reasonable, of course) that I have to narrow down my bucket list every month, hoping that I finally find the ones I actually want to keep. This will definitely help me understand myself even more.

Based on Marcia’s framework, my current identity status would probably be Moratorium. I believe that now I’m actually making efforts to explore and venture into the countless definitions of myself. However, I don’t think I am still responsible enough to consider myself committed. I believe this is the only hindrance between me and achieving my identity. I believe I still have a lot of area to cover in order to develop this more fully. I do take steps that would help me achieve this like being more honest with my actions and doing my best to be more accepting of all the possible consequences of all my actions by thinking things through more thoroughly.

There are a lot of people who contributed a lot in the development of my identity. This includes my family, my childhood friends and most importantly, the people I’ve met when I got into college. It was a very different experience compared to when I was in grade school and high school. This time, I felt even more drawn to find myself rather than sticking to what my school and family thinks I ought to be. It was a different kind of freedom, but also a lot more dangerous, I think. This time, there isn’t really anyone demanding me what to do. What used to be orders have been reduced to suggestions and merely guides not as an end in itself but to actually open up such matters to my own judgment. I was more in control and this has helped me discover more truthful definitions of myself. Out of all the people I’ve acknowledged, my circle of friends when I got into college are probably the most helpful in this process. These people are more open-minded than I thought and it has helped me gain more confidence in myself-that it is indeed possible to find myself without clashing with another person’s self severely. I think this is actually quite beautiful and thanks to these friends of mine, I have somehow become more optimistic in resolving such matters. College was surely a big stretch but it has also helped me understand maturity even more. Maturity isn’t really upholding specific stereotypes that would, by lay-man’s standards, define what a grown-up is. I believe it is to be responsible and accountable for everything you do, be it something good or not because seriously, we all commit mistakes. As in the case of morality, I’ve come to a discovery that the wrongness or rightness of an action is never black and white, as compared to how we were taught back in high school. My principles have shifted from what may be considered as Kantian into something close to Preference Utilitarianism. Being educated about such principles and theories about morality has definitely helped me define my own.

How about you? What is your current identity status? Here’s a link to help you understand Marcia’s theory better: http://www.learning-theories.com/identity-status-theory-marcia.html

Kudos to you fellow bloggers!

Connections

I bring my phone with me as I open the bathroom door. Everything is as bare as they can get. I turn on the music. Yes. I need something heavy but happy. I want to let go. My ears gets flooded with lively hiccups of melody. I start taking off my clothes and close my eyes. I’m sorry my friend but I’m thinking again. I never stopped doing so and probably never will. I step in the shower stall and turned the faucet on. I’m filthy. My body, no, my entire being disgusts me. I wish the hot water would just wash everything off me and dissolve my mind along with it. If only I could just melt, right now, and disappear forever. Oh, that’d be most blissful. I look at my hands and I remember my friend again. This hand, which for years have been frozen is chipped. She has somehow melted a part of it. I fear that the crevice on the layer of ice that has formed would later on creep its way all over my body and destroy it altogether. I cannot let it happen. I’d be vulnerable. I don’t want to feel pain again. No. This is exactly what I’ve been fearing. This is precisely why I’ve completely shut myself down from that familiar warmth. I crouch down on the floor, as my eyes trace the tile grouts like tiny spoons slowly picking up my thoughts. Funny. Why is it that I remember wanting that warmth, yearning for that tiniest feeling of solace and calmness? Why do I feel drawn to experience more of that touch to the point that it was okay that I get chipped. Is it really worth the trouble? I’ve spent more than ten years building this fortress all over my skin, making sure that every bond is intact. Nothing was supposed to get through it and nothing from inside was supposed to leave as well. Now, I’m leaking. I grin as I tried to stand up. My body cringes as though it was trying to patch up the growing cracks on it. Ha! I see. So this is what I want? After all those nights of self-loathing, constraining, and shutting down of all my feelings so that I’d be invincible? Do I really wish to be destroyed once again? If I do let that happen, how will I sustain that destruction? After all, it is not the war that I’m afraid of. It is the aftermath, the rebuilding of the icy wall that I fear for. I don’t want to wake up and feel it. I don’t want to see the closure. If I do let myself be destroyed by this creeping need, I should make sure that it destroys me completely, or at the very least, be prepared to completely shut myself down once again.

Existential Inquiry

Last Thursday, my professor gave us a reflective exercise. Basically, you have to envision yourself going to your own funeral as a guest. We were to present a eulogy to all the people who visited your wake. At the end of the exercise, we were tasked to write what we saw and what we felt. The exercise was actually geared towards establishing our life’s mission statement in the future. This is what I wrote down:

First of all, I don’t intend nor do I expect to be brooded over by anyone upon my death. In this exercise, I honestly felt almost nothing. It felt like my final act of making people understand how finite life is. In this boundless reality that we speak of, we are not really that special. We all exist in a spur, as a knot on the endless thread of infinity. I am very well aware that my life is no more than important as anyone else’s. Sooner or later, people are forgotten. You probably will even forget your own if you do lose your consciousness upon your death. Wisdom on the other hand, is eternal. It is the crudest soul of all memories. It surpasses time and the capability of every living being to remember existence itself. My goal in my life is to discover as much of these raw truths as I can. I intend to imprint these on paper, on the minds of everyone I meet, and hopefully, on to the very core of mankind’s existence. That done, I’ll be contributing on our continuous quest on understanding ourselves and the reality that we all perceive. People may never know my name. They may even forget that I existed. Nevertheless, I will definitely be relieved if I leave something that will surpass the nature of death and the answer has always been under our eyelids, in the air that we breathe, at the very core of our nature as humans. That said, I believe that I can rest in peace knowing that the whole “reality” of which we speak of was better off having me in it rather than not at all.I didn’t really liked how this professor handled our class since he often contradicts himself. Nevertheless, it was a very interesting activity.

RED SEA

May 22, 2013
   
   

Three months is all you have left,

That’s what the doctor told me.

My vision turned into a haze,

As I burn beneath the red sea.

   

I find myself back in our home,

I glance to my beloved children.

But as I remember where I’ve been,

Red bile seeps through the ceiling again.

    

Oh, what do I do?

Perhaps I should just end this quickly.

Before everything else drowns,

Into this red nightmare with me.

   
The world has long been flushed

Into the color I’ve always loved.

Who knew that such a pretty thing

Can be so painfully intoxicating.

   
After a month of self-loathing,

I started preparing for the worst, but

A man knocked on our creaking door

And broke the looming darkness.

   
He brought with him a folder

That contained my son’s future.

My son refused the offer he brought

For me. To be with me.

   
Oh, what do I do?

Perhaps I should just end this quickly.

Before everything else drowns,

Into this red nightmare with me.

   
The world has long been flushed

Into the color I’ve always loved.

Who knew that such a pretty thing

Can be so painfully intoxicating.

   
My son cannot miss that chance

I’d rather sell my last 30 sunrises

And so I started preparing myself

For that red day of glory.

   
Oh, what do I do?

Perhaps I should just end this quickly.

Before everything else drowns,

Into this red nightmare before me.

   
The world has long been flushed

Into the color I’ve always loved.

Who knew that such a pretty thing

Can be so painfully intoxicating.

   
On his birthday I sent him out,

With a few bucks as a final gift.

I embraced them one last time,

Before they disappeared forever.

   
I took out all their clothes

And put it in my tattered suitcase.

I left them at the front lawn,

And locked myself back in the house.

   
I turned on the valves,

A tear escapes my eye.

I lit the cigarette beside me

And gave out a sigh.

   
The sigh echoed a hundredfold.

The red plague consumed everything.

I smiled as the sound of crackling wood

lulled me into sleep.

   
The world has long been flushed

Into the color I’ve always loved.

Who knew that such a pretty thing

Can be so painfully intoxicating.

         
   
   
Got bored… 😛

maybe I can turn it into a song or something…

It still needs a lot of patching-up though.
I shall do that… when I’m done doing what I’m supposed to 😛

Anyway, the story’s about one of the characters from the story I’m writing. Her name’s Elise and she has two kids: Matthew and Nicole. I’ll let the song/composition tell you the rest… kehehe :3

THE CURSED WRITER

     He is unlike the writers that I’ve met before. He doesn’t work enveloped in the most fragrant red roses, nor does he bask with his words under the warmth of the morning sun. He speaks of love in such a way that the image of sweet moonlight turns into black bile. His words were a swarm of wasps that sting relentlessly, searing right into the very core of my heart, as a warm melancholic song escapes. He doesn’t praise the heroes that most people have loved and admired so deeply. As I turned the pages, scarred voices resonate deep within the darkest corridors of his world’s grandest cities, where the shadows of the hated dwelt. And yet, he speaks of these fallen heroes devoid of hatred. Their names illuminate from the pages, bleeding through the cover, its cries for help long forgotten by most of its beholders. Everyone else did but not me, who had seen how he had grown to love such darkness. He is a martyr, who tirelessly smears light on these tragedies that we avoid so often and free the darkest shadows locked up in the finest, most ornate locks of gold and silver.