Poor, Sensitive Shari

From my personality assessment test results:

Subject is basically a self-sufficient person with a very strong need to be able to come and go as desired and to do things freely without regard as to what others may think. [...] She is quite shrewd, easily able to see thru [sic] others’ motives and anticipate their reactions such that she can readily countermand them and make sure that she is several steps ahead of them. [...] Seemingly self-centered and wrapped up in inner urgencies, she nevertheless goes out of her way to do others a good turn yet would not want to be caught doing a good act as she does not know how to react to acknowledgment and appreciation. Seeing herself full of negative attributes, she cannot seem to believe that others would see something positive and worth-appreciating in her as she has not felt appreciated for what she is by her significant others. [...]

Beat that! :tongue:

The recommendation is that counseling is a must as I need to “see and feel her importance as a person.” Good heavens, I never knew I was so fragile!

People, please be gentle. :rolleyes:

Seriously, though, I found it really hard when Tita Dory asked me to write my nickname and think of positive adjectives that would describe me. Took me more than 30 minutes. And yeah, I wish I was kidding. I ended up with the following:

Sensitive – I’m perceptive like that
Huggable – for very obvious reason
Amusing – I…try
Reasonable – most of the time, anyway
Intelligent – ’cause Tita Dory told me so :buckteeth:

A and R were such a bitch to complete. I was so at loss that I asked for a dictionary. Of course, I never got any. My homework is to do the same thing, this time using the letters of my complete name. Bummer. Haha.

I will be off medication because it “intoxicates” me and doesn’t provide long-term results.

Tita Dory vehemently disagreed with the findings of my former psychiatrist that Robby has mild mental retardation. We’ll get more information about that next week.

And the reason why I’m now “opening up” is because I kinda “need” to. Tita Dory says I keep too much to myself. (does some eye-rolling here…) Meh.

Politicians Beat Up Defenseless Dad, 56, and Son, 14, Over Golf

This is just about the most outrageous things I’ve ever heard this year. Not even Cory Aquino’s “apology…in jest” to Erap can top this off. It’s simply ridiculous to argue with people over a golf game, but it’s downright inhumane to beat them up over it. And then later file a charge against a kid for “starting” the fight…? Assholes.

Student-athlete Bambee dela Paz shares the story on her blog, saying that the world has gone crazy. I beg to differ. The world is already crazy. But even if it is, this maddening experience is simply inexcusable.

It’s appalling.

I’m posting parts of the blog entry here. This happened yesterday, December 26, at Valley Golf and Country Club in Antipolo City:

At around 1:30 PM today, at Valley Golf and Country Club, Antipolo City, Mayor Nasser Pangandaman, Jr., Mayor of Masiu City, Lanao del Sur, his father, Secretary Nasser Pangandaman of the Department of Agrarian Reform, and company, beat my defenseless 56-year-old dad and my 14-year-old brother to a pulp because of some stupid misunderstanding on the golf course.

That sounds just like a nightmare from hell, doesn’t it?

My brother and I were playing golf at the South Course of Valley. We were on the 3rd hole, and we see two golf carts going past us, overtaking our flight, and setting up to tee off on the next hole. My dad goes up to them and asks them why they would do that, why they would overtake us without even asking for our permission. Golf etiquette 101. One of the guys says that they’re with the flight in front of us. (So what? That doesn’t give them the right to just pass us WITHOUT asking.) So, we go to the 5th hole. The flight behind us catches up with us, and asks us what caused the hold up. We said that this flight just slipped in front of our flight. So we complained to the marshall. We play the 5th hole and walk towards the next hole, where there is a teehouse, and both the flights in front of us were there, talking with the marshall. The mayor of Masiu City, Lanao del Sur talks with my dad. Things get heated up. Voices were raised. But never, in my wildest dreams, did I ever imagine that someone would pull out a punch. Apparently not. He attacks my father. His flightmates, maybe 2 or 3 of them, rush to his aid and beat up my father. My 56-year-old father. My younger brother and I could not just watch. We rushed to break the fight. My younger brother pleads to the mayor to please stop it. To not hurt my dad. To just stop. His words still ring through my head…”Sorry na po, sorry na po…tama na…tama na po…” With his hands in front of his chest in a praying position. PLEADING. The mayor socks him in the face. My brother defended himself. My dad is still on the ground getting clobbered. My brother is the same way. I try to stop the fight, but all I can do is stop one person. There were 4 or 5 of them attacking now.

Someone breaks up the fight. I thought it was all over. The mayor shouts to his caddy: “Hindi nila kami kilala! Sabihin mo nga sa kanila kung sino ako!” And believe me, I had no idea who this person was. But now I know. He’s the person who, with 4 other men, beat up my 56-year-old father and my 14-year-old brother. He’s the person who sacks a pleading 14-year-old kid in the face. He’s a person who, I am sure, is gonna rot in hell.

I lash out, but my dad held me back. I was screaming my lungs out, shouting to this mayor, telling him about what he had done. I said: “Nakakahiya kayo. Singkwenta’y sais anyos ang tatay ko. And kapatid ko kakatorse anyos. Anong ilalaban nila sayo?”

The mayor looks at my brother, point to his face, and says, “Tatandaan kita!” And he tells me that my brother has a bad attitude and that I need to watch him. WHAT THE HELL?! So, my brother’s bad for defending his father?!

We leave. We walk to the clubhouse to file a complaint. My brother asks for a doctor. My dad could barely walk. Their group comes to the clubhouse, sees my brother. Once again my brother pleads, says sorry, and is crying. He was CRYING, for crissakes. But no. The relentless mayor still punches him in the face, and then sees my dad and goes after my dad again. Him and his friend pull my dad to the ground, pulls at his feet, and steps on him like he’s dirt. I run to him and try to hold him back, holding him back by his shirt, while this other guy and this girl tries to stop me. She tells me to just stop it. I scream in her face “they’re beating my father up and you want me to stop?!” I pull at his shirt–I don’t let go. All I can see was my dad being trampled on. I didn’t even see my brother getting beat up.

People pull them away. I get my dad, and I saw my brother. His right ear was bleeding. I freaked out. I told the receptionists to bring my brother to the clinic. I pull my dad away. People were separating us.

My mom and my older brother come. I tell her Bino’s right ear is bleeding. They both look like they could kill. My dad holds my brother off, I hold off my mom. When I finally got my mom under control, my older brother gets away and I hold him off. Two of the mayor’s bodyguards pull out guns. I embraced my brother from the back, just holding him back, crying. The receptionists came to us, crying, hugging me, my dad, and my mom, whispering to us to just leave. “Maam, umalis na po kayo, may mga baril sila…Maam…umalis na po kayo please…”

I am pretty sure the Secretary of DAR did not take part in the fight, but he just watched all this happen. He watched two of his sons, as we figured out, the other guy was his son, too, beat up my father and my 14-year-old brother. He didn’t do anything to stop it. And this person is what now? A cabinet member. A politician.

I’m aghast at the employees of the golf course. They didn’t do anything to help these poor people, just because they were dealing with politicians. It’s funny that this Mayor Nasser Pangandaman, Jr. of Masiu City, Lanao del Sur has been given an award for “effective leadership.” He is not a “leader” and a “transformer,” he’s a MONSTER. His father, Agrarian Reform Secretary Nasser Pangandaman, is none the better.

I am hoping that the family gets the justice they so deserve. No family should ever get this harsh treatment from politicians, who should know diplomacy and courtesy. In fact, no one should ever be put through it. We simply don’t take shit from anyone.

A Visit to the Psychologist

A couple of days ago, the dad said I would resume seeing my shrink. And a psychologist, who turns out to have a similar case of disorder (the one I have) during her younger years. Thanks to her crush, he was a bit successful in overcoming it. So I guess, aside from the prescribed medication from my psychiatrist, I’ll be taking this procedure called behavior modification (which was what I suggested to my mom the first time I told her about my disorder) in order to make me better.

Yesterday, I met Tita Dory, who’s been in the counseling business for 30 years. She used to work at UST, if I’m not mistaken. Anyway, after taking the psychological and IQ evaluation tests for 3.5 hours straight (and getting cramps in the process), I left with the family for Greenhills Shopping Center. Before then,

Tita Dory: I’ll text you to let you when you’ll be coming back here. Probably on the 26th.
Shari: Thanks.
Tita Dory: Reply to my text, okay?
Shari: If I don’t reply, it means I have no credits left. (and all the while I was asking myself, will she take the hint?)
Tita Dory: That’s not a problem. I’ll send you load.

She did! Haha. Never mind. I just found it funny at the time. ^_^

Anyway, we’re working on me being literally vocal about my dislike (or resentment) for my father. She says I have to learn to say to my dad that I don’t like him. It’s different from showing him — which is what I make it a point to do — and she claims that actually voicing my dislike will ease the tension. Or so she says. Meh. I’m doubtful, but it’s worth a try.

I guess my dad did good though, for finding Tita Dory. Probably because I told him something the last time we talked with each other (that would be around December 3, because we had a cold psywar going on). I made it clear that:

No matter how he says he understands, he doesn’t. He will never understand. He’s not going through the same things I do, and the only people I can trust enough to talk with are those who know what it’s like to be like me. I am so thankful that the internet has opened doors for me in terms of communicating with other trichsters, because we’re the only people who can understand exactly what motivates our actions. We have an idea about the why’s, whereas outsiders only know the what’s and the how’s. We don’t judge each other based on what we’ve done. We all know we’re more vulnerable than other people think we are.

I’ve had this “disease” for 10 years, and I’d like to think I’ve handled it better than some even if I occasionally give in to depression or inflict injuries to myself. Some people have never even managed to make it through high school, and have stayed home half of their lives in fear of being humiliated or shunned by their peers. The year 2008 has been good to me; I’ve sought out professional help and found a temporary relief. By admitting that I need help, I’ve taken the first step in finally battling this disorder.

Hell, the Philippines doesn’t even recognize it. The National Center for Mental Health has never encountered it for the past 10 years, which is too bad because as far as I know, a lot of people are suffering from the disorder. The psychiatrists I’ve talked with rarely ever meets someone like me, and only then, they can only prescribe medication to rid, to an extent, the catalyst that makes us remain this way. But taking anti-depressants can only take us so far.

So no, he does not and will never understand. He does not understand or know those play of emotions, the thoughts that go through a trichster’s head, because he is not in my place. I will rather be misunderstood by him, than hear him say he knows what I’m going through.

That goes to all of you, too.

The Muse Asylum by David Czuchlewski

“I listen for my muse, and I can only hear her in silence. Writing is an intensely private process. I’m afraid there’s no grand philosophical justification for my secrecy. The desire to know all about an author is a sign of laziness on the part of the reader. It’s easier to digest a work of literature when you can attach it to a face, or a set of political beliefs or life-style choices. When all you have is the text, or a body of work, you have to confront what is written.”

Meet Horace Jacob Little, a reclusive postmodernist author who has been completely anonymous for the past 25 years. His books have blank covers, without any blurbs or praises despite his numerous awards, and no one has ever successfully uncovered his identity. There is no biography, no photograph. Not even his agent has seen him, as he conducts all communication via a post office box.

He’s also the subject of Andrew Wallace’s paranoia and obsession.

Andy, a brilliant yet troubled literary genius, spends his time at the Overlook Psychiatric Institute writing his autobiography titled Confessions, an account of his journey toward the revelation of a certain author’s real identity. He’s convinced that the whole world is plotting a grand conspiracy against him, headed by none other than Horace Jacob Little. His strange and eccentric behavior has caused him his girlfriend and his confidante, two people who he suspects have turned against him with little persuasion from the evil mystery author.

Jake Burnett is a journalist for an alternative to an alternative to an alternative newspaper, The Ledger. His boss assigns him on a mission to reveal who Horace Jacob Little is, and this assignment leads him to Overlook, where he meets Andy and develops an awkward relationship with him. This is not helped by the fact that both of them are [still] in love with the same girl they fell for while in Princeton, Lara Knowles, who is heartbroken over Andy’s lapse to insanity and tries to cover it up by projecting the feeling contentment she doesn’t really feel.

Jake eventually finds Horace Jacob Little and blackmails him into granting an interview. He later learns that everything begins at Overlook, otherwise known as The Muse Asylum, a residential treatment facility for the mentally ill yet artistically gifted people. It is the link and the key to the mystery. One question remains unanswered until the end: Who is Horace Jacob Little, and why is he hiding?

The Muse Asylum by David Czuchlewski is a delightfully complex read that keeps the reader hanging until the last pages of the book. While Czuchlewski’s prose is certainly not poetic and sometimes even bordering on technical, it flows seamlessly and with elegance. I personally think there’s no dull moment in the novel as the plot develops rapidly with few distractions. It is not without faults, though, because I find the supporting characters quite flat and dull, even Lara. And for an award-winning writer, Little surely doesn’t impress me with his writing.

The story switches from Jake’s account to Andy’s memoir every two chapters. This can be quite confusing at first, but as the reader delves deeper into the book, this oddity becomes natural, at some time even brilliant. I admit I find Andy to be a disturbing character. The way his mind works makes me stagger back. He is crazy, but as the story progresses, I find it a little difficult distinguishing what is crazy and what is not. Czuchlewski subtly approaches a climax that many people have found unnerving and utterly intriguing.

It is a clever, well-written and well-plotted postmodern novel that’s definitely worth a look. It leaves the reader with more questions than answers, which is exactly what I like about it, and no one is entirely sure what’s really going on, which adds to the tension and mystery that is sustained throughout the novel. An intricate and terrific thriller. A quick yet deep read that will surely leave the reader reeling and fascinated even after the end. One thing is for sure: nothing is quite what it seems. If you want details spoon-fed to you without any room for reader engagement, this may NOT be the book for you. (This is actually an “invisible” jab at Twilight, hahaha!)

Sidenote: I only bought this book because of its cover and the glowing praise from Joyce Carol Oates, who turns out to be Czuchlewski’s advisor. And it was selling for only P40. I couldn’t resist. I opened it any chance I could, finishing it just before the NaNoWriMo TGIO Party last Friday.

I’m glad it did not disappoint.

The Obligatory Wishlist Post for Holidays 2008

In the Philippines, there’s a Christmas tradition called Simbang Gabi (“Misa de Gallo” or “Night Mass”) where people go to church at dawn for nine successive days, believing that a special wish would be granted to them if they never miss a day (of course, this is a twisted definition — but true nonetheless — because Simbang Gabi is foremost a pledge of devotion). This popular tradition starts at 4am today, December 16, and is always my cue to start singsonging my wishes to the fishes.

A couple of months ago, I made a wishlist for my birthday just for the heck of it, and I ended up getting some of the books I was mooning over. I decided to try it again this time. Might work, might not, but maybe I’d be lucky enough to get at least three.

• Money, Money, Money – I am perpetually broke, an effect of occasional book splurges I engage in. I hate shopping next to the president and a boxer, both of whom I prefer not to name, but when it involves books, you can be sure to count me in. Ironically, these splurges tend to happen only during sales. Most of the time, I go home with only enough money for transportation. I have a Paypal account.
• My PDA phone back – I accidentally broke my phone last month during my mom’s confinement in the hospital. I still haven’t gotten it to a Palm doctor because — surprise, surprise! — me no have money. I’m hoping to get it fixed before January ends, because I am simply heartbroken not having it by my side.
• Books, Books, and More Books – No need to explain, right? I’m not fussy about specific edition and book condition as long as there are no missing pages.
  • The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
  • The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
  • Fearless Fourteen by Janet Evanovich
  • The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
  • Time of the Eagle by Sherryl Jordan
  • The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga
  • Martial Law Babies by Arnold Arre
  • Paper Towns by John Green
  • …will be added to eventually…
• New shelves – I’ve been out of shelf space for the longest time, and not even selling books has helped. My family is breathing down my neck because our little house looks like a huge bookshelf itself.
• Yu Yu Hakusho – This much hasn’t changed at all. Anything and everything YYH, I love. Especially if my dear Botan-chan is present.
• Acer Aspire – Just to up the ante a little, heh. Just so you know I do love to have expensive things once in a while.
• World Peace – After all, it wouldn’t be called a wishlist if not one item was next to impossible to happen, right?