Typepad is cool, but it doesn't allow me to have a "blogroll" and other widgets unless I fork out a couple of bucks. At first I didn't mind. Then one day I realized, Well, that sucks. Hence: Wordpress.
But I may still update this every once in a while. Who knows?
New Wordpress here.
A friend is currently in Hong Kong for a solitary adventure that, I'm sure, will eventually appear on his travel blog. Another one, a classmate in high school, will be "communing with nature" in Bakun, Benguet, this weekend. In her latest blog, erstwhile officemate Nikka Corsino talked about her "three-day solo sojourns" to a Malaysian beach to watch the "melancholic, but no less majestic" rising of the sun.
And here I am at home on a Friday night, listening to Twisted Sister at low volume, slightly hungover, pissed at the humidity, thinking, Does it get any better than this?
Sure, I've a loving family, a nice home, a steady job. A lot of people would gladly exchange places with me for those. And for that I can't say much about how thankful I am for being blessed like that. But still, I'll be the world's biggest liar if I say I'm cruising along a life of comfort and security. That I got pretty much everything made up. No. Fact is, despite everything, I'm still gnawed up with insecurities and worries. My head feels heavy, cluttered. I feel, dare I say, burnt out. And that, I think, is why the urge to go out there and explore the world is becoming more and more powerful with each passing day. So powerful it is maddening. Especially since I can't seem to figure out what's stopping me from throwing all my things in a backpack and doing a Kerouac.
Ala Paredes, in her latest blog, mentioned people who seem to have a "complete lack of wanderlust." She said these people "stay stationary their entire lives, living within the vicinity of the place they were born, and don't even own a passport." She said these people "just don't see the value in travel." I don't consider myself as among those people, but here I am, chained to my daily routine, complaining almost everyday and yet doing nothing about it. What happened?
I no longer believe it's a money and schedule issue. Though I'm not a big earner and toil nine hours a day five days a week (no holidays), an out of town hiatus could be as easy as saving up for a month or two, and then filing a leave of absence for, say, five days. Both doable. So why am I stuck with the same old, same old? Beats me. I've an idea, but it's too depressing and complicated to write down here, and I don't think I've the energy for it now, and this blog has gone on long enough for it to be of anything more than the mad ramblings of a bored blogger on a Friday night.
But I still miss the ocean. The mighty roar of the waves as they crash on the shores. The sunsets and the sunrises. The bonfire and the decadence dance as I suck the very nectar of life to the last drop...
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Image by Nikka Corsino
It's a couple of minutes past midnight and I'm just settling down from four nerve wracking days of my daughter's Roseola (she's okay now, thank god). Tomorrow, after three days of being absent, I return to work. For tonight I relax to the sound of Ghost, the new album by the Devin Townsend Project. The cover art alone speaks volumes about how perfect the music is for this moment.
"All you need to do is figure out what your action is and hang on, no matter what they tell you. And even if you never make it, you'll feel better trying instead of giving up and going along with the noise crowd. But right now you don't have to worry about what you're going to do. The important thing is follow your instincts about what you aren't going to do. Most people wind up going against their instincts, and it makes them miserable for the rest of their lives." ------ Hunter S. Thompson in a 1965 letter to his brother Jim, then 15 years old
Nothing like the words of Gonzo Journalism's creator to make me feel like a cheap coward. Just finished reading The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, which is a collection of HST's correspondence from 1955 to 1967, and as in the case with his other works, it put me in a mood for some deep introspection about following my instincts vs. following the "noise crowd."
A thirty-something father who wants his daughter to grow up liking books and heavy metal.
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