The Instruction Manual

Until yesterday, I had thought the most awkward statement anyone could make to you was to tell you, 'I love you', when you've no hope of responding in kind. While innocently glaring at the business section of the newspaper in a cafe last night (principally because it was the only part available and, no, I had no clue what any of it was on about), a girl interrupted me to apologise for staring at me. 'I hadn't noticed', I responded with a brief smile - using a manner to imply that I really hadn't noticed, and if she could leave me in peace that would be greatly appreciated.

'Sorry - it is just that you look like my dead sister.'

With the smile still on my lips and my brain having failed to register what she'd said, I reassured her that it was fine and I genuinely had not seen her staring at me.

Instantly realised I may have committed something of a faux pas by smiling at the Dead Sister statement, so plunged headlong back into the column I'd been skimming to do with... I've no idea; didn't understand it then and can't remember it now. But how on earth are you supposed to respond to such a statement?

Buy a packet of biscuits and it will be adorned with a small diagram illustrating how to get at your crumbly comestible. Furniture from IKEA comes famously flat-packed with instructions that require an engineering degree to understand, but at least exist. Bookshops have shelves packed with 'how to' guides: 'How to win friends and influence people', 'How to get rich', 'How to stay together forever'. They're crammed with awful advice from someone busy parading their PhD on the front cover - I think it is a good rule of thumb to avoid any book that is written by anyone so pretentious they include their qualifications alongside their name. I think that, 'The Little Book of Calm' is possibly one of the most pointless instruction manuals to have been produced to date, with suggestions such as, 'Pretend it's Saturday' being just plain daft. I somehow think telling your boss that you weren't in on Wednesday because you were busy following the instruction on page 46 of your pocket-size guide to life isn't going to go down particularly well.

The point was supposed to be that we have instruction manuals for everything that is, in the immortal words of Basil Fawlty, the bleedin' obvious - but nothing that is actually useful. Nobody has a clue how to deal with the really significant things in this world, everything is done by trial and error. Which I'm sure has its exciting aspect from time to time, but occasionally it is overwhelmingly exhausting figuring everything out yourself.

I guess the only thing more annoying than not being told what to do is, of course, being told what to do...

Some people use religious groups to offer them instruction - the Bible is full of suggestions for how to behave. It is perhaps somewhat outdated, though, with ideas such as, 'do not covet your neighbour's wife' suggesting that no female is ever going to be lusting after her neighbour's husband and therefore doesn't need to be led away from the thought. Twenty-first century women are probably more alarming than their male counterparts: with a constant need to smash through glass ceilings and prove that they are Just As Good As Men, the number of women slinking off with friends' partners is doubtless increasing exponentially. Even the instruction manuals with supposedly the best intentions are, evidently, flawed.

And so I will plunge headlong into the future, grasping wildly at straws while all the time trying to give the impression I know What Is Going On.

'My will shall shape the future. Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man's doing but my own. I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny.' (Elaine Maxwell)

Dirge Without Music

Edna St Vincent Millay. Goodness only knows what brought this to mind today, but I thought I'd share it with the populace at large - a very idle entry, admittedly, and a Proper Posting will appear in the immediate future. Honest. (You've heard that one before, eh??)

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.

The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Seeking 'happiness'...

Up until now, the Philippines have been something of a palm-tree fringed paradise extravaganza - with the occasional Timotei-esque waterfall thrown in for variety. Recently, however, I travelled up to Northern Luzon: land of mummies, rice terraces, and hanging coffins. Not only is the concept of hanging a coffin from a cliff-face somewhat bizarre, but the fact they have this practice in China as well is just darn random. China and the Philippines? Much of a link? You'd be surprised. Historically, the Chinese have been trading here for hundreds of years - and in fact, you'll find remote tribal families up in the north who have some practically priceless Ming vase kicking around that has been with them for generations.

I peeled back layers of history, found the links, talked with everyone who would talk back to me (which is pretty much everybody over here, as the Filipinos are fans of practising their English and telling their story to anybody who will listen with an attentive ear). I remember when I used to say how pointless and dull History seemed to be, courtesy of the manner in which it is taught in schools in the UK. All subjects are separate entities, nothing related across the curriculum. But that is a rant for another occasion... or rather, a return to my regular ranting about education practices in the world.

In trying to figure out where I go from here - we're talking literally and mentally, for the record - I recall some of the conversations I had. One with a guy who works as a tricycle driver in Bontoc, who had been at work from 6am until 9pm every day of the week for the past two months and was heading for his first day off: the fiesta in Sagada, to compete in the basketball tournament. And the old lady who is the wife of deceased photographer Masferre , who sat and talked for nearly an hour about her incredible life. They are people who have travelled little but are by no means ignorant of the rest of the world, and some of the people who are most settled in their lives. Which leads me to questioning why I'm rushing around like something of a lunatic at times, intent on seeing the whole world. It isn't making me more content, exactly.

Stress. Why am I always stressed? I guess some people are just disposed to worry about anything and everything. Methinks I do take it to a whole new level occasionally. I'm not even remotely content in my own skin or with any aspect of my life right now, if I think about it. The idle westerner's arrogant cry to the world. 'Do what makes you happy' is such a trite and yet accurate comment - the problem is figuring out what makes one happy. I'm not entirely sure that the moments when I'll have smiled and laughed more than others are necessarily the happiest; they are rather fleeting glimpses of merriment and a pleasant easiness. What defines happiness? I'm thinking if I could feel content with my situation in life then that would be it for me, having a break from the chaotic world we hurtle about in without stopping to think where we are going.

I'll let you know if I ever decide anything. In the meantime, I'll create equally as dire blog postings, barely comprehensible reams of drivel that worryingly indicate the meanderings of my mind to a pretty accurate degree. I don't have a clue, I fully acknowledge this. But where the hell does one start looking for a clue?

Saw this on a tombstone in Sagada last week and rather liked the idea:

'What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for the others and the world remains and is immortal.' (Albert Pine)

Christmas Day 2008

Having promised regular updates and witterings, I now feel obligated to throw something up here... Courtesy of remarkably little sleep for the past 48 hours, however, and a stomach that has gone beyond mere somersaults, my brain has finally packed up. Hopefully on a temporary basis.

So here's a photo from Christmas Day 2008. Santa hats, my genius idea (forgetting that we might possibly bake while wearing them). Paddled round to a place called Seven Commandos Beach, about 45 minutes from El Nido - lay in the sun and snorkelled, played Chess, drank a little, ate a lot. A beautiful and memorable end to last year, negating to some degree the somewhat inauspicious start I had to 2009. Specifically, someone insulting me the moment the new year arrived, me endeavouring to restrain myself then giving up and slapping them significantly around the face, and retreating to the peace of my bed for some decent sleep.

It's gone better since then, but I have to say that didn't particularly bode well for the next twelve months. I hope the year isn't totally jinxed.

Welcome to 2009

This coming to you from a sun-drenched rooftop in Coron, Philippines...

My blog has received a decided lack of attention of late - this is no reflection on you, dear reader, but is rather a manifestation of my overwhelming idleness. Internet access have been somewhat patchy over here in the Philippines: I've had time to search the essential information, such as discovering the plural of Platypus is Platypodes, and occasionally throw out a passing remark on Facebook to inform the world at large that I'm some version of Alive. But blogging has very much taken a back seat - perhaps because I have so little to rant about? I am installed, after all, in one of my favourite places in the world, with no cap on my meandering time bar bank balance issues or feelings of guilt regarding a Serious Career Path. I doubt the latter will have much impact on anything, in all honesty. And having discovered the average income for an entire family in the Philippines is approximately USD4600 for an entire year, I think I'll cope financially staying here for a while.

I'm supposedly trying to do some writing work out here, find a niche that I can slot myself into somewhere out there in the wide world of publishing, but for whatever reason I'm missing my 'voice' - what a cheesy, all-American term that is. This is probably blindingly evident in this blog article; and in fact, I'm only really writing on here to try and wake up the part of my brain that is in charge of writing ability. I became so depressed by an attempt yesterday that I was forced to get exceedingly drunk on the worryingly cheap vodka they have out here, passing out on the bed at 9pm. The very classiest of wenches that I am.

Perhaps the problem is that I'm concerned my flippant, decidedly caustic style at times is going to be misinterpreted by some editors. I would love to write endless deep and meaningful tracts of prose, new philosophies emerging in spectacularly written turns of phrase - readers gasping at the sheer wonder of my words. But that isn't exactly my thing, is it. I make brash comments and follow them up with even brasher suggestions, my purpose being to entertain rather than educate. If education happens simultaneously? - bonus feature.

What am I doing over here, just ambling about between the thousand odd islands of which the Philippines is comprised? The question is difficult to answer. I'm either on Walkabout - in pursuit of Understanding. Or I'm in search of Beauty, that which can be seen and that which burrows beneath the surface waiting for an opportunity to emerge and be observed in all its shy glory. Truth is another path: honesty and integrity, the meaning of the world, the purpose of our existence. One cannot find these in a city - or perhaps they are there, but harder to seek out. The Philippines is a place bursting with life and colour, reality blended perfectly with the surreal. It is a place where I feel I can be myself without judgement; ask questions without being questioned back. Open, welcoming, and painfully honest. How can I hope to stagger through life without any comprehension of these things I'm searching for? A life without meaning is a long and pointless one.

Ah, how pretentious that last paragraph is! You see what I mean? Where has my mocking tone gone, why is it eluding me? Perhaps my brain has finally been cooked by the perpetual rays I seek.

I'm going to force myself to write something on here as frequently as internet access allows, inflict some more godawful posts on you poor readers, and hopefully in a few days' time I will write something once more that will make you furrow your brow in earnest, or lean back in your swivelling office chair and laugh out loud. I am so far from the suited and booted world it is hard to comprehend that most of you reading this will be doing so from an air conditioned cell, bright pink post-it notes dotted hurriedly around the edges of your screens, desk calendar staring you in the face reminding you of Time and its paramount importance.

Get out of your office. Go find the real world - the place beyond coffee breaks, conference calls, and overbearing bosses. It was emphatically proved last year how temporary and how fragile the world of capitalist making really is: before you get bogged down in debt and self-created responsibilities, come free yourself. Live a little. Experience everything. You get one shot at life, and spending that parked behind a formica desk is surely not what is intended for us.

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”