A Whim - out of nothingness

February 6, 2008
Diory's room,
#4 P. Guevara St., Aurora Hill, Baguio City

A Whim
out of nothingness

Who would have believed that I would still be able to find time to write? I mean, I have to wake up early tomorrow, and I still have lots of work to do. I shouldn't be writing right now; I am not worthy of this sort of luxury at this moment. And just as how I give rationalization to my act of devoting time and money these days to texting, I am rationalizing my act of writing. I am doing all of these to redeem myself - to find my soul and to revive my “is-ness,” the diory-ness.

After watching a movie, I spent a time surfing the net – to keep updated with my world or the world where I want to be (if I am currently not in such world). I also blogged about some of my petty rants, which were written vaguely, which could not make one understand my musings. Anyhow, I did not write for people to be impressed with my way of writing; I did write so that I could have a way out – a way out of “nothingness.”

I am in the “nothingness,” was in the “nothingness,” feel and felt “nothingness.” This is not Sartre's concept of “nothingness,” as I cannot claim that I could correctly explain his theory on such. I just feel and felt it. It's nothing. Just nothing. It's like the time was momentarily suspended, though this idea of suspension of time was not in any way similar to that of Peter Berger's. There was a suspension of time primarily due to the feeling of restlessness and weakness, the feeling of being one with the others and of being a mere part of the background that I see, and the feeling of being a lost soul. It's like walking without a soul, thinking without the mind – and it felt like being in a state of “nothingness.” But this nothingness is precisely everything that brought my rantings.

This may sound too philosophical to some, but I would say that much of these sprouted from mere petty instances. What to call philosophical and what not to is still a matter of debate. At any rate, whether my musings seem philosophical or too unimportant to talk about, these are still in need of being pondered upon, for they are my means for finding “me.” Hence, they are not really unimportant even if they seem to be.

And then here we have Michael Bublé singing “When you're smiling.” Even though I love his music and that I am listening to him right now, I can't seem to smile right now. I'm sleepy. What does this got to do with what's stated above? Nothing. I just want to take note of it. Just as writing this one is a whim, putting Bublé here is a whim – out of nothingnesss.