On Heartthrobs and Dream Girls: The Sucker-Punch Reality

"Truthfully, Robin's better than the girl of my dreams. She's real." --Paul (Matthew Gray Gubler), 500 Days of Summer

I watched two movies back to back before I started writing this. One was about a cheerleader turned cleaning lady starring Amy Adams and Emily Blunt, and the other was about a middle-aged couple who'd been divorced for more than a decade, cast wherein are my favorites, the charming Zoe Kazan (Happythankyoumoreplease) and the adorable and handsome John Krasinski (Something Borrowed), who is actually married to Emily Blunt in real life. (Yes, I keep up with my Hollywood news. *wink*)

F-series: Ghost of Friends Past

They like me as they remember me, not as I am now.
--Lindsey Lee Wells, from An Abundance of Katherines by JOHN GREEN

My best friend had told me a number of times that it's hard to rekindle past friendships.
"Why should you even bother when it's past?" she had asked me.
"I bother because...well, I miss the people I used to know."
Then she went like, "But did it ever occur to you that they might not feel the same way?"
And for that I'd scoffed at her. "You just don't get it."

Memory

Just something I wrote down a coupla days ago. I was...deep in thought, so much so that I couldn't sleep.
Been like that for a few days now. Maybe even weeks.
*sigh*
Anyway...

Keeping memories of painful things--and of the people who caused them--does not necessarily mean being unforgiving or not being able  to move on. Because, maybe, in remembering, you'll come to appreciate how those painful things affected your life and how the people who caused them meant to you once...before anything and everything hurtful took place.

Do I have a point? I'm not sure. Do I have to have one?

Faith or Fame: Of Which Hall Are You?

I was browsing through the Internet today at the office while working on a project. I stumbled into an article on the homepage. I guess it was my psych-ic curiousity that made me click on the link.

It was about a girl. Well, she's grown up now. And she's really famous. She's beautiful and talented. She sings and writes songs and plays the guitar sometimes in her shows. You prolly know her. You might even be a fan.

And I would have been, too. Because she's a Christian.

Or at least, she was raised as a Christian.
Like Whitney Houston. Beyonce. Avril Lavigne. Jessica Simpson.

This famous singer also grew up in church, and discovered and honed her musical talent there. She was launched as a singer formally under a Christian label before she turned 17, with the self-titled album, Katy Hudson.

Yes, I am talking (ok, writing) about Katy Perry. The singer who brought us "I Kissed a Girl," "California Girls," "Firework," and "Teenage Dream."

Here are some articles where Katy is featured talking about her background and her parents. Click here and here.
I'll let you read first before continuing on the subject. :)


To be continued...

Single: Sincerely, Seriously.

During a discussion on relationships in our college Sunday school class a month ago, our teacher (and my mentor) Ate Jen asked us to state our relationship status. She said, if I remember right, that there were 5 classifications under the "SINGLE" status:

Your Basic D.I.D. = Discipler in Denial

Is having the superhero complex a bad thing? I'd been wondering about it for some time now...

Superhero complex means, in my own words, the tendency (or urgency?) to save a seemingly helpless person from impending harm.

Last sem, in Social Psychology class, we had a discussion about helping. One of the points that I discussed was that people usually tend to help those whom they think need help. The implication of that is, when we don't think that a person is helpless, and/or when we think that his being in a tight situation can be attributed to his own...well, stupidity (i.e. poor choices, lack of foresight, little sense of responsibility),then we won't help.I think that's logical, yeah. But how about helping people whom we only think need help but actually don't?

In an earlier blog, I wrote some thoughts as to why I wanted to be a psychologist. I read it again earlier today, and it hit me that maybe I am guilty of having the superhero complex.

Simply saying, it's just that sometimes I feel that there's too many people who are too helpless or innocent to be exposed to, and even to experience, the wickedness of the world.

As Christians, we may call it empathy. We may see it as just genuine concern. We may look at it as goodwill.
But is it possible to maybe, just maybe, overdo being "God's special agents on earth," to the point that we become overzealous in saving other people from the snares of evil?

No, I'm not really talking about evangelism. Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of discipleship.

I just realized that it is possible for mentors to "baby" their disciples. To spoon-feed them with bite-sized Bible bits instead of letting them cut up the chunks for themselves. To strap them in a stroller and take them wherever. To keep them in a walker and let them explore, but only to a certain distance. Stuff like that. You could prolly read between and within the lines. Superhero complex in action.

Maybe it's the reason why kids nowadays are either too rash or too reserved.

:)

Nonetheless, I do recognize that mentors are there to guide and help mold us. Admittedly,I wasn't actually discipled by anybody, except, of course, my parents. But now as a discipler, I find myself wondering, "Am I doing this right? How long am I gonna let this person be dependent on me? How will I know if s/he's ready to stand on his/her own?" I'm not really looking for immediate answers, because obviously, this isn't something I can rush. (The discussion in Lead 4 class also made me think about this some more.)

I don't know if any of this makes sense. (Actually, I'm really sleepy already. LOL.) But this I say: No, I can't be a superhero. I can't even save myself from the bad things. And I'm not sure I am even worthy of being a discipler. But this I know: I want to be in the business of changing lives. For the better. With my best.

On Idols

I really don't understand why some people want to meddle with the affairs of others.

On Narciso Matienzo

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
--Emily Dickinson

The impact of the news just dawned on me. Is it really true?

Now I try to remember the day I first walked into his Filipino class three-and-a-half academic years ago, but fail. Instead, some fond memories of him come in little bits and pieces...

The first time I texted him I was going to be late. When I got to class that day, he scolded everybody (but I knew it was really for me) saying, "Kung masama ang pakiramdam niyo, wag niyong intindihin, dahil pakiramdam niyo lang 'yun!" Of course, he had the right to say that, because he never let anything stop him from holding a class--especially not sickness. He didn't miss more than 5 sessions in the three semesters that I had him as my professor, if I remember right. He rarely canceled, unless he was compelled to (i.e. His wife set him up for a doctor's appointment, and he loved her too much not to show up, even if he didn't want to go).

When I learned that he just commuted to and from school, I was shocked. Well, yeah, maybe he was too old to drive himself around, but I was thinking he could have afforded a car and a driver. Or it would have been much more comfortable to ride the FX. But no, he took the bus everyday! His arguments? 1) Bus fare is cheaper, and 2) he lives near the station, anyway. So on nights when Jojo and I are really desperate to go home, we board the Cainta bus and sometimes get to ride with him. (The one time we did was when he was with his wife--that's where we met her--and yes, they were going home from the doctor's clinic.)

I always get to spend the longest times with him at the start and end of the semester. Everybody knows how much he wanted to talk with people, especially students. He always was full of stories. I enjoyed these times because I felt that he was sincerely enjoying my company also, but sometimes when you have a conversation with him, you lose track of the time. Even if I wasn't really interested in what he'd be saying at first, because I wanted to get done with clearance as soon as I could, something in the way he talked and laughed and the way his face lit up made me stay longer than I planned to. And every time I asked him to sign my clearance form, he'd signed it right away, but he held onto it until he was done talking with me. Funny. It was like he was always putting me in a trap. One time he must have sensed it, because he said to me, "Bakit ba kayo palaging nagmamadali? Ako nga, o, tignan mo, ang haba-haba ng pirma ko at hindi ako nagmamadali, para maganda ang sulat at gumanda yang mga report card niyo, dahil ang papangit ng grado niyo!" And we'd laughed so hard he ended up with a coughing fit, but was still laughing anyway.

I'm trying to reminisce in an orderly way, but I guess when you're remembering someone like him who's had such a big impact in your life, things will always come at random...and it's hard to put thoughts into words.

I wouldn't have traded Kwentology (a.k.a. Filipino 1, 2, and 3) for any subject in the world. Those were History, Biblical Studies, Philosophy, and Life classes rolled into one. It was obvious, his passion for teaching. He always ended each class with something we could think about, something about life or God that we should consider.

He beamed whenever he talked about his family. You could see the pride in his eyes whenever he called out the best students in class; likewise, you could sense disappointment in his voice when he announced that almost the whole class failed. But he was always encouraging and patient. He wasn't only a professor. He was a friend, even a lolo. After lunch, he'd be napping in one of the lobby couches, and he was never grumpy even if students were fooling around and making a lot of noise. Later last semester, he even resorted to sleeping in the library; he understood that kids needed their fun, just as he needed rest.

When I heard about his accident, I'd have to admit that I found it kind of funny. It was so like him to cross the street where there was a huge sign that says it's dangerous, knowing all those stories of his boyhood; he admitted to being sutil, after all. (I'll never forget his misadventure with his father's itak!) Not taking the implications seriously, I always believed that he'd get well soon enough. Of course, we constantly prayed for him, but I always thought he'd get through it.

Well, now, I guess he did...just not in the way I expected him to.

I always told the Freshmen that their Messiah experience couldn't be complete without Doc. I feel extra, extra privileged to have shared a tiny part of his life while he was still with us. Now, he is with the Father, in Heaven, basking in His glory. No more blood transfusions, head trauma, diabetes, slippery roads, rain, or illegal pedestrian crossings to keep him from doing what he's supposed to.

LORD, thank you for the life of Doc Matienzo. We miss him, but the love and companionship we can offer is no match to what You are giving him now. I won't ask for another one like him, but I pray for those lives whom he has touched--may his legacy continue through us.

For a professor and friend. Hanggang sa muli po, Doc!