The Weekend Pages

After seeing Kelly Stamps' vlog on YouTube, I realized that I don't need male friends. I believe all women go through this phase wherein one just realizes that you can't be nice to men in a platonic way. It's either they objectify or sexualize you or they ask you out on a date and then ghost you. Or it could be that they project their frustrations to you because they can't have the girl they really want.  I learned my lesson the hard way. I was always "the" nice and caring friend to all genders. My kindness is not gender-biased and if I care, I really do. However, last year, I got into A LOT of petty issues that involved MEN.  I cannot count how many days I cried because I was misunderstood. Some men only want to do the deed with me, and some think of me as a flirt when I was just being polite and kind. I also can't explain myself because they won't listen.  ( So what's the point of correcting their impression if they won't listen ?) I thin...

I stumbled into Emily Dickinson's poem today. I was on a break from binge-watching Criminal Minds. Upon reading it, I instantly fell in love with the poem and my own interpretation of it. I died for Beauty - but was scarce Adjusted in the Tomb When One who died for Truth, was lain In an adjoining Room - He questioned softly "Why I failed"? "For Beauty", I replied - "And I - for Truth - Themself are One - We Brethren are", He said - And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night — We talked between the Rooms - Until the Moss had reached our lips - And covered up - Our names - We all killed our past selves -  the ones we consider as ugly, to be accepted, adored, and loved by everyone. We killed the light in us to fit into other people's fantasies. And what did it make us in the end? Are we happy with who we are now? Or you're like me, reliving the past and wishing you didn't hate yourself too much? We all died for beauty and concealed the truth.  The truth ...

Finally, I have the time to discuss my thoughts about the second topic that piqued my interest from the book I read recently, The Courage To Be Disliked by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga. Trauma does not exist. At first, I was close to agreeing with the youth that the philosopher is nihilistic. The philosopher then explained what he meant. In Adlerian Psychology, trauma is DENIED. Unlike Freud's views and ideas about it, one's trauma ( psychic wounds) is the cause of his/her unhappiness. This is true for me, remembering traumatizing events in your life can be decapitating and exhausting.  (Figuratively and literally) But let's give Alder a chance, shall we?  1. "No experience is in itself a cause of our success and/or failures. We do not suffer from the shock of our experiences, but we make out of them whatever suits our purposes. We are not determined by our experiences, but the meaning we give them is self-determining." - Philosopher My take on this: I love ho...

I can proudly say that 2023 is indeed a year for the creatives. I've been painting a lot and I've read a lot of books but due to my hectic schedule, no book review was published here. And now, since I'm procrastinating my study session for my prelim examinations, let's talk about my recent read, The Courage To Be Disliked by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga. The Courage To Be Disliked talks about Adlerian Psychology ( mainly). I enjoyed reading it during my day-offs because there's a lot to annotate about. Although I've already encountered Alfred Adler in my previous trimesters, we haven't really touched the core and its sub-topics. The book starts with a young man full of questions about life and a philosopher who tells everyone that LIFE IS SIMPLE. The young man disagrees with the philosopher, saying it's hypocritical and preposterous to say that life is simple when it's not.  They then have a 5-day discussion: the young man, is eager to prove the ...

Buried feelings came back. The call for familiarity is strong. A love and hate connection. Reminiscing the good and the bad. It makes me restless.  I saw you cry in my dreams,  and I can't shake the thought of you out of me. You're living in my head rent-free. Idealizing the "what-could-have-been". Teeth-chattering, heavy breaths. I want it to stop. Your love is a dog from hell. Intoxicated with the desire of your touch. Part of me wants it all back, Laughed and thought to myself, "I must be crazy". Your love exhausts me. Yet I still crave for it. Like a madwoman that I am. I don’t care what happens next. All I know, what we had was un healthy. -E. 2023