December 1998

This is another “day after Christmas” and I let a rush of sentimentality stream through my blood’s veins by reading an entry I’ve typed on this same keyboard three hundred and sixty five days past. Then I let the suitable music fade up: “Brick” by Ben Folds Five, to “Chloe Dancer” by Mudhoney.
It’s funny how a year has already fledged past and I still find myself cooking up exactly the same stew in my head. By that I mean, I would tell of exactly the same things, and perhaps even use the same words and phrases. What is even funnier is that it’s just so dead accurate. I have no idea what this proves or whether this would bend in some positive or negative impact in my life, it doesn’t seem to matter any longer.

To put it concretely, I want to talk about my being included in the dean’s list (so much for all my whining), or say something about M____, or something about Christmas and the everlastingly declining economic situation. This gives a hint that nothing really changes, but on the contrary, many things do, if not everything does. Sometimes though, the proximity of the times that I do not want to be distanced from has not enabled me to see the patterns of change in my thought, deed and existence. There are a million arguments surrounding it, but at this point I’m convinced enough, if not biased enough to concede to change. Carl Sagan would even be at my back to tell me that I am the legacy of fifteen billion years of cosmic evolution.

I’ve been asking myself long enough, is the entire universe designed in a fashion of order, or does everything run on chaos? I’d prefer the latter (it appeals to me both personally, philosophically and even scientifically) until H. told me that some nut came up a theory that there is order in chaos. Not that there is any truth in that or it is not dissimilar to asking, if there is any point at all in asking: is infinity finite? If it would be equated mathematically, is there a final decimal to the Pi, 3.1416…x? Does mathematics represent reality as it is?

Music is the highest form of aesthetic contemplation, so Schopenhauer tells me. And so I came to appreciate it with even much more fervor. Aside from the usual NU and RT tracks, the chill out project, the groove garden, and the sounds of Malate’s bars, L____ has introduced me to jazz which is just so beautiful as she is. And she is --- at all respects known to humanity. She is now trekking Sagada hand in hand with her boyfriend, and I can hear them listen to the music of the world as winds whisper and the sun sets glowing at them across those caves.