Dabbling in Pastels

Spending my extended vacation doing only the things I love. Insomnia has been a regular visitor lately, and I thought it's best to use time wisely than stare at the ceiling until four in the morning. So, like what I've mentioned in my previous entries, I'm working on a series that involves different bird species from the Philippines. This is a Philippine Kingfisher in pastel. To see my version of this in poster paint, click http://ardentarrianne.wordpress.com/2013/08/16/product-review-maries-poster-color/



I really love working with oil pastels. You don't have to be such a worry wart with your strokes and technique. You can just follow your artistic instinct. And before you know it, there's already a masterpiece in front of you. It's best used if you want distinct textures and strokes in your artwork. I used a box of Pentel oil pastels for this piece. They’re surprisingly good.

Watercolor Weekend

"No one is free, even the birds are chained to the sky."
-Bob Dylan

After more than more than three Jurassic-long weeks, I was finally able to post my first two watercolor artworks done during the longest weekend of August. These two are part of my WIP: Philippine Birds series that I can hopefully post one by one soon.

Actually, I’m more comfortable using oil paints where mistakes can be covered easily and where layers of paint add texture and depth to an artwork. And to tell you honestly, for someone like me who listens more to instinct rather than technique, working with watercolor is definitely a struggle.

I hate waiting for my first strokes to dry before doing another. I almost have zero knowledge on how to really render and achieve the perfect shades without harassing the paper too much. Plus, I’m always close to losing my temper when an artwork gets ruined because of one wrong move. So, yeah, to tell you the truth these are just a couple of survivors from the many scrapped artworks that’s now in my waste bin. When it gets really frustrating sometimes and when I’m twice as close to giving up, I just tell myself that practice makes perfect.

This is the Long-Tailed Shrike, which is common throughout the islands of the Philippines except Palawan. It’s said to be noisy, aggressive and territorial.



An eagle but more of an owl, this is the Philippine Eagle-Owl. I didn't know this kind of bird exists until I saw it on the reference chart that I bought from National Bookstore. It’s said to be the largest owl in the Philippines. It has very powerful legs for catching its prey.

Though it’s pretty difficult using watercolors, I’m quite happy that it helps me lengthen my patience. I’m also grateful because, it reduces my stress and worries from work, even just a minuscule.  I consider painting or any form of art a very effective therapy.

Remember that when you’re painting, it’s important not to pressure yourself about each stroke, style, palette, and even what other people may think about it when it’s done.

The best artworks aren't those that satisfy the taste of most critiques, but those that give the greatest sense of satisfaction to its artist.

Veronika Decides to DieVeronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho

Veronika Decides to Die
Author: Paulo Coelho
Bought or Borrowed? Bought
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

"Nothing in this world happens by chance."

 



 

After my whirlwind romance with The Alchemist, this is my second love affair with another novel from the famous Brazilian born writer Paolo Coelho. The title literally says it all about the story. It's about a young Slovenian girl named Veronika, who at a very young age decides to take the pill and plan her own suicide. She didn't do this out of desperation to escape from a hard and difficult life for she had a family, a job and a number of lovers too. She decides to take her own life for the following reasons, and I quote this from the book:

"The first reason: Everything in her life was the same and once her youth was gone, it would be downhill all the way, with old age beginning to leave irreversible marks, the onset of illness, the departure of friends. She would gain nothing by continuing to live. Indeed the likelihood of suffering would only increase.

"Be like the fountain that overflows, not like the cistern that merely contains."

The second reason was more philosophical: Veronika read the newspapers, watched TV, and she was aware of what was going on in the world. Everything was wrong, and she had no way of putting things right - that gave her a sense of complete powerlessness."

She thought she had everything going as planned, as smooth and simple death in her room inside the convent overlooking the statue of the great Slovenian poet, Preseren, but she was wrong for the next time she opened her eyes, she was already inside a mental facility called "Villette".

Everyone is indeed crazy, but the craziest are the ones who doesn't know they're crazy; they just keep repeating what others tell them to.

Inside Villette she met a lot of people both sane and insane that taught her a lot. Little did she know that she has been greatly affecting the life of the resident patients of Villette too, especially Zedka, who has clinical depression, Mari, who suffers from panic attacks and Eduard, the schizophrenic , and with whom Veronika falls in love eventually. Each patient finds himself waking up from a long induced sleep and desiring to return and fight the life and the world they have given up in the past.

You have passed through the two hardest tests on the spiritual road: the patience to wait for the right moment and the courage not to be disappointed with what you encounter.

This book was absolutely thought provoking to the point that I almost see myself in the shoes of the characters already. It's that good until now, I think I take Dr. Igor's theories on Vitreol , the bacteria that causes bitterness which is the root of all insanity to humans, to be scientific and true. I love the ending how Veronika and Eduard ran away to seize the last remaining hours of her life. It has affected me the way The Alchemist has. It left me enlightened from the feelings that I have been having lately like the idea of life as a never ending routine every day. This book is a must read, highly recommended for discerning readers.

Be crazy! But learn how to be crazy without being the center of attention. Be brave enough to live different.

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Baguio Side Trip: Strawberry Fields Forever in La Trinidad, Benguet

(c) ArdentArrianne.blogspot.com
Strawberry Farm at La Trinidad, Benguet

While indulging in my post-Christmas trip to Baguio last year, I decide to go on a little side trip: Strawberry Farm in La Trinidad, Benguet. Well, yeah, this is no longer part of Baguio and is, at least, a 30-minute jeep ride away. But boy, this place left me humming The Beatles’ Strawberry Fields Forever for more than a week!

(c) ArdentArrianne.blogspot.com 
Strawberry Farm at La Trinidad, Benguet

"Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to strawberry f fields, nothing is real and nothing to get hung about, strawberry fields forever." -Strawberry Fields Forever, The Beatles

(c) ArdentArrianne.Blogspot.com
Strawberry Farm at La Trinidad, Benguet

(c)ArdentArrianne.Blogspot.com
Succulent strawberries waiting to be harvested 

 I guess you're already aware that picking your own strawberries here is insanely more expensive than getting it in the market. You can typically get a pack for more or less 100 pesos. But inside the farm, a basket of freshly picked strawberries will cost you more than 200 pesos! But don't worry, entrance and picture taking is definitely free. 

(c)ArdentArrianne.Blogspot.com
Houses perched on the lush side of the mountains partly hidden from the clouds.

(c)ArdentArrianne.Blogspot.com

I was like a 5-year-old girl on the loose excited to pick strawberries and take pictures of the breathtaking scene! Aside from strawberries, I also saw oranges, lettuce, cucumbers, and a variety of other crops planted there. 

(c) GoBaguio.com

How to get to Strawberry Farm for Dummies:

I can only give you the same directions we took:

1.       Go to Session Road.
2.       Look for the public jeeps going to La Trinidad. (How? Ask around.)
3.       Tell the driver to drop you off at Strawberry Farm.
4.       After 30 minutes or less, voila! :)

I have no idea what you’re going to do if you have your own car, although I think that’d be easier.  That being said, I suggest you hit Google Map. :)

Interworld

Interworld by Neil Gaiman
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I started reading this book inside the bus on my way to work and on my way home, seated on my regular spot near the window that captures the view of the tree-lined expressway I journey every day.

Interworld is a light and easy read that resurrected the giddy and imaginative child inside me. It was not boring like other sci-fi books I dread reading. It was in every way very effective in killing my boredom from long hours of commute and I also loved how the story was narrated in a very "I know what you're thinking, don't ask me" tone.

I was utterly amazed at how they managed to combine the distinct writing personalities of Neil Gaiman and Michael Reaves in this wonderful collaboration. I was still able to recognize the touch of both authors, in a complementing way that doesn't upstage one or the other. Good decision of not letting on the tube though, for it will only be slaughtered by tube executives who only have advertising and profit in mind.

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MORTAL LOVE

By Elizabeth Hand

Paperback, 384 pages
Published June 28th 2005 by Harper Paperbacks (first published 2004)
ISBN 0060755342 (ISBN13: 9780060755348)

 

Within her is the world. A time there was when Venoraxia was lost to us with all our hope. A girl seen as an elder flower. You make her owls when she wants to be flowers.

This marvelous read is from one of National Bookstore's crazy sale last April of this year. The book was marked down more than  ten times its original price, imagine from 585Php or 13.60USD to only 50Php or 1.62USD. I must admit that this played  a major factor why I bought it too.

As a Fine Arts major, I was easily captivated with its cover of  a woman in a Renaissance inspired oil paint effect. Set on a magnificently romantic Victorian era, is an interesting love affair of a young and struggling painter and his muse.

It won my interest in and I enjoyed the way Elizabeth Hand narrated and depicted the paints, the art materials and the process of painting in an incredibly  "matter of fact "tone. Through this, it was almost effortless to imagine how each scene should seem to be. It was a unquestionably a page turner as the characters of the period painter Radborne Comstock and the modern day writer, Daniel Rowlands was unbelievably exciting.

I was both intrigued and mystified how Evienne Upstone was to Larkin Meade, and Radborne Comstock was to Daniel Rowlands connected despite  more than a hundred years of time difference. I easily fell in love with the book and with the ways the narrative was as well as details.

Unfortunately, that ended all too soon as I figured I was down to its last thirty pages and I still don't understand most parts of it. The plot became so complicated that it was impossible to end it in a matter of few pages.  Actually, the plot created a plot out of the plot of another plot. I knew I wasn't going to like how it's going to end and I was right. Larkin ended up with Comstock's manic depressive descendant and for whatsoever reason it began an abrupt reroute on a portal of something. This is where I totally got lost.

The desire for something hopeless, for what is already gone, for what can never be yours. 

The Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing

by Melissa Bank
Mass Market Paperback, 274 pages
Published March 29th 2005 by Penguin (Non-Classics) (first published 1999)
ISBN0143035479 (ISBN13: 9780143035473)

You can feel that he wants to own you,-not like an object but like a good dream he wants to keep on having.

One of my best girlfriends in the office suggested I read this book. Honestly, I was hesitant to so at first since that pal was fresh from a break up I thought this book was a stereotypical "how to" on moving on, and I knew I didn't need that stuff at the moment. But then, she told me it wasn't and somehow, I trusted that friend's judgment.

I must say that Melissa Bank did a wonderful job on this book. It was light and easy read without compromising the substance and the wits of the story. I'm sure a lot of women would recognize themselves as the typical Jane in the book who underwent and felt the different stages of love and relationships.

The book teaches us the irrefutable fact of life that whether we like it or not, we will get hurt and we can't do anything about it for it's something inevitable. Jane in the story, in fear of ruining a budding romance, tightened up and followed a pathetic guide on dating. Thus resulting to her sounding like a snooty high school girl that almost drove the man of his dreams away.

It simply tells us how women encounter trial and errors with men and life, which sometimes end up with a chaotic turn of events. These disastrous situations  that most of us dread a lot makes us a stronger and wiser person each time. It notes that we can't always go by the book when it comes to living and loving since it's never always the same problem that requires the same equation.

"You try to plan your life but that's not how it works."

Kafka on the Shore

Author: Haruki Murakami, Philip Gabriel (Translator)
Bought or Borrowed? Gift from a friend
Book Info: Paperback, 467 pages
Published January 3rd 2006 by Vintage(first published 2002)
ISBN 1400079276
Original title 海辺のカフカ Umibe no Kafuka
Literary Awards: World Fantasy Award for Best Novel (2006), PEN Translation Prize (2006)

"Time weighs down on you like an old ambiguous dream. You keep moving trying to slip through it  but  even if you go to the ends of the earth, you won't be able to escape it. Still, you have to go there-to the edge of the world. There's nothing you can do unless you get there."

Main Characters:

• Kafka Tamura


• Miss Saeki


• Sakura


• Oshima


• Kafka's Father


• Mr. Nakata

Plot:

Kafka on the Shore consists of two different yet cohesive stories that are alternately narrated from each chapter. Primarily, it’s an engaging story about a teenager Kafka Tamura, who decides to run away from home to escape a horrible oedipal prophecy made by his own father.

Armed with a few good things he deems useful – add the ever reliable Crow inside him to that – Kafka begins his quest as the toughest fifteen-year-old on Earth in search for his estranged mother and sister. In his greatest efforts to break free from the appalling curse, he travels a great distance away from Tokyo all the way to the province of Takamatsu, only to meet people that will most likely help him get into fulfilling it himself.  His path tangles along those of several interesting people who added more spice and life to his wanderlust adventure.

He meets Sakura, a girl he meets on the night bus to Takamatsu, whom he's physically attracted to, and who's old enough to be his long-lost sister.

He finds refuge in a private library run by Oshima, who was neither a he nor a she, peculiar, and yet strangely kind to Kafka all the time. The place is headed by Miss Saeki, a gracefully middle-aged woman, trapped in her own past. She develops a May-December love affair with Kafka, while Kafka falls in love with the ghost of her youth.

On the other hand, the narrative crosses over to the story of Mr. Nakata, an old man with an out-of-this- world ability to hold conversations with animals, cats in particular. This harmless simpleton who earns a living looking for lost kitties begins the journey of his life without a single clue after his grotesque encounter with Johnnie Walker. This “no read, no write” gramps finds himself alone in an unfamiliar territory away from home for the first time. He timely receives all the help he can get from random strangers he meets and ends up with the happy-go-lucky truck driver Hoshino who has grown fond of him in a short span of time.

****************************************************************

My Review:

This is my first take on the work of the renowned Japanese author, Haruki Murakami. Most of his works were greatly recommended to me by my friends and I must say I cannot blame them for doing so.

Kafka on the Shore is undeniably a page-turner. All at once, I felt like I was fifteen myself. All of a sudden, I was Kafka Tamura, a teenager filled with all the kinds of angst and confusion against himself and the world he lives in. He was as clueless as he can be in escaping the trappings of what his fate had to offer.

Unfortunately, I think the part of Mr. Nakata was a bit dragging and boring. Plus, I didn't quite get much of the stone and its connection between Kafka's oedipal fate, Mr. Nakata, and everything else. To be honest, I was skim reading on this part already. Even after to read it twice, I still don’t get it. I guess, it must be some reference to his previous novels or maybe it was just me, being all lazy and slow that time.

"In everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive."

What I did understand, however, is that the story is almost a debate between what is real and what goes inside your head. I learned a mouthful of “quotable quotes” about life after finishing it. Although a little painful to read, I’d say Haruki Murakami novels are still a must-try.

"It's all a question of imagination. Our responsibility begins with the power to imagine."

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The Lovely Bones

Author:  Alice Sebold
Bought or Borrowed? Borrowed from a Friend
Book Info: Paperback, 328 pages
Published September 1st 2006 by Little Brown and Co. (first published July 3rd 2002)
ISBN 0316166685 (ISBN13: 9780316166683)

"These were the lovely bones that had grown around my absence: the connections – sometimes tenuous, sometimes made at a great cost, but often magnificent – that happened after I was gone." - Susie Salmon

Main Characters:

• Susie Salmon


• George Harvey


• Lindsey Salmon


• Ray Singh


• Samuel and Hal Heckler


• Len Fenerman

Plot:

Alice Sebold's debut novel revolves around the life and death of Susie Salmon who was mercilessly raped and killed at age fourteen by her psychotic neighbor George Harvey.  After the gruesome event that ended Susie's promising life on Earth, her soul continued to live  or so it seems in heaven. Well, it's not yet the real heaven though, but somewhere "in between" where souls do their stop over's and experience blissful moments in their own idea of heaven.  It's a place where nothing is beyond grasp, except life.

Eventually Franny, her intake counselor in heaven shows her a way to still watch over the now twisted lives of her family and the people she care about the most. This includes Ray Singh, Susie's almost but not quite boyfriend and first kiss back in school. A guy who she still aches to kiss once more.

Susie watches helplessly as her dad breaks into million little pieces each day while trying to pretend survive for her other siblings, Lindsey and Buckey. Both of which, although badly hurting continues to get by each day with the help of new friends Samuel and Hal Heckler.

She achingly endures seeing her mom who's inability to cope up with her child's death decides to plunge into a fleeting affair with Len Fenerman who was then the detective assigned to her daughter's case. With all of these things happening Susie isn't ready to let go, not just yet...

My Review:

The greatest mistake before leafing through the pages of this book was reading the reviews online. Most reviews gave brutal tirades that started on the author's use of absolutely confusing metaphors like:

“The tears came like a small relentless army approaching the front lines of her eyes. She asked for coffee and toast in a restaurant and buttered it with her tears.” and ended on the conclusion of the latter's incapability to even write a book.

Although I do agree that I was quite irked with some play on words that were used, I must say that I was very much affected with the story. This, I think matters more than being very clinical with the technicalities in writing

Reading The Lovely Bones was indeed a very heart-felt experience. I felt my heart pound when Mr. Harvey began talking to Susie in the creepiest manner, when Lindsey broke into the his house and when I thought Samuel and Lindsey won't make it home after graduation. Also, I felt like being on the verge of tears and can just imagine Susie still hearing her mom in the background calling her for dinner and even saying something about Buckley's new drawing posted on the fridge, when the unspeakable was happening to her.

In the book, when Ruth made a connection with Susie it just happened in a snap. Susie had an opportunity to be with her childhood love Ray, not because she planned it, but she was just given "the chance" to be with him again. Not that it was a requirement just so she can move on and crossover to the "real heaven".

I was relieved that the story was not delivered in a way that she'd have to dwell on hunting down Mr. Harvey, because that would have felt quite a burden to read. She was focusing more on the people she loves rather than her violator. People must understand that for a typical fourteen-year-old, life is just that simple, I guess.

The conclusion of the story was not epic at all, but was not bad either like what I have expected based on the reviews. The fact that the Salmon family moved on and started putting the broken pieces together by themselves, without needing the help of Susie's apparition or soulful intervention makes it very realistic. The book made us see how a family will be torn to pieces after a sudden tragedy and how they go through certain stages of denial, rage, and finally, acceptance.

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The Next Best Day of My Life

Someday there will come a time when you'll be able muster all the guts you can muster and throw your worries away off to a place where you can never hear of it again. No bills, deadlines, or people to worry about. For once, life will just be about you.

Imagine getting up in the morning looking ten years younger than you really are without all the wrinkles caused by too much anxiety. The sun gently touches your face that would have perhaps launched a thousand ships. Only happy thoughts swirling inside your head. 

You just wake up on the right side of the bed every single day. And right there and then you decide that you are going to go to some exotic never-heard country no matter what it takes.  You dust off your trunk and start grabbing random clothes from without even considering if you're to face bitter wintry nights or scorching summer days. A few steps more and your loading your camera and all the wires that should come with it. Of course, you won't forget your colorful chunks of pastels and the watercolors that all dried up over the years. I bet you barely remember the day you bought them.

Next thing you know, you’re standing on your front door fixing the crease of your Boho peasant skirt, all smiles with nothing in mind but that boldest plan to just wander, paint, and write. A Eureka moment to set foot anywhere possible, get inspiration in things you see from the usual grind to the never before seen. You dilly dally and kill time people watching in parks and streets, saying, “Hi,” to random tourist blondes or sun-kissed natives.

All day, you’ll write. No minimum words. No limits. No boundaries. No matter how silly. No matter how senseless.

Most days, you’ll paint. Do your thing in every medium you want – oils, watercolors, pastels, gouache, et al. Use boards, paper, canvas – primed, gessoed, ungessoed, or whatever. No rules. No standards. No expectations. For all you care, whatever they call it, your work is ART.

You grin, you look around and in your head without second thoughts, you define that day as the next best day of your life.

First Part: My Solitary North Star

Pain in life is  something more constant than love or faith. A feeling that may never abandon a heart in each gloomy rainy dawn or blistering summer night that he is forced to endure. Its presence can even grow into an unfading companion  more than a family or a friend can ever offer.

I sat there on the long rusted white-painted bench of a local provincial bus terminal waiting for him along with other passengers who now tried to lie flat and rob a nap while waiting for their own trip. I on the other hand, tugged a copy of the Metro Chronicles, trying to kill time by reading some random entertainment article about two Hollywood actresses that have gone into different paths in their respective career. The page shows two ironic pictures of the two, the first dark-haired actress was all smiling and glamorous in her very neat swept up hairstyle while the blonde was shown in perhaps her ugliest photo with her scarlet red lipstick was not working with her mouth that was awkwardly parted (which gave me the idea that the picture was taken while she was in a middle of some argument), her yellow blonde mane was messy and she totally look like she was harassed or something.

The better looking actress, Atasha Pri just won herself an Oscar for her outstanding performance in her latest film that bagged recognitions from almost all award giving bodies, while the young haggard Lola Truman scores herself an exclusive contract with an alcoholic slash drug rehabilitation facility plus an ultimate  meet and greet opportunity with the state prosecutors and other prominent authorities of the law. As  I skimmed the page with my eyes moving on the bottom part almost covering my face to continue  and to ward off the malicious stare of an old man whose face can no longer give space to more of  his sprouting,swollen  and puss filled acne and who was just sitting across me.

The author of the newspaper assessed that Atasha and Lola's differences were varied because of their parent's extremely different manner of raising a child. Atasha were raised by good folks who asked her to stop her acting career to finish her studies at an ivy league university such as Harvard. The obedient child then  did as she was told and brought home a diploma in Psychology.Alongside of this rare educational accomplishment for a Hollywood actress, were lead roles in numerous plays from New York's outstanding theaters and other notable achievements.

Unfortunately,Lola was left to endure the stage parenting of both her showbiz parents who pushed her to do stuff and made her own identity erode. After starring in different block buster films starting when she was just eight years old she then became an all time favorite for the tabloids and gossip hungry paparazzi that made her famous in all the negative sense there could possibly be. She was seen dating men and lesbians at the same time, smoking pot and marijuana after getting wasted on too much clubbing and partying all night. Recently, she was headlined for the nth time for crashing her car while trying to get away from her old business partner who was trying to get her for unsettled financial obligations. Then the writer of the newspaper bade both actresses good luck in their endeavors.

I on the other was muttering, "Yes, thank you for the fair and just journalism Einstein." concealing a sarcastic tone feeling utterly sympathetic to Lola whose films I have seen countless times and whose life I can at least claim to understand.

After that, I tried flipping through the pages again and laughed silently on the hilarious comic strips that were published in black and white. Of course I purposely ignored the crossword puzzle, I was "oh puhleeez!"  like as if I needed more thinking to keep my brain busy. That day, I kind of feel like my heart and my mind were so tired to do their routinely roles which was to constantly worry and ache for all that I am worth.Then just when I was beginning to get bored and consider the time so much in its funeral already, since I was trying to kill time earlier, wasn't I?

Then, like a ray of light in that gloomy cloudy afternoon of a rainy summer Lucas came. He was already standing in front of me like a cavalier ready to serve his damsel in distress while smiling like a little boy who just saw a red balloon for the first time.

"Sorry to keep you waiting my Perdita Leonore" he said giggling as he sat beside me and I slouched a little, faking a close to tantrum look for he knew I hate it when he calls me by my ugh so old from the dusty baul(wooden chest) given names. Names that depict who I am, what I have been,what I always will be and what I can only be, no further different from the fictitious characters powerfully created by literary masters. I am as literally the human equate of the lost girl from Shakespeare and the lady who was forever lost as far as Edgar Allan Poe is concerned.

I looked at him much  longer than I should have normally looked at someone, trying to fight the tears and the stories throbbing inside me aching to be heard.  I fought the urge and plastered a smile instead, the corners of my mouth stung a little, perhaps my facial nerves was in so much protest of my advocacy in pretending to be happy or at the very least look okay to other people, including to the only man I love.

More than all this mix of thoughts and emotions, I knew better, that Lucas has been so good to me and someone whom I cannot live without. I have decided, he does not deserve a part of my misery. Definitely, not him, not my ray of light, not my Solitary North Star...

Last Wednesday I saw my younger sister's performance during her final demo teaching. This is a requirement for college graduating students under the College of Education in any university and this is almost equivalent to a final thesis defense that other college courses mandates. During this

The Evil Things Stress Can Do To You

For months, I’ve been suffering from a terrible back pain that I didn't really want to fuss about.

My mom said I got it from sleeping like a fetus, a sleeping position where your arms are almost hugging your legs and you’re so hunched. Plus, of course, the obvious fact that I really have a bad posture, maybe as bad as Quasimodo's on the Hunchback of Notre Dame. But I kept ignoring it because I was so sure it’s going to subside and eventually go away just like before.

However, as days passed, I felt the pain growing more intense and getting a bit disturbing that I can no longer bear a day without a "Salonpas" on my back and pain liniment each night. I had trouble sleeping at night and concentrating on tasks at work. It then got to a point where in while ins a bus on my way home, it got too painful, I could hardly move. I was already crying like a baby when I got home.



The next day, after weeks of enduring the unbearable agony (which, at the time, was giving me the anxieties of scoliosis, osteoporosis, or worse, a broken backbone), I sought the help of an expert. I made an appointment with a resident physician from a credible nearby hospital. The doctor's door and desk reads "Orthopedic Surgery and Traumatology Specialist" under his name.

Funny thing, the doctor was in great disbelief when I told him about my back pains and my fears about it. He shrugged the idea of an X-ray. He said I was too young and that he is more than sure we can disregard problems concerning my bones. He just asked three key questions:

• What’s your job?


• Does it involve sitting in front of a computer most of the time?


• Are you getting too much stress from work lately?

Of course, I answered him with a big "YES."

Then he gave his diagnosis without even asking me to undergo any lab test or whatsoever. He said that I was suffering from chronic acute back pain. According to him, my excessive stress is triggering muscle spasms or cramps in my back. "Wow, stress. Seriously? Yeah, like blame everything on stress, huh?" This was what I was thinking back then. Well, for all I know this guy can just be a good ‘ol Dr. Quack, Quack in white.

But after I have done some research through the Internet on the top causes of severe back pain, where stress actually did land a major spot, I knew Doc was right. Most of the sites that I have visited confirmed the major connection between stress and back pain.

Based on studies, stress causes a release of stress hormones, which then increase the perception of pain and causes muscles to tighten up. The muscles tense up so much they go into painful spasms. Back and neck muscles are particularly sensitive to the effects of stress.

Aside from painful bouts of back pains, some minor negative effects of stress also include:

• involuntary chattering, stammering


• gritting and grinding of teeth


• Insomnia, nightmares and disturbing dreams


• aggravation in skin allergies and disease (e.g. rashes, itching, hives, eczema, psoriasis, arthritis)


• Unexplained or frequent "allergy"
  attacks


• chest pain


• frozen shoulder


• anxiety


• depression


• constipation


• dandruff


• zits and pimples


• Abdominal discomfort.

But it doesn't stop there, as stress can also lead to more serious and debilitating health conditions such as:

• Heart attack  (caused by increased blood pressure, sugar and cholesterol)


• Stroke (caused by increased blood pressure, sugar and cholesterol)


• Ischemic Bowel disease like Crohn’s disease


• Mental and Psychological disorders


• Bell's Palsy (yet to be proven)


• Chronic pain


• Gastrointestinal disorders

So, after lecturing me on life, posture, stress, and thinking too much, Doc wrote me a medical certificate, gave me a list of pain killers (which I did not use), and a paper with helpful illustrations of proper postures when doing different activities.

There are countless medical diseases – including mental disorders – that point stress as the culprit.  So, the next time you feel stressed about something, ask yourself first, "Is it worth it?"

Related Sources:

http://www.bigbackpain.com/stressandbackpain.html

http://ezinearticles.com/?Stress-Could-Be-Causing-Your-Upper-Back-Pain&id=3589912

http://www.stressfocus.com/stress_focus_article/stress-effects-on-body.htm

http://www.relaxation-at-home.com/stresssideeffects.html

http://www.stress.org/topic-effects.htm

Daydream and see the Difference

Don't you sometimes get the idea that the world made you forget how it is to just breathe in order to live? To just get off your bed and wake up to start and sleep to end each day? Even worse, don't you get the picture of a world that turned you into someone  not any different to zombies from thriller movies,  just moving but not aware  of what is right or wrong, good or bad, and of wants  over needs.

A world filled with monthly bills, work deadlines, relationship issues in the family and other concerns that root from all the negative scenarios.  A world that dictates people to choose practicality more than anything else. Unfortunately, you and me, we live in "that world", and it left us without any reason so as not to daydream

Way back in grade school, my Math teacher once told my seat mate that day dreaming is only for lazy and brainless people. Perhaps, she was just making a point since my classmate was doing it inside the classroom, submerged with the swirl of random thoughts inside my head instead of the Pythagorean theorem, or the Associative Property of Multiplication. However, I think of it otherwise.

Daydreaming can be a therapy, a way of organizing your thoughts and  an innocent try of  getting over all that is bitter. It is  a manner of visualizing what you really want to do and want to become in life minus all the pressures and restrictions from the real world. It offers you freedom from your own inhibitions more than getting drunk does. It enables you to be who you want to be, at the same time gives you the license to do what you ought to  do.

It gives you the sweetest escape that your empty pockets and hectic job schedules  hinders you from doing. It even allows you to be with the people whom you cannot really be with, whether because they've tied the knot or have called life quits. More importantly, it allows you to dream, something that this world tagged as forbidden.

I myself  take my day dreaming hat and call myself as the "Daydream Goddess" when I need to. I think the name suits me, shrug the stupid idea that my looks equal that of a goddess because I sure don't. Kidding aside, it's just that perhaps I have more idea of day dreaming than any normal thinking human has of it. I have done it for over a million  times in my entire lifetime.  I do it inside the bus, inside the train and inside the cab (but of course, I still pay attention on the fare meter!), which I do twice since I do it back and forth on my way to work and on my same commute when I am headed home. Believe me, it has been very therapeutic for me all the time. If I were a psychologist, I would honestly recommend this activity to most of my patients inflicted with the worst case of paranoia, stress, manic depression or even to those with the gravest suicidal tendencies. This may be counted as admission that I myself may be or have been ill from all or even one of those disorders. Well, aren't most of us if not all of us?

If you are a person who is currently misplaced in this  world, we fondly call ours. A world of creativity versus practicality, which has trapped people with eight to five jobs that most despise but so badly need to survive. A world full of people whose lives they cannot really live anymore but must live out to merely exist...

Then, day dreaming can be the first step to resurrect those childhood dream of yours. That dream you have buried in a pile of long overdue paper works. The dream  of becoming a writer, a painter, a musician. The dream of who you actually want to be, of doing what you in fact want to do.

It is time to allow yourself to dream as it is your right and not a privilege. Overcome your fears of being called absurd and being rejected. Eventually to forget and prove wrong all the  people who were sure you cannot when you know in your heart that you actually can. Pursue your dreams which can be the key to your own most sought after happiness, even so your own fulfillment; not just in a matter of  profession but as a person holistically.

P.S.
Daydream and watch it  make all the difference...

Hats down,

The Daydream Goddess