On one of my classes, I asked my students to write down on a piece of paper what motivated them to come to class that day.
A couple of them said it was because they liked the subject, and a few even mentioned the professor as a motivator (yeah right, suck-ups! haha). Some of them cited other extra-curricular activities they looked forward to.
One of them simply stated “music”. Music? This guy serious? I was a bit befuddled.
I asked him what he meant, and his nonchalant answer was that listening to music got him through the commute and brought him to class that day.
Strange, I thought.
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I had to go to school to meet a couple of students for consultation this morning. On the way there, for no particular reason, I turned up the 60GB iPod classic I’ve always kept in my car to a couple of old favorite tunes that I haven’t played for quite some time now.
Driving through traffic-free Katipunan, suddenly a gush of excitement came as I listened to the music.
String orchestrations tastefully layered against lead guitar solos. Strategically-positioned key modulations. Toe-tap-inducing syncopated rhythms. Lush and textured backing vocals. Insane keyboard riffs. Moving lyrics. Magnificent arrangements.
Then I get it.
A few years back, music has pervaded my days and boosted my productivity and motivation in ways I seemed to have forgotten of late.
I took my iPod out of the car and brought it with me to the office today.
The things I look forward to everyday a few years ago have all but lost their luster to me now.
I reckon in the not-so-distant future it’d just be the case as well with what I fancy at the moment.
I have a tendency for absolute closures. Initiatives, engagements, and interests… people, places, and things. However big its influence and presence may seem at the time, if I’m done, it’s gone.
Then something else comes along and takes its place.
These past few days, I feel like I’m at the brink of another major closure.
My gut tells me it’s due. But a big part of me tells me to tarry and think it through further.
reposted from the old allanko.com blog, first published in September 19, 2008.
As I drove by a key place from my past, a host of thoughts come to mind.
Years and years of fond memories and recollections, brought back by virtue of reminiscently passing by the now-unfrequented nooks and crannies of yesteryears.
Much as the past could never be relived anew, tracing it gave me a complicated, surreal feeling. It took me back to a time that I thought had already been left behind.
Apparently not — I realized it’s still very much a part of me.
The past is as much a fragment of thought as it is a fixture of being.
reposted from the old allanko.net blog, first published in March 25, 2009.
A few days back, a representative, microcosmic thought arose from a nonchalant conversation. While one can consciously dare to defy certain personal limits every so often, the very same person can subconsciously have a terminal case of commitment-phobia: an irrational disinclination to take the plunge on life-altering changes.
This oddball condition may come to light on several fronts, like unsettling hesitations about actively pursuing interests and indecisiveness with romantic relationships — among other things. For them, somehow the ensuing trade-offs manage to rear their ugly heads right before the point of no return, providing a way out for the doubtful and unsure one to sneak off and skedaddle into the sunset.
Last week, I watched Matt Damon and Robin Williams’ Good Will Hunting, which thematically portrays one’s decision to commit to a choice amidst and despite several possibilities. In the movie, math prodigy Will (Damon) has a chronic aversion to commit to any progressive possibility, until the shrink played by Williams manages to emphatically persuade him to give it a chance.
While the character’s issue with commitments roots from his childhood experiences (being orphaned and abandoned), for some people it may be due to the fear of losing out on the other things that making a choice would necessarily eclipse and obliterate. Perhaps because, some may simply be incapable of single-faceted devotion, like the jack of all trades who’s a master of none. Or perhaps because, thus far they have yet to stumble upon the Minnie Drivers of their lives — the one that decisively renders every other viable option, substantially less appealing.
