The Revenge of the Geeks

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Which Side Are You On?

I just watched the midnight premiere screening of Captain America: Civil War. This is not a review. But, let me tell you. Before that, I just came home from a 16-hour flight. I was awake for more than 24 hours before that. On top of that, I was sleeping at the couch of the local CBTL while waiting for the cinema doors to open.

There was not one dull moment. My eyes were glued to the screen and my heart was doing somersaults. I went home after and I could not get it out of my head.

In short, if you have not watched it yet then go take a hint and please do.

Again, this is not a Civil War review. As I was saying I while ago, I did some late night, post-adrenaline thinking at four in the mourning with my plans on getting back on some shut eye too far from reach.

This is what I thought about then.

I may have made the connotation that Civil War is a great movie. (Honestly, why are you still reading this? Go watch it!) So, a group of exquisitely talented people made that movie possible. This group was funded by a company composed of people who believed in their concept. This company is inspired by the colorful literature that the movie was based upon. (Read it. Seriously. Oh and bring some tissues with you when you do.)

I just thought of what kind of people were they when they were younger. Who were they when they did not have these fancy job titles connected to their names? I just thought. They were geeks.

They were the ones described in cartoons as the kids wearing those thick-rimmed glasses. They were the ones with braces. They were the ones wearing ridiculously pristinely ironed clothes. They were the ones who knows the subject matter better than the teacher. They were the ones who live in their parent’s basement because he spends more time there in front of the computer or the train set than anywhere else in the house. They were the ones being locked inside their own lockers. They were the ones secluded by the group. They were the ones being bullied.

I always say to my friends that this is a great era to be a nerd or a geek or whatever you choose to describe yourself if you relate to this on a personal level. All this awesome popcorn movies, all the amazing technology, all the advancements could not be possible if it were not for those former youngsters who get more wedgies than kisses.

This era is the revenge. I always say that kids nowadays are lucky because smart has become the new sexy (finally). Proclaim that you are a fan of Harry Potter or of Marvel or of Game of Thrones and you will receive appraisal and you would even be more than glad to find a group that shares the same interest as you. Do that in my time and you would have received weird looks and no hope to find your kind.

Yes, this is the revenge of the geeks. This is their superhero story wherein they rise from the turmoil that came with growing up in such condition. They used their abilities to save people and to promote the greater good. They have saved future generations of geeks from experiencing the same fate as what they had experienced. They promoted acceptance and unity everywhere.

I raise my glass/goblet/mug/flute/horn (just choose depending on your fandom) to the geeks. For without them, there will be no Microsoft. There will be no Apple. There will be no Facebook. There will be no Naruto. There will be no Marvel. There will be no hoverboards. There will be no Internet.

So, if you are being shunned and excluded because you are passionate about something that is not the norm of your environment then have patience, work hard and do not fear. Your revenge will come.

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Pride and Joy

I have been spending most of my time in my bedrooom lately.

I have rearranged my things for three times already. I have cleaned out my made up desk (which is actually just a small table at the foot of my bed since I do not really have a proper desk) of junk and whatnot. Then, I decided that it would be a bother for me to actually use that desk since it was so low that I had to sit on the floor to use it. In the end, I just stashed all of my writing and art stuff underneath my bed. Don’t fret. I put them in boxes before I did that.

There is also that bookshelf of mine. It is huge. It is taller than me even. But, with my increasing Pop! figure collection, fandom (especially Harry Potter) memorabilia, current book collection (I think 250+ already, have not counted it yet), and those medical books that my mom had that I could not dispose, it became too small to accommodate my needs. I have been thinking of rearranging the whole thing. Sometimes, I just look at it and I get relaxed.

All of my prized physical possessions are in that bedroom. I stumbled upon a question in The Daily Prompt. What is your prized possession? I just could not answer right away. So, I rephrased it. If there would be a fire, what one thing would I carry to safety with me?

Common sense tells me that I would bring my phone. Contacts, photos, documents, and all of my records are in it. Yet, I would not say that my phone is my prized possession. I could have any kind of phone and the purpose would be the same. For me, a prized possession is something that I could not just part with even if it failed to stand the test of time.

My mind drifted to the Elder Wand replica that my brother got me as a college graduation gift. It was my first Harry Potter memorabilia. I have been a fan since the first movie came out. I was not even 10 years old then. I thought it too petty to treasure such a thing so I tried thinking of other things.

Most people would answer something like an old family photo. Or perhaps a signed ball. Or maybe an old note. I do not need to keep an old family photo. My grandfather’s death confirmed that. I do not need a reminder of what they look like. I do not need to be reminder of their impact on my life. I know it just as much as I know my name. I do not have anything that is signed by someone famous. Besides, I do not treasure those kind of things that much. Give me a signed copy of the first Bloomsbury edition of Harry Potter. Trust that it will be taken care of but I would not save it if there would be a fire. Notes? Plenty. They have an impact every time I read one. It brings back emotions and memories long buried. Almost important enough. But not quite. They just make a recall. The initial effect that they had on me has already been instilled into my person.

Back to the wand. Yes, a long piece of molded resin painted and branded. Wow. Let me defend myself.

That wand was the very first gift that I have ever received that I was honestly ecstatic about. My brother had my reaction on record. I was totally amazeballs… Anyway. That wand actually came with a letter…

Now is the time for you to make your dreams come true. But it won’t be easy. Hard work, belief, faith. And one day, life will surprise you. You’ll be living the dream. May this remind you that they come true.

That wand was the embodiment of that letter. It was a promise that the future is magical and I have the power to wield it as how I pleased. I felt powerful whenever I held that wand not because I imagined it to be the actual Elder Wand (but it would be soooo cool if it was) but because I felt that I am the captain of my life. I can cast any spell on it and swish the wand around to spread the magic on my existence and on others as well. I can manipulate anything with my actions and decisions. I can do anything and everything will change. Wielding the most powerful wand in the world is great possibility. The power that I can possess will not only affect me but also others as well. I cannot just think of myself. I have to care for what my power would do to others. For it may be a joy to manipulate others to your whim, it is a greater joy to manipulate the situation to theirs.

That wand is the embodiment of what I am. A mere stick of endless possibilities. That wand is the physicality of what I realized when I first unwrapped that graduation gift. It was okay to be myself. It was okay because the world may say otherwise but those who matter would be there. It was okay to be a nerd or whatever because those people who matter would accept that as that.

That wand is the proof that love is the strongest magic of all. Love is my prized possession.

The Definition of Passion

‘Passion’ is my favorite word in the English language.

I won’t cite a Webster definition. You all know what passion means. So, why am I writing a post about the meaning of passion? Blame CBTL for that. I read a passage from my 2016 journal and there came the thought.

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I fell in love with the word when I was still a college student. Mix intelligence with angst and put a dash of smart mouth and you get yourself a teen that defends everything that he or she thinks was right. That was basically me.

I would prove my point in debates with others to the extent that I sound angry. I would always excuse myself and say that I was not angry and was just passionate about the idea. It was not that I was forcing people to believe me and support my cause. I was more in the context of making them understand what I was coming from.

I pride myself in having a strong set of morals. I cannot be bought easily. I  try my utmost to keep my promises and admit my failure if I did otherwise. I do things on my own. I keep quiet about my achievements. I do not gossip. Do not waste. Family comes first. Those are my unbreakables.

I recall a time when my Management professor asked me if I would seal a deal with a potential business partner which will greatly benefit my business in the long run if I change things according to what they wanted. I remember answering that if it does not stand with my business ethics and morals then I would agree. I was then questioned for sacrificing the sake of my business for a set of morals. I stood my ground. I told him that I would not be bought that easily and I would not sacrifice my loyalties. He called me too young and too idealistic. I was bound to change my mind when I get older and when I get to see how the real world outside the classroom works.

Four years later, I saw how ugly business life could be. I saw what the real world outside the classroom was like. My answer still does not change. Call me too young and too idealistic all you want. I call myself passionate.

I had a male friend who would translate the Filipino word ‘malibog’ into ‘passionate’. As much as I deny to admit, it made some sense but being passionate is more than that. FYI, ‘malibog’ means being erotically-inclined e.g. spilling out green jokes, being all touchy and grope-y, have an interest in anything sexually related blah blah blah.

There is a reason after all why most authors would describe erotic scenes with phrases like ‘and they fell into their incessant passion, a mix of sweat and gasps muffled by flesh and sheets.’ (my words, btw. It is just an example.) Passion is the subject wherein all logic is lost and wherein sense and instinct come in. Obviously, the connection is there.

For me, passion is more. It is so much more. Being passionate comprises the entirety of one’s being. Be passionate about something and all logic flies out of the window. You don’t realize that it happens until your logic comes back through the door and collides with you like a punch to the brain. Yeap, not the skull, the brain.

Ever felt about something so strong that you would do your utmost to keep it and protect it?  Ever felt that your purpose was finally discovered and you would be damned if you just ignore it and walk on as if nothing happened? Ever felt the realization that you would be sacrificing much for something and yet you do it anyway? Ever felt so strongly for something that you would make sure that you achieve it or see your goal accomplished no matter what?

This is not only about love. This is not only about hate. Remember the thin line between those two? That thin line is called passion. Love someone so much that one mistake can send you plummeting back onto solid ground with nothing but resentment. Hate someone so much that you will do much to destroy that person and make sure he is yours. The thin line is a dangerous thing. Cross over and all you know disappears. Things like this can only be found in stories. But is it not reality a story?

Passion keeps you driving to your destination. Passion fuels your body to continue to work. Passion is that nagging feeling that burns in your gut when you do otherwise.

Being passionate is losing regard of your rationality and just relying on your instinct. Once it knows what it wants, it hires rationality back in to help him do its dirty work which is to keep you moving.

I barely make any sense. As I reread this post, I could easily see how my thoughts are scrambled as I try to say everything at once. I guess that is what passion does. It tries everything to get you across.

Passion is my favorite word because it describes me as a person. My pride has saved me countless of times wherein I would make wise and firm decisions just because ‘my pride would not allow myself to do it otherwise’. This is not ‘sin’ pride. This is ‘moral’ pride. It is the offspring of my passion and my sense of morality. Good with a pinch of danger. I sound like a misguided comic book hero.

Once I believe, my intentions would not falter. I would fight to the end. That is passion.

Inspiration and The Lack Thereof

I know that I have not been writing in awhile. I don’t know what I should write. I don’t know about anything worth writing. I wanted to write about my thoughts but I thought that it might sound childish if all I did was talk about myself. I wanted to write about my travel experiences as I did notice that travel blogs are the new thing. I might get a lot of readers. Then again, I don’t know how to execute. I wanted to write about life but I did not want to sound so depressing.

I went to work yesterday. I had to work with a fellow attendant who is a good friend of mine. She and I had a lot in common. She also has her own blog. Go check it out. It is not your typical lifestyle and travel blog. If my writing  has any worth to anyone out there then go on ahead and thank her. She was one of my motivation to start writing again which resulted in this blog.

Anyway, we talked about our common love (I refuse to call it as obsession) for Harry Potter. Besides that, the topic steered towards our life and work relationships. Then, it, in my opinion, brought us closer as friends. I envy her a bit before to be honest. She was just this free and uncaring thing that would make me look at myself and realize how controlled I was as a person. But then again, if she could do it then why can’t I? That is because I have people to protect and prioritize first.

This C.A. Villeta alter ego is already a stretch for me. My dear friend, if you are reading this, I beg of you not to reveal my true identity. I can’t handle that yet. Call me a coward but that is it. Talk about being a Gryffindor.

Anyway, I wanted to continue this blog. I really do. So, I started to interview her on how she did it. I did learn a lot. The most striking part of our conversation was as follows…

Her: How is life?
Me: Boring.
Her: That is not possible because you are not a boring person. (That was honestly the sweetest thing that anyone had said to me in a long time.)
Me: Then how would you call it?
Her: Uneventful
Me: So I am an uneventful? Is that not the same thing as boring?
Her: Not uneventful. I would say that not much things happen in your life.
Me: Same thing.
Her: ‘Uneventful’ is not really an appropriate adjective to describe a person.
*We started laughing*
Me: How do you do it? How do you come up with things to write about?
Her: When life happens then I blog.
Me: Then I must be so boring.

Then she talks about how she started her blog. I had to cut her off because I knew how. I knew what her social media posts meant. She told me all of it before. She forgot, apparently. Yet, silly me forgot the actual name of her blog when it was so painstakingly obvious. She talked about her experiences with whatever it was that was the closest that she could do in matters of blog promotion. She also talked about her most successful series, Single Girl Diaries.

I did not tell her that I write a blog as well. Part of me was embarrassed because I have been doing a foul job at it. Part of me was still clinging to the self-preservation that no one must know my true identity. And here I am talking about being myself. I am such a hypocrite. Then again, I am a big mess of contradictions. I recently posted a true life short story on Medium and I sent the link to the person in question. Now, I am writing this and throwing my shield up for her to know who I am. What a mess.

So, main point is I am writing again. Hopefully for the long haul. When life happens then she blogs. I guess I was looking for some majestic breakthrough in mine so that I could have the motivation to write again. That conversation must be it.

How will I do it? How will I come up with things to write about?
I have not the slightest idea.
For now, I will just write.
I will write even if it is just gibberish like this post right here.
I will write until I write something that matters.
I will write until the gibberish matters.
I hope.

It feels good to type again, to be honest.
To my dear friend, thank you. And yes, I think you are right. You should write more. There are people counting on your work. Count me as one of them.

Blogtober Challenge 11: Sneak Peek Clumsy

Today’s post marks that I am currently 1/3 of the way to completing all Blogtober Challenges.

Today, I am supposed to share a sneak peek behind-the-scenes look of my blog.

Struggling To Be A Human Being has not even celebrated its first monthsary yet.

This blog is new, thus, I have no routine yet as to how I fill the blog up with content. I am still struggling, actually. As of the moment, I am still adjusting to the responsibility of posting everyday via Blogtober, making connections with fellow bloggers, desperately trying to gain more reach, and providing more crisp and engaging visuals to support and colorfy my posts.

Despite that, I have been writing for two years now. Even then, I had no proper routine. I wrote when when I wanted. I posted my content when I felt like it. Yet, as a writer, I have more concrete processes on how I conjure my content than on how I materialize them into cyberspace.

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Separation

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Separation ©C.A. Villeta

My eyes were tired. I had not slept the whole night. As I watched the light seep through my bedroom window, I wondered why I could not sleep. Perhaps, it was because I was lying awkwardly across the bed with my legs dangling off the side. Perhaps, I was thinking of her.

I got bored at watching the light passing through my window and instead lowered my gaze to the bed placed parallel to mine. It had been three months since she last laid there. Now, it is full of stuff that I did not need but bought anyway.

See, I called her last night. She sounded happy. I pretended to be the same. I was happy that she was happy. I just did not want to sound defeated. I was not the reason for her happiness. It was better when she was my roommate. I was not content and attempted to take it further. Now, we are merely acquaintances. I should have just kept my mouth shut.