Introducing Ylen

I made good use of yesterday's absence from the office by sleeping, playing games, and working on Ylen. I presume that I would finish with her in two days time. Since I do not get to work on her straight(just like the others), I have already expected that it would take half a week before I finally complete her. 
Ylen is the main character in the story I have created which I entitled Lunatica. However, this title is still up for change. So for now, I consider it a mere working title. I have been contemplating on changing it to Elipsis, which is a Latin term for eclipse. 
Even as a child, I have always been fond of making stories. It was only now that I have realized that what I really want to do is get these stories out and illustrate them at the same time. I already have quite a number of good stories in mind. Uncannily, the whole plot for each just pops into my head during mundane occurrences in daily life. Personally, I vouch for my stories because my intuition strongly dictates that they are good. The creative force at work with me, prompting me to write poems and essays and paint, is the same one compelling these stories to just crop up from out of the blue. 
I had other good stories circling in my head before Lunatica hit me more than three years ago while working overtime as an illustrator. Honestly, I couldn't tell why the compulsion to actualize Lunatica this year is so strong to the point that it really nags me. I just hope I could muster enough determination and discipline to work on it until completion. It's not coming up with the ideas that poses a problem with me. Sustaining them until completion is the main trouble. In fact, the ideas just flow into my head like water. At times, the images come too fast that even before I could start working on one, another one or a couple more come rushing in. 
Lunatica is a fantasy drama. And Ylen here is the eldest daughter of the moon divinity Ylunei whose five daughters(Vexis, Yrina, Lirea, Aruni, and Ylen) form the stellar unuversalis constellations surrounding her. Each daughter represents a specific power although they share the common ability to permeate and control thoughts. Ylunei is the most powerful divinity alongside her twin Arove(who rules the day, with Ylunei ruling the night) in a world I call Rivezi. Her daughters form an essential part of her overall authority and divinity. Like her and Arove, they are immortal divinities whose role in the world of Rivezi figures greatly  in the lives and existence of the many different clans, as well as the balance of the entire ecosystem, thriving in this fantastically magical place. During times of a major distress(or an impending one) when the balance of their world is at stake, one of the daughters of Ylunei would be sent to their world by being born as one of the Rivezi inhabitants.  
In their archives of divinity, such births, indicated by a lunar eclipse, only happen once in three million or five million years when big changes, whether good or bad, have to take place. The birth of one of Ylunei's daughter could either be an indication of  a major catastrophe, costing the entire Rivezi itself, or an ultimate blessing, marking a drastic change in the future of Rivezi and the course of the lives of its inhabitants. And in this story, Ylen, the eldest daughter of the moon and the spearhead of the constellations, is born into the most vicious and most powerful  tribe in Rivezi, Ulna, as the second and youngest daughter of the second highest magistrate, Terionne.    
From the beginning, Terionne, whose role as second top authority and obeliskos(divine shaman) next to the terrible Ulna emperor Olvoz(his brother), was made aware of the impending birth of Ylen, who is to exist in the form of his youngest daughter. To save her and his wife(Menea) and eldest daughter( Zulayka), he keeps his wife's pregnancy a secret. Together with his right hand, Mondo, they hatch a plan to create a false accident leading to their entire family's supposed death, so they can escape surreptitiously into the crystal mountains and away from Ulna and his brother Olvoz. Perenially hungry for power and bad to the bone, Olvoz is known as the almighty evil emperor of Ulna and most powerful shaman in the entire Rivezi. Through the intervention of Ylunei, Terionne, whose powers are comparatively poor compared to his brother, received the oracle of  Ylen's birth  alone, without any interference from the permeating abilities of Olvoz. 
And so Terionee succeeds, and with his family, they fled into the mountains leaving everyone else in Ulna assuming that they have all perished. They lived there in peace until Menea gave birth to their youngest daughter(the Rivezines form of Ylen) whom she named Mira. However, with the help of the volcanic divinity Urco, Olvoz was finally able to penetrate through the protective bubble created and maintained by Terionne after nearly a year. He learns of the oracle and was enraged at what his brother did. Upon realizing that Ylen was already born, he was tempted by the lure of becoming more powerful, nearly as powerful as a divinity,  should he succeed in sacrificing Ylen to Urco and obtaining her divine powers in return. On his part, Urco would no longer come in second to the supreme twin divinities, Ylunei and Arove, and might even usurp them, thus becoming the most powerful divinity of them all. 
And the story stops here...For now that is. The main conflict in Lunatica is how Mira, youngest daughter of Terionne who was born blind but with uncanny powers to see through the soul of everything and anything, would come to realize and accept that she is Ylen, the highest of constellations, and fulfill her mission while battling the forces of evil in the form of Olvoz, Urco, and her sister, Zulayka. As to how Zulayka came to be on the opposite side, the story would unravel the tragic fate that lead to her being separated from her family and being transformed into the meanest and most powerful sorceress Rivezi has ever known.  
The plot stretches on, with many characters and scenes yet to be created and written. I am still enthralled with  making the illustrations for the characters. But I assure that by the end of this month the complete synopsis of the story would have been written down and copyrighted accordingly. I have no way of determining when I would get around to finishing this story, let alone start it. I always have to battle that perfectionist voice of self-doubt, questioning my ability to effectively put this tale into words. Nevertheless, with faith and determination, I am confident that I would overcome it and become the full-pledged writer and artist that I should be.
Here are photographs of the unfinished study of Ylen rendered again in various pen and ink materials and liquid eraser. 

Haiku Story Train Started!

Hazy, hazy pictures. It's not foggy here in my makeshift studio, but the pictures all came out hazy! Oh, well, anyways, these are the first two pages of the haiku story train book I am working on. What I'm planning to do is to write a story  in a haiku format with each part accompanied by an illustration, making concrete the visual imagery embodied in my words. I would be a hypocrite to say that I am not fantasizing about releasing this book one day. I am. But since I know how hard it is to become a published book author, it is best to just focus on what I want to do and just worry about the whole publishing shebang when I'm done with my book. 
Looks familiar? See, this is a portrait of my Tweetie bear, whom I use to symbolize me(which explains why it is her face poking out of the bag in my profile pic). As usual, I used a variety of pens and liquid eraser on her. And yes, I worked on her during breaktimes at the office. It took me a total of two or three hours to get her done, meaning I spent two to three lunch breaks working on her. But the haiku introduction accompanying her turned out bad. Not the haiku itself, but rather the way I have written it down. So I would rewrite it but not by hand anymore. Or maybe, I'll just have to work on my calligraphy skills and do it all over again manually. Oh, well, the illustration is finished, and the cover illustration is partly done, too. But like the picture I took of Tweetie bear's portrait, it is blurry. Likewise, I used a variety of pens with liquid eraser.
Since I've just started, there is a chance that I may change them or not use them in the book at all, depending on how the circumstances would turn out after I am done. And the poem I am talking about, which I had intended to use for Tweetie's illustration, turned out differently from what I had originally planned since my moods have again shifted, thus my thoughts were diverted as well. 

My Insanity

I first started writing this poem right after  finishing my tasks at the office. I don't remember exactly what day that was, but I clearly recall not noticing my boss's presence as he stood behind me after I have just finished the first stanza. I couldn't tell him that I finish much earlier since years of experience has gifted me with speed along with precision when it comes to writing. Doing so could mean risking being given more tasks. Not that I think he would take advantage of us(because after all, he can't ask just anybody in the office to do the things we do and neophytes or those who are not as skilled would eat up the entire  eight hours), it is just that we have done what we ought to according tho their mandated duties and that settles it. 
Anyways, I think he had somehow gotten the idea that I was already done with my tasks and wasn't shirking my duties because I immediately sent him my daily production report after that. It has never been my habit to put off my duties until later and intersperse them with a little browsing or poetry writing here and there. First things always come first. And when I'm at the office, my writing responsibilities and other work-related tasks are my first and foremost concerns. 
I think that this is the only time I would be posting an actual picture of myself here in my blogs. I apologize for the poor quality of some of the shots(which turn out hazy at times or something else still far from perfect). All the pictures I take are courtesy of my trusty cellphone. I used to work as a professional photographer at a studio several years ago, but in truth, the only camera I could call my own was the one my father brought home when I was in secondary school. And needless to say, it has already run its course and gone to retirement more than a decade ago. This year, I am planning to save up for a fine digital camera. But until then, I would have to make do with my cellphone. 
Not all the shots are bad. Some, actually, come out quite beautiful(much to my surprise). And there are others that turn out to become strangely beautiful, even a bit haunting, in the sense that the imperfectness of the settings had somewhat given the picture a unique aura, a character that hits the spot in an uncanny yet precise way. This portrait of mine is one of them. 
The haziness of the whole picture and my smile exemplifies the soul I have imbibed in "My Insanity." To be honest, I have lots of pictures of myself. I found out not too long ago that taking my own pics while waiting for my students was an enjoyable way to kill time. This portrait was taken December of last year on a cool and foggy Saturday morning. Hence, it stands to reason why the pictures, this one included, all came out hazy, giving them that nostalgic and dreamy ambiance. And all these without any photoshop trick used(I have yet to learn how to use it actually.)!
One of these days, I would recreate this portrait by making a painting of it. Given my imagination and penchant for details, I would give a different twist to my face and bring out the insanity hidden beneath. Oh, well...But as to when I could get around to start working on it...It could be anytime, depending on my schedule and of course, my ever erratic moods. Enjoy "My Insanity."

My Insanity

Let me not rest my head now,

for I fear losing this dawn before me.

Hazy is the morning light,

reflecting beauty, my insanity.

This face I claim for my own

with eyes reflecting the sea so blue.

Remains to many, unknown,

whose eyes see past this soul I hold true.

And if they could only see,

I know not how it could be defined.

Deep madness in reality;

visible only to an open mind.

So I fight to stay awake,

lest I lose sight of who I truly am.

If sacrifice I must make,

I would...to be here as much as I can.

And stay in this place where my heart is found

So please...Just please leave me be.

Walk away and dare not turn around;

Leave me alone in my reality...


Alone with my insanity.

Soooooo Tired

I've already finished a new illustration. After revising the poems I've written a couple of weeks back, I would take a picture of my new illustration. Then I would write a blog about it here along with the newly revised poem that would go well with it. But all that would not be done until much later after I have rejuvenated my pulped brain and recharged my physical and mental energy. 
Today was another one of those days when I was required to do a task that was nowhere near my job description: coordinate. And by coordinating, I once again had to wear that sickening sweet mask of conviviality necessitated in efficiently discussing business matters with various managers or their representatives or even their executive secretaries or phone answering machines/voicemails (which is actually the most pleasant to deal with of them all). 
Although all the discourses and inquiries were done on the phone, the stress and time it took to get the message clearly to each one of them was more or less the same as discussing it with them face to face. 
I have never been this exhausted even if I had lots of challenging topics to write about. Being genial and enterprising or should I say holding up a warm and tolerant front took up thrice the energy! Unbelievable (lol)! 

How hard it is to pretend you're accommodating and fine when you're on the verge of puking from all that pretense and just a breath away from throwing a full-blown fit! 
But sometimes, life offers no chance for compromise, let alone refusal. My boss needed my help. And I gave it. Not that I am boot-licking for want of a promotion. I just had to. 
The situation was more like being forced to help your friend finish his plateful of broccoli because you know he would get a nasty beating if he didn't. And even if you're not that close to him, it still doesn't feel right to just ignore him and let him get hurt. How's that for an analogy (lol)? 
Oh, well...Next week he has asked me to continue doing him the same favor in exchange for the usual tasks I do until we have gathered all the needed information. As to when that would be...Okay, time to hit the sack. I've got a poem to revise and an illustration to photograph later during the day. 

Spending a Two-Day Vacation at Home

At exactly 9:30 in the evening tonight, I would be back at the daily grind after spending four days at home, doing practically nothing lucrative save for cooking a new dish(spicy rice cake) and finally watching Avatar with my mom. These four days is a combination of the two-day weekend vacation we have weekly which was extended due to the two-consecutive-day vacation leave I filed for the 25th and 26th(Monday and Tuesday) respectively. Again, I failed to live up to my promise that I would continue with the haiku train notebook I started a couple of weeks back. I already have three new poems to post here, but no new illustration suitable enough to further express the pain(for the nth time!) I have woven into the words I used for each. 
I bet that the people at the office are thinking that I have used this month's vacation leave to go job hunting. But I didn't. After our manager met up with us and clarified matters, all doubt I have surrounding our current position and the desire to look for a new job was dispelled from my thoughts. Like I said, this job is just another stepping stone. I am willing to give my all to it for two pragmatic reasons: It's what I am getting paid to do, and I need it to continuously hone my skills in writing. I would wait it out until the end of this year before deciding how I would push through with my ambitions next. 

Avatar is a masterpiece. From the story down to the cinematography, everything is just breathtakingly beautiful. It was well worth the 250 bucks I paid for it, even more I think. But as perfect as it is, there are some people out there who disses it. And among those I knew who were so blunt about it is the pope. Based on the article I read at Yahoo last December, he mentioned that the movie condones nature-worshiping, a typical religious practice among tribal groups, hence automatically making it just another sci-fi movie with fantastic special effects. 
I am a Roman Catholic, but I totally disagree with him. Obviously, the main reason why he found the movie to be as such is because the Catholics who came over to Asia were guilty of the same pretense. Brandishing noble purposes of educating and spreading Christianity to what they called savages, they used these as a license to conquer and colonize countries rich in natural resources, including my motherland. 
I appreciate the fact that their supposedly noble purposes had been crucial in transforming the course of our country's history. But it cannot be argued upon that these changes had also caused our country's patriotism and innate identity as a nation and as a people to be crushed beneath the smorgasbord culture brought about by varied influences, as a result of being colonized several times by diverse colonizers, each one with their own differing culture, religion,technology, and yes, that all too altruistic "noble intentions." 
But for all I know, all these may have been part of God's great plan. 
Anyways, past is past. There is no use digging up old wounds. Enough of the digressions for now. Going back to my job, (I really can't keep my mind off it, can I?) I think it best to stay put until I have enough confidence and experience to really launch my solo writing career. As of now, I am but a fledgling. My wings are not strong enough to keep me above ground for long. Nor does it allow me to cover great distances. 
Despite battling my usual lethargy and self-defeating fears, I keep my head up high. My struggle to extract these ideas and give them the form they need to become reality could take up my entire lifetime. That is perfectly fine with me. 
My passion lies in what I do and what I could do because they comprise my entirety. In all honesty, I hold the belief that my existence is all about sharing myself with the world through them. And I can't think of any other way to live, let alone exist and thrive, if I am bereft of them. So...I might as well get  a move on it.

The Witching Hour

The last time I've held a brush was three or four months ago. I've been planning to resume my painting this weekend, and start working on the new journal notebook I got from CoffeeBean(after spending more than a thousand bucks for great coffee which is equivalent to 14 stamps needed for claiming the journal). I was planning to turn it into an illustrated haiku notebook filled with, of course, haikus--a kind of a haiku train where the first line of the following haiku begins with the last line of the previous. 
But alas! It's already early Monday morning and I've accomplished neither! I was even planning to relax at the mall yesterday by watching Avatar and Sherlock Holmes, yet I ended up staying at home, playing blasted pc games, and napping for hours on end. Well, aside from these non-productive activities, however, I was able to do something a bit productive--cook chili chicken for lunch?
I can't seem to snap out of this lethargic mood as easily as I want to.The year has just begun and I'm feeling a bit tied and tired already. I shouldn't. By the way, my big mouth was at it again. I have casually mentioned to our officer that I was blogging about the office, and she threw me that negatively alert expression, which I found both amusing and dreadful at the same time. 

Unlike our former colleague, who had really bad-mouthed our bosses to the point of wishing them dead and mentioned the name of the company, I am considerably more subtle, careful, and objective. I only ranted about the uncertainty that we're facing right now due to the current financial constraints. I also voiced out my stress over slackers--colleagues who cheat not only on the company but also on their fellow colleagues by shirking responsibilities whenever they could. I don't suffer sloths and fools gladly. Having people like these around really gets on my nerves at one time or another, depending on how much and for how long I could force myself  to pretend being blind to them.  Yet on top of it all, I never once made mention of a single person's name, let alone the name of our beloved(yeah, right) company from which we get our bread and butter. 
I'm not sure why I had to hint at it. Maybe I want her to know what's going through my head, in the hope that she might be able to do something to address the issue. After all, she's our immediate superior, isn't she? Now that I've started discussing office matters again, certain issues regarding my work performance and the task itself have surfaced once more. 
I've always been scrupulous in doing my job. My desire for literary excellence compels me to put my best foot forward in every single piece of writing I work on. Although there were times when I really feel like puking as soon as my fingers touch the keyboard, I managed to pull through nevertheless, submitting my work on time and without so much as the slightest complaint. I am well aware that there are other writers who are better and far more experienced than me; however, I never give up too easily. Nope. I still have to push further into the limits of my potential. And despite the occasional lethargy, my objectives remain intact. 
But I still can't get the nagging feeling that I am unappreciated. They keep saying that my works are too wordy in spite of my efforts to shorten it or make it more concise. From the way I see it, I've already improved. If long or loosely written sentences is what they imply by "wordy," then they are technically wrong. Wordy is a technical term in writing used for sentences whereby the meaning becomes redundant due to repeated words or additional phrases used implying the same meaning. These are squeezed into the same sentence or in a follow up in the same paragraph. When it comes to writing, drone writers are never permissible to begin with. If we're to write in the exact same style as one another, then how could we possibly produce the best works? The advantages of having a team of writers is the differing styles which allow them to present ideas from varying angles using virtually  the same set of given information. These angles allow more diversity and possibility, giving the creative edge and twist needed to meet variegated demands.
I don't want to discuss this anymore. I'm just going to continue practising and honing my ability. Bend, twist, and break if I must, I really don't give a shit so long as it's for the sake of excellence. Even if I've long resigned myself to the truth that the journey towards fulfilling my dream is a fucking hard one, I'm still not immune to the rejection and lethargy. And these I stumble upon from time to time(good Lord). 
Sometimes, I think that my positivism is just a farce. A foolish show of bravado in an attempt to mask the underlying depression and insanity beneath. But I don't see myself being given any other choice. A few years back, I've realized that there is no such thing as a middle ground in life. Neutrality is just as good as deciding against taking the righteous path.  Maybe is nil. There are actually only two viable choices: "yes" and "no." And each one corresponds accordingly to choosing between living(yes) or dying(no). 
And I have chosen to live because I have something to live for: to share myself with the world. 
If psychology had been popular in my culture, I would not be the least bit surprised if I'm diagnosed as manic depressive-- the uncontrollable high that drove me to paint and write poems or whatever unrelentingly during many a sleepless night, the burning desire to create without so much as a thought about time or appearances, and the vivid dreams whose details haunt me long after I have waken. All these eccentric tendencies, which I desperately tried to keep secret, made for quite a confusing yet interesting mix along with that insatiable desire to forge on and on and on--a mad energizer bunny running high on emotions. 
Ever since, I have defined that burning fire that drives me to do as I should, as a voice far more powerful than anything that it simply can't be dismissed no matter how hard I try. When it hits, it does so without a thought or care about anything and everything. Like a raging bull, it just charges, rams, and tramples on anything that gets in its way. It just possesses me. And when it does, I gladly let it, knowing and believing that it is the hand of God at work in me. 
Fortunately, the magnanimity of my God-given talents did not go unnoticed. Even if I have yet to be fully appreciated by the eternal stranger whose heart has always been beyond my reach, my old man, I've already been accoladed by other people, artists and non-artists alike. Yet  through it all, I am still dissatisfied. It wasn't too long ago, after having immersed myself in the corporate environment where supposedly sane, normal people thrive, that I realized how low this fire has been burning in me. 
However, these days, I don't think I'm doing enough to make it burn higher and more brightly as it used to. Have I achieved some kind of normalcy? I don't think so. But nevertheless my passion and drive is burning low. It would never die and is not on the verge of dying, but it's burning low. 
I know I can't go on like this lest I change my mind and decide to just get swallowed up by the void, the drone-like existence(need I say intellectually numbing?) prevailing in reality. Nope. Never. I still choose to live. And to do that, I must find a way to get that fire burning high again. 

Losing Respect...But

Just as I was getting comfortable, I felt the urge to leave again. The bubble of respect in which I have encased myself for quite some time now has burst. As the underlying secrets began to unfold before me one by one, I felt myself gradually losing every good expectation or attribute I had associated with.... At first I thought I had lined myself up with distinguished people--hard-working, talented individuals, worthy of being emulated for their passion and dedication in their work. I had toiled scrupulously so as not to lag behind them, thinking that they were deserving of esteem and admiration for their intellectual prowess, honesty, and credibility as... But what started as a tiny, excusable crack made by one slacker was followed by another, lengthening the crack, making it bigger and longer still that it wasn't long before it split  in every direction, forming a complicated web of hairline cracks that became more pronounced as the days wore on. Until the day finally came that the whole bubble was nothing more than a deplorable orb swathed in cracks, leaking throughout, trembling from the pressure of unanswered questions and bottled emotions that accumulated on top of the already thinned respect which had built it in the first place. Then as expected, it burst. Just like that.
Oh, well...But hard times demand for practicality. Emotions, no matter how overwhelming, would not pay the bills or feed my family. I must not be too hasty. I have already learned from experience the importance of balancing reality with my idealism. Emotional as I still am, I know better now than to let my heart override my reasoning. Pain has been an excellent teacher. After having been humbled and bent this way and that, I can say to myself that I have now mastered containing the destructive side of that creative fire which fuels me as an artist in both the visual and literary sense. Furthermore, I have learned to transform its destructiveness to something constructive and advantageous. Something very substantial and concrete that I can use to forward my ambitions. But...
For now, I am biding my time. Better to focus more intensely on sharpening my literary skills than entertain thoughts of working elsewhere...after having given my resignation that is. What do I care about slackers and cheaters? It isn't my duty to salvage their sorry asses. At their age, they should already know what consequences await them. I can be very selfish, too. However, I would use it because I love myself. And because I love myself, I would never want to see myself get swallowed up by my own frustrations and disappointments. So...
I would keep my silence and move on, as though I am still oblivious to what is going on around me. As though I didn't care. If they do not give a damn about their reputation that they wouldn't lift a finger to resuscitate themselves, why should I trouble myself? We can remain friends. After all, their attitudes towards their work is totally separate from how they truly are as friends or even just acquaintances for that matter. And...
Life goes on. I move on. They move on. We plod on as we stay in the imagined safety of our separate little worlds, apart from each other's idiosyncrasies and whatever. And now that this ranting is over, I continue with my journey for which I am fortunate to be required  to extract every ounce of potential and energy I've got.