Alex Maskara
Thoughts, Stories, Imagination of Filipino American Alex Maskara
~
The Anchored Angel edited by Eileen Tabios
"It's the FORM, stupid! Not the MEANING!"
---
Garcia Villa championed structure and form in poetry—so much so that when he encountered poems teeming with meaning, he labeled them prose. After reading _The Anchored Angel_, I've come to two conclusions about him: Garcia Villa was good, and Garcia Villa was bad.
At my age, the more I dive into our Filipino authors—those we now consider canonical, who cultivated Philippine English Literature—the clearer I see what went right and wrong with our literature. Or maybe I expect too much from Philippine literature in English, given that we’ve only had the language for about a hundred years. Then again, we never had a robust Spanish literature after 300 years of colonization either, and our Tagalog literature hasn’t flourished to any great heights despite being used for millennia.
Something went wrong. There’s something amiss when we lament our people's disinterest in reading Filipino-authored literature. Something's off when a friend of mine, after learning that I review Philippine Lit, casually remarks, "Philippine Lit is dead, honey."
Worse still—I have no defense to offer.
I wish I could hold up Garcia Villa as the exemplar of our English literature, but to my dismay, after reading his poetry and the essays about him in _The Anchored Angel_, I found him more of a culprit than a hero.
Let me explain—and please, keep in mind, I’m no expert in poetry.
I admire Garcia Villa’s experimental spirit, his boldness, his independence, his comma poems, his almost-too-perfect lines. But since I am no poet myself, I don’t quite understand him, nor am I sure I want to.
To my disappointment, Garcia Villa turned out to be everything I’m not. He sought structure and form, sacrificing meaning just so his poems could sing. But I don’t care for singing poems. I don’t want to be bound by pre-defined rules (who made these rules for fiction, anyway?) in writing. I detest formulas. And I certainly don’t write to emulate some overreaching foreign writer. I revel in chaos. I never saw the Beatniks’ work as "typewriting" (a line Garcia Villa borrowed from Truman Capote). And to be honest, Capote and Villa—both as queer as I am—embody the kind of characters I avoid in gay circles. Honey, from what I’ve read, Garcia Villa is as much of a “queenie” as any princess you’d meet at the club.
I want poems that tell me earth-shattering truths. No make-up, no tiaras, no perfectly defined eyeliner, no meticulously chosen foundation, no striving for some idealized beauty like Miss America.
In other words, no matter how divinely crafted a poem is, an orgasm is still an orgasm. You can be in Buckingham Palace or on a corner in Recto—an orgasm feels the same. The key is—you must feel it.
---
You Don’t Listen, You Feel
I bring up Garcia Villa's writing to tie it back to our English literature, because, in a way, he led what was considered the "Golden Age" of English writing in the Philippines. During his heyday, he was given a title equivalent to the "Emperor of English Literature." His “feats” were even celebrated in a regular newspaper column. In this case, “feat” meant that Garcia Villa had managed to be accepted into the literary world of the West, supposedly standing toe-to-toe with Western writers. I have no problem with him becoming a Western icon—what disturbs me is the negligence of the public from which his writing emerged and for whom it should have been directed: the Filipino people.
And now, when we wonder why Garcia Villa was eventually forgotten by the West, the answer is simple: he wrote for a people who never considered him one of their own. His greatest mistake was neglecting the Filipino readers who should have been his primary audience.
His flamboyant persona, his stubborn refusal to return to the Philippines—even briefly—despite the longing of every Filipino for his presence, is not a source of pride. A writer should not be solely concerned with his self-concept; he must also consider the wishes of the readers who love him. Garcia Villa was no Greta Garbo. He should have been a Mark Twain.
A writer must nurture not only their craft but also their audience. This is one of the greatest lessons I’ve learned from computer programming. If you want your program to work, to be useful and popular, its interface must be user-friendly. And trust me, the simpler and more intuitive you want your program to be, the more effort it requires.
The greatest writers, in my view, are not those whose works can only be deciphered by the "anchored angels" of heaven. The greatest writers are those who can be understood by everyone—down to the insects and the scum of the earth. If my writing can be grasped by a typical high school student, then I’ve succeeded.
If the founders of Philippine English literature had prioritized a more people-oriented approach, I believe our literature would have thrived. This is where I disagree with many Filipino writers—we often write as if our readers were Americans, Brits, or some other foreign audience. Sometimes it feels like we write just to show off our grasp of grammar or parade our hefty vocabulary. Other times, it seems like we’re writing to impress other writers, win awards, or meet the expectations of some literary figure.
I praise Garcia Villa for his style, but I reject the philosophy behind his writing. I’m not trying to dishonor his legacy as one of the greatest Filipino writers—especially not after his passing. Garcia Villa might have said, "Rizal was a great man, but not a great writer." Writers, after all, have different views on what constitutes great Philippine literature.
If you’re curious to learn more about this enigmatic and controversial Filipino figure, order _The Anchored Angel from Kaya Press.
This review was edited from its original in early 2000's - AM
2024-09-28 06:53:57
bookreviews
Popong 12
Yesterday was intense. I spent the entire day at the computer, overly excited about my work, and by the time night came, I was still buzzing with energy. It felt like stress, and it wasn’t good for me. I need to avoid repeating that. The extra coffee—especially late at night—didn’t help either.
Since I retired, I’ve become more aware of how my mind works. I have to pace myself. There’s no reason to push too hard, especially on tasks that lead nowhere. Yesterday, I kept repeating the same steps, getting the same results. Sure, I was learning, but it wasn’t productive. Now, it’s 5 AM, and I’m still wired. This isn’t what I want as I age. It felt like I was a kid with a new toy, only the toy was the freedom to do what I love. But I can’t forget my health—it’s too important. Yesterday’s frenzy was like drinking too much or letting stress take over.
So, what should I have done differently? I had planned to go to the library in the afternoon to read, which would’ve been more relaxing. Reading calms me, unlike the strain of programming, which reminded me of my college days when I tried switching careers after burning out from work. Back then, the stress made sense. Things didn’t work out, though, and I stayed in the same profession out of job insecurity. Now, with retirement close and a steady income from social security and rental properties, I can finally leave behind the pressures of the past.
But retirement hasn’t been as smooth as I expected. Social Security stopped my payments because I exceeded their earnings limit. And my workplace hasn’t found a replacement for me yet. I feel guilty leaving because the department depends on me, so I’ve stayed to help out. With the facility’s conditions, pay, and location, it’s been tough finding someone to take over. I’ve been there for over seven years, not because I couldn’t find something better, but because it gave me a reason to get out of the house.
What happened yesterday is a reminder of the importance of balance. I got so absorbed in my project that I sat at my desk all day and into the night, exactly what I should avoid. I’m tempted to have another cup of coffee now, but I know better. I reinstalled Ubuntu earlier and almost got pulled into watching the process again, something I really need to resist. Fixing computer glitches is fun, but it’s not healthy to indulge in that obsession. It starts to feel like “Waiting for Godot.”
Recognizing my limits is the first step toward a better life. It’s okay to fail sometimes. It’s not the end of the world. Why live as if it is? What’s the difference between being dead and sitting in a chair, lost in a task that shuts out the world? In both cases, I’m absent from life. Why let that happen before it’s my time?
I need to approach life more thoughtfully, as I reminded myself yesterday. Focus on activities that bring the most reward. I made some progress on my website (not perfect, but functional) and posted some exercise videos on YouTube. A few of them got over 100 views and 10 likes, which was satisfying. But then I got sidetracked with my old computer, trying to redo a project, and everything spiraled. I wasted the entire afternoon and evening on something pointless, and in the end, I was too excited to sleep. The worst outcome.
Now, I’m recovering from lost sleep and energy. I’ll probably skip my daily walk again, as I did yesterday. I’m not sure how today’s meals will go either. It’s still morning, and I’m already on my second coffee—after drinking some at midnight. This disruption is too much, and I need to prevent it from happening again.
Life is fragile and short. If I invest too much time in activities that don’t benefit me or cause harm, it’s better to move on to something healthier and more peaceful. This is especially true as I age, with weaker immunity and vulnerability to illness. What I did yesterday scares me. I just got a call from my brother-in-law—my sister is back in the hospital with a possible UTI, something she deals with often because of diabetes.
Taking risks with my health, like I did by obsessing over computer work and losing sleep, is a mistake. It disrupts my peace and routine, and puts unnecessary stress on my body. I might visit my sister later today, but right now I’m too tired. It’s clear I need to be more mindful of my choices and avoid pushing myself too far.
---
I’ve finally let go of my obsession with computer operating systems. There’s no point in it. What do I gain from installing and reinstalling an OS, just because it’s challenging but without yielding any real knowledge? It’s nothing like coding, where I can create something beautiful, or reading a book that sparks new ideas or beautifully expresses old ones.
I went to bed as early as I could, but ended up tossing and turning. My eczema flared up again, maybe because of the butter or eggs I indulged in after work. I was doing so well controlling it, but not last night.
I needed to get out of bed. Staying there without sleep only makes it worse. I’m used to having coffee at this hour, which is terrible since it stole my sleep the night before. This time, I’ll stick to herbal tea.
---
Today was busier than usual. I was called to work at two places, and it hit me—I’m ready for a change. But change comes with obstacles. I’m waiting for the freedom that will let me break away from this daily grind. I’m looking forward to a better Friday, though I might be called in to work for an hour or so at a facility. Otherwise, the next three days are mine, and I’m excited about the possibilities. I have a lot to work on—exercise, computer projects, gardening. But for now, I’ll have a talk with the Lord. It’s the end of a heavy day, and I’m alone—but not really alone. God is here, always ready to listen, and I want to talk.
I’m learning that stress-free relaxation time is becoming more valuable to me.
---
The bad days have caught up with me. Despite extra sleep, work has worn me down. I have a sore throat and allergies, a reminder of how old age is creeping in. What matters now is focusing on what brings me joy and fulfillment.
I’ve been looking forward to today because my new PC tower is arriving from Amazon. I’m also excited to fix the Ubuntu installation on my old computer. This gives me purpose. I plan to set up a LAMP stack on the new system, which will keep me busy and fulfilled. I’m also heading to the library to read, like I did last week. The library is peaceful and helps me focus far better than the distractions of my room.
At times, I wonder why I keep working when I could easily stop. But there are reasons: my old workplace still can’t find a replacement, and the new place is so close and convenient that it doesn’t feel like a burden. It’s not about the money anymore; it’s about helping others. And if I happen to earn something, why not? I could use it to travel. Maybe Miami, or a nearby getaway. A change of scenery wouldn’t hurt, though I can’t go far because my sister needs me in emergencies. That’s manageable now, as long as she calls during daylight hours. Night driving, especially in the rain, is too stressful at my age.
These little comforts I allow myself, and I no longer feel the need to complain. God has provided everything I need.
Today is a day I’m looking forward to—not because it will be easy, but because it will be filled with work I want to do. That’s what matters. Money and material things don’t bring happiness. I learned that through experience. What makes me happy is simple: reading a good book, talking with God, or getting lost in a task that makes the rest of the world fade away. That’s the life I’m shaping with my free will—a life built around my own desires and plans.
I also have stories waiting to be written, and I’m excited to write them. I’ve formed warm connections with a few regulars at the park, many of whom are homeless. I don’t discriminate—I talk with everyone. I’ve worked with the indigent before, so it’s nothing new. They’re not so different from the people I encounter in the nursing home.
Now, I have other important plans—reading, writing, programming. Life is about balance and making the most of what I have.
I know I can’t rely on wealth, material abundance, or a large social circle—things that Caesar’s world values. I prefer God’s kingdom, where possessions don’t matter. What matters are the heart and soul, which need daily care, like plants reaching for light. That’s where my focus needs to be.
These small material joys—like the new PC tower I’m awaiting—are nice, but it’s not the object itself that excites me. It’s what I can create with it. Much like a child with a new toy or a dog with a bone, it’s natural to feel joy over something new, but I know that joy will fade as soon as I finish my project. Then, like all the other material things in my life, it will be set aside.
I’ve experienced this many times. Like when I visited Manila after years of being away, only to find myself longing to return home after just a month. The same happened on other trips, especially those I took with Matt. His company made the trips better, but they were never as fulfilling as I imagined
. Eventually, I always wanted to return home.
As I’ve said before, only my connection with the Lord brings me lasting joy. That’s my true home, where happiness endures. I think that’s what hermits and monks mean by “the real deal”—a happiness untouched by material things, nourished by the soul. But, of course, there’s also the simple joy of a good cup of coffee, LOL.
I’ll head out for a walk in the park soon. It’s been two or three days since I exercised, thanks to my obsession with the computer, and the bad weather.
---
I finished my 4-mile walk, and it felt good to be outdoors again. The morning clouds were beautiful, and I greeted a few of the homeless around the Ficus tree, as well as some dog walkers who have become familiar faces. It’s a simple courtesy, just to avoid seeming aloof. Honestly, I’d rather walk without engaging anyone, so I can focus on my own thoughts.
2024-09-14 00:20:13
popong
Anchored Angel Review
The Anchored Angel edited by Eileen Tabios
"It's the FORM, stupid! Not the MEANING!"
---
Garcia Villa championed structure and form in poetry—so much so that when he encountered poems teeming with meaning, he labeled them prose. After reading _The Anchored Angel_, I've come to two conclusions about him: Garcia Villa was good, and Garcia Villa was bad.
At my age, the more I dive into our Filipino authors—those we now consider canonical, who cultivated Philippine English Literature—the clearer I see what went right and wrong with our literature. Or maybe I expect too much from Philippine literature in English, given that we’ve only had the language for about a hundred years. Then again, we never had a robust Spanish literature after 300 years of colonization either, and our Tagalog literature hasn’t flourished to any great heights despite being used for millennia.
Something went wrong. There’s something amiss when we lament our people's disinterest in reading Filipino-authored literature. Something's off when a friend of mine, after learning that I review Philippine Lit, casually remarks, "Philippine Lit is dead, honey."
Worse still—I have no defense to offer.
I wish I could hold up Garcia Villa as the exemplar of our English literature, but to my dismay, after reading his poetry and the essays about him in _The Anchored Angel_, I found him more of a culprit than a hero.
Let me explain—and please, keep in mind, I’m no expert in poetry.
I admire Garcia Villa’s experimental spirit, his boldness, his independence, his comma poems, his almost-too-perfect lines. But since I am no poet myself, I don’t quite understand him, nor am I sure I want to.
To my disappointment, Garcia Villa turned out to be everything I’m not. He sought structure and form, sacrificing meaning just so his poems could sing. But I don’t care for singing poems. I don’t want to be bound by pre-defined rules (who made these rules for fiction, anyway?) in writing. I detest formulas. And I certainly don’t write to emulate some overreaching foreign writer. I revel in chaos. I never saw the Beatniks’ work as "typewriting" (a line Garcia Villa borrowed from Truman Capote). And to be honest, Capote and Villa—both as queer as I am—embody the kind of characters I avoid in gay circles. Honey, from what I’ve read, Garcia Villa is as much of a “queenie” as any princess you’d meet at the club.
I want poems that tell me earth-shattering truths. No make-up, no tiaras, no perfectly defined eyeliner, no meticulously chosen foundation, no striving for some idealized beauty like Miss America.
In other words, no matter how divinely crafted a poem is, an orgasm is still an orgasm. You can be in Buckingham Palace or on a corner in Recto—an orgasm feels the same. The key is—you must feel it.
---
You Don’t Listen, You Feel
I bring up Garcia Villa's writing to tie it back to our English literature, because, in a way, he led what was considered the "Golden Age" of English writing in the Philippines. During his heyday, he was given a title equivalent to the "Emperor of English Literature." His “feats” were even celebrated in a regular newspaper column. In this case, “feat” meant that Garcia Villa had managed to be accepted into the literary world of the West, supposedly standing toe-to-toe with Western writers. I have no problem with him becoming a Western icon—what disturbs me is the negligence of the public from which his writing emerged and for whom it should have been directed: the Filipino people.
And now, when we wonder why Garcia Villa was eventually forgotten by the West, the answer is simple: he wrote for a people who never considered him one of their own. His greatest mistake was neglecting the Filipino readers who should have been his primary audience.
His flamboyant persona, his stubborn refusal to return to the Philippines—even briefly—despite the longing of every Filipino for his presence, is not a source of pride. A writer should not be solely concerned with his self-concept; he must also consider the wishes of the readers who love him. Garcia Villa was no Greta Garbo. He should have been a Mark Twain.
A writer must nurture not only their craft but also their audience. This is one of the greatest lessons I’ve learned from computer programming. If you want your program to work, to be useful and popular, its interface must be user-friendly. And trust me, the simpler and more intuitive you want your program to be, the more effort it requires.
The greatest writers, in my view, are not those whose works can only be deciphered by the "anchored angels" of heaven. The greatest writers are those who can be understood by everyone—down to the insects and the scum of the earth. If my writing can be grasped by a typical high school student, then I’ve succeeded.
If the founders of Philippine English literature had prioritized a more people-oriented approach, I believe our literature would have thrived. This is where I disagree with many Filipino writers—we often write as if our readers were Americans, Brits, or some other foreign audience. Sometimes it feels like we write just to show off our grasp of grammar or parade our hefty vocabulary. Other times, it seems like we’re writing to impress other writers, win awards, or meet the expectations of some literary figure.
I praise Garcia Villa for his style, but I reject the philosophy behind his writing. I’m not trying to dishonor his legacy as one of the greatest Filipino writers—especially not after his passing. Garcia Villa might have said, "Rizal was a great man, but not a great writer." Writers, after all, have different views on what constitutes great Philippine literature.
If you’re curious to learn more about this enigmatic and controversial Filipino figure, order _The Anchored Angel from Kaya Press.
This review was edited from its original in early 2000's - AM
2024-09-28 06:53:57
bookreviews
Popong 12 / Meditation on Computer Obsession
Popong 12
Yesterday was intense. I spent the entire day at the computer, overly excited about my work, and by the time night came, I was still buzzing with energy. It felt like stress, and it wasn’t good for me. I need to avoid repeating that. The extra coffee—especially late at night—didn’t help either.
Since I retired, I’ve become more aware of how my mind works. I have to pace myself. There’s no reason to push too hard, especially on tasks that lead nowhere. Yesterday, I kept repeating the same steps, getting the same results. Sure, I was learning, but it wasn’t productive. Now, it’s 5 AM, and I’m still wired. This isn’t what I want as I age. It felt like I was a kid with a new toy, only the toy was the freedom to do what I love. But I can’t forget my health—it’s too important. Yesterday’s frenzy was like drinking too much or letting stress take over.
So, what should I have done differently? I had planned to go to the library in the afternoon to read, which would’ve been more relaxing. Reading calms me, unlike the strain of programming, which reminded me of my college days when I tried switching careers after burning out from work. Back then, the stress made sense. Things didn’t work out, though, and I stayed in the same profession out of job insecurity. Now, with retirement close and a steady income from social security and rental properties, I can finally leave behind the pressures of the past.
But retirement hasn’t been as smooth as I expected. Social Security stopped my payments because I exceeded their earnings limit. And my workplace hasn’t found a replacement for me yet. I feel guilty leaving because the department depends on me, so I’ve stayed to help out. With the facility’s conditions, pay, and location, it’s been tough finding someone to take over. I’ve been there for over seven years, not because I couldn’t find something better, but because it gave me a reason to get out of the house.
What happened yesterday is a reminder of the importance of balance. I got so absorbed in my project that I sat at my desk all day and into the night, exactly what I should avoid. I’m tempted to have another cup of coffee now, but I know better. I reinstalled Ubuntu earlier and almost got pulled into watching the process again, something I really need to resist. Fixing computer glitches is fun, but it’s not healthy to indulge in that obsession. It starts to feel like “Waiting for Godot.”
Recognizing my limits is the first step toward a better life. It’s okay to fail sometimes. It’s not the end of the world. Why live as if it is? What’s the difference between being dead and sitting in a chair, lost in a task that shuts out the world? In both cases, I’m absent from life. Why let that happen before it’s my time?
I need to approach life more thoughtfully, as I reminded myself yesterday. Focus on activities that bring the most reward. I made some progress on my website (not perfect, but functional) and posted some exercise videos on YouTube. A few of them got over 100 views and 10 likes, which was satisfying. But then I got sidetracked with my old computer, trying to redo a project, and everything spiraled. I wasted the entire afternoon and evening on something pointless, and in the end, I was too excited to sleep. The worst outcome.
Now, I’m recovering from lost sleep and energy. I’ll probably skip my daily walk again, as I did yesterday. I’m not sure how today’s meals will go either. It’s still morning, and I’m already on my second coffee—after drinking some at midnight. This disruption is too much, and I need to prevent it from happening again.
Life is fragile and short. If I invest too much time in activities that don’t benefit me or cause harm, it’s better to move on to something healthier and more peaceful. This is especially true as I age, with weaker immunity and vulnerability to illness. What I did yesterday scares me. I just got a call from my brother-in-law—my sister is back in the hospital with a possible UTI, something she deals with often because of diabetes.
Taking risks with my health, like I did by obsessing over computer work and losing sleep, is a mistake. It disrupts my peace and routine, and puts unnecessary stress on my body. I might visit my sister later today, but right now I’m too tired. It’s clear I need to be more mindful of my choices and avoid pushing myself too far.
---
I’ve finally let go of my obsession with computer operating systems. There’s no point in it. What do I gain from installing and reinstalling an OS, just because it’s challenging but without yielding any real knowledge? It’s nothing like coding, where I can create something beautiful, or reading a book that sparks new ideas or beautifully expresses old ones.
I went to bed as early as I could, but ended up tossing and turning. My eczema flared up again, maybe because of the butter or eggs I indulged in after work. I was doing so well controlling it, but not last night.
I needed to get out of bed. Staying there without sleep only makes it worse. I’m used to having coffee at this hour, which is terrible since it stole my sleep the night before. This time, I’ll stick to herbal tea.
---
Today was busier than usual. I was called to work at two places, and it hit me—I’m ready for a change. But change comes with obstacles. I’m waiting for the freedom that will let me break away from this daily grind. I’m looking forward to a better Friday, though I might be called in to work for an hour or so at a facility. Otherwise, the next three days are mine, and I’m excited about the possibilities. I have a lot to work on—exercise, computer projects, gardening. But for now, I’ll have a talk with the Lord. It’s the end of a heavy day, and I’m alone—but not really alone. God is here, always ready to listen, and I want to talk.
I’m learning that stress-free relaxation time is becoming more valuable to me.
---
The bad days have caught up with me. Despite extra sleep, work has worn me down. I have a sore throat and allergies, a reminder of how old age is creeping in. What matters now is focusing on what brings me joy and fulfillment.
I’ve been looking forward to today because my new PC tower is arriving from Amazon. I’m also excited to fix the Ubuntu installation on my old computer. This gives me purpose. I plan to set up a LAMP stack on the new system, which will keep me busy and fulfilled. I’m also heading to the library to read, like I did last week. The library is peaceful and helps me focus far better than the distractions of my room.
At times, I wonder why I keep working when I could easily stop. But there are reasons: my old workplace still can’t find a replacement, and the new place is so close and convenient that it doesn’t feel like a burden. It’s not about the money anymore; it’s about helping others. And if I happen to earn something, why not? I could use it to travel. Maybe Miami, or a nearby getaway. A change of scenery wouldn’t hurt, though I can’t go far because my sister needs me in emergencies. That’s manageable now, as long as she calls during daylight hours. Night driving, especially in the rain, is too stressful at my age.
These little comforts I allow myself, and I no longer feel the need to complain. God has provided everything I need.
Today is a day I’m looking forward to—not because it will be easy, but because it will be filled with work I want to do. That’s what matters. Money and material things don’t bring happiness. I learned that through experience. What makes me happy is simple: reading a good book, talking with God, or getting lost in a task that makes the rest of the world fade away. That’s the life I’m shaping with my free will—a life built around my own desires and plans.
I also have stories waiting to be written, and I’m excited to write them. I’ve formed warm connections with a few regulars at the park, many of whom are homeless. I don’t discriminate—I talk with everyone. I’ve worked with the indigent before, so it’s nothing new. They’re not so different from the people I encounter in the nursing home.
Now, I have other important plans—reading, writing, programming. Life is about balance and making the most of what I have.
I know I can’t rely on wealth, material abundance, or a large social circle—things that Caesar’s world values. I prefer God’s kingdom, where possessions don’t matter. What matters are the heart and soul, which need daily care, like plants reaching for light. That’s where my focus needs to be.
These small material joys—like the new PC tower I’m awaiting—are nice, but it’s not the object itself that excites me. It’s what I can create with it. Much like a child with a new toy or a dog with a bone, it’s natural to feel joy over something new, but I know that joy will fade as soon as I finish my project. Then, like all the other material things in my life, it will be set aside.
I’ve experienced this many times. Like when I visited Manila after years of being away, only to find myself longing to return home after just a month. The same happened on other trips, especially those I took with Matt. His company made the trips better, but they were never as fulfilling as I imagined
. Eventually, I always wanted to return home.
As I’ve said before, only my connection with the Lord brings me lasting joy. That’s my true home, where happiness endures. I think that’s what hermits and monks mean by “the real deal”—a happiness untouched by material things, nourished by the soul. But, of course, there’s also the simple joy of a good cup of coffee, LOL.
I’ll head out for a walk in the park soon. It’s been two or three days since I exercised, thanks to my obsession with the computer, and the bad weather.
---
I finished my 4-mile walk, and it felt good to be outdoors again. The morning clouds were beautiful, and I greeted a few of the homeless around the Ficus tree, as well as some dog walkers who have become familiar faces. It’s a simple courtesy, just to avoid seeming aloof. Honestly, I’d rather walk without engaging anyone, so I can focus on my own thoughts.
2024-09-14 00:20:13
popong