Tuesday, October 13, 2009


Eversince I started reading (and now finished) Harry Potter books 6 and 7, I had the drive to read more and watch TV less. As a result, I've bought several books and now collecting them (and reading them). Majority of the books are speculative fiction (fantasy, horror, science fiction) such as the works of Stephen King, the books of Terry Brooks and Terry Goodking, the ever-so-hard-to-find-in-hardcover Dune books, Michael Scott's Flamel novels and some others.

I've wrote that I'd like to live in an apocalyptic world. But I think to put it more correctly, I'd like to live in a world of fantasy. Too many a times have I though ot waving and flicking my hand holding a magic wand and uttering "wingardium leviousa" (pronounced win-GAR-dee-um lev-ee-OH-sa); or raising my hand and making the flood waters or waters of Pasig River rise and form a sort of water tornado.

Eversince I was a teenager, I have often felt that I am displaced in time and/or place. I feel like I should have grown up in the United States, where personal space is valued and kids 18+ generally live on their own, or lived as an aristocrat in England in Elizabethan times, where I will not be expected to engage in the burly sport of contact sports (basketball, etc.) but in aristocratic sports of horseback riding and refined pursuits of fine arts and music.

And now, I feel like I would rather live in a fantastical world of magic, where I can command the elements to do my bidding or to fine-tune something into my whims.

Somehow, I realize that I may be on my way to having psychosis, but somehow I still believe that my overly rational mind will not allow this. Probably when I'm old, I may have Alzheimer's (God forbid).

My (sleeping and waking) dreams of fantasy is a sure sign that I'm bored with my life.

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