B for Vendetta August 7, 2006
Posted by helene003 in objects.8 comments
Time and again I have succeeded in the vendetta of making all the women of the world to want to be just like me.
I am glamorous, beautiful and with assets that can make any woman have difficulty in walking if she happens to acquire part or all of it.
I am a staple in every little girl’s playroom. Yes, I start them out young, molding in their sponge-like minds the image of what a beautiful woman should look like, of how they should look like when they grow up so that they will gain popularity, have their own Kens, drive their own cars and live in their life-size dollhouses.
I don’t want variety! Behind this plastered smile and shapely legs I want dominion over every single body type. It is high time to celebrate just voluptous frames which are epitomes of symmetry and curvaceousness.
Exclusivity yields status, even in just the mind of a shallow few. I got lucky to have found too many shallow people and became a part of the movers and shakers of every little girl’s self-esteem. Let me just mention the fact that every woman has passed girlhood and none of them are immune from my power.
And I have succeeded. At the outset I stirred every little girl’s dream of princess play in the world of dreams where money comes easy and glamour is within reach and where chores and hard work don’t exist.
I succeeded. Those lesser mortals with small bosoms and shapeless waists have not outgrown their love for me and ended up frustrating themselves and devoting their entire lives to want to look just like me.
The drive which propelled surgical cosmetology, gyms, slimming pills and bust-enhancing techniques to reach lofty heights in generating income.
The result? I have yielded a mass of broken dreams directly proportional to their waistlines.
True, there are the enlightened few who don’t buy my vision. They are the ones comfortable in their own shape, and reveling in their existence amidst this society which took my standard to be a subliminal barometer of what “sexy” and “beautiful” should look like.
These are the wise lot gifted with enough insight to just buy my ideology. I don’t have as much brain to admire them. But I maintain that they are still the minority, and the majority of skindeep beauty remains to rule the norm.
Also, there are some I failed to brainwash in their girlhood, who didn’t like to buy me shoes and clothes in dress-me-up sessions with other playmates. But they grew up not being quite the woman other people expect. They are deviants and outcasts of society, women who are infused with just a little too much testosterone.
I know I have no capability to walk. If I were a real human I will not be able to walk due to my body’s disproportion. My image is unrealistic and any woman who attempts to be just like me ends up dead, whether emotionally or physically.
I am spiritually deprived. I am emotionally incapable. People who want to look like me fail to understand that I have a package that they will have to embrace if they follow my path.
I know that no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to buy myself peace or feel the joy of being loved from within.
So…I am just dragging every little girl I could find so that I could at least get every little girl to respect me and accompany me in my lonely plight as a mere visual esthetic.
Unfortunately for these girls, they forget that I am a part of play and ascribed more authority to me as they grew to be women.
I got addicted to the power, and I have no capability to talk or to laugh out loud at their faces for how enslaved they are in looking like me. Neither have the capability to warn those who have gone too far in fulfilling their fantasies to copy my waistline and my bra size and my gams.
It’s their prerogative if they are going to outgrow the lies and start living to love their bodies– a thing I have inevitably stolen from them while they set me up to have tea in childhood afternoons spent in playrooms.
issues of a kaleidoscope August 5, 2006
Posted by helene003 in objects.13 comments
Many people tell me I am beautiful. But who am I? What am I made of? He said…
“I don’t really know…
But all I know is that
you
are
lovely
and
intriguing…”
For awhile I considered it- and I just had come to a point where I realized that what you said about me is true and accurate at that time.
And it was both a blessing and a curse!
Lovely, who doesn’t want to be called that?
But beyond being lovely is a hunger to be really known for who I really am, not for what he merely saw in me.
Yes, I have colors, lots of them in my experiences. I have fancy working, swirling bits and pieces that move in different directions…
I attract men. I attract men who are as shallow as their native eyes can penetrate.
But I what I want the most is for a man to seek beyond that visual circus. Veer away from the lights, veer away from the movements that make me ”lovely” in the shallow man’s eyes.
And see me, the real me despite of, in spite of and amidst all that show of shades against a dark background of my past.
So many people want to own me, liking me for the wrong reasons, without any effort whatsoever to really figure me out.
A wall exists between the eyes of his heart and my true self. They don’t meet. Because his lustful eyes were busying itself in devouring the illusion of my pretty face. And at that time, I caved in and gave in.
I gave in not because he was worthy.
I gave in because I embraced his shallow perspective of who I am. Because I was so lazy to open my own eyes to see beyond my show of colors and see my true self.
And I continued to spin and to spin, bits and pieces of my life falling apart to oblivion as I continued to dance to what he thought I was…
I stuck to the tag “lovely” and “nothingness”. I reveled in the thought of aimless beauty.
But then the eternity from within commanded something more. I started to seek more.
And as I started to seek more, he no longer wanted to be with me. He no longer wanted to be with a kaleidoscope who is getting tired of being a mere kaleidoscope.
And he left.
I lost him.
But in losing him, I gained myself.
I realized who I am.
I realized that the colors are just bonuses.
And as always, I continue to spin, but now with direction. With a fire from within that fails to be quenched, continually seeking for that man who will see beyond what his lustful eyes can see.
Seeking for that man who will look at me with the eyes of his heart…and tell me that I’m lovely for the right reasons.
Until then, I continue to spin…
Spin…
Spin…
Spin…
And spin away from guys like him who did nothing to help me find myself.
And I saw many other kaleidoscopes like me everywhere, spinning to please men, spinning to earn accolades, to be called beautiful regardless of emptiness… Showing off colors without really knowing that their lives are being thrown out carelessly and aimlessly in the air.
And when the show is over, all that’s left is the dark background..
I hope every kaleidoscope sees her worth and stop spinning without aim for something which is popular but shallow.
EVERY KALEIDOSOPE IS PRICELESS, WHETHER OR NOT SHE KNOWS IT.
Prison in Spurs August 4, 2006
Posted by helene003 in structures.4 comments
Currently the world’s most famous leisure areas are malls, such as this perfectly engineered edifice called Oakwood Mall..
Many investors give so much money just to be able to produce something as colossal and income-genera- ting as this one. And I can’t blame them for doing so. Because there is really so much money involved in the business of whetting an average consumer’s appetites with images of wealth, abundance and acceptance.
I used to frequent these malls, but lately as I go home from school, I find myself choosing to walk around the territories of my usual mall stopover instead of walking inside after a hectic jeepney ride. I used to reason out that the airconditioning system helps cool my brains and allows me to be in a better frame of mind. But a lot of things changed my point of view lately. First, the fact that a mall is a business, and not something that is innocently tailored to suit consumers’ fancies. Second, the turmoils within that are being triggered by the illusions of grandeur produced by the acquisition of more gadgets– a thing which is futile to the soul and killer to one’s budgeting schemes.
And just like the trend of my previous posts, I write in the perspective of the inanimate object.
Enter you people on my grand edifice. Rich, poor, young or old, literate or not, welcome aboard my facilities. Check out and drool, check out and drool at the newest displays… Here’s something you could buy on your first paycheck. Wait, wait, wait, there’s another one I knew you ladies would like to have! And there’s another one, and another one. From the glazed looks in your eyes I can see how much you want me, how much you want to devour all of me, put as much of me in your shopping bags as your money can allow.
I revel in your illusions. I exist to feed your fantasies of what a good life means. But even I don’t have a unified perspective of good, because all that’s fed in the machinations of my core is to generate income for my maker. I know my purpose, and I circulate on that every single day.
But actually, you can never place all of the blame on me. I AM LIKE A MIRROR TO THE PERSON I AM SERVING. If the person has no control over his or her spending, I mirror a plethora of goods which are mostly wants and not needs. I am not built with a conscience to nag at you when you are already overspending. It is something for you to know and for me to find out.
I am a bad friend. I tend to provide temporary solutions to problems which require nothing from my facility. Maybe a tissue or two, I can provide. But I can never provide peace and comfort– the two things all forms shopaholics are known to mistake me for.
However, I have had satisfied clients. Yes, these are the people know exactly what they need from me and take nothing more than that except on occasional splurging sessions. I MIRROR EFFICIENCY IN A PERSON WHOSE BUDGET IS WELL-PLANNED AND IN CONTROL.
I am a drug to those who are easily addicted. I can drown people with feigned happiness for as long as I can keep them in my wing.
But let me whisper my confession here and now. The thing is, I am just a substitute for the priceless things which people cannot find from within. I project wealth, when real wealth is having good health and a good core for one’s soul. I project false comfort, when real comfort can be found in other people (though most are silly enough to make me a substitute for the benefit of relationships). I project a lifestyle of dreams, a lifestyle that remains empty if it doesn’t have anybody else to share it with. I project abundance, but in reality I drain your pockets to oblivion at any chance I am given. I project acceptance, when in fact I am just a building and can never be a substitute for the intangible things that humans lack.
I am a prison for those who have no aim in life, but a haven to those who are driven by something else stronger than the shallow things I have to offer.
If wrongly and inappropriately lauded as a god, I am bad.
If made and considered as a tool, I am your greatest ally on consumer earth.
my beauty shines even brighter at night… August 3, 2006
Posted by helene003 in structures.add a comment
I am tall.
With all the grandeur that is due me. I am glorious and truly admired by many. During the day I reach the clouds, but something is amiss when things are bright and gay.
I am alone.
I cannot find a suitable partner to overlook the Parisian landscape with. I am just standing on my own, holding my own every single day.
I am proud and vain.
I am used to being looked up to. I would not settle for anything less, much less roll over or bend for something which could not reach my level. I am not like the Leaning Tower of Pisa which tried to reach the ground for something as stupid as gravity. I am stable, and whether men climb up and reach me, I remain unfaltered.
I am overlooked during the day.
I can never outshine the sun or outsize the sky no matter how tall I am. On sunny moments, I am just part of the greater scheme of things.
I am just like everybody else during the day. Part of the Parisian landscape, epitome of peace and amabasadress of goodwill.
I have issues.
There are times I cry with tears not reaching the eyes.
Often I find myself questioning my worth, but I know that it is in the darkest corners where I shine the brightest. It is where I look my best. It is where God shines best.
beep beep! August 2, 2006
Posted by helene003 in vehicles.add a comment
In my commuting experiences, I often have to take a jeepney to get anywhere in the metropolis… It’s the cheapest mode of transportation, the only option for those who don’t have the luxury of owning something to drive. I am writing on the point of view of a jeepney.
My sides are newly-polished. It’s a good thing my driver thought of shimmying me up a bit even just for today. Me and my colleagues in this queue are usually all worn out, steel handles teeming with unknown bacteria due to constant handling. There will be a myriad of passengers under my care for this today. A myriad of trips to generate a few coins for the master controlling the steering wheel.
Some passengers are real treats to look at. They are well-dressed and they smell sweet.But often there are laborers, dripping with sweat complete with wet marks all over their old cotton shirts. Humbling is the experience I bring every typical passenger. They may all not have to interact with each other in their regular jobs, lives and homes, but for as long as I hold them captive in my territory, they will have to be stuck with one another for a few minutes or so. I am the silent cord which holds them together, whether they like it or not.
Sometimes there are dangerous passengers– the sinister types with knives, guns and the balls to rob their fellowmen in unsuspecting moment and unguarded areas of travel. I have been witness to many of these instances, with their different ploys which range from pretending to spit on a fellow passenger and create distraction, to the more direct collection of items in the jeepney through their loot bag.
Right now, there are no such instances. It is smooth sailing supposedly since it’s a dead hour for travelling. Same old route I go to every single day, except during severe traffic such as this during rush hours…
…where the king holding the steering wheel will have to take some alternate routes, if available. Otherwise, there will be an incessant muttering of breaths, of people who think that their jeepney experience must be as short as the strike of lightning, getting more hostile in each second they are held captive more than they expected it.
I am the cheapest and most efficient mode of transportation, although people undermine my worth frequently. I epitomize more of the culture I am submerged in, however little attention they give me. I give passengers a jolt of reality in each ride, an opportunity to mingle with people they would not normally meet in other circumstances. I give failed and financially challenged kings an opportunity to have a decent job despite the high rates of unemployment and the lack of education. Each time my engine roars, more coins come in and accumulate into something that is hopefully enough to feed a family or two even for just a single day.
And if drivers are not king in their homes and in their lives, they will still have opportunities to sit in my front throne, bring the engine to life and steer me to places I wouldn’t have otherwise gone to on my own. Drivers are as different as buildings I pass by each time we travel. There are smooth drivers, drivers who curse a lot, drivers who spit a lot, drivers who like to stop in between trips to chat up with another driver who happens to be on the same road. There are drivers who don’t follow traffic signs, and drivers who play loud music and make a disco out of me. There are drivers who like to squeeze in as many passengers as they can.
Regardless of what they like, I have no qualms for as long as they listen well. The worst type of driver is the one who doesn’t listen. Not just listen to the passengers, but listen to what I have to say. I have my own voice. I have my own needs. I am a machine that needs constant refilling and repairing. Many a driver and passenger has perished at my demise. When one of my tires hit a nail on the road, everyone is a loser. Lost time for the passengers, and even worse is the lost time AND income for the driver. When my engine sputters and coughs, the driver better take heed and take me somewhere for a good tuning up. Even machines need R&R too.
There are passengers, there are drivers but I will never be called functional if there weren’t any roads to travel on. Some of my colleagues in the province are exposed to the rough and tumble of unasphalted roads. I am one of the privileged few who revel in urban city settings and not have to worry about bumping into cows, cow manure, goats or other farm animals who tend to get astray in less developed roads. Still there are humps which try to slow me down in some areas. Ironic that the same people who want fast transportation are also the same people who want to slow me down to prevent accidents. These people are quite hard to get. You never know what they want. For all I know, they don’t have any idea what they really want in anything and everything under the sun. Nonetheless, I am just a machine, a tool and not made to lash back or complain.
What if one day we jeepneys all grew tired of what we were supposed to do. There will surely be havoc on the streets– the same havoc that men experience in their lives when they don’t do exactly what their Creator has expected them to do. I guess I am just fine not having any emotions to mess things up. Many a human has gotten in trouble for those emotions they can’t control. Some are even offended and refuse to function just because of something absurdly simple. Not to brag or anything, but I often get stepped on, walked on, hit, bumped against other jeepneys and cars. But it doesn’t strip me of my purpose because everything in my engine is focused to accomplishing it.
Still, in some aspects humans are luckier especially in feeling those euphoric moments. I don’t feel that elation they feel when they are loved and cared for. Even if I were in the hands of the best driver, the closest thing I could have to feeling happy is to be able to function and be in good shape.
Silly humans. Confused as they are, they have no idea how lucky and superior they are in the greater scheme of things.
