I am becoming a morning person

So here’s the thing: I didn’t actually work to be a morning person, I just kind of fell into it as a leaf would from a tree. I’ve barely had great mornings in my entire lifetime, so I was never a fan of departing from a dream.

However, I have recently moved back to the Philippines from Sydney, Australia, which was 3 hours ahead from Manila. So when I wake up at 5AM in the morning, I’m essentially waking up at my regular schedule of 8AM in Sydney. Jet lag was how this whole thing started.

Now you may not know me yet, internet, but this is shocking news. I was getting a serious case of cognitive dissonance when I first realised that this change was happening in my body, and trust me, I retaliated. I told myself that I did not consent to this, but my sleep was not a democracy.

I was irritable for a few days, but eventually, I was forced to adapt. And the more I’m evicted out of my bed before daybreak, the more I understood why so many people do it.

It’s a different kind of world in the morning, like opening a secret bank account filled with money you never knew you had. And the good news is that no one usually bothers you that early, so all that currency is YOURS.

I know it sounds like I’m selling a pyramid scheme, but hear me out for a minute. And maybe after this, you can sign yourself up for a free seven-day trial.

Here’s why you should try it:

Take a moment of peace
We are all sensitive to our environment, more than we care to admit. So if you wake up at a time when your neighbours are already banging away in their kitchen, it can be hard to find another opportunity to have a quiet time, especially if you have a day job.

It’s a lot for our brain to be exposed to noises for an entire day, and that overload of information is what makes us so tired and wanting more sleep in the night.

But if you keep yourself from pressing that snooze button in the morning, and instead spend a few minutes resting in wakefulness, you already have a moment of tranquillity that you can carry with you in your lunchbox for later consumption.

They roll over you know. That zen quality of the mind is abundant in the morning when everything is still quiet. So start accruing moments of peace, that they may tip over and manifest throughout your days.

Finish the day early
The feeling of being productive is grounded in knowing that the things you absolutely need to do are actually finished.

Getting a headstart in the morning gives me at least 3–4 hours of uninterrupted work, which usually gets the job done like a prayer. That may be lesser for people who have a full-time job, but if you can get at least 1–2 hours of your day to do something meaningful to you, it can have a significant effect on how you perceive the rest of your day.

For me, once I know I’ve put down a minimum word count, and read a few chapters or articles online, I can spend the rest of the day doing whatever I want without the guilt that I’m not being productive. It’s nice to eat lunch knowing that my day is done, and I can spend the rest of the afternoon watching Netflix and be totally chill.

Mornings are a great way to start a ritual
You know that thing you said you’d do better at in 2019? Well, this is the perfect time to do it. That “don’t mess with me” death stare in the morning is a powerful defence mechanism to ward off people and devices who are all competing for your attention. And less interaction means less distraction, so it’s easier to focus on a single task. Why not use that time to focus on a ritual?

It doesn’t have to be complicated at first you know. It can be as simple as making your bed, doing a few situps, and brushing your teeth. Anything physical that tells your body that it’s time to start your day, and preferably something that does not involve diving headfirst into a sea of distraction.

Once you get used to a ritual, you can start adding more things into it, like a 15-minute workout, cooking your own breakfast, or reading the news. A good foundation is very important if you want to build something. And a good foundation, when translated into a mental process is merely a structure.

Bang your own drum
Sometimes, you can have your entire day planned out, and you completely miss it from the very beginning because your monkey brain is so susceptible to being sidetracked. It’s hard to recover from that, and catching up for lost time is going to be even harder from there.

I recently discovered that anything I do in the morning reverberates throughout my day. If I work at a slow pace in the morning, I’m more likely to be slow in the afternoon as well. So if I start my day with a structure that follows a steady beat, it’s easier to keep my flow in that same rhythm.

Getting used to a structure is like a noise-cancelling headphone. Your concentration sharpens, you are able to prioritise easily, and you naturally harness the skill to tune everyone out, especially when you are dancing to the beat of your own schedule.

— —

I’ve always thought that being a morning person was never possible for me. As I said, I’ve had extremely few glorious mornings in the past, so I didn’t think I would ever love doing it on the regular.

But if anything else, I learned that our capacity for change is greater than our own identity. There are no morning birds, and night owls, there is only our ability to adapt.

My Manifesto: Be vulnerable.

I sometimes stare at the blank page, and think of writing as wringing the mind and spilling its contents on the paper; or more accurately (as I find my handwriting atrocious), letting it flow through my fingers, and onto the keys of my old MacBook Pro. I allow them to leak, word by word, like droplets from a loosely shut valve.

I discovered, while fully immersed in this process, that the blank page is not really on the screen before me; not a canvass that I hack with a paint-loaded brush or a cup where I let the pulp and juice from an orange ooze into. No, the screen is not where the blank page lies.

The blank page is a space so empty, that neither light nor darkness exists in it, but where both can be brought into very easily when willed. It is a space where everything is welcome; colours, music, emotions, words. It is a sanctum where my world is conceived, and its address is in my head.

Whenever I write, there is a strange phenomenon that occurs in my consciousness. It doesn’t quite say the words, or show it, as these are merely the symptoms of what is going on in my brain. It feels more like carving, where the chiselled scar is the thought, shaping itself the more I tap into it and becoming its own realised copy of what is otherwise an obscure and formless breath of air. It rings in my head like electricity running wild in a vast network of copper, messages sent from nowhere, glorious bolts of lightning in the sky. This is a phenomenon that I have become so obsessed with exploring, experiencing, and mastering — and this is why I have decided to become a Writer.

Yesterday, I think it was, or whatever day that is now, I wrote an odd piece. I printed it, folded it twice, not knowing what to do with it, and is now laid out in front of me, finally discovering its purpose as I share it here:

“There’s something about my fear of being vulnerable that makes me question if I’m really cut out to be human. I just don’t want to do it, you know. Show my face in public when I have a big cystic acne on my face. Talk to people in the morning. Talk to people. Share my thoughts on social media. Co-exist with another living and breathing judgment-capable being. I just can’t anymore with human interaction, and yet my depravity of it is the cause of my misery, the same misery that makes me so afraid to live my life. So whatever I choose to do now, either way, I am well and truly fucked.

But the thing is, whether I’m cut out for it or not, I am human. And the many things I rationalise, wrestle with, and hate about myself, are precisely the things that make me a human being. So there is no reason to fight it or to run away from it. I don’t even need to accept it if I don’t feel like it. Because in the end, being human is only built around two options: to live, or to die. And if you haven’t already learned by now, I don’t care to share which one I choose.”

Now I don’t know whether it’s my profound and chronic lack of sleep or the fact that I wrote this in the morning, at work, being miserable in a career that I spent six years mindlessly slogging away to please other people and to earn a decent living. But this piece of paper is a sad piece of work, and yet it struck me so hard to realise that it is mine. I am this self-loathing person. This lonely, anxious, and angry person. So I share this work now despite its flaws, its raw and contradicting persona, and its intended incompleteness; because it is honest, and I need to start telling the truth more often.

It is true that I am anxious about sharing my own thoughts. It is true that this is making me stressed and depressed and be filled with existential dread. What is not true is the lack of reason to fight it. Because yielding to depravity, and misery, and self-deprecation, builds the case to choose the second option.

I choose to live, and I do care to share what I think. I choose to live in the company of people who believes in me, to spend my days reading great works of art, and to sit in a room with a keyboard and a pot of tea, writing fiercely. And I will share what I think, but only if my thoughts are honest, and mine. These are the only two premises I will allow my writing to build itself upon.

Be gone with you, wretched witch of criticism. Burn in hell you falsely-comforting blanket of depression. Fuck you, sleepless nights spent in the company of my fear of being vulnerable. I laugh maniacally as my fingers dig into the keys, and I cast away all my demons. You will not stop me from living the way I intend to, for alas, I have gone mad! I am free from you at last!

In their wake, I call upon my new and magnificent imaginary friends, born out of my love of their amazing work. Seneca, Albert Camus, George Orwell, Ludwig Wittgenstein you beautiful genius, Noriko Ogiwara, Haruki Murakami, Lois Lowry, Neil Gaiman, Stephen King, Margaret Atwood, Anne Dillard, Elizabeth Gilbert, Robert Greene, Ryan Holiday, James Clear, Viktor E. Frankl, and to countless others that drink my tea and save me from the perils of my former friends. In my mind, you whisper to me, your voices kind and mellifluous, words you have written which give my life meaning. I thank you for sharing your lives, and with gratitude, I now share mine.

Although my private portfolio is merely a bunch of journal entries, uneven short stories, and unfinished novels, I will fix them, and finish them, and share them on this page, along with my poems which wouldn’t mind their company. Whether or not they are read or appreciated, they will learn to sit in this place, and I will make a home for them here.

I shy away from calling myself a Writer because I feel society expects so much from that title. But having written things over the years, and held them close to my chest, or tossed them into the garbage can, I have learned that being a writer is not about being published, it is not even about sharing. At least for me, it is merely about the act of writing, and doing it over, and over, and over again.

So why share them now? Why bother going through the gut-wrenching act of writing a manifesto, and flinging myself so boldly into the doorstep of other people’s free time? Well, I love writing. And whether I’m good at it or not doesn’t matter to me now, that stuff will sort itself out the more I do it. I love writing. And I believe that when you love something so purely and wholeheartedly, you must share it. Because the ultimate purpose of love is to be shared.

I am terrified. That is still true. But this fear in me has taken on a new form, a faint innocent cry, like the wailing of a newborn child jolted by the sensation of breathing for the first time. My skin is crawling, my insides are turning, and I feel like being sick at the thought of posting this online. Maybe I will throw up after I send this out into the world, but I know it will feel like purging the poison in my system, from a long night of drinking and wanting to be numb.

So here it is, world. Here I am. Do with my love as you please. Take it, hate it, pass it on, or give some of your love back in exchange. I am vulnerable at your feet.

Loud thoughts

What are we without the noises?
Without the wailing of a baby?
Without the panting of a runner?
What are we without the incessant chatter?
Just silence and emptiness
And maybe patience and independence
We wait for someone to make a sound
Someone to smile and say hello
And then the world becomes loud again
We run away from each other to find silence
And in that silence, we find that all we need is each other
So we shuffle from busy offices to solemn places of worship
From blaring streets to calm lakesides
From a raucous market to a warm bed
In stillness we find self-awareness
And in noises we find expression

Lost is the route

Cotton blue blanket warms you up
The cold is your friend, the alcohol your refuge
Scrambling, begging, and desperately hoping
For any piece of comfort, for any kind of peace

Bitter breathes of smoke
Toxic clouds of nicotine
You keep quitting, you keep coming back
You find an end, it finds you back

The substance is the only way,
When you’re lost in your own bedroom
Inconvenient stubborn emotions
Numb it, and spill it all over the floor

Tip the jar of endless melancholy
Let the downpour flow like a powerful storm
Raise your hand and call out for help
Let the loneliness silence your cries

But don’t despair, this is just a sad story
You are your sadness, just as you are your happiness
Bask in it, and let it wash you
For cleanliness comes along with the shower

Foundation is strong when it is built from rock bottom
Face the day, survive it, and do it again
You hope for tomorrow, and tomorrow does come
Today is yesterday’s tomorrow, so remember yesterday

You were reaching out and calling for help
And what do you know, what a brilliant plot
The hand that takes and pulls your hand,
Is your own as you tend to the cries of your past

There is no shame in helping yourself
Find your substance and use it, but always take heed
Let your heart wallow when it needs
Let it dive and sink all the way into the deep

For this is the truest nature of life
Sadness is just as uncommon as happiness
You get used to it like the scar on your knee
You fall when you rise, you rise when you fall

When you were a child, you always dreamed of flying
Now you open your eyes and reality becomes the flight
The reason it rises and drops is because of the height
You can only plummet because you’re already in the sky

Up or down, so long as it’s forward
You were always the pilot, you were always in control
The plane is yours, so keep heading north
Just don’t forget it, and you will always soar

 

Photo: Twin Peaks, San Francisco, California, USA (July 2016)

Imagine Heaven

Most of what we know about life after death is theoretical, and that no place or any kind of existence after death was ever truly proven. But if we were to collate all existing theories and known concepts of what happens after life, at least even just from a theological perspective, we would find a few common qualities and trends we can attribute to a general idea of heaven. A place full of good people, where everyone loves each other, and where everyone is at peace.

I believe that heaven is the state of a perfect community, that it is actually attainable here in life, and that we don’t have to wait for death to find something we weren’t even sure existed somewhere in the universe. Most people believe that heaven is the greatest prize, a secret place that we only get to go to after death. I, however, believe that heaven is the ultimate test in human existence. That our mission in life is to turn everyone good. Not good as in to be better at something, but good as in to give and care for others more than we do to ourselves. That the concept of a family not only extends to blood relatives and to people in our circle, but to everyone in the world. That once every single human has turned good and learned how to live in peace, we would be turning this life into heaven, and that heaven would be here on Earth — palpable and truly existent.

Heaven then becomes our purpose for living. Because life in my understanding is only meant to create itself, and then exist. That the only thing life knows how to do is survive and keep growing until it finally expires and become nothing again. Therefore death is not the opposite of life, but the absence of life. So our purpose as beings who are alive is to do solely what life does. Any form of virtue, logic or philosophy that encourages the creation and existence of life, therefore makes up the quality of being alive. Anyone else that fails to support life or much worse end it, lacks a fundamental understanding of their own existence. Because if every single person in the world is created equal, which they are, then it is inevitable to discredit your own value once you have devalued the life of another who is exactly like you. So the way of life is only to bring goodness to other people, that in turn brings goodness to yourself. In essence, to live is only to do good, which eventually leads us all to a place called heaven. If we didn’t do good, then we wouldn’t be living, we would merely be existing and it would be the closest thing to being dead, like merely staring at a canvas and not painting.

However, indeed it is the ultimate test in human existence. To even get one city to come together and co-exist without devaluing one another already seems impossible. But that’s why it is the ultimate test, because it is the hardest of all to accomplish. I think the key is to start cultivating and living the idea of heaven in your own life. After all, ourselves is the only place we can ever start, because it is the only thing we have control over. Perhaps the most we can ever make out of our lives is how big we can grow our own community of heaven, with the entire human race as the end goal. Family for me is everyone who makes me feel loved and accepted no matter what I am, and whom I love and accept no matter what they are. I feel heaven with my family, and so I want nothing more in life than to treat each and everyone in the world as my family, simply because this was the only way I know life was supposed to work. Perhaps if everyone in my current family keeps fostering this idea of heaven, and keep inspiring their own families to do the same, we’d be one step closer to achieving heaven on earth.

Imagine everyone who loves you in your life right now, and then imagine them being every single person in the world. You would then be loving everyone in the world, and they would all be loving you. That’s heaven I guess. Imagine that.