Sunday, November 12, 2006

Taking In The Punch

Never in my life have I been punched in the face before. Not until two weeks ago when my officemate’s fist hit my nose by accident (or so I think) thereby causing an uncontrollable flow of tears in the middle of Divisoria. Yes, it would count as crying in public. And there is no place more public than Divisoria. How embarrassing is that? If only those tears will free me of a few of my emotional baggage, then I wouldn’t have to ask Nikka for one precious Prozac or Lowny for a dose of lason. (Battik wonders: Bakit sosyal ang kay Nikka? And, Lowny, nasaan na ang lason na expired and mas effective?)

I was afraid that my nose will go sore because if it did, I would surely end up looking like a Jew. No offense to Jews out there. I am just not into looking like someone I’m not.

Speaking of someone I’m not, I am being dragged deeper and deeper into this wedding thing that if I am not careful I would end up a full time maid-of-honor, someone I am not. I have reasons to believe that I was never designed to become one. I lack the aptitude and the attitude. I am afraid that my being trapped in this maid-of-honor uniform has turned me into the whiner I shouldn’t be. Que horor!

I had this instructor in college who had an exceptional gift for relentless whining. Every meeting he would give us a litany of why life sucks. One time, I tried saving the class from him bursting our the-world-can-be-a-better-place bubble. I told him that if he is not happy doing what he does, he ought to find something else to do. Something he’d rather like. To which he retorted, “But we cannot always do everything we like (or something to that effect).” I bounced back by saying, “well you shouldn’t settle.”

Heaven knows I would crucify myself if I become him. Yes, I do whine and even proceed on ranting, but I see to it that I do both activities in moderation. Plus I try not to get stuck with a half empty glass. I am capable of acknowledging the glass’ half full part. Thus, at the end of the day, I manage to smile and laugh longer than I whine and rant.

Besides, I can find ways to do what I like. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to escape not doing what I don’t want to do. (That’s three negatives in one sentence! This is bad.)

Sheesh, what wonders can words do! And semiotics is not even half of it. Yet semiotics has placed me in trouble more than once. I had to report on the subject three times during college at three different classes. It’s all part of the grand Communication Arts scheme—realizing the power of signs.

Dammit, I wasn’t a Comm. Arts graduate for nothing! I am capable of recognizing signs and significants even if I seem not to and even if society tells me not to. I can read between the lines, maybe not the lines of poems but of things all around me. I can tell why a certain thing is placed in a certain scene of a certain movie. I can explain why a certain author used a certain word in a certain story. Hell, I can even say why a certain part of a certain building is placed in a certain spot.

The key is deconstruction.

And you know what? It works in real life, too. By breaking into parts another’s actions, words or illustrations you will discover messages, underlying meanings. And I tell you, the things conveyed by each existing sign get more and more interesting depending on the degree of their explicitness. I would give you a concrete example but it will blow the implicitness of my point, thereby taking away your interest. So there goes.

The dilemma now is whether to acknowledge the meanings you have unearthed. I did that once and I ended up like a fool for putting meaning to something which according to them meant nothing. (Battik’s note:The withholding of them’s antecedent is intentional.) Recently I decided to trash a set of messages I decoded through deconstruction in the hopes of saving myself from becoming a fool more than once in my lifetime. Unfortunately I may have hurt somebody’s feelings in the process, not to mention mine. Hence the troubles caused by semiotics.

Now I realize why signs proliferate. Humans often chicken out and hide behind signs. Too bad signs more often than not are arbitrary. (Allow me to say this: Is it just me or am I beginning to sound like a textbook? Feel free to comment.) Therefore hiding behind signs has its consequences.

At this point I shall succumb to explicitness. I too am chicken that’s why I am abusing signs. I have been abusing signs from the beginning of this essay up to this point, and maybe beyond. I really am taking in the punch, not only the physical punch but the punch I hid in the signs I just abused.

So there goes.


About the maid-of-honor bit...hindi ko pa man din napopost itong entry na ito, nakatanggap na ako ng offline yahoo message from no other than the bride herself. And the message is this:
Ang husay!
Posted by: Tyrene | November 12, 2006 01:21 AM

tye, wala nang prozac sa medicine cabinet namin, pero wag mag-alala, meron namang rugby sa tool box, life is good ka na non.
by the way, nasuntok din nga pala kita isang gabing natulog ka sa dorm.
Posted by: Nikka | November 12, 2006 07:14 AM

how i wish i can be a maid-of-honor before i become a bride.. but no chance at all, i have a month to go. it would be an honor for me to be chosen as one, especially if it was by my sister. it would hurt me if my sister had chosen somebody else. this is a once in a lifetime opportunity that i would not miss.
-ate win
Posted by: Win and Wah | November 15, 2006 08:41 AM

I get what you mean, I really do. But even you would attest that I am not delivering the best of "maid of honoring" which makes me feel even more of a loser that I already am. If only you will get what I mean...
Posted by: Tyrene | November 18, 2006 12:03 PM

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