Sunday, August 31, 2008

Featuring the book: Pygmalion - by George Bernard Shaw

The original story of Pymmalion was drawn from a Greek mythology. A sculptor who mistrusted the virtue of women, Pygmalion kept to himself, devoting himself to his art. One day, he created a statue of a woman. She was so beautiful, and the sculptor so lonely, that he fell in love with his creation and prayed to the goddess Aphrodite to give him a wife who resembled the statue. Instead, the goddess brought the statue itself to life. The ancient writer Apollodorus, telling his earlier version of the myth, called this statue-turned-woman Galatea.

George Bernard Shaw's Pymalion is a modern-day retelling of this myth that transforms Galatea from a silent statue to a vibrantly independent woman who talks back to the teacher who criticizes her speech. Shaw's Galatea, Eliza Doolittle, is a spirited working girl, who, in learning to speak like a duchess, displays a fierce intelligence and independence. Henry Higgins, a bachelor phonetician, not unlike Shaw himself - brilliant, articulate, and more passionate about his work than anything else, had vowed to teach the "rapscallionly flower girl" something. Like Shaw, he is unusually close to his mother and largely uninterested in romance. He can be charming when he wants something, but when he doesn't get what he wants, he can be petulant, arrogant, and bullying. Though it is clear by the end of the play that Higgins is attached to Eliza, he absolutely refuses to make any declaration of love to her. Like Pygmalion, Higgins congratulates himself on "creating" a woman, but unlike the lovelorn sculptor, he refuses to treat her any better than he treats anyone else.

Stated by the editor of the reprinted edition of the novel, that Pygmalion needs no preface at its beginning, but a sequel at its end. The way the story hit me was much like a narcotic which I cannot take control of contemplating, for it didn't leave me an expected decent ending at all. Its upshot was really a bang since I was very much relishing the lusciousness of the plot at first, but could nowhere to find its final point. Here, i realized lately that that its ending was perhaps fabricated with a cooperative division for the mind of reader himself. Something should be left for the imaganation; I guess that is the perfect line for that. And so here I go, bits of the peice are still clinging unto my brain, coaxing for the next taradiddle. And they seriously wouldn't want to forfeit, not bloody likely!

A sneak peek at Taong-gubat’s bio tale

Taong-gubat is none more than a simple human being, very similar to others who also grew up under the common sunlight. At 16, she settled for a semi-independent life when she entered college at the University of the Philippines in Mindanao at Davao City. There, taking up a Bachelor’s degree in Computer Science. She is a wanderer herself and an adventure optimist, which is why her feet had ultimately led her to face a realm away from home and her family. Presently, she’s 17 and employing all her might for struggling the tough hurricanes of the premier university. Fortunately, most of her efforts worked out and luck has been generous enough at her side that she was able to endure the forges of calamity and is going strong through extreme pruning in her second year of ‘iska’ life. Pheew.

Back to her earlier days in Palawan, her home province, her friends see her as a diffident but somehow an unpredictable individual. She’s not the one who usually stands on spotlights or walks with a boisterous crowd because of her a bit covered personality. Perhaps the reason behind her non-transparent conventions was her genuine tactfulness through all fits. She observes herself to be considerate enough in dealing with her surroundings. She makes sure to be keen at all times not to cause anguish and detriment to anybody; may they be non-living things, animals, plants, especially to other people. Nevertheless, she does not lack true friends, for she is an unfeigned true friend herself.

Since she kept seriously her indiscriminative concern to all life, she also partakes in humanitarian and environmental services. She is a solid youth volunteer in their Red Cross chapter, an activist of animal rights campaign of PETA, a neo-humanist enthusiast to herself, and a strict vegetarian. Having introduced the tenets of yoga philosophy by her father, she decided to follow and delve into it,, because its domain according to her intuition, encompasses all forms of life, and in fact the whole of the universe, which what she is interested personally.

On the giddy side of her globe, taong-gubat also goes gaga over some looney stuff. She fiercely declares that her life element is chocolate instead of any of fire, water, earth, or air. She’s so in love with any form of cocoa by all odds. She would regularly fix for a diet session because the cocoa substance often draws her out of shape, not to mention her often-financial droughts as a result of uncontrolled craving. But she’s anyway vigilant of the ingredients of the chocolate she’s devouring, making sure that no trace animal suffering was executed for the sake of the satisfaction of her taste buds. Dreamily, she would often wish to acquire a chocolate fever like the one she has read on a children’s book before. She dreams that real chocolate moles would pop out of her skin someday, because that sounds truly terrific and wonderful.

Aside from chocolate, she also has a tongue for anything creamy. She would combine cocoa substances with creamy ones to complete her delicacy criterion. Consuming an 800-gram pack of milk a week is not nearly enough for her appetite of cream. Her idea of a full cream milk powder is not only for drinks, but also a grub to peck itself. Unfortunately, the cost of the merchandise isn’t a wee, that’s why it also imposes a large depreciation on his food allowance most of the time.

Of course the above stated are only a speck dust of who this taong-gubat really is, that’s why the title tells of only a sneak peek. When her summation would be totally uncovered, it wouldn’t be any interesting anymore to spare a thought about her or this blog. Something should be left for the imagination, right?

Thursday, August 28, 2008

A penning for the animals

It is a fact that most people would rather prefer to eat meat than non-animal foods. Meat dishes are veritably delectable at all fits, but by eating these, there’s one thing that could surely come about: one can acquire a heart disease and many other types of sickness from it. Worse, it also leads him to be four times more prone to heart attack or stroke. This phenomenon is very much evidenced in our present society wherein most children would not like to eat a meal if the dish is not meat. With this, more and more children even in their early age die because of heart related diseases.

Aside from the disadvantages that meat have brought to human beings, one of the most crucial drawback it has produced is the suffering to the animals themselves. Although animals don’t think and act the same way as we humans, they do value their lives and have feelings very much like us. That is, if we human beings don’t want to die, the animals, too, don’t want to die. If we feel pain, they, too, feel pain. If you burn them, they feel it; if you give them electric shocks, they feel it, very much.

If we feel fear, they, too, feel fear. They scream, their hairs stand on an end, they urinate on themselves, and they shake, just as we do when frightened out of our minds with the prospect of being hurt or killed. If we don’t want to see our family killed, the animals, too, don’t want to see their family slaughtered. Cows love their calves, sows love their piglets, and chickens love their chicks, and mourn for their loss, just as we do.

The animals also have the right to live, that’s why God created them to share this planet with us. I believe that “thou shall not kill” in the ten commandments is not only intended for human beings, but also to our dear animal friends. If God made it only for us, He may have said, “thou shall not murder or commit homicide.
Others may make a stand that there’s nothing wrong in eating animals because it is necessary to supply the protein needs of the body. This may sound reasonable, but, truth is, there are many plants readily available in the community, like beans, lentils, nuts, peas, seeds, greens, corn, etc., that can provide the protein. In fact, protein from non-animal sources is unquestionably safer to health, because they are not bombarded with fats and cholesterols, unlike those from animals.

Presumably another point why human beings kill and eat animals is because they have the power to do so. This practice is so unfair, because killing them is an act of exploitation and violence, and these poor creatures cannot do anything much to defend themselves. The huge animal mass-murdering industries, which suffice this practice, are very much alike to a slave trade, which we also believe to be wrong. In this system, although the consumers do not kill the animals themselves, they can’t still claim an escape, because they were the one who pays the butcher’s labor in slaughtering the animals.

In most U.S. states, if somebody had committed cruelty to a dog or a cat, authorities would most likely warrant him felony charges for his acts. But animals in today's factory farms have no legal protection against violent and gruesome slaughter, which would be illegal if inflicted on house pets. Yet, farmed animals that are basically consumed for food are no less intelligent and capable of feeling pain than the animals we cherish as companions. Most people are also horrified of some cultures that eat dogs or cats, but these animals suffer no more than the animals typically consumed by the people. Here, the difference is only cultural, not moral.

For myself, I chose to be a vegetarian because I believe that the souls of all living creatures are the same, although the body of each is different. Animals are made of flesh, bone and blood just as we are, so “meat” is just a euphemism for a decomposing corpse used as food. It felt good that no animals were slaughtered on my behalf, particularly for the satisfaction of my taste buds. I knew that I could never kill an animal myself, so it is not right to have others to do the dirty work for me, otherwise, I would be a hypocrite about it.

In our moral development as a species, we've reached the point where it's time for us to recognize that other species deserve consideration, just as we finally realized that slavery is wrong, that women deserved the vote, and that children should not be abused as a method of child rearing. Many animals have never done anything at all in their lives that they were born to do. Chickens, pigs, and other farmed animals never get to breathe fresh air, feel the sun on their backs, and nuzzle their young, because people kill them for food.

Common sense tell us, and we know in our hearts, that our fellow animals have the same kind of feelings and desires that we do, and that we should not kill and hurt others in order to eat them. If the humanity would not open their eyes, they will no see, and these poor animals will forever suffer.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Tadah! A book feature for my first postings, here! Title: Wise Child by Monica Furlong

Truth is, I really wanted to write a sound review of this book, but a part of my brain is screaming of not doing it. It is emphatically complaining of the ruggedness of the job awaiting. So, I then listened to its plead, although the greater part of me was willing to work it out, looking forward for the satisfaction in the end. But it was the retrospection of the school stuffs I had yet to finish that pushed me to suspend the planned review. So for an alternative, I’ll just present some slide show of the lines I had quoted from the story.

Here’s a brief sneak peek of the plot:
In a remote Scottish village, a girl called Wise Child is abandoned by her parents and taken in by Juniper, a sorceress. Under Juniper’s kind but stern tutelage, Wise Child thrives. She learns reading, herbal lore, and even the beginnings of Magic. Then Wise Child’s natural mother – the “black” witch Maeve – reappears, offering the girl a life of ease and luxury. Forced to choose between Maeve and Juniper, Wise Child comes to discover both her true loyalties and her growing supernatural powers. By this time, though, Maeve’s evil magic, a mysterious plague, and the fears of superstitious villagers combine to place Wise Child and Juniper in what may be an inescapable danger…

And the ending? The ending is actually unexpected, but I can’t say that it went out terrific based on my personal criterion. Somehow it left me a sense of non-satisfaction because the story was really a rattling game on the largest part. But with the starkness of the ending, it was that that made it disappointing. Nevertheless, it was an exciting book after all - genuinely fantastic for a fantasy tale. It was richly detailed; making the reader fell thoroughly into its realm, and filled with very unforgettable characters that anyone would definitely love.

Here’s a beautiful passage that may be worth noting somehow:
“Only the other night, on my flying trip, as I had walked up the great stone avenue, I had felt part of everything, part of animal and bird, tree and stone. If I was of part of everything, then I was also part of bridge and stream, of the sharp rocks beneath the water and the tumbling, rushing waters. Even if I fell into the waters, and even if I was swallowed up by them, I would still be a part of it all. In such a world, such a universe, nothing terrible could happen to me.
Suppose I ask myself, just suppose that I walked across that bridge as if I was part of it and part of the water, that I decided that whatever happened as I did so, it would be all right, what then?”
*Since I read this, I started employing its thought many times then. If I get frightened of something, or even when there’s just some silly palls, I could easily comfort myself by simply thinking of it. This is such a peachy aid, really.

Oh, and here’s a dulcet picture I like:
“My breakfast was laid out on the table, with a tiny pink winter flower in the middle of my plate. It was very consoling, as real as a kiss.”

*Sorry if this sounds "whatever". I just found it significantly tinging. =)

Here’s a vivid part that which I can somewhat tie in so much; this was the part when Wise child asked Cormac, the leper man, if how can he bear being alone and shut away from the village in his poor hut, suffering from the hateful disease:
“I have become a hermit from choice. To begin with, I hated it and wanted to die. Now I have come to prefer it – the space, the silence, being alone with the plants and the birds and the great sky. But I still need love – yours and Juniper’s.”

*Being away from my family and loved ones for years - studying, I can somewhat relate to the speaker's sad dispositions here. Oh, and I suddenly missed them. =(

Well that's it. A book review. Applause!
I want to thank my roommate for having the book, so that I was able to read it. But hush, she didn't know anything about me reading her book! I just make that out when she wasn't around. Hihi. Her books are really flowing, that's why they're deliciously tempting. Oops!=)
So, watch out for more book reviews coming up! There's still plenty out here...Lol!

Thursday, August 21, 2008

How does my ink blots?

I would accept it with open-mindedness if somebody would ever criticize my writings. I know, and am truly cognitive of it, that most of my thoughts are mostly vain. This very own judgment of mine did not come out of me as for putting down my potential (as if there is actually any). I say this for the reason that my performance in this field does not even satisfies my very own simple standards. Having read and ventured quite a number of compositions, I’m pretty certain with the fact that my capableness has not yet attained that touchstone of which could be considered as ‘fine rate’ in the criterion of justness.

Nonce, may I showcase to you some facts about the person who is writing these thoughts to warn you to read her words at your own risk. For, chances are, you may just get a pout with the annoyance of knowing what a disdainful poor fish really this person is, or get riled to exploding, realizing that you’ve thrown your precious bits of continuum of the clock just for this absolutely pathetic hokum.

So here it goes, in bullet phase:

  • When weaving the words for my compositions, I cannot have a solo flight without the tail of a lexicon and a thesaurus around. That is to say, all my writings are fake and not really entitled for my own copyright. They are partly owed to Mr. Webster, and this time, to the makers of Wordweb (a free dictionary software which I’ve downloaded recently). But for the thoughts, I tell you; they’re solely from the deepest lieu of my hapless brain. Hey, but I’m not bragging about that, they may not be that significant anyway, and I guess some of you may find them perfect craps.

  • Epistaxis. I’m always nearly into this every time I write. I don’t really possess an amount of words in English language; therefore further stressing how vain I am with writing. I incessantly run out of words, and just resort to consulting the ‘Wordweb’ for an ailment. Thanks this time, for the medication is just a couple of prods away: just a few clicks and typing, and behold! There comes my instant word aid!

  • I always appear to be a pathetic incapacitated try-hard writer every time I attempt of starting a composition. There’s always a sort of squeezing of my heart in instances that I really wanted to write and was about facing my laptop and figuring out the thoughts that wanted to burst out of by brain. As I move my hands to travel though the keyboard, they always feel stiff, lazy to move, and my heart and mind seem to be boiling up to a climax state which bears a predisposition of collapsing at any moment. Honestly, that is what I am swimming into right now. Although I managed to start some words, I do feel too uneasy, and near exploding. Perhaps this is occurring for the reason that I really don’t know what to write, yet am really persistent to blot my thoughts, but too drained to so. For I am scarcely equipped with the instruments of materializing the fancies of my silly intellect, and perhaps afraid to endure the burden of digging up arduously for the right spells to employ. For this, I do think of resorting to weeping by the thought that this feeling would not stop teasing me. But I would be a fool by then, that was I would soon realize. See, what a pitiful creature I am - a weary screwball!

Well, there ends the trumpery facts that I’m talking about. They’re actually not FACTS, eh? Perhaps a singular term is the correct word. They are just redundant in some grounds, because I cannot organize the ideas at all. Simple, the reason for this is that I can’t think of any significant arguments to tackle anymore. My brain is totally drained, poor thing.

And so, what really is the reason of making this blog anyway, and posting out my writings?
Here’s the oxymoron for this: I want to speak up, and be heard. Although I cannot carry this out in a non-disgusting and favorable manner, I was able to let loose all the unstably thoughts playing wildly in my brain, at least. I guess, I may explode if I won’t set them free, and I found a relief with blotting them in this blog then. So readers, I am paying you my apology. I know, you may probably be puzzled or simply annoyed by my point by now, but please just do bear with me, or just abandon this site at once if you can’t bear it. It’s up to you!! Lol.