Bompertz Schizotopia: Cliffhanger Compass

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Cliffhanger Compass

I finished reading Philip Pullman's The Golden Compass this afternoon. Let me say this: AT LAST. Nyahaha. The truth is, I read 50% of the text from the actual book (courtesy of Teray Nokeya), 30% from the dreadful PDF file, and 20% from the illegal book-reading at the National Bookstore. Whew!

Neways, the book is great. I've been aware of its existence since high school but then I wasn't able to grab a book. It's the first book in His Dark Materials Trilogy. Thanks for the upcoming film adaptation this December, books just sprout out of fanatics.

It's a whole new world. I would agree to my friend Kirc that it's a melange of Harry Potter, LOTR, and The Da Vinci Code - let me add, Narnia (because of the snow). It's kind of unique combination, of magic and science and religion. Imaginable, unputdownable, mysterious...what else can I say?

A brief synopsis, the book is about Lyra Belacqua's adventure in the North to stop people from making zombies out of children and of crossing a bridge to the other world via aurora borealis. There were witches, Tartars, armored bears, and daemons...souls outside a person's body. The thing is, Lyra's world is somewhat like ours but different in some ways.

I would only disagree with my friend Kirc saying that THE BOOK IS 1OO TIMES BETTER THAN HARRY POTTER. I understand that it's his opinion, but in my opinion it's not. Between Philip Pullman and JK Rowling, I would still go for the latter. It's not that I'm being hypocrite, loving HP series ever since but...okay, actually, it's enigmatic to me why Kirc said such. The hell with it. Neways, I'm not really fond of comparing this book or that book. Harry Potter for me is as good as itself. The same with my other faves. And so this one, Philip Pullman's.

Kirc says the sequel is better. I dunno if it will change my views. Actually, I'm dying to read it because the ending of The Golden Compass was such a cliffhanger.*

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Confessions of a Schizo

schizophrenia [skítsō frni ə]

noun

1 PSYCHIATRY psychiatric disorder affecting the coherence of the personality: a severe psychiatric disorder with symptoms of emotional instability, detachment from reality, often with delusions and hallucinations, and withdrawal into the self

2 offensive term: an offensive term for contradictory or conflicting attitudes, behavior, or qualities

***

My father’s brother is psychotic. His other brother is suffering from paranoia and delusion of poverty. One of his first cousins is mentally retarded. One of his second cousins has a world of his own. Mental problems indeed run in the blood such that myself, being my father’s son, is likely a schizophrenic.

Of the two definitions of schizophrenia I mentioned above (courtesy of Encarta), I do not know which best defines my condition. Is my being schizophrenic a psychiatric disorder or just and offensive term I love referring to myself? Well, it’s up for those who know me well to tell. As for me, I rather pick the second one. If the first definition best defines me, then I might be in a place called ‘asylum’ and not writing this thing at all.

In this world of slang domination, anyone can be called a schizo as long as he behaves differently. In other words, being schizophrenic nowadays is synonymous to being weird, odd, and freaky. The first word there in the second definition is ‘offensive’. It’s true. As for me, I don’t feel offended being called a schizo. Maybe that’s the way my schizophrenia goes; I’m a schizo because I find it cool being such.

I confess that my friends had confessed that they find me weird, odd, and freaky...a schizo. That’s no offense I know. In fact, with my behavior, they find me fun to be with. My behavior is something I am proud of; with head held up high to the extent that I put up a column in our school paper for my crazy thoughts. I eat banana cue while malling, I boast something I bought from ukay-ukay, and I take a bath every 12:00 midnight. I’m just being true to myself because inhibitions define torture to me.

My other oddities as follows…

I define leisure in three words: books, movies and Internet. When I was young, my parents would either leave me in a crib full of books or to their friend who was a librarian. Thus began my bibliomania. I read books, I sniff at their pages, I feel their texture, I hear them calling attention, and if only they’re edible, I will eat them. One of my hobbies is book hunting, that is, visiting bookstores with secondhand books searching rare-to-find ones. Speaking of movies, my taste is somewhat different. When the masses think that The Matrix is cool, I think it’s pathetic and a waste of time. When the masses think that it’s jologs to watch the local flick, Jologs, I think otherwise. When people are fond of crying, laughing, screaming, sleeping, and fornicating in the cinema, I am fond of memorizing punchlines. As to the Internet, I think that it’s the most entertaining invention of mankind for mankind. Aside from my being fond of making webpages, I have nothing to say.

I took up my course BS Nursing with a very odd reason: I just wanted to go abroad and get the autograph of some famous personality. So far, the course is not being a curse for my fanatical decision. I’m loving it.

In Maslow’s Heirarchy of Needs, ‘writing’ is something that does not belong at the base of the conceptual pyramid. I stand for an exception. The hobby of writing for me is something as important as food, shelter, clothing, and sex. It’s a physiologic need in my case. My hand itches when it’s not holding a pen; why not spoil it?

I tend to laugh in different ways depending on what is to laugh about. I have this kind of laugh that is as if I’m a panting dog. I have also this laugh like that of someone who got a nasal problem. Sometimes, I laugh like that of an idiot. And many other laughs. Nyahaha!

I am a person who is numb for harsh words, not until Mr. Ego gets hit. No, this is not masochism for verbal abuse. It’s just that what other say against me is a challenge in my part thus becomes food for my ears. And before I forget, I really believe in karma.

My simple pleasures happened to be really simple. I love foggy mornings where everything else is dewy. I love the sound of raindrops tapping on the roof. I love tickling fat layers of my obese friends. I love being at the top of a Ferris Wheel. I love the coarse feeling of rice grains in my palm. I love catching dragonflies. I love touching my arm-pits. Such simple things and many others do give me joy.

Let’s go to dislikes. I hate cockroaches because they are the ugliest creatures in the world. I hate people who are smart but pretend to be morons. I hate brownouts. I hate it when my opinion is neglected. I hate commercials with kikay endorsers. I hate cellphone addicts. I hate on-the-spot quizzes. I hate tonsillitis and otitis media. Most of all, I hate it when someone hates me.

I am a highly ambitious person. I strongly believe in the cliché, “Hindi naman masamang mangarap eh.” Aside from being a nurse, I also want to become a novelist someday, or a photographer, or a filmmaker, or a painter, or a teacher, or an actor, or a scientist, or an otorhinolaryngologist. I admit having a lot of insecurities in life. Of all the people in the world, I envy most Dr. Jose Rizal. If only he didn’t have those fifty-something or more professions, then I am not this ambitious.

Whether on TV shows, in movies, in novels, or in real-life situations, I do love villains much as I think that protagonists are boring. When something has a story, being good in it is corny for my senses. I love villains. Their costumes are fascinating and the way they laugh gives me goosebumps of satisfaction. Not to mention their unforgettable punchlines.

In my age, while other people of my age are drinking liquors, smoking, and making babies, I still watch cartoons. I still believe that sleeping when your hair is wet causes blindness. I still buy toys and K-Zone! I still kiss my parents in their cheeks in public. Sigh. Why can’t I just go back to being a kid again?

I am suffering from Narcissism [no, not that severe as you might be thinking]. My over-all package is not that crush-able. I look terrible courtesy of comedo, sebum, vulgaris, rosacea, and other dreadful things my dermatologist had told me. But that’s no hindrance for me to like the camera. Whether on webcam, phone cam, digital cam or just the manual cam, I love taking pictures of myself. Now you know what irony means. If I’m not a fan of someone, I am a fan of myself.

Though my IQ seems fair, I have a unique form of dyslexia. I say it’s unique because so far, I never met someone having such also. I am dyslexic brought about by the fact that I cannot identify where is LEFT and where is RIGHT. The two words always confuse me until someone identifies for me. When I was on cadet training in high school, I would usually get into trouble because I don’t know where to turn every time the commander orders to the left or to the right. Imagine the catastrophe.

I don’t have MPD but I tend to pretend having such. For the benefit of the laymen, MPD stands for Multiple Personality Disorder and it is the tendency of a person to exhibit behaviors that is not done by the real him because some other personas dominate his self. One moment he’s righteous, then he becomes vile, then becomes childish, then becomes jolly, then back to righteous. Having MPD, one could be a psycho killer and verbalize in the courtroom that he had not killed someone at all. I think it’s cool having MPD. One of hobbies is looking at the mirror and act like Gollum in The Lord of the Rings. Now that’s real weird. My reason? Probably it’s my method of escape to reality or just one of my ego-defenses.

***

Admit it! After reading this confession thing you have become schizophrenic yourself. Nyahaha!

Be yourself, don’t be a fool; normal is boring, odd is cool. There’s nothing wrong being true to yourself. Sometimes, I am forced to believe that nakedness is the best outfit of man. Nah, that’s taboo. But think about it.

One thing to remember to avoid the real schizophrenia: Always go back to reality, no matter how happy or sad it is for you. Life is worth living but sometimes, it’s nothing without humor.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Cliffhanger Compass

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Schizotopia Memoirs

Schizotopia especcial

Schizotopia Catapult

Aliens Speak

Bomperts Bookshelf

Confessions of a Schizo