A Nightmare To Remember

I had to have been less than seven at the time, though I don't recall exactly what age I was. All I remember is that I was quite young -- maybe four or five years old.

I had just woken up, and the house was flooded. Water surrounded me, and I felt scared. The water was rising, slowly and methodically. Soon, it was high enough to lift my bed, and I found myself floating upon my bed through water that was freezing to the touch. 

I grabbed something nearby to use as an oar, and I rowed outside of my room. It was then that I saw both my father and my mother floating in separate pieces of furniture, being pulled faster and faster by the current beneath the waves. They were asleep, supposedly unaware of the danger they were in, and I felt it to be my duty to save them. I began rowing in their direction as hard as I could. 

Soon, I saw a third piece of furniture graced by my uncle Mike -- no sweeter sight had I by then seen! -- and he rowed toward my parents and I, intent upon saving us all. 

But then, unexpectedly, my father and my mother started to drift in opposite directions. My uncle and I would have to split up in order to save them from impending doom. "I will go after your father, Eric!" Mike called out to me. "Row as hard as you can to save your mother!" 

I nodded to him, strangely unable to speak at the moment(because of fear, perhaps?), and I put my utmost effort into catching up to my mother, who still was beyond my reach by some two or three meters yet. 

But then (oh! the agony of retelling it!), without logic and devoid of all sanity, my mother started to drift into a women's restroom! I was horrified! Oh, how I hurried to catch her before she entered, but alas, I was too slow. ... I was too late. 

How could I save her now? She had gone into that ultimate of all no-man's lands: the lady's restroom. I was heartbroken. I tried screaming for help, but it was to no avail. Not only did my voice not work, but whom could come even if I did cry out? She was the only female in the house. 

I wanted to wail with despair, but the tears would not come, and my voice remained silent. I cried internally until the nightmare was over and I woke up. 

I can remember how scared I was, sitting up in my bed that night, thinking upon the horrifying dream I had just had. I can recall wondering why I had not awoken at the scariest part -- why did I have to wait until I had tried to cry but couldn't before I left that dream world? 

I was scared, and I was sad. 

Since that time, I've had scarier thoughts, and I've had sadder thoughts. But I never again had a nightmare of that intensity. 

It was a nightmare that I will never forget.

Truth Versus Privacy

I received an e-mail from my father recently. He said that he has been enjoying reading my online diary. He hasn't seen much of me ever since he moved to Miami, but I think the presence of my journal online is of some comfort to him. It makes the distance not quite so distant. (The same, of course, is true for other readers of my diary. You know whom you are.) 

Anyway, my father had an interesting subject on his mind when he e-mailed me, and I'd like to address it here. 

He writes that "the more successful you are, the more enemies you will encounter in your life." This is, of course, entirely true. After all, in a capitalistic economic system, one cannot gain without someone else experiencing a loss. It's a zero-sum game.
Because of this, he writes that it is not "wise that you question things that are confusing from your point of view and someone that does not know you could assume the worst of you." Again, his point is entirely and completely valid here. By leaving a public record in the form of a journal available to anyone who does a google search on "Eric Herboso", I am making it exceedingly easy for my future enemies to be privy to sensitive knowledge that most would consider to be quite private. Indeed, everything I write here in this journal and on my website could very well hurt me in ten years, if someone wanted to use this knowledge against me. 

My father summarized his position quite well toward the end of his letter, saying that "Writing is the window to your soul....share your wisdom but be very careful about some subjects that might be used later on against you." 

Needless to say, I'd given this quite a lot of thought. After all, logically speaking, my father is right. No matter how one looks at the matter, you cannot get around the fact that giving priviledged information so very freely is not exactly the best way to go about things if one intends to be truly successful in life, as I do. 

And yet, even as I type this, one has to acknowledge the other side of the equation... One cannot simply dismiss the ideal of truth at all costs. You cannot just ignore the alluring concept of becoming completely and utterly open, sacrificing oneself to the opinions of society as a whole. 

You see, I made this diary so as to have a truthful outlet for my soul. But is the presence of a truthful outlet worth the giving of sensitive information into the public domain? 

My father seemed not to think so at first, though he later retracted his statement, saying that he now feels it is better "to express yourself any way you see fit." He even says he admires my courage for doing such a thing. 

But despite his turnaround, I still have to wonder. For you see, doing what I am doing here truly does require courage. The only thing is... well... I wonder if I have the courage to do this. I mean, can I really afford to be allowing myself the pleasure of writing whatever I feel? 

Sure, it feels great to be able to sit and write to no one in particular about whatever I so choose, but is doing this really worth the hassle that may present itself in ten or so years when I am in a position to have numerous enemies? 

Perish the thought. Yet it won't die. Somehow, in some way, the opposing ideals remain. The first is such a wonderful ideal: truth at all costs. And the second is so very logical: privacy to limit my future enemies' weapons against me. 

I am torn. (Not Tom.) 

And it is on this issue that I'd like to hear a little feedback, if anyone has anything to say. Is it better for me to be truthful? Or is it better to maximize my chances for success? I have already made my decision, but I would like to hear others' opinions anyway, just to see what other people think.

Winter Nights (Or Is It Fall?)

Yesterday, I took a trip to Bellingrath Gardens. 

It was cold, but not very. I easily got away with weaing only a short-sleeved shirt, and only thought about the cold whenever a particularly harsh wind blew by. However, everyone else there was wearing layers upon layers of jackets... 

I used to be like them, you know. It used to be that I just couldn't handle temperatures like that. But ever since I took that extended trip up north and learned what it really meant to be cold, I realized that the coldest temperatures down here in Mobile, Alabama, are really not that cold after all. 

(BTW, I saw a very uncommon occurrence about a week ago -- a tree turned yellow and lost its leaves to the ground below it... I guess what we call Winter down here is more like Fall for most Northerners.) 

There were Christmas lights everywhere at Bellingrath... At first, I thought it was quite beautiful, but after a few moments, I realized how much the lights were truly distracting from the actual view that I came to see: the gardens. 

But it wasn't a complete waste. After all, I not only got to look at all of the numerous couples walking absurdly fast through the paths and commenting on how "gorgeous" and "amazing" the lights were (these are phrase I actually overheard), but I also was able to find a restricted section of the gardens that gets cordoned off at night due to a lack of electric lights in the vicinity. It was very dark there, especially with my glasses being of the tint that they are, but it was this very absence of electric lights that made it so very beautiful. 

It was an absolutely stunning view. 

I'm glad I went to Bellingrath Gardens yesterday... The trip was well worth itself. (Note to self: you should go there more often, you know.) 

My last final exam was on Tuesday, earlier this week. Since that time, I've enjoyed my newfound freedom of sleeping whenever I choose. For the most part, I've resumed my old habit of sleeping during the day and living life throughout the night. I very much prefer the night, you know. It is a very peaceful time, and it is much better just for the fact that almost no one else is around when it's late at night. 

Does anyone else love taking walks in the dead of night whils others are sleeping? Sometimes, it seems as though I am the only one, for no one else is ever outside when I take such walks. Then again, what am I complaining for? If everyone liked such walks, then they would no longer be desolate, and they would certainly lose much of their appeal. 

Bah. I'm just rambling to no purpose now. 

But then again, this is my journal, and so I have that right to pointless rambling, now don't I? 

... 

::sigh::
I miss school already, and I only just got out. Now I have to wait until January eighth...
::sigh::

Am I Becoming Normal?

Wow... What a productive day I've had thus far... 

I took my literature class exam at nine am this morning, and I have my calculus exam this afternoon at two pm. But this is of no real importance compared to what else happened today. 

You see, as of today, I have a legal tag on my car, and I'm insured for liability. 

You may not find this to be that big a deal, but to me, it is a huge step towards the real world. 

You see, prior to now, I've been using a dealer tag on Machiavelli, and I've been driving without insurance of any kind. In fact, I didn't really own the car. 

But now, I'm legal. Now, if a cop stops me, I don't have to bullshit my way out of it; instead I can just produce the legal valid documents that he requires and everything will be okay. 

It's a really weird feeling. 

I feel like I almost want to get stopped now, just to prove that I will get no ticket from it. I feel... strong. 

And yet, this just takes me one more step towards normalcy. 

I wonder, is it right for me to feel proud that I am finally acceding to the laws held by most of the common folk? Is it righteous for me to feel good about becoming more like everyone else? Or am I mad, in a sane sort of way? Have I become what I hated most, or is this what I really desired all along? 

I am torn. 

And yet, this is only the half of it. You see, as of today, I am immunized against those diseases which I never would have gotten anyway. Weird, ain't it? Me, of all people, getting immunized. Who'd've thunk it? 

'Tis a steady acquiesence of what I never wanted, and yet it makes me feel better all the same. If everyone else is okay with it, then why shouldn't I be? ... Oh, God, did I just type that? Ugh. 

I feel disjointed today. More so than usual, anyway. Nothing of what I'm writing likely makes any sense, and at the moment, I truly don't care. I don't want to proofread today. I don't want to bother. I don't even want to hit the "save" button. But I will. Of course I will. How can't I? 

::sigh:: 

I am tired. I think I will go eat now. 

That and I'll study too. 



...


Yeah, right.

Why I Listen To Music

I had twenty-two hours of sleep last night. 

I have three more final exams, but I'm not worried about them. At least not compared to how I was worried about my theology final; thank God I got that out of the way. 

Anyway, at this point, I'm supposedly studying for my finals tomorrow. I even have my book open, and I actually look at it every few minutes or so. But no true studying is going on. Rather, I am sitting here typing in my journal and chatting with my friends. 

Anyway, AngelGorge asked me a few questions for his anthropology paper, and I thought it might be relevant to put here. 

Angelgorge: Why do you listen to music?
Eric J Herboso: That depends on which music I'm listening too. Most often, I listen to instrumental big band jazz, and I do so as background music. I prefer the feelings that come from music than the silence that otherwise is present.
Angelgorge: Does music make you feel things? What does it make you feel?
Eric J Herboso: Again, it depends on the music. There are some songs that just naturally provoke emotion, and given a sufficiently talented composer, any emotion at all can be evoked.
Eric J Herboso: Also, sometimes I can associate feelings with music, even if the music itself did not innately cause me to feel such an emotion.
Angelgorge: Is music a spiritual experience for you?
Eric J Herboso: I dislike the term spiritual. But I would say that music causes me to feel things that I cannot adequately describe in languages as vulgar as English. It takes the language of music to explain the nature of music.
Angelgorge: Can you define "spiritual"?
Eric J Herboso: That depends on the definition of 'define'. I can give a dictionary definition. I can say what it is in a sufficient enough manner to explain the concept to someone who is familiar with the concept and just doesn't know the word for it.
Eric J Herboso: But I can't define it to someone who has no concept of what 'spiritual' means. 

::sigh:: 

I meant to put something more on here tonight, but I have to go. I'll write later.