s.j. In Focus

Okay. I’m
telling you. Starting today, upfront and straightforward, I’m going to write this
like everybody else is writing a blog, Raw and uncomplicated. No dictionary, No
thesaurus, straight from my brain. Just let me think of a title, or maybe I
should write down a concept or at least an outline, or maybe I should give it
some thoughts first, let it roam in my head for a couple of time until I get a
clear plan of what and how I’m exactly going to write, after I finished a
general research on the topic and grabbed one or two reference books from the
shelf, but before that, allow me to introduce myself.
        My
name is Johannes Seian Manzanilla (a.k.a. Mr. Sennahoj Boredom, as I currently
call myself) and I am a perfectionist. Don’t think I’m a freak and everything
around me has to be dust-free and placed in its designated arrangement. I whish
there was little order; my room is perfect, a perfect mess! But come on, am I
the only person who has a hard time writing without being conscious of sentence
structure and vocabulary?
        Perhaps
it is worth mentioning here that I didn’t grow up with the English language and
its grammar, although I naturally learned it when I was a kid through family,
growing up in  Switzerland we mostly spoke German, outside and inside our home. Do I use this as an
excuse? Whichever, I’m still a perfectionist in many other aspects: Daily
Routine CHECK (for example, I just avoid the long line in the canteen during
lunch time plus you can’t describe the service as exquisite!), Music CHECK (but
in recording you need to be), Relationships (well, uhhmm, that could be
material for a different story) BLANK. Life in general CHECK (what’s wrong with
thinking ahead, but I guess 25 years is way far ahead), and why am I doing a
Check list in the first place?!
        Ask
why I became how I am and I won’t be able to give you a clear answer, it is a
myth to me as well. One of my theories
is that I look at my parents’ lives and the choices they made in the past. Do I
want to walk the same path as them, or am I already on it; can I learn from
their mistakes (in my opinion) and use it to find a shortcut or to set foot in an
opposite direction? - Well, let’s just cut that crap! - Someway or another you
know what I mean, right? We deal with the same problems and frustrations; we
are all subject to the Laws and Principle of life. And this is where we arrive to
my second point (if you still care to spend your valuable time with Mr.
Sennahoj Boredom, or perhaps we are related?).
        My
class starts at 7:30am, whether I like it or not, I arrive at school 7am. I
mostly wait in the lobby, the benches and hallways are empty. The chairs in
every classroom are polished and neatly aligned by row, anticipating the bell
of disorder, but for now at 7am, everything is in a state of tranquility. A
great time to reflect.
        After
10min, the first students arrive, sitting on the benches. Another 10min pass, the
first crowds make their way to their classrooms with the neatly aligned chairs.
3min before the bell of disorder sings, swarms of students, teachers, and
workers, and their hums are streaming the hallways. In the midst, there I am on
the bench, and observe.
        They
just do what they think they ought to do, day by day, or maybe they don’t think
at all anymore. I imagine if one of them just stops in the middle of the
rushing crowd and realizes that she needn’t to do what she is doing, or at
least that she’s conscious of her actions in that very moment, her individual
actions. “To stand out from the crowd existence” as the Existentialist would
say (but don’t worry I won’t start breaking it down for you philosophically),
what I’m asking is, Are they conscious of life? Are they aware that they are
aware? Do I only do what I suppose to
do, or am I thinking too much?? –CHECK (with a fat black marker!) –
        As
a perfectionist you end up thinking, and thinking why you are thinking because
you are aware that you are thinking, until you realize you are aware that you
are aware of your thinking, so you get back thinking what you are suppose to
think about in the first place.
        When
I was considering to start my own blog few months ago, I began to study other
people’s blogs, made a research on blogging itself, and read books about
writing, I must have read at least five books and skimmed through a lot more
(and counting), I enjoy the later, although I cannot confirm major improvements
on my writings, but sometimes I read them for the sake of doing something – I
am Mr. Boredom, remember? -.
        Currently
I’m reading Steven King On Writing,
to be honest, it never occurred that I had read one of his novels (I guess this
is because I cannot seem to find Steven King stuff around the house, except the one I mention here), but what I am more
interested in right now is his insight about this craft, and he has definitely
the experience and know-how. In his
opinion, a plot should only be used by a writer as a last resort, because life
itself is plotless! – Mr. Boredom can relate to that indeed! - He explains
further that he just gives enough space to let his characters shape their own plot.
And it dawned on me that life is exactly like a story:

The Author (“of
all characters and settings”) from above provides nothing but a basic outline and
a starting point, where his characters shape their own plots. We are just a part of a paragraph or even a
sentence within a chapter of an epic story, and as we move, each word, each
sentence is continuously written, page by page, and defines what lies in the
chapters ahead of us. But more than often we put down pen and paper, and waste
the ink of time thinking what our title might be.

It is a cold morning in late December. The shops and bistros
along the  Limat River are triste.  Like a blade of ice, the wind cuts sharply through
the cobblestoned streets of the Altstadt. Not far from the  Limat River,
in a modest apartment on Brunn Gasse, a young man sits by his desk. Only a
shade of pastel bleaches through the nearby window, around him shadowy objects.
A bed, a cabinet, few unopened boxes in the corner, beside, a mid-sized
bookshelf. Once in a while the young man stands up, walks few steps between half-opened
books and magazines cluttered on the parquet floor, looks up at a clock on the
opposite wall, and returns on his desk. He stares blankly on an unread
newspaper in front of him, but his mind is not empty, not at all. Should he see
her? Should he go and visit the pharmacist woman? He hardly knows her, she’s immature and deceiving.
But her touch, her lighthearted nature, the way she soothes his restless mind. He
must see the pharmacist woman again.
    At the Rudolf Brun Brücke Station by the  Limat River he
takes the streetcar number 4, passes by Bellevue Platz, and descends at
Fröhlichstrasse, where she lives near the  Zurich Lake .
She already awaited him at the door, they have tea on the couch in her living
room, and within heartbeats she feels his growing weakness, yet it is his
insecurity that draws her more to him. They make love, intense and with passion. After an hour, she says she must leave for
work, they say goodbye to each other.
    On his way home he feels empty, he does not get on
the streetcar number 4 at Fröhlichstrasse Station, decides to walk. He passes
by the mourning trees in funeral costumes and the tomb-like benches along the Theater
Strasse. Under the struggling pale behind the drapery the wind is bitter, but
from his face alone one could not tell the young man is aware of his
surroundings. Near the Grossmünster Cathedral he makes a right into the winding
cobblestoned alleyways of the Altstadt, and arrives on Brunn Gasse. By the
door, he gets today’s newspaper from the mailbox, walks up the staircase, and
enters his apartment. Only a shade of
pastel bleaches through the nearby window. He sits by his desk and stares
blankly on an unread newspaper in front of him.

 
Time is a circle, infinitely repeating itself; we are
trapped by each oscillation of its pendulum, while time never grows old. The
young man stares at his life, transfixed he loses sight of the things around
him that must be done, realizes that the only certain thing is time, like the
date on the newspaper.

 May
you make decisions that matter this year around!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            - S. J. M.