Jotter Books

When I was young, I was an extremely introverted kid... I don't really have many clear memories of my life then, but from what I can remember, I didn't frequently interact with people in conventional ways...

My sister reminded me of a hobby I used to have during primary school. Apparently, I would draw adventure mazes in my school-issued jotter books, complete with traps, monsters,treasures and bags of money with big '$' signs on them. After remembering about those days, I started to remember that I often invited my classmates to play my little book-drawn RPG. Hahah.

I suppose it was the enjoyment of adventure books and RPGs which led me to exercise my creativity in such a manner. And I guess that my classmates were willing to play with me as well because we simply didn't have anything else to do at the time (though of course my maze must have been loads of fun, in any case).

Today the kids have an endless flood of technology, toys, and electronic games to entertain them. I'm sure that 99% of them would mock and scoff at my humble jotter book adventure. That's fine though. Before jotter books kids played with pebbles and dirt in the ground. The medium changes but the spirit of play remains the same.

What does worry me however, is how the kids of today will exercise their creative urge. How will they find a way to bring their own creative yearnings to fruition in the classroom? The problem isn't a lack of creative content to appreciate; every generation has its own source of creatively stimulating games and stories. The problem (given that there are still kids that might enjoy playing creatively) now is that kids no longer have immediate access to the tools that could allow them to even begin creating things that approximate the objects they enjoy (The 'Angry Birds' and 'Solomon's Graveyards' that are popular today). Back in my day *cough*, we had pencils and jotter books. Now there are iphones, ipads, and smartphones. The jotter book of today is there but there is no pencil.

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As a long-time and hardcore gamer, I do think that game addiction does deserve its stigmatizing label. Games, while holding the potential for great good, can also be very self-destructive to the user if played excessively. In spite of this, I can't help but wonder at how people cannot see why they are addictive.

It is said that babies are full of wonder towards life, that even the simplest button or chew toy can hold their attention for hours at a time. We don't say that babies are addicted to chew toys. Reality is new to them; the perception of it utterly entrancing and absorbing.

How is it different when we experience completely new realities and dynamics through computer screens and game consoles? Simply put, it isn't. Not in itself. Just like babies can grow out of chew toys, boys and girls can grow out of computer games and go from complete absorption to a moderated appreciation/admiration for these beautifully crafted worlds.

The problem then, is not that kids get absorbed by their games, but that some never grow out of it, and some get too absorbed during their impressionable youth at the cost of their studies and academic life (something, which though rightly so, is forced on them by circumstance and society). This is what we have to fix, rather than games themselves.

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green fleur-de-lis

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a beaming white jewel in the sky

silver grey and bronze sky

pudgy as the pig

the wretched conditions of its birth

Once 'pon a time...

"Once upon a time, when the world of magic,
Once upon a time, when a dream could last forever,
Forever...

There were ____ and _____,
Wizards and witches too.
_ _ _ _ _, _ _ _ _ __ __ __,

________________________
_________________________
_________________________
________________________"

Can't remember how it goes. Damnit.

Yesterday I learned that I could switch off my Ipod Touch.

Recently talk with the fellowship has, among 'other' things, been about change, specifically the changes and growth we've seen in friends, relationships, and perspectives. We've all grown in terms of our level of maturity and our appreciation of the importance of friends and the smaller things in life. In other ways, we've (thankfully/unfortunately) stayed the same, heh. It's that unlikely mix of the nostalgic old and the refreshing new, existing side by side, that makes meeting up such a comfort. Seeing things change each year while remaining, somehow, essentially the same, carries with it so many undertones of irony, reassurance, and wonderment all at once.

It's like drinking wine... Okay I don't drink wine, but it's what I think drinking wine would be like.

I've been looking at some of my friends' blog archives, and it has been really interesting to compare the differences between their writing styles then and now. Some of the issues that they've had to deal with since many years ago still persist, though their perspectives on these problems have changed. Back then, we were only dimly aware of, and unable to articulate the problems that we're so cognizant of now.

Some of the things they've written just take me completely by surprise. It may be just words, but the level of maturity and goodwill that they suggest, well... it's impressive, to say the least =/ It's not because I think poorly of them, rather, I just wasn't aware of it beforehand.

Since my maid left, my mom had deemed it fit that she should come in to inspect the state of my room. Unpleased she was, with what she beheld, and this led to a spring cleaning that left no stone unturned. My room is at least 30% less cluttered now. Though it looked like a semi-clean/presentable, albeit messy room from the outside, once I (rather, my Mom) looked closer I found that there was dirt and dust in a lot of hidden places, and it was actually filled with tons of junk rather than useful things... My maid obviously didn't bother to clean. Neither did I, haha.

This is a story I found on a friend's blog archive...

An Old Man and His Dog

An old man and his dog were walking along a country road, enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to the man that he had died. He remembered dying, and realized, too, that the dog had been dead for many years. He wondered where the road would lead them, and continued onward.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall, white arch that gleamed in the sunlight. When he was standing before it, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother of pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He was pleased that he had finally arrived at heaven, and the man and his dog walked toward the gate. As he got closer, he saw someone sitting at a beautifully carved desk off to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, but is this heaven?"

"Yes, it is, sir," the man answered.

"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up." The gatekeeper gestured to his rear, and the huge gate began to open.

"I assume my friend can come in..." the man said, gesturing toward his dog.

But the reply was, "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets."
The man thought about it, then thanked the gatekeeper, turned back toward the road, and continued in the direction he had been going. After another long walk, he reached the top of another long hill, and he came to a dirt road which led through a farm gate. There was no fence, and it looked as if the gate had never been closed, as grass had grown up around it. As he approached the gate, he saw a man just inside, sitting in the shade of a tree in a rickety old chair, reading a book.

"Excuse me!" he called to the reader. "Do you have any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there," the man said, pointing to a place that couldn't be seen from outside the gate. "Come on in and make yourself at home."

"How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to the dog.

"He's welcome too, and there's a bowl by the pump," he said. They walked through the gate and, sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a dipper hanging on it and a bowl next to it on the ground. The man filled the bowl for his dog, and then took a long drink himself.
When both were satisfied, he and the dog walked back toward the man, who was sitting under the tree waiting for them, and asked, "What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.

"This is heaven," was the answer.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "It certainly doesn't look like heaven, and there's another man down the road who said that place was heaven."

"Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates?"

"Yes, it was beautiful."

"Nope. That's hell."

"Doesn't it offend you for them to use the name of heaven like that?"
"No. I can see how you might think so, but it actually saves us a lot of time. They screen out the people who are willing to leave their best friends behind."

The man had to have had a really strong character to be able to make the right choice when he was so off-guard, in an unreal setting with the final prize within reach... To have that sort of character, he must have chosen to make the right decisions many times over in his earthly life, secret choices in his heart that no other human being knew about.