Confessions of the pa-profound

Some say the true test of character comes when you go beyond yourself and your desires. Freedom from want is the only way for the spirit to be truly free.

Lately, I'm beginning to feel that my life has become one booby trap-mess of questions that need answering. My days are fraught with redundant moral dilemmas that have nothing to do with the essential. Daily living is an exercise in the mundane, which only becomes essential after you've taken stock of all your meandering ways and realized their moral implications. Just a minor caveat, I use the term moral loosely here, for lack of a more definitive word. Groping for words is a natural reaction for me, which results in occasional stammering and involuntary statement repetitions. People tend to think I'm suffering from a lapse in speech and thinking. Come to think of it, it may even be true.

But I digress. See here, mediocrity is truly a tragic crime of the youth in the same way that boredom is, and there are days when I fear that all of my 22 years of middle-class upbringing in suburban Zamboanga will go down the toilet as a mere example of globalization. Now I don't wish to try making sense out of this socio-economic debate. The point I'm driving at here is, well, that I'm decidedly consumerist. And I don't mean this in the entrepreneurial sense.



This I blame partly on my experiences in quasi-cosmopolitan Manila. Thank goodness, my penchant for acquisition hasn't blown up to massive proportions. I'm afraid people will no longer want to hang out with me for fear of being infected via osmosis with the consumer-crazy gene. Now child of materialism I am not, but these are consumer-driven times, and people who are not so gung-ho about acquisition like I am are indeed so lucky.

Crap. That's a lot of words, and all I wanna say is: I really gotta get me that Balenciaga motorcycle bag that I chanced upon in Greenhills. Seriously. This is basically what it boils down to.

Now you're probably wondering what's so special about faux designer loot. Nothing, really. But you see, in all statistical probability, this is the real deal. Yes, and it's in Greenhills. It's a few grand beyond budget, but it's still within price reach. And it's not fake, just probably acquired through other dubious means. After all, nothing that beautiful can be free and nothing that great a deal can be attained legally. Another moral dilemma in my hands. Sadly, only figuratively.

Actually, I'm not a bag hag through and through, and I don't need no damn Balenciaga to be happy. I'm the girl who can live from having to wear the same ratty Chuck Taylors day in and day out because they're just damn comfy. I'm not really partial to big name brands. But doggone it, I dream of Balenciaga. Truly madly deeply. It's crazy, but that's how bag hags like me operate. Selective acquisition, not variety, is the true spice of life.