Since I have made a new website, I thought it wise to re-iterate my life again in the following passage, even if redundant within the broader context of my — and — (the unity of which I have called the "—").
To start, I've spent a large portion of my live traveling, and that is vague. Technically, people travel all the time. Dogs travel by just walking, and people do the same. However, more than just walking, it would be helpful to understand whither I have gone and how my traveling was accomplished and the particular limitations, challenges, and sociocultural, communal, personal, interpersonal, and event-by-event case-by-case contextual richness, vastness, and complexities that underpinned my upbringing and, by critical development, my current worldview.
With that said, there is no linear thread that makes completely coherent or universal sense so as to culminate in some proper incarnation of previous events in a form such as "worldview," because my memories themselves ally with non-linearity and an arrangement that does not subscribe to any particular chronologized detail-ranked viewpoint besides my individual own, which sustains itself and does not abide in coherence-developing group dynamics.
Visualize in your head a single past event of my seeing of a dog across the road. Such an event would have been groundbreaking if I had rarely seen dogs before that, but since dogs are all too common, that is not really the case, though it might have been the case for the first several times that I did encounter dogs. However, since my neighbor already had a sociable and active dog throughout my prepubescent years, my curiosity and interest may not necessarily be said to be enhanced in a way that resembled someone who could be said to have had little coincidence with the sight of dogs. Yet I have never owned a dog, so that could be a frame of reference, a gateway, or a matrix for self-contained narrative development, although nothing that could be coherently tied to everything else without a trimming of the essentials that cause it to have any form in the first place. There is thus the compromise, the trimming, and the necessary self-containment of dimensions of my whole, which does not consist of parts, but of things that go their own way, never to intersect again since their inaugural forming.
Now, while that may sound as if there is no way to document my life, it is more so that there is no proper way to document my life without a standard "losing-everything" in the process.
I grew up in the Philippines, and that barely means anything, even if it does say a lot, because there is just too much variability within the scope of an entire nation. Narrowing it down to my city would help, but since that is private information, I will not reveal it. Instead, I will focus on my past experiences and how they interpellate the phrase "spent a large portion of my life traveling".
I remember waking up in the morning and heading to the church. It would be standard to describe the sensory details, but they barely matter anymore. I am running out of time as I write these, and in the end, I would never know what I really thought and felt about those sensations, because that is what really matters. I can repeat the same old descriptions, and it would be fruitless.
How did it feel to wake up in the morning? Everything. How did it feel like heading to church? Everything. I felt an infinity of emotions, thoughts, ideas, and sensations, and I can never arrive at a full description.
So if I had to describe it, look at my descriptions as me picking up a handful of sand from what is analogically a desert of realities.
I remember heading to church, and this occurred throughout the late 2000s and early 2010s all the way up to 2017. Each time that I headed to church, it was a totally different experience.
One day, I was going to an event. Another day, I was going to another event. But even these barely capture the infinity of details that make each moment special. It is often not the events, but everything else besides the results that come in the abstract form of "event." Each moment mattered in its own special way, and if I had to describe what it felt like to travel and to head to church. I would not be able to, because each moment of my life was irreplaceably its own.
My life then should not be seen a series of events, because it is everything besides the events that actually mattered in my development. That moment of doing this one peripheral thing may seem like nothing, but in the context of everything in that moment, it means infinitely more than the misunderstanding of life as a chronology of events, when the events are the cumulative, climactic syndromes (abstract nothing-burgers that mean only as much as they are practical rather than as actualities in ways that offend more than other signs and symbols and words) that follow worlds of contexts and "asides."
When I read many other autobiographies, biographies, or any shorter passage that talks about one's life, interests, or anything, they usually list out concrete details that barely say anything. No one will know anything from someone who says they're a coder. One may think that a coder is so much to be said, especially when one relies on behaviorism and surface-level "objective observation" as a way of judging reality—environments and structures by extension—and, by extension, people. But reality does not exist on superfices and on behavior, nor do people exist there. People are more than their outward appearances, and they are more than what they perceive themselves to be, because we are incapable of forestalling everything so as to create and manage a local space in which we may feel totally complete, coherent, and defined insomuch that we can be said to have global control.
People are not coders, men, women, children, or anything really. That moment means infinitely more than labels. It would be a false equivalency to equate behavior to saying something that does not sound like another syndrome.
Following this line of thought, events and labels, which are homologs of each other, in the context of autobiographical and biographical expression, are analogous to syndromes that serve well in the practical realm, but not any further than that.
If events and labels fail to narrow it down, then we can conclude that they have failed in describing the individual, unless we view individuals as reproducible, which would ignore the entirety of experience in the moment, which, as said already, is infinitely rich, complex, vast, vivid, and its own thing.
We must then accept that value lies in staring, not in some staring context with empty space, but in a much more phenomenological way. Imagine a person, and imagine nothing. Imagine all the things. These are not directives that lead to some ultimate truth. This is not self-help or productive. There is no metric, quantitative or qualitative, in which all of these will eventuate. There is only the staring, like a person in shock after witnessing something that invalidates somehow the entirety of their beliefs, life, sense of self, and everything. And in contrast to shock, this is a topological property it seems, unless we demand from the individual their resignation as individual and reduce them to syndromic droning.
This is the reason that I could very well turn to barking, and it would express everything that I mean to say, not because it would actually, but—by relative contrast—because even the most concrete detail invalidates the same way a face turns a person into an object (not directly, because there is no direct interaction, only interpretation):
Bark! Bark!!! Leteellllllllllll!fawefl lllflfl lfo soggallz mmmm mrorrororoakl eeoigjooddokb kkrrr ror or laal k apoakga gjgeoeo eop e poe pe pe these are letters on a keyboard these are mere letters on a keyboard these are mere letters on a keyboard these are mere letters written by an appendage these are mere letters written by interpretation, which is then re-interpreted by foreign invaders (readers) so as to invalidate all that came before; this is sssssssssssssananananaedfergergr
"What is a car then?" I ask the reader.
The reader stares, appearing in a blue garb that allowed their fingers to run through each compartment of the three-dimensionally measurable stretch of fabric.
"Dogs bark, do they, don't they?" I ask.
The reader is greeted by a call from heaven, and there, one may find the entirety of their life in distillation.
"But that is a car and a dog moved into tight folds!" I counter the narrator's statement.
Anyway, returning the passage to form, I'm saying that precise concrete detail may be just as invalidating, to the extent that random gibberish may be better in that they do not impose any strict idea of the person through potential "objectification" and they avoid false precision and knowing or understanding, by which would result further obfuscation, which would actually increase the distance between reader and authentic experience—because while such detail may be factual in a local reality way, it does not necessarily create a direct interaction between the author and the reader inasmuch as the precision and concreteness of the content of the words can be said to have created that connection. As such, I'm contending that words do express, but detail, precision, and concreteness do not and can further disappoint the purpose of communication (to arrive as closely to the original point or objective as possible, unless one's goal is to obfuscate intentionally for some example reason such as intellectual showing-off, which could still be considered communication due to the intentionality and "precision" of an obfuscation or lie) and, for that reason, do not arrive at real experience. "Overly defining" is a neat way to characterize the aforementioned offending approach.
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