Fear Landscape
In the dystopian novel
Divergent (which I’m currently obsessed over), written by Veronica Roth, the Dauntless initiates have to surpass different stages of initiation to become a legitimate member of the said faction. One of these stages is the
Fear Landscape, wherein an individual would have to face his computer-simulated fears without quitting his guts off. “The number of fears you have in your landscape varies according to how many you have. You can get past each obstacle in one of two ways. Either you find a way to calm down enough that the simulation registers a normal, steady heartbeat, or you find a way to face your fear, which can force the simulation to move on. One way to face a fear of drowning is to swim deeper, for example.” (Chapter 23) Spoiler alert: Some of the characters have ten or so fears, but exceptional ones, like Four, have only
four fears, hence the nickname.
As I was reading it, I became curious of my own fears. Will I have ten? Twenty? A hundred?
A thousand? Or less? I never really had thought about it. Fear is one of the subjects I’d rather not think and talk about; it’s right up there with Bad Grades and Insecurities. I could’ve left it alone had I not read Kristen Stewart’s interview in the 12 November 2012 issue of
Manila Bulletin (penned by Janet Susan Nepales): “Fear isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s kind of something that, as you get older, you can get a bit more comfortable with it and realize it is a very motivating thing in your life. You shouldn’t be crippled by it. You should use it. Fear is a good thing.”
What she said was really smart (and I’m not only saying this just because I love her), and I realized that maybe, maybe I should
really know what my fears are so I can be ready when the situation boils down to it and so I won’t be such an ignorant person that I might become. And so with this post, I’ll try to enumerate all the tangible fears I’m aware of having –
physical ones only, so don’t expect to see “I’m scared of dying or getting my heart broken or something” from the list.
Evil clowns. Or any clown. When I was young, I have this friend who owns a huge clown mask. He didn’t use it to scare me (he only used the gorilla one) maybe because it was big and a hassle. But every time I visited his home, I was welcomed with this mask – and it was
traumatic. You can just feel it
staring at you as you walk. And the smile it wore was maniacal it gave me the creeps. Now when I imagine myself alone in a room with a clown – be it evil or not – I just shudder. I may cry.
Needles. I’ve come up with a theory why I’m scared of needles/syringe: when I was young, I was forced to have my first vaccine, and I remember it was so frightening and I was trashing around and my cousin was holding on to me tightly and I was bawling my eyes off and it was embarrassing and after that I was sleeping. Needles are just scary. I know they don’t actually
hurt; they just
sting, but still. When I see those pointy tips I can’t help picturing someone stabbing my neck with it.
Flying cockroaches. Confession: I don’t kill cockroaches if I can help it. When I see them prancing around our floor, I just let them go on with their business. As long as they don’t meddle with mine, we can have a mutual arrangement. If it comes down to necessarily killing them, I don’t hit them (because I can’t); I use insecticide and drown them with it. And when they start using their wings, I run into my room and hide under the covers until the coast is clear. Flying is the cockroach’s super power.
Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”. This will be a bit embarrassing, but yes, I cry at the sight of the “Thriller” music video. You can’t blame the King of Pop for giving people this hit song, so maybe you can put it on my father. He’s a big Jackson fan, and he constantly played his VCD of Jackson’s greatest hits when I was little. I hated it, and so those torture minutes where spent inside the rest room. Maybe I’m really scared of zombies. Or of Michael Jackson himself. Or of getting chased by half-dead, rotting, smelly people. Or all of the above.
Enclosed spaces. I’m not a certified claustrophobic, but I don’t need to see a psychiatrist to confirm to myself that I am. I hate enclosed spaces and getting sandwiched by strangers with their sweat and breath. Getting stuck inside an inescapable cubicle will either kill me with lack of oxygen or paranoia and hysteria. It feels like a very obese man is sitting comfortably on my chest while he reads
Us Weekly and eats fries. I’m scared of the idea of not having enough space to move around and enough air to inhale. Who doesn’t?
Centipedes. Or any animal with more than four legs. Why not?
Birds. Because they can kill with their beaks. And eagles are scary. And owls – although I’m fascinated with them and they remind me of Athena – have creepy eyes and rotating necks. And getting pursued and cornered by ostriches is like
suicide. And I agree with Will Herondale’s words: “Never trust a duck,” because they’re “bloodthirsty little beasts.”
The abyssal. I’ve never been in a ship – or in the ocean for that matter. I only see what lies beneath the biggest form of water in TV documentaries or something, and what I see
scares me. The darkness, the depth, the weird animals – I wouldn’t go near them if I can help it. I know it’s their nature to be menacing and the fishes to be predator-scary, but I’m gonna wet myself (and not because of the water) if I get myself in their kingdom. I’d rather stay in mine. Let them live in peace.
These are some of the things I fear, although I’m sure they’re not everything. I know I have more, I just haven’t experienced or encountered them yet, like I’m not sure if I’m scared of snakes because I haven’t seen one, or if heights make me sick since I haven’t been in a Ferris wheel (this is true). But nonetheless, if this list will grow as time pass, I hope I won’t be crippled by it. Although, how can I use this, Kristen? I don’t think I can. I don’t think so.
(I should’ve written this last October, shouldn’t I? Oh well, Happy Halloween! Whatever.)
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Fear Landscape
In the dystopian novel
Divergent (which I’m currently obsessed over), written by Veronica Roth, the Dauntless initiates have to surpass different stages of initiation to become a legitimate member of the said faction. One of these stages is the
Fear Landscape, wherein an individual would have to face his computer-simulated fears without quitting his guts off. “The number of fears you have in your landscape varies according to how many you have. You can get past each obstacle in one of two ways. Either you find a way to calm down enough that the simulation registers a normal, steady heartbeat, or you find a way to face your fear, which can force the simulation to move on. One way to face a fear of drowning is to swim deeper, for example.” (Chapter 23) Spoiler alert: Some of the characters have ten or so fears, but exceptional ones, like Four, have only
four fears, hence the nickname.
As I was reading it, I became curious of my own fears. Will I have ten? Twenty? A hundred?
A thousand? Or less? I never really had thought about it. Fear is one of the subjects I’d rather not think and talk about; it’s right up there with Bad Grades and Insecurities. I could’ve left it alone had I not read Kristen Stewart’s interview in the 12 November 2012 issue of
Manila Bulletin (penned by Janet Susan Nepales): “Fear isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s kind of something that, as you get older, you can get a bit more comfortable with it and realize it is a very motivating thing in your life. You shouldn’t be crippled by it. You should use it. Fear is a good thing.”
What she said was really smart (and I’m not only saying this just because I love her), and I realized that maybe, maybe I should
really know what my fears are so I can be ready when the situation boils down to it and so I won’t be such an ignorant person that I might become. And so with this post, I’ll try to enumerate all the tangible fears I’m aware of having –
physical ones only, so don’t expect to see “I’m scared of dying or getting my heart broken or something” from the list.
Evil clowns. Or any clown. When I was young, I have this friend who owns a huge clown mask. He didn’t use it to scare me (he only used the gorilla one) maybe because it was big and a hassle. But every time I visited his home, I was welcomed with this mask – and it was
traumatic. You can just feel it
staring at you as you walk. And the smile it wore was maniacal it gave me the creeps. Now when I imagine myself alone in a room with a clown – be it evil or not – I just shudder. I may cry.
Needles. I’ve come up with a theory why I’m scared of needles/syringe: when I was young, I was forced to have my first vaccine, and I remember it was so frightening and I was trashing around and my cousin was holding on to me tightly and I was bawling my eyes off and it was embarrassing and after that I was sleeping. Needles are just scary. I know they don’t actually
hurt; they just
sting, but still. When I see those pointy tips I can’t help picturing someone stabbing my neck with it.
Flying cockroaches. Confession: I don’t kill cockroaches if I can help it. When I see them prancing around our floor, I just let them go on with their business. As long as they don’t meddle with mine, we can have a mutual arrangement. If it comes down to necessarily killing them, I don’t hit them (because I can’t); I use insecticide and drown them with it. And when they start using their wings, I run into my room and hide under the covers until the coast is clear. Flying is the cockroach’s super power.
Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”. This will be a bit embarrassing, but yes, I cry at the sight of the “Thriller” music video. You can’t blame the King of Pop for giving people this hit song, so maybe you can put it on my father. He’s a big Jackson fan, and he constantly played his VCD of Jackson’s greatest hits when I was little. I hated it, and so those torture minutes where spent inside the rest room. Maybe I’m really scared of zombies. Or of Michael Jackson himself. Or of getting chased by half-dead, rotting, smelly people. Or all of the above.
Enclosed spaces. I’m not a certified claustrophobic, but I don’t need to see a psychiatrist to confirm to myself that I am. I hate enclosed spaces and getting sandwiched by strangers with their sweat and breath. Getting stuck inside an inescapable cubicle will either kill me with lack of oxygen or paranoia and hysteria. It feels like a very obese man is sitting comfortably on my chest while he reads
Us Weekly and eats fries. I’m scared of the idea of not having enough space to move around and enough air to inhale. Who doesn’t?
Centipedes. Or any animal with more than four legs. Why not?
Birds. Because they can kill with their beaks. And eagles are scary. And owls – although I’m fascinated with them and they remind me of Athena – have creepy eyes and rotating necks. And getting pursued and cornered by ostriches is like
suicide. And I agree with Will Herondale’s words: “Never trust a duck,” because they’re “bloodthirsty little beasts.”
The abyssal. I’ve never been in a ship – or in the ocean for that matter. I only see what lies beneath the biggest form of water in TV documentaries or something, and what I see
scares me. The darkness, the depth, the weird animals – I wouldn’t go near them if I can help it. I know it’s their nature to be menacing and the fishes to be predator-scary, but I’m gonna wet myself (and not because of the water) if I get myself in their kingdom. I’d rather stay in mine. Let them live in peace.
These are some of the things I fear, although I’m sure they’re not everything. I know I have more, I just haven’t experienced or encountered them yet, like I’m not sure if I’m scared of snakes because I haven’t seen one, or if heights make me sick since I haven’t been in a Ferris wheel (this is true). But nonetheless, if this list will grow as time pass, I hope I won’t be crippled by it. Although, how can I use this, Kristen? I don’t think I can. I don’t think so.
(I should’ve written this last October, shouldn’t I? Oh well, Happy Halloween! Whatever.)
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
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Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
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