How Introverts Make Friends

 

Locky: I found this stick, can we bring it home?

I used to chuckle at this meme, thinking it was not true, I am capable of making friends!

How introverts make friends:

1. They don’t
2. An extrovert found them, liked them, and adopted them 

Then, a few days ago, I answered a question on X about stray dogs we befriended on the beach. I told someone I was happy I still had the chance to meet a stray who had been adopted by a kind-hearted person, and she asked me how. This stray, Molly, was adopted by a dog feeder who goes to the beach regularly, bringing Molly so I get to meet her and know she is doing well. When I recalled the story, I realized the above had happened to me. 

I like to stroll the beach with Locky, my dog. We meet many strays along the way. Each usually occupies a territory, so I meet them in their respective places and get to know them over time. We play with them, I give them treats, and I sit and walk with them (they love treats/food, but most of them crave companionship and stay with us until we go back). 

Over time, someone (human, in case clarification is needed!) initiated a conversation with me. I imagine it was not easy because I remember her smiling and waving several times from a distance when I just smiled back and moved along with my entourage, thinking it was just a passing, friendly gesture. One day, she was on my path and introduced herself. That was when I realized she also had a group of dogs. I found out she fed the dogs regularly, that was why she always stood in the same spot while trying to catch my attention. She noticed I had my way with dogs, so we bonded and shared stories and knowledge about the strays around. We became friends, and from her, I knew several others who care about the strays as well. There was no drama, no agenda, just people with similar passions. 

If you are curious about the stray situation, feel free to ask me. I know things can be different in different places, but before you feel judgmental, don’t feed strays, and don’t blablabla (it happens!). Please educate yourself about the situation first. I find it surprising that people are very quick to judge and ‘compare’ the situation with their ‘ideal’ ones. It only shows me how little they know and how close-minded they are. Every place is different. Every situation is different. 

Anyway, in a way, I looked back to my history and realized that I was adopted as a friend by many, and when I make my own, they are fellow introverts.

What is the moral of this post? Nothing! Maybe I’m just grateful for those who give me a chance.

I just want to keep in touch. I hope you are not bored with my ramblings.

Here is Molly!

 

BOOK REVIEW: GORY STORIES (JOEY WEBB)

 

This is an interesting short story collection. The tales are short and fast-paced. At times, I could see the endings and twists coming, others, not so much. They don’t always provide satisfying endings, and sometimes, they end abruptly, but for some reason, I don’t mind them. The stories feel classic from the way they are told and unfolded, which feels like narration. They never dwell too long on the characters and plots, and this works fine for short stories.

There are some typos, like missing punctuation and alphabets. I’m not sure if it’s because of the format since there are some limitations to the digital e-book, like the fixed fonts. I can’t change the size, and the contents are not linked/clickable. I’m reading this with Amazon Kindle apps since it’s not compatible with my Kindle, which is another question for the format.

Other than the technical hiccups, I enjoyed the stories. Some are not my cup of tea, but they’re easy to read and still provide some entertaining value. They are engaging, some are unintentionally funny, and there are snippets of real-life facts. My favorite story is Life Imitating Art.

If you enjoy a quick-paced, creative read without the need to feel attached to the characters, this is the book for you.

My One and Only Co-writer Circa 1995

Just a few days ago, I reached out to an old friend from high school. We haven’t been in contact privately for 30 years (gasp). It was only during COVID time we had a group Zoom call (it was a nightmare for me, and I had only done it once voluntarily) between several ‘close’ high school friends. Close as in, three decades ago. To be honest, I struggle to find similarities now because we all studied in different places, took up different majors, and grew up with different adult aspirations. The video call was awkward (to me, at least). Every question felt like interviews or strangers stuck in the same place trying to pass the time by asking basic but invasive questions.

I guess they all felt the same because no one suggested another Zoom call. Actually, maybe they do it regularly without including me, and I’m very fine with that! We also have a group chat, and again, it feels bizarre every time just to have birthday greetings, golf claps, standard replies, and small talk, and it dies down again. I skipped some birthday wishes because I couldn’t take the formality anymore, but they are very lovely people. I finally go along with it, say my wish, and get it over with. We never seem to go beyond the mandatory small talk and occasional jokes. I think the problem is too many parties in the group. Everyone would talk to everyone and ask generic questions because we don't want to alienate the others, so it’s hard to make actual connections after so long.

The one friend I reached out to privately was my best friend back then. We clicked well, we played together, and we were the only two who never used staircases to go down because we preferred to slide down through the railings (we still had to go up manually, dang gravity). Unfortunately, we grew apart during the significant phases of adult life and never caught up again except through the awkward group.

However, she holds a special place in my heart because she was my best friend and was and still is my one and only co-writer. Both of us developed a novelette together for fun. I wrote a part or a chapter, she continued, and we passed it back and forth without knowing what the other had in mind. Most times, we also had no idea about how to continue the story until we wrote it. It was handwritten, of course. It was 1994-1995.

The good thing about that time was that we didn’t have handphones, internet, or other entertainment that consumed time the way they do today. That was why we had a flock of fans, our schoolmates. We wrote that in the third year before we graduated. We were in different classes, so we could only exchange the story during recess time and took turns to bring it home. I still remember how the ‘book’ looked, a stack of torn (neatly) pages from books (with lines) stapled together. Many would read it during the day. Those schoolmates studying in the same class would pass it around and snuck it between textbooks to read them when the teachers faced the other way. It would get back to me or her so that we could continue the story.

We finished the novelette in a few months, with holiday and examination breaks. We ‘published’ it. Each fan got a copy, and I asked her to hold the original because she initiated the writing.

I can’t speak about other authors, to me, books are very personal. It sounds exaggerated and mushy, well yes, sometimes I feel like it’s like baring my soul, and I have to kill those who have read it. Don’t worry, I only feel this way for people who know me in real life. (I’d love for you to read my books. No harm will be done! Promise!) It took me years to tell a handful family and friends. Only after my latest book above did I reveal it to my two good friends, the current one who only knew I write but didn’t know my pen name or books, and the long-lost one mentioned above. How? With tremendous difficulty. I know I shouldn’t feel that way and make this more difficult than it should be, but I couldn’t help it.

After doing that, it feels liberating. I want them to like my books, of course, especially my one and only co-writer. We loved each other’s writing back then, so I hope the odd is in my favor. Whatever it is, I am at peace. I think I have done what I need to do. I have reached a point where I feel confident enough and have pulled the band-aid.

 

P.S. Locky is my current 'co-writer.' He always makes sure I get enough love and attention.

P.S.S. It's hard to type with a dog on the lap but not impossible.

My book A Scarred Drifter 

A heartfelt post-apocalyptic dystopian about human struggles in a world where almost everything has been replaced by automation. 100% human effort, with sweat, tears, and a tiny bit of blood.

I hope this is your cup of tea/coffee/beer/any beverage of your choosing.

If you pick up the book, thank you so much. It really means a lot and keeps me going. Again, a very special thank you to my beta readers.
And, of course, to you all, thank you always for being here.

Have I said too many thank you? NEVER!

 

Two Celebrations!

 

Two celebrations!

My buddy, sunshine, and best friend Locky celebrated his tenth birthday yesterday. We went to his favorite beach, named after him (Google magic), and I gave him a haircut, a hand-drawn birthday hat, treats and toys. Long may he reign and many happy returns. 

 

I'm also happy to announce that my newest book is ready for pre-order. I was too afraid (please keep this a secret, I want to be fearless in Locky's eyes!) I'd expect something by setting up a pre-order, but then again, I'd never know if I'd never tried. After all, this has been a challenging journey, and why not make it more torturous? I hope you'll give my book a chance. 

Here is the pre-order link, the blurb and the cover. I made the cover from scratch, it's not much, but 100% human. Same thing with the book, genuine human author's blood, sweat, and tears.

CLICK HERE FOR PRE-ORDER

A Chopped Index Finger

 

It's great to write about things without first-hand experience. Research, reading about them, just like today when my search history is full of questionable things like how to knock someone unconscious, collapsed lung recovery, which side is more damaging when you stab a neck… Yeah, I have asked around before, and this is the problem with every writer who doesn't write in normal, harmless genres. My search history is sparkling, totally not a serial killer's vibe. Definitely normal, move along, nothing to see here. Oh, besides the grim stuff, there are many light research topics as well, such as how to make a pencil a certain way, types of berries, etc.

It feels even greater to write about things I've experienced before. There are several of them in my upcoming book: a chopped index finger, riot, fish attack, and mountain climbing, to mention a few. I don't want to be dramatic, so I will write about the lamest one: a chopped index finger. It sounds fantastic as a title, too.

It was late at night in my hostel. I needed to make a model for my design, which was the big task of that semester. With so many things to do, I didn't sleep for more than a couple of hours for days. We didn't have good facilities and resources, so I had to do everything on my floor and save on more cost-friendly materials, like real wood instead of fancy model wood (that is softer and much easier to cut but much more expensive). As you have guessed, after many slices, it happened. I was pushing my left fingers hard on a metal ruler on top of the wood. I needed multiple slices before I was able to break the wood, since, again, a saw would be a more appropriate tool instead of a box cutter (we call it a pen knife or just a cutter), but it would be difficult because of the small size, and a box cutter was all I had. I had done this countless times, and each time I got more confident and faster, increasing recklessness came with it, too, with the desire to get it done in less time. Every time I sliced, the position of my hand would move a little because of the pressure and movement. I had to adjust it, but there was a time when I sliced way too fast before proper adjustment, and the box cutter sliced through the top of my index finger. It had gone beyond its original position and protruded from the metal ruler. Since the knife followed the metal ruler outline, and the tip of my index finger was on the way, it took a good chunk of it.

They said (actually, it's my own theory) the pain in the fingers connects to the heart, while the pain in the mouth connects to the head. Think about the headache that comes with a toothache. Anyway, it was bloody painful, but I concentrated more on the missing tip, from where I could see a dancing mini fountain now. I don't know if it's anatomically or medically possible, but I swear the blood spurted from its centre pulsed like a tiny fountain (Apparently it's a sign of arterial bleeding, thanks to Google search). I don't know if my mind fooled me, but the memory of the sight was engraved into my mind. I had learned many shabby first aid courses and knew I had to put pressure, but there was so much blood and it didn't stop. So, I ran out of my hostel room, thinking of haunting some people and banging on their door asking for a bandage or whatever. Thankfully, one of the occupants was there watching late-night football, and he had some knowledge. It sounded ridiculous then, but we didn't have the luxury of a proper pharmacy or anything in the middle of the night (or day!). He tied those basic rubber bands (not the fancy ones, think of the only type that existed thirty years ago) on the middle of the finger, asked me to elevate it above my head so the bleeding would stop, and of course, abandoned the assignment that night.

So, I slept, pointing at the ceiling, and it actually worked. It took a while for the tip to grow back after I had resigned on looking forever at the slanted shape. To my delight, that assignment got an almost perfect score of 95 out of 100. Blood sacrifice? I guess so.

The next day, when I told my classmate about what happened, she shared a similar story, but it happened on her big toe. Like an empathetic person I was, I laughed out loud, thinking about the slanted big toe. To her credit, she laughed with me, and she became one of my good classmates.

Okay, this story is real, just like every ramble in my newsletter. My books are fictional, of course. The latest one is coming up soon. I finished drafting it in two months but took a year to refine and edit it. I'm very happy with it and want to try setting up a preorder. It's scary to hope because they say the key to happiness is low expectations. Argh! My target is to have the link by the next newsletter. I shall not fail to do so! However, there is no blood sacrifice. Just sweats, aching fingers, dark moments as I immersed myself with the character, and many edits with the help of my awesome alpha and beta readers.

 

Thank you always for being here.

I wish you a great life, no blood sacrifice required.

Grandma Is Mine!

Blogger is moody today and doesn't allow me to upload pictures.

Here is the complete post elsewhere: https://sotto.substack.com/p/grandma-is-mine

When I adopted Locky, I had given up my desire to have a dog because I traveled frequently. Then, a colleague who found out asked me to take him because they had too many dogs at home (with a new puppy litter). It came with a perk that Locky could stay with them anytime I traveled. I hesitated. I liked bigger dogs and almost adopted one from a shelter, but this perk and a pup that needed a home won the consideration. The arrangement is still ongoing, although all the other dogs (six of them, including Locky’s mom, siblings, half-siblings, and another dog) have crossed the rainbow bridge.

My colleague’s parents are always the ones who take care of the dogs. They are very kind, and although their way of caring for the dogs is more ‘traditional,’ they love those dogs unconditionally. They are always happy to see Locky, and Locky loves them all the same. Besides the lack of visual communication (they don’t keep up with technology), I feel safe leaving Locky to them when I have to. When all their dogs had passed not too long ago, I would bring Locky to the market where his ‘grandma’ works so they could meet for a while.

Now, they have another dog. He is still a puppy, less than one year old, but unexpectedly a big puppy (they were misled), and when I called yesterday, I found out that Locky is a demanding bully. He would walk with a swag and give this Kiddo a yap whenever he felt like it (he is probably 1/3 the size). Kiddo is not allowed to walk in front of his space, which is basically everywhere he could see. He seems to emphasize that although Kiddo stays there now, Locky was there first, and Kiddo doesn’t want to mess with this small, cute, but grumpy old man. Then, my little aholish fluff demands that his grandma pay no attention to the Kiddo. He doesn’t want to share his grandma; she is ‘not allowed’ to do anything with the Kiddo, and he complains whenever his grandma even walks in the Kiddo’s direction, while his grandpa, whom he loves slightly less than grandma, is allowed. Grandma doesn’t mind, and we laugh about it. It makes her feel special in a way.

So, yeah, I am currently away for family health reasons and miss him so much. How I wish I had a way to travel through space to meet my loved ones at any time.

Enough dog story for a day; I have plenty for another day. Now, books!

I want to say thank you to my beta readers; you all have been wonderful. I really appreciate your time and effort. I read and consider all inputs, they really help in making this WIP a better book. This has been an ongoing, wonderful, and humbling journey. My cover is almost ready, and I have finally decided on the title. Woohoo! My schedule is still on track, and everything is shaping up great.

Thank you always for being here.

I hope that today, everything that troubles you will be resolved, and that everything that makes you happy will be cherished and stay with you. Take good care of yourself.

The Curse of the Left Staircase

 

My second job working abroad was with a big corporation. The first one didn’t really count, it was a start-up, and the company went bankrupt in less than a year. However, it gave me some credentials to apply for permanent residency in that country. This second job in this corporation was somewhat related to my field, but I wasn’t very good at it yet (It was a new skill). I had no idea why they hired me after multiple interviews, maybe because it wasn’t a common skill back then, and I was a fresh graduate, just obtained my Permanent Residency; therefore, they could pay me peanuts.

I lasted five years there, but my first year was torturous. I felt anxious; I had no one to ask, and the internet was not that common/readily available yet, so I couldn’t just google what I didn’t understand. I had to be able to do what they paid me to do. I acted confident, but behind that, I struggled like a duck paddling underwater while pretending to be calm and collected. I learned, practiced, and worked late on my own so that I could deliver results and survive another paycheck to pay for rent in the foreign land, or I would die!

Fortunately, I improved as time passed, and most of my colleagues and my boss were decent.  However, there were nightmarish times and restless days. Unhappy boss, unreasonable deadline that I wasn’t good enough to tackle, and uncooperative hardware and software.

Then, I noticed one peculiar thing.

I had to take the subway every morning. Just like that daily montage in mind-numbing movies, I would take the same-timing train, board the same car, and alight at the same station through the same door in the middle of the train. It was as mundane as it sounds. After alighting, before me was a wide stair that would branch into two sides, right and left, because there was a lift core in the middle. Both sides of the stairs led to the same exit platform, so it shouldn’t be a problem whichever side I took right?

Wrong!

Every time I took the left staircase, my day would be horrible. I wasn’t happy with my work, anxious time, had imposter syndrome, high stress level, computer crashing, unsaved work, my mug looking at me funny, my colleague trying to kill me, something along those lines. I started to notice and didn’t believe it at first, and of course, it must have been a coincidence, with a splash of logic. The left staircase was closer to the exit, which I chose whenever I was in a hurry. Sometimes, when we were in project competition season, the schedule would be very tight, so I wanted to get to the office faster. The irony! Those were the times when the stress level and demand were high; therefore, it linked to horrible days.

Still, why would I risk it? I started taking only the right stairs, and for some reason, my days were better. The logic was that I was getting better at my work and was able to juggle the tasks, schedule, and expectations better. But hey, the stair theory worked!

Am I a superstitious person? I don’t think so. I am not superstitious, but I am a little stitious. However, I grew up in a family that respected tradition, including ‘good days.’ This belief exists in many cultures, there are good days to do important things. My mom uses this practice as needed. She picked our wedding dates (it works well!). She doesn’t just open up the calendar and select a good-looking number (just like all volume levels should be even numbers or dividable by five or the world will end!), but there is a ‘calculation.’ Date of birth, time of birth, type of thing to do, etc.

I have been asking her to pick my book publishing dates. So far, it doesn’t work well because I could never get the dates right (yeah, that is the reason, not because I suck at marketing) because of the time zones. Amazon’s time zone was in a twilight zone because I swear, on my last book release, I stayed up late to sync the timing, the one I am alive in and the one in Amazon’s universe so they both would fall on the same date that Mom had picked for me. It still didn’t work and the date was still wrong!

This time, hopefully, I will get it right, although I have no idea how to do that since I did everything right the last time. Yes, all these rambles are just a long-winded way to let you know that I’m happy to announce that my new book is coming out soon. It was supposed to come out in 2024, but my and my dog’s operations occupied us too much. Yeah, I’m stubborn and will continue to write if there is another person who likes it.