Alex Maskara
Thoughts, Stories, Imagination of Filipino American Alex Maskara
Welcome
~
Yesterday I passed the 90-percent mark in On the Road, and I realized I was doing something I rarely do: willingly living a life I would never choose for myself. The novel offers the thrill of experience without the wreckage of consequence. It isn’t the kind of life I’ve ever aspired to, but inhabiting it through fiction is exhilarating. There’s something uniquely powerful about living vicariously through a voice as urgent and alive as Kerouac’s.
The book brought back flashes of my own youthful attempts at rebellion—small, controlled bursts of wildness. But On the Road is wildness without an off switch. It’s 24/7 motion. Thankfully, Kerouac—writing through his alter ego, Sal Paradise—allows moments of sobriety and reflection. And what a writer he was. His prose can swing from breathless, jazz-like improvisation to quiet, almost mystical introspection in a single page.
Sal’s restless energy is fueled by his friend Dean Moriarty—based on Neal Cassady—along with Carlo Marx, modeled after Allen Ginsberg. (Contrary to a common assumption, the name “Carlo Marx” is a playful invention, not a direct lift from political theory.) Together, they plunge headfirst into risk, excess, and a kind of ecstatic self-destruction. Their lives teeter on the edge—high-speed car rides across the country, nights that blur into mornings, an endless cycle of bars, jazz clubs, fleeting romances, and abandoned responsibilities.
The cross-country trips—from New York to San Francisco and Los Angeles, through Denver, Chicago, and the wide-open stretches of Texas—feel less like travel and more like a fever dream of American motion. You don’t just observe the journey; you feel crammed into the back seat, hurtling through darkness at 100 miles per hour while Dean barrels ahead, barely watching the road. It’s chaotic, reckless, and oddly hypnotic.
Although much of the novel is set in the late 1940s (the book was published in 1957), it feels startlingly immediate. The mania, the depressive crashes, the craving for constant stimulation, the near-fatal accidents, the obsession with “the next thing”—the next drink, the next lover, the next town—make the story feel contemporary. When the action subsides, Kerouac pivots inward. Sal wandering alone on a quiet street, questioning the meaning of it all, delivers some of the novel’s most powerful passages. As Kerouac famously wrote, “The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live…” That line alone captures the book’s electric pulse.
The novel helped define the Beat Generation, a movement that later influenced the 1960s counterculture. I used to think “Beat” simply meant exhausted—tired of conformity and postwar conservatism. Kerouac himself clarified that he meant “beatific,” suggesting a kind of battered spirituality, a search for transcendent meaning beneath the chaos. And at times, the book feels almost religious in its longing.
Could someone live this way today? Perhaps. America still has its drifters and wanderers. I’ve encountered people who echo Kerouac’s characters—in parks where I trained for races, in gas stations late at night, in small towns where stories hang heavy in the air. But the modern version often looks harsher. Today’s road can lead not just to freedom, but to addiction, untreated mental illness, or violence. The romanticism is harder to sustain when reality intrudes.
That said, I’ve also met people down on their luck who were decent, determined, and working to rebuild their lives. Many carry painful histories that would humble anyone. Kerouac’s characters, for all their recklessness, are not caricatures; they are seekers—sometimes foolish, sometimes destructive, but undeniably alive.
On the Road isn’t a blueprint for living. It’s a testament to yearning—to motion, to friendship, to the relentless search for meaning across the vast American landscape. I would never want to live that life outright. But through Kerouac’s words, I’m grateful to have ridden shotgun.
2026-02-24 13:43:37
bookreviews
February 23, 2026
I’m grateful for the self-control and sense of accomplishment I felt yesterday. I resisted the urge to post yet another reel in such a short span of time. Instead, I picked up On the Road and read past the 100-page mark. That alone felt like a victory—choosing depth over distraction.
My morning was productive in simple, grounding ways. I swept and mopped the floors—improvising by using my foot to guide the mop handle. I tackled the mountain of empty cardboard boxes stacked in the laundry room, flattening them and getting them ready for disposal. I washed my long-overdue blanket. I cooked. I showered. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest work, and it felt good.
My only disappointment was my lack of control with carbs. I truly overdid it—bread, cookies, strawberries, and with my air-fried catfish nuggets, a full can of pork and beans. By 9:00 p.m., my blood sugar was still at 140 despite medication, when on a typical day it would be 100 or lower. That was a wake-up call. So at dinner, I avoided carbs and stuck to the remaining nuggets and fried eggs. Lesson learned—again.
I’m beginning to understand how closely my habits must align with my physical limits. Because of my blood sugar—and perhaps simply my age—I rarely sleep in one solid stretch. Instead, I break it up into segments. Around 11:00 a.m., I often start yawning heavily. Sometimes it’s sleep deprivation from the night before. Other times, it may be fluctuations in blood sugar. Either way, that wave of drowsiness affects my ability to focus on writing or reading.
In the past, I tried to override this by exercising through the fatigue. I ignored my body’s signals and paid for it later. I’ve learned that when my body asks for rest, I must rest. Yesterday was slightly different. The sleepiness felt intensified—likely driven by the spike in blood sugar. That kind of fatigue can be dangerous. Some people end up in serious medical situations when levels climb too high. I cannot afford to treat those signals lightly.
I’ve noticed a pattern. My most alert hours are right after waking—around 3:00 a.m. until about 11:00 a.m. That window is when I thrive. I meditate, garden, exercise, do household tasks, and sometimes write. By afternoon—the time I usually set aside for reading or learning—I begin to fade. I take a power nap, which typically restores me. But yesterday, after the carb overload, I slept closer to two or three hours. When I woke up, though, I was remarkably refreshed and read over 100 pages with sharp focus.
There is, however, an old habit I must guard against. In the past, I used social media to override my body’s call to rest. Reels, videos, online shopping, endless searching—anything to artificially stimulate myself and avoid sleep. I’m choosing not to live that way anymore. Life should be natural. That is one reason I retired early. I remember forcing myself to stay alert through work, constant activity, or even conversations with strangers just to avoid stillness. Those days are thankfully behind me.
Yesterday marked a return to self-control after two days of heightened social media activity. I must minimize that. I also reflected on how frequently I post compared to others. Since I’m not trying to build a massive following, there’s no need to flood multiple platforms or overwhelm friends with notifications. I realized I can turn off notifications on my Facebook page. That way, I can post without appearing as though I’m constantly seeking attention. I tested it—notifications were off, yet the reel still received views and a like within minutes. Likely followers who see it in their feed, but without blasting everyone’s email. That feels more dignified.
Last night, my brother messaged me about a former neighbor who urgently needs financial help for a medical visit. He can barely walk due to severe swelling and is reportedly suffering from prostate cancer. I remember when he was young—an only child, spoiled with every luxury. I used to envy him. Time changes everything. I’ve seen this story repeated: indulgent youth, no development of skills or education, then hardship later in life. I knew another neighbor who ended up begging in a nearby town, despite growing up in wealth. When easy money stopped flowing, there was nothing left to sustain them.
These stories are cautionary tales. I try to help quietly through my brother, but I do not see it as something to advertise. Charity should not become self-promotion or proof of reversed fortunes. That is not how the Lord calls me to act. It is not how I was shaped by the Holy Spirit.
Today’s devotional message was about faithfulness to the truth—the truth of Christ’s life, the presence of the Holy Spirit, and the promise of abundant life. Faith produces inner peace. Nothing destabilizes a person anchored in faith because he sees a rainbow despite the rain, light at the end of a dark tunnel, and an ending to every beginning—whether good or bad. Faith leads to stillness. And stillness is often found in solitude.
The truth has set me free.
Yet the world feels increasingly fragmented—divided in beliefs, traditions, attitudes, and behavior. I’ve watched these changes unfold, and I’ve been influenced at times myself. For a while, I withdrew and lived quietly, almost invisibly. Then I immersed myself in social media, becoming an enthusiastic participant. Some of my content was well received. But I eventually asked myself: Is this lasting? Will anyone return to truly know me? Or will they simply move on to the next trend?
Performance is often superficial. It projects an image meant to evoke admiration, pity, or validation. At my age, I should know better.
Sometimes I ask: What is my role now? What space do I occupy? I’m grateful to still be alive, but there are moments when sitting quietly in my small room feels almost indistinguishable from being forgotten. Why do I still seek validation when I was validated decades ago? Why try to “break into” social media as if I were young and auditioning for approval?
I believe the Lord is teaching me. I’ve reduced posting on Facebook and shifted more toward YouTube and TikTok, where responses come from strangers rather than familiar faces. Facebook is filled with old friends and acquaintances—some supportive, some curious, perhaps some quietly critical. Other platforms feel different. Responses seem more neutral, sometimes more sincere. Perhaps my content can inform or encourage someone. That possibility has justified my online presence.
But here is what stands out: I wrote this reflection effortlessly, without pause. Writing flows naturally for me. I’m rediscovering joy in reading good books and writing reviews. I maintain websites where I can express myself through blogs and reflections. Even if traffic comes from search engines or bots, the fact that my work appears in searches is enough.
Facebook analytics have humbled me. When I post my face, views increase. When I share articles, plant hobbies, or thoughts on books, interest drops. That is reality. I must accept it without resentment.
I should expect nothing beyond the simple desire to express and share. The danger lies in being influenced by the chase for likes and views as measures of worth. There is dignity in aging. Not everyone is meant to live as a public spectacle. Some thrive in that arena—the young, the exceptionally talented, the naturally entertaining. I am not that person. My calling is quieter.
So I return to writing. Social media had begun to crowd it out, but writing is what gives me joy. The Lord has equipped me—motivation, skill, even AI tools for editing and graphics. My background in IT allows me to manage websites. Everything is in place.
Now what remains is focus.
I will build my days around my natural rhythms, honor my physical limits, write during my hours of clarity, rest when my body asks, and give quietly without display.
And that is enough.
2026-02-23 12:40:33
blog
On The Road Book Review
Yesterday I passed the 90-percent mark in On the Road, and I realized I was doing something I rarely do: willingly living a life I would never choose for myself. The novel offers the thrill of experience without the wreckage of consequence. It isn’t the kind of life I’ve ever aspired to, but inhabiting it through fiction is exhilarating. There’s something uniquely powerful about living vicariously through a voice as urgent and alive as Kerouac’s.
The book brought back flashes of my own youthful attempts at rebellion—small, controlled bursts of wildness. But On the Road is wildness without an off switch. It’s 24/7 motion. Thankfully, Kerouac—writing through his alter ego, Sal Paradise—allows moments of sobriety and reflection. And what a writer he was. His prose can swing from breathless, jazz-like improvisation to quiet, almost mystical introspection in a single page.
Sal’s restless energy is fueled by his friend Dean Moriarty—based on Neal Cassady—along with Carlo Marx, modeled after Allen Ginsberg. (Contrary to a common assumption, the name “Carlo Marx” is a playful invention, not a direct lift from political theory.) Together, they plunge headfirst into risk, excess, and a kind of ecstatic self-destruction. Their lives teeter on the edge—high-speed car rides across the country, nights that blur into mornings, an endless cycle of bars, jazz clubs, fleeting romances, and abandoned responsibilities.
The cross-country trips—from New York to San Francisco and Los Angeles, through Denver, Chicago, and the wide-open stretches of Texas—feel less like travel and more like a fever dream of American motion. You don’t just observe the journey; you feel crammed into the back seat, hurtling through darkness at 100 miles per hour while Dean barrels ahead, barely watching the road. It’s chaotic, reckless, and oddly hypnotic.
Although much of the novel is set in the late 1940s (the book was published in 1957), it feels startlingly immediate. The mania, the depressive crashes, the craving for constant stimulation, the near-fatal accidents, the obsession with “the next thing”—the next drink, the next lover, the next town—make the story feel contemporary. When the action subsides, Kerouac pivots inward. Sal wandering alone on a quiet street, questioning the meaning of it all, delivers some of the novel’s most powerful passages. As Kerouac famously wrote, “The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live…” That line alone captures the book’s electric pulse.
The novel helped define the Beat Generation, a movement that later influenced the 1960s counterculture. I used to think “Beat” simply meant exhausted—tired of conformity and postwar conservatism. Kerouac himself clarified that he meant “beatific,” suggesting a kind of battered spirituality, a search for transcendent meaning beneath the chaos. And at times, the book feels almost religious in its longing.
Could someone live this way today? Perhaps. America still has its drifters and wanderers. I’ve encountered people who echo Kerouac’s characters—in parks where I trained for races, in gas stations late at night, in small towns where stories hang heavy in the air. But the modern version often looks harsher. Today’s road can lead not just to freedom, but to addiction, untreated mental illness, or violence. The romanticism is harder to sustain when reality intrudes.
That said, I’ve also met people down on their luck who were decent, determined, and working to rebuild their lives. Many carry painful histories that would humble anyone. Kerouac’s characters, for all their recklessness, are not caricatures; they are seekers—sometimes foolish, sometimes destructive, but undeniably alive.
On the Road isn’t a blueprint for living. It’s a testament to yearning—to motion, to friendship, to the relentless search for meaning across the vast American landscape. I would never want to live that life outright. But through Kerouac’s words, I’m grateful to have ridden shotgun.
2026-02-24 13:43:37
bookreviews
Reflection2_23_26
February 23, 2026
I’m grateful for the self-control and sense of accomplishment I felt yesterday. I resisted the urge to post yet another reel in such a short span of time. Instead, I picked up On the Road and read past the 100-page mark. That alone felt like a victory—choosing depth over distraction.
My morning was productive in simple, grounding ways. I swept and mopped the floors—improvising by using my foot to guide the mop handle. I tackled the mountain of empty cardboard boxes stacked in the laundry room, flattening them and getting them ready for disposal. I washed my long-overdue blanket. I cooked. I showered. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest work, and it felt good.
My only disappointment was my lack of control with carbs. I truly overdid it—bread, cookies, strawberries, and with my air-fried catfish nuggets, a full can of pork and beans. By 9:00 p.m., my blood sugar was still at 140 despite medication, when on a typical day it would be 100 or lower. That was a wake-up call. So at dinner, I avoided carbs and stuck to the remaining nuggets and fried eggs. Lesson learned—again.
I’m beginning to understand how closely my habits must align with my physical limits. Because of my blood sugar—and perhaps simply my age—I rarely sleep in one solid stretch. Instead, I break it up into segments. Around 11:00 a.m., I often start yawning heavily. Sometimes it’s sleep deprivation from the night before. Other times, it may be fluctuations in blood sugar. Either way, that wave of drowsiness affects my ability to focus on writing or reading.
In the past, I tried to override this by exercising through the fatigue. I ignored my body’s signals and paid for it later. I’ve learned that when my body asks for rest, I must rest. Yesterday was slightly different. The sleepiness felt intensified—likely driven by the spike in blood sugar. That kind of fatigue can be dangerous. Some people end up in serious medical situations when levels climb too high. I cannot afford to treat those signals lightly.
I’ve noticed a pattern. My most alert hours are right after waking—around 3:00 a.m. until about 11:00 a.m. That window is when I thrive. I meditate, garden, exercise, do household tasks, and sometimes write. By afternoon—the time I usually set aside for reading or learning—I begin to fade. I take a power nap, which typically restores me. But yesterday, after the carb overload, I slept closer to two or three hours. When I woke up, though, I was remarkably refreshed and read over 100 pages with sharp focus.
There is, however, an old habit I must guard against. In the past, I used social media to override my body’s call to rest. Reels, videos, online shopping, endless searching—anything to artificially stimulate myself and avoid sleep. I’m choosing not to live that way anymore. Life should be natural. That is one reason I retired early. I remember forcing myself to stay alert through work, constant activity, or even conversations with strangers just to avoid stillness. Those days are thankfully behind me.
Yesterday marked a return to self-control after two days of heightened social media activity. I must minimize that. I also reflected on how frequently I post compared to others. Since I’m not trying to build a massive following, there’s no need to flood multiple platforms or overwhelm friends with notifications. I realized I can turn off notifications on my Facebook page. That way, I can post without appearing as though I’m constantly seeking attention. I tested it—notifications were off, yet the reel still received views and a like within minutes. Likely followers who see it in their feed, but without blasting everyone’s email. That feels more dignified.
Last night, my brother messaged me about a former neighbor who urgently needs financial help for a medical visit. He can barely walk due to severe swelling and is reportedly suffering from prostate cancer. I remember when he was young—an only child, spoiled with every luxury. I used to envy him. Time changes everything. I’ve seen this story repeated: indulgent youth, no development of skills or education, then hardship later in life. I knew another neighbor who ended up begging in a nearby town, despite growing up in wealth. When easy money stopped flowing, there was nothing left to sustain them.
These stories are cautionary tales. I try to help quietly through my brother, but I do not see it as something to advertise. Charity should not become self-promotion or proof of reversed fortunes. That is not how the Lord calls me to act. It is not how I was shaped by the Holy Spirit.
Today’s devotional message was about faithfulness to the truth—the truth of Christ’s life, the presence of the Holy Spirit, and the promise of abundant life. Faith produces inner peace. Nothing destabilizes a person anchored in faith because he sees a rainbow despite the rain, light at the end of a dark tunnel, and an ending to every beginning—whether good or bad. Faith leads to stillness. And stillness is often found in solitude.
The truth has set me free.
Yet the world feels increasingly fragmented—divided in beliefs, traditions, attitudes, and behavior. I’ve watched these changes unfold, and I’ve been influenced at times myself. For a while, I withdrew and lived quietly, almost invisibly. Then I immersed myself in social media, becoming an enthusiastic participant. Some of my content was well received. But I eventually asked myself: Is this lasting? Will anyone return to truly know me? Or will they simply move on to the next trend?
Performance is often superficial. It projects an image meant to evoke admiration, pity, or validation. At my age, I should know better.
Sometimes I ask: What is my role now? What space do I occupy? I’m grateful to still be alive, but there are moments when sitting quietly in my small room feels almost indistinguishable from being forgotten. Why do I still seek validation when I was validated decades ago? Why try to “break into” social media as if I were young and auditioning for approval?
I believe the Lord is teaching me. I’ve reduced posting on Facebook and shifted more toward YouTube and TikTok, where responses come from strangers rather than familiar faces. Facebook is filled with old friends and acquaintances—some supportive, some curious, perhaps some quietly critical. Other platforms feel different. Responses seem more neutral, sometimes more sincere. Perhaps my content can inform or encourage someone. That possibility has justified my online presence.
But here is what stands out: I wrote this reflection effortlessly, without pause. Writing flows naturally for me. I’m rediscovering joy in reading good books and writing reviews. I maintain websites where I can express myself through blogs and reflections. Even if traffic comes from search engines or bots, the fact that my work appears in searches is enough.
Facebook analytics have humbled me. When I post my face, views increase. When I share articles, plant hobbies, or thoughts on books, interest drops. That is reality. I must accept it without resentment.
I should expect nothing beyond the simple desire to express and share. The danger lies in being influenced by the chase for likes and views as measures of worth. There is dignity in aging. Not everyone is meant to live as a public spectacle. Some thrive in that arena—the young, the exceptionally talented, the naturally entertaining. I am not that person. My calling is quieter.
So I return to writing. Social media had begun to crowd it out, but writing is what gives me joy. The Lord has equipped me—motivation, skill, even AI tools for editing and graphics. My background in IT allows me to manage websites. Everything is in place.
Now what remains is focus.
I will build my days around my natural rhythms, honor my physical limits, write during my hours of clarity, rest when my body asks, and give quietly without display.
And that is enough.
2026-02-23 12:40:33
blog