Thursday, October 30, 2008

When It Rains

It’s raining again. And whenever it rains (which is quite seldom in a tropical country like the Philippines), I always remember the times when it did rain, too and I was maybe with somebody, talking with somebody, got really pissed off, got really depressed, got really happy and all those extreme emotions. I am planning that “When It Rains” shall be a regular post (maybe as regular as once a week) that will narrate some of those memorable moments of my life (in my own perception) that happened while it was raining. (And may I have the guidance and blessing of the One above so that I may always have the will to do so.)

I remember one silly moment-slash-moments of mine. (Get ready.) I was high school back then (and I am sorry for not having any post about high school life when all the while, that was worth blogging.) and was (as usual) trying to be busy with academics, extra-curricular activities and social life. I engaged in doing our school paper (which I am very proud of) and leading the students to the mission and vision of our school (what I mean is the Student Council Organization which I am equally porud of). So I was the chief editor of our school paper and was voted as the president of the Student Council (applause). Back then, I really tried my best to prove that I can be the leading leader of both the affiliations. It was a magnificent feeling that students and teachers see you as someone responsible (though I really wasn’t) and they give you the reverence you deserve.

Students (especially those who are younger than me), call me Ms. President and though it wasn’t my name, it made me feel respected like it just happened with a snap that yesterday, they are fooling around about my height and calling me “midget” (which by the way, I am 5”3 in height and in our school, there are numerous students smaller than me) then today, they are calling me “Ms. President” and they (sometimes) render me a salute. It was really nice that is why I never wanted it to end. Apart from being Ms. President, I was also called The Boss because (apparently) I was the one who assigns the writers their respective topics to write about and I (at some incredible point) control and organize the group whenever there is a meeting, a contest or an event to cover and write about. I also do the preaching whenever they don’t meet their deadlines and as much as being Ms. President, I love (really) being The Boss because I developed extreme camaraderie with my fellow staffers like they know that they have their deadlines to me and I have my deadline to our school paper adviser and our school paper adviser have her deadline to the principal. That sort of things. It’s just actually about doing your task on time so that no one gets angry. (Mind you, I occasionally transform into a monster whenever my writers don’t do what I instructed them to do.)

(So at this point, maybe you are wondering where the hell the rain is.)

It just so happened that the moment I was inaugurated as the president, it was raining. The moment the students voted for their leader, it rained. The moment that the staffers of the school paper were introduced to everyone, it rained, too. And I was just wondering if maybe that was something like the heaven is crying and is unhappy. Or it was some sort of bad premonitions. But I beg to disagree because for the long run that I handled those positions, (Yes, I admit, that at some critical points, I thought about quitting the positions.) I heard commendations which made me more enthusiastic about the responsibilities and made me crave for more tasks. The feeling was incomparable like it was really nice to make other people happy especially those who trusted me right from the very start.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Little Miss (Sort Of) Busy

For weeks (Okay, fine. It’s just weeks. I just thought it was years.), I’ve been constantly grumbling about boredom and how I hate vacation because I always wanted to be busy or at least appear as one. My mom eventually got irritated with me just lying on my bed, eating, blogging for a while, eating again and sleeping again. I was just slacking, you know, going nowhere, doing nothing and just complaining. If I were my mom, I will also be irritated and so she decided to assign some household chores to me. After all, she knows that I’ll follow her (I am a natural-born obedient child even if you ask her). I am actually desperate for a hobby.

I volunteered to wash the clothes and oh my! I wasn’t expecting that I’ll be washing that many. (Well, I was just expecting about 10 pairs.) She handled me three baskets all loaded with used clothes, some full of mud and some just have a not-so-good smell. I remembered my dormitory while I was doing the laundry. Back then, I also wash my clothes every Tuesday and Thursday. It’s a sort of obligation that I, being in college, should start learning about what a girl-slash-lady should know. Household chores, that is and washing clothes is top on the list. While I was midway my washing, I laughed upon realizing my widest, craziest ambition of mine way back maybe when I was four. It was to become a labandera in Filipino and (sorry) I don’t know the exact translation in English but it is someone who goes to your house and then washes all your clothes. She won’t be using any machine, just her hands and oh, heavenly soap. (Get it? If not, then better contact me for enlightenment.) I wished to become a labandera back then because I want my hands to be always clean and I thought that I will be very fulfilled if it will happen.

While there were about four pairs of clothes left, I felt stress. I felt exhaustion, too, the very exhaustion I always feel whenever I am in my university, walking then studying then walking then reading. It’s actually physical and mental exhaustion. But it completes me. I know it’s weird but stress for me, is such an incredible thing that it makes people forget their real problems. It makes them distracted (in a very good way) about dealing with their dilemmas. Just like school. It makes me concentrate on academics and getting good grades rather than crying over family problems and I-like-him-but-he-is-owned-by-her kinds of difficulties (So okay. Maybe this is destined for my next post. I am still deciding whether to include love life here or not.). Just like when I was washing. I felt stress in my back, brain and all over my body and I was like, oh, I still have to hang these clothes so I shouldn’t be tired this early. I was busy. And it’s heavenly that I haven’t called myself busy for weeks (that I mistakenly thought as forever). It’s nice to feel that I was back (to being Little Miss Busy. After all, Little Miss Busy sounds chic-er rather than Ms. Slacker.).

So I hang the clothes and I felt like I was a year older (Whenever I wash clothes, I feel like I was a year older or any of the like, so if that is true, I feel like I am about thirty-five now?). Maybe it was because I felt the responsibility, too and maybe because I (somehow) achieved one of my childhood dreams apart from being a princess and a sexy superhero and an actress and a cook and an astronaut (So that will be another post again).

Finally, I slept soundly like I was really exhausted by what I did and for a moment, I was able to forget that I was missing school and friends. For a moment, I felt like everything was normal although it really wasn’t. And it was actually that sleep that made me going again, ready for the next weeks that I’ll surely be complaining about.

Monday, October 27, 2008

My Passport to Math 63


I passed Math 60. The subject is a pre-requisite of my other major subjects, meaning, if I did not pass it, then I have to repeat it until such time that I get a passing grade for me to continue to Math 63, which happens to be more difficult (according to those who experienced).

When I attended the first class of that subject, it shocked me as the same manner that it made me scared about failing it. Failing the subject means failing me and failing my parents, too. I can always fail myself but my parents? No. Honestly, I cannot fall short all their expectations. So I attended every Math 60 meeting, feeling all the pressure in my veins. Candidly, the course was just my second choice in my application form and is just my third choice in life. Eventually, I wake up each day convincing myself that I did not become a Math major for no reason and day by day I try to seek for that hidden reason. I found nothing except the simple and irritating fact that I am a Math major because I was not able to meet the quota for my first choice course (which happens to be Business Administration and Accountancy). Still I find myself lucky to be able to study in UP so I pursued and listened to my brain more than my heart.

It was not an easy journey for me. I guess, it’s really difficult to study something which you don’t feel like studying especially when I failed my first long exam. I was like stuck the moment I received my paper. I thought the examination was easy so I was really surprised that I did not pass it. I become more scared after it, like there are five more exams and five more moments that I’ll be feeling really, really down. I wanted to ask my classmates whether they pass but I was also quite scared and embarrassed that they might return the question back to me and I’ll shrink to where I was directly standing. Back when I was high school, I did not had any failing grade and so to fail Math in my first year, first semester and first exam is like losing the world. Second exam, I did not check my grade out because I am not ready for another very uncomfortable moment for me, but I accidentally saw my grade while I was busy arranging my things. So I passed and I cannot believe it. That very instant, I was able to bring back all the self-esteem that I just lost from the first exam. I passed my midterms, too, making me quite relieved and relax. I thought that I just failed my first long exam because I wasn’t well-adjusted with college tests and it was my first time. I was actually expecting that the rest will be fine when the result of my third long exam was given. Mind you, it was the lowest I received for seventeen years. I failed. I really did. And I had my crazy what-if’s back then, like what if I never pass Math 60 and every semester, my professor sees me on his class. It shall repeat until I am like thirty years old, my professor is like sixty and my classmates are sixteen or seventeen then they’ll be bidding me goodbye as they go out of the room and me left there, trying to comprehend trigonometry. I lost my self-esteem again and it actually slapped me that I wasn’t doing my best. I am not giving all of me but I should because my career lies mainly on how I lived college. I reviewed for my fourth exam and final test. For those moments, I felt like I was being left. In that short span of time, I developed friendship with my classmates and it gives me the worries that they’ll all be together in Math 63 and I will be left in Math 60 if I did not pass my two remaining examinations. I thought about them while taking my exam, particularly him, that if I pass that, it’s like a passport that will take me wherever he will be.

So I passed it… Math 60. And it’s actually not “braggable” because I just passed it. You know, just passed. Period. There is no more passed with flying colors or passed with good grades. Just passed. And it’s enough for me. It’s exactly what I prayed. The moment I saw my grade it’s like shouting, “Hey, congratulations! You passed me despite of all your crazy ideas. You passed me and you’ll be seeing him again for next sem.” I Love it. I love the fact that though I did not study Math whole-heartedly, I passed it. I did it even though I spent a couple of meetings just day dreaming about my crush and not listening to my professor at all. Despite of my what-if’s and could-have-been’s, I still passed it and actually, I don’t care if my grades are low, lower than you’ll ever know. What matters most for me is that I did not fail myself, my parents and those friends who prayed that they’ll be seeing me again in Math 63.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Dormitory Life

Okay. It’s vacation. Finally. (Actually, it has been roughly two weeks since I went home from the dormitory and had my last exam, but I don’t know. I just feel like blogging today, today when I have two weeks left for myself. I feel like I’ve totally wasted my yester weeks.) It is vacation and I think, my blog spot deserves a little account of what first year and first semester of college made me feel (or how it changed me if you prefer).

I miss school. I miss it a lot. I miss how I used to be. I was really busy during those times, especially the remarkable hell week when I went to school with all those deadly exams waiting to put an end to my dream. It was done, the first semester… and here is a partial list of how I changed (without intentions of changing and unnoticing how it did happen). First on the list is the dormitory life:

I became (just a bit) responsible. Maybe it’s related to independence. Living apart from my parents meant a lot for me. There is no mother to take care of my clothes, breakfast and my mess. There is no father to protect me from those bad guys my mom warned me about. There is no sister to cheer me up whenever I feel really down (which happens most of the times). I was all by myself. No one to wake me up except the noisy alarm clock and no one to remind me to take my vitamins. Others may see this as a chance to do whatever they want. It is, in fact, but I decided to not ruin my life and do what I am expected to do: to be perfectly behaved. At first, it really made me scared because I was used to having my family around but then, this is a special chapter of my life, something to make a big leap between being a baby and a grown-up. After all, I am seventeen and living alone must be a little piece of cake. After some months, I began accepting how things are different. I decided to just watch the television whenever I am bored. I missed the people whom I see everyday and how I worry about nothing when I am with them. But I guess, a grain of sacrifice is required in order to be who I really I want to be. There were sleepless nights, I admit, the kind which makes my pillows wet from my tears. I was home sick. I was really longing for support whenever I am hopeless about grades and stuffs. Good thing that I got to know people whom I considered friends as of today. That was very important because I need that sweet urge to make me go on and be reminded that though my life was beginning to be unexplainably boring, still, someone cares and sees all of my effort. I need it, so much. I need that engaging inspiration to make me excited of waking up and living life and not just silently wishing and praying that tomorrow is always a Friday. After that realization, I began caring for myself more. I mean, I started to sleep just on time and waking up early to make myself a cup of milk and oatmeal. I started to give blissful moments for myself. I started to fight melancholy. I went to groceries occasionally and buy foods for myself and once in a while, treat and indulge myself with expensive clothes and foods. I still miss my family back then yet I resulted in convincing myself to hang in because it’s almost Friday… and Friday is my refuge. I go home every Friday to at least make my family know that I am okay (alive and kicking). I began doing things for myself, too. I wash and iron my clothes (which my mom claims as the most improved part of me). I study hard and devote my time reading books (which I don’t normally do so I consider my best improvement). I became more matured in dealing with things because I knew and understood that there is more to life than sweetness and laughter.

It has been five months and it’s amazing that those five months contributed so much to my well-being. It’s remarkable that I was just months older but it seems like it is a big leap for me, like college and dormitory life changed me as being someone who knows nothing but to have fun. Two weeks from now, vacation is done and I’ll be back to my dormitory. Away from home again and all by myself again. I guess it's goodbye to being Ms. Slacker and welcome back to Ms. Independent.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

When Disaster Strikes

So I had my hair cut and as usual, I regret it now. It’s too late. It’s cut. I cannot do anything but to blame myself. It’s already down there the trash can, mingling with the expired vegetable and cheese. I cannot have it back. It’s gone. I have to live with this.

It was exactly a year ago when I had my last haircut. From then, I decided not to cut my hair anymore because of the stupid traumatic experience. I just cannot accept it. I’ve been perfectly careful so as not to ruin my crowning glory (this includes the proper maintenance like hair spa and hot oil) then one mistake destroyed it all. I really regret it and I was unhappier because I trusted a gay to take control when all the while, I know that we have different perceptions about beauty. It gave me the feeling that I took care of my hair then he obliterated it.

It was a year ago and I cannot imagine that I lived my everyday wearing different kinds of headband and clips just to hide my haircut… and now (I mean, just minutes before I started typing), it was back to being long and silky. (Honestly, I rejoiced upon realizing that and I started holding my hair then waving it then curling it then combing it.) My mom, being so allergic to girls with long hair, instructed me to go to the salon and have my hair cut, or if not totally cut, at least, trim. She told me that it was not that perfect and healthy so I should trim all those imperfections (particularly the split ends). The fourth commandment of God says that we should obey and honor our parents and so I followed even though I was very hesitant.

I instructed the beautician to trim my hair. She asked how long then I answered, just cut one inch from it. I waited, hoping that she’ll follow what I said and after some sounds from the scissors, it was done. She cut about five inches from my hair (Geez! I think she’s deaf!). The moment I saw it, I wanted to cry, partly because I have to wait for my hair to grow long again and partly because of my could-have-been. I really was regretful.

I went home and in my sadness, I thought of the cycle and some paradoxes of life. I marveled and realized that this is neither the first nor the second time it actually happened. This occurred to me, numerous times already and each time, I’ll still give my 100 percent trust to the beautician, hoping that she or he will eventually make me happy and prove me that not all beauticians are the same, that at least one them understands what I mean by cut just an inch from it then I will end up convincing myself that the worst haircut, sooner or later, will grow, that what I am supposed to do is just to wait and being sorry or regretful won’t do me any good. It happens to me all of the times and still, I give in, not applying the lessons I’ve learned the last time. Maybe I am stubborn or the positive side, I just trust people the way I want to be trusted that I won’t do them any harm and as much as possible, I try to keep them happy.

Sigh. I promise, this is the last haircut. I won’t risk again. Sigh. No, I won’t.

PS
I am not the one on the picture.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

My Life's Anthem

I glanced at my play list and saw that I have countless of songs in it and I eventually resulted to making a folder entitled “Favorites”, something to, at least, lessen the hassle of playing all the songs and before it even reach what I really want to hear, my stupid play list will run out of energy.


Music has been a very special part of my life. Though I don’t sing, I listen. Usually, for every important happening in my life, I mark it with a song because most of the times, songs reflect exactly what my emotions impart. It is as if I wrote those songs but of course, I didn’t. So here are just some of my life’s anthems. You know; those songs which really made my heart melt.

  1. She Will be Loved by Maroon Five- This song was sung for me during my sixteenth birthday and though it wasn’t sang perfectly, it struck me because I thought that this song is somehow a reflection of what they think of me, that I will be loved. Hopefully, I will. I thought that after it was sang, it’ll end there but then again, it continues to my present that whenever I hear the song, I make sure that I stop anything that I do and pay attention to the song as if it was the Philippine’s national anthem. It makes me shiver and makes me realize some changes and decisions I made in my life.

  2. Unwell by Matchbox Twenty- Those days when I really got upset and melodramatic, I turned to Matchbox Twenty and convinced myself that I am not crazy but just a little unwell and fortunately, by listening to this song, it makes me more relieved and a bit happier. At least, better than my condition before hearing that song.

  3. Your Guardian Angel by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus- This one can be considered as the love song of my life. I mean, it’s been a year since I first heard this song and until now, I still feel the shiver and goose bumps. I remember the first time I heard it and back then, I thought that the title is “My Guardian Angel” and so I bragged it to everyone (and back then, I was the only one who knew the song so they do not have any idea). I still find myself singing this while smiling and staring at the starry sky. I still consider this as the song which gives me the last song syndrome.

  4. I Don’t Love You by My Chemical Romance- Especially dedicated to all those I loved. Past tense, right, loved. This actually made me realize that people do change and so as the heart. I do not actually intend to sing this song every after heartbreak but what can I do, I just don’t love them the way I did before.

    This is just my initial list, maybe the songs which I really find myself contained in the lyrics. Just directly in between, I see myself singing all of these during the happiest, most unforgettable, loneliest and most random happening in my life. In fact, I owe these songs a lot for without them, the story of my life will be incomplete and nothing but a noisy CD who runs insane for always. It’ll be nothing but a spoiled note.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Twilight Invasion

If I can live forever, what will I live for?

…and again, I began this post with an “if”. They say that it is almost impossible to blog without mentioning Twilight or at least Edward Cullen. So I gave in but this is not a post to praise his perfect features or how his role was well-loved by the others. It is about finding myself astonished in the quote above and imagined that if I have eternity, what will I actually live for.


Today I am living for myself. Just for myself. Maybe I am an essentially selfish creature but I don’t care. I crave for my happiness too much. I am just seventeen and there is so much that I want to do. I mean SO MUCH. I attend school to fulfill myself at least before I die. I mingle with others to make myself entertained and happy at least before I die. I do everything that will satisfy my being at least before I die… and if I have forever, I do not know if I will still be the same because I won’t have the same reason for doing everything I feel like doing. Maybe I won’t blog at all because the primary reason why I blog is because I want a proof for my existence. You know, something more trustworthy that an etch of my name on the sand or a fragile diary, and if I am to live forever, as in eternity, I don’t need a proof at all because I will be a living evidence.

If I will live forever, maybe I’ll just sleep all day. I won’t be bothered that I am not able to do this and that because I have all the time to try and experience. I have infinites of tomorrow so my motto will be, “Don’t do today what you can do for tomorrow,” and I won’t be worried at all because I surely have that particular tomorrow in me. I won’t be thinking about my decisions because even if I commit tons of mistakes, I have all the time to correct them and make them right. I’ll just sleep and in my deep sleep I’ll dream about what if’s again. What if my life has a limitation that I will be mortal? Maybe then, I will be living life.

If I will live forever, maybe I’ll be living for others and not just for myself alone, for i got forever and they have more or less eighty years. I might not be this selfish as I am now. If people need to choose between me and another one, I’ll gladly give my space because they have limited time and I have forever so they might as well live the most of it. I’ll give them everything to make them happy at least before they die. I won’t make friends and neither will I love someone… because if I do, I’ll just be punishing myself. I will be watching them age and change while I stare at them, helplessly and hopelessly, thinking about those times when we are young and worry-free. I don’t want to watch them go because meeting them and loosing them means that I have to be bothered thinking about them for forever until such time that the new generation comes and I have to search for another déjà vu.

If I can live forever, maybe I won’t live at all. After all, life is the sweetest form of torture. Why will I choose to torture myself for eternity?

Sunday, October 19, 2008

To Lie or Not To Lie

That is not anymore the question.

Face it. Everyone wants truth on their side yet few stay on the side of truth. I certainly wouldn’t babble about honesty and dignity. I am not your mother so I am not supposed to preach and tell you what’s right or wrong, but I realized one thing, and that is it is almost impossible to live in a truthful world, or if you see a little possibility that this can happen, it will be a whole bunch of laughter for everyone.

This is where I got the idea. What if I’ll be enlightened by the God of truth that I’ll be inventing a device that will be connected to everyone’s skulls? Each time a person lies, that device shall explode and the person’s brain will be nothing but little pieces of chunk of corned beef. So, no one will be lying at all and if you are imagining a very peaceful world, I am imagining an entirely crazy one.


Just imagine that you are sitting on a couch and watching the television. You turn your eyes on the commercial and see a very beautiful model of soap and says, “Hey, I am not using this product but then, they paid me a high price to endorse this and make you believe that it’s this soap that gave me this porcelain-like skin. Come to think of this, how could that happen? I’ve been pretty even before this product is released. Go ahead and purchase this product and maybe I should try this, too.” After that, the cute little boy who drinks milk will enter the scene and say, “They said that this milk helps children grow and healthy. It may be true but candies taste a lot better than this glass of milk. Admit it; we are just fooling ourselves in saying that this tastes delicious. It’s true. It almost tastes food. It’s like a cold glass of water with a damp tissue in it. My! Please don’t try it.” After switching the channel and looking at the news, you’ll see the president, delivering her State of the Nation Address. She’s like, “Please clap, congressmen, just like how we practiced weeks ago. Okay. Going back, I want to tell you, people, that our country is nothing but an island with no hope of improving. It is better for you if you will be migrating to other countries because I, your president, have no intention at all of giving you the best. I just want the best for myself and for my family. Last year, there were one million jobs created and we released a budget of 20 million. I want you to know that 10 million went to those mentioned jobs. 2 million went for my shopping. Another 2 million was spent for my son’s party, 1 million for the renovation of my house and the rest stays safely in good hands, which are mine.” and so the congressmen will laugh and clap. You will also call your boyfriend and then ask where he is and then he’ll answer truthfully and with no hesitations, “Baby, I am in my other girl friend’s house. I love her more but, I cannot leave you all alone because I need you and I need your money more. Baby, what I want to do is to make the both of you my girlfriends and I promise to love you every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.”

Oh, what a crazy world! Truth is important but I guess, too much of it will make you insane simply because we’re not used to it. We’ve been living in a fraudulent world forever and we’ve been especially trained to catch and identify lies from truth. I guess, we’ve been defining a normal world into something which lies and that’s normal or if not normal, at least, that’s something expected.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Paper Dolls


…And apparently, I caught myself playing paper dolls.

No, not necessarily PAPER dolls. Maybe they were hi-tech paper dolls. I was busy thinking of how to make myself occupied this semestral break. It’s around three weeks of idleness and that’s something. I am not used to it, definitely. What I am used to is being so busy with school works that I get to sleep only four hours a day. That's all about being a college student is. That’s my life and so three weeks of doing nothing will make me insane. I do not want to sleep all day and then blog and then sleep again. I want to do something else that I did not manage to do during school days. I never wanted to be drowned in that same what if, what if, what if. That will get me to melancholy again and I said no more to it. Enough, just enough. I want to be productive (at least in my own definition of being busy) and so I tried to search for free trial games again (see LITTLE MISS DISTURBED post). While I was fascinated over the titles and descriptions, I clicked on a particular game which seems to reflect all about womanhood and I downloaded it. The title of the game was Fashionista and in there, you will be the over-all organizer of a fashion magazine. It was another make-believe game. Just as I thought that it will all about earning income and revenues and assigning photographers, models, editors and writers, I was wrong. I forgot that it was supposed to be a game for children and not for teen agers like me. It was actually about buying clothes for your model and dressing her up. Right. Dressing her up. Just like what I used to do thirteen years ago with those one peso carton-made paper dolls. I played with them and make them go to parties, make them talk and walk, make them pretty and make them fall in love.

It’s all about childhood things and I was just so surprised (really shocked) that the computer broke down, turned to black and then said that I just finished my free trial and if I want to continue my game, I should bought the software for blah-blah-blah dollars. What a shame! I thought. It’s insane but I really felt insulted by that notice. It's like saying, "Sorry dearest, you got to find a more matured game for you." Of course it did not say anything like that (because if it did, I might be on a computer store now, purchasing a new monitor), I was just paranoid. I cannot imagine myself playing with that thing for an hour, undisturbed. I cannot imagine a seventeen years old lady who is so serious about getting the ugly model dressed and shopping tops and bottoms for her (not to mention accessories, sandals and dresses). I also have these lazy thoughts that maybe I look like so problematic upon dressing the model that anyone who will be seeing my expression will think that I am solving a Mathematics problem. It’s leisure. It’s entertainment. (After all, the game was for ages four and up so I am still included) Maybe it’s boredom. Surely, it is. I cannot think of a better excuse or another valid reason. It’s only boredom that made me commit to those silly games. After all, it’s not a sin. Right? It’s not.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Girls, Oh, Girls

I remembered that I once answered a survey in friendster. It says, “If you will be given a chance to be born again and choose your gender, what will it be?” I looked at the answer of the person who posted that survey. She said that she wants to be a boy so that she’ll know what if feels to be like them.

Apparently, I can never imagine me having all these emotions while being a boy. If ever I will be, maybe people will see me as the most talkative and most vain kind of boy. There’s this something about being a girl called the “freedom to express emotions”. We talk, we talk and we talk. All the time. We talk about everything. We talk in the bathroom. We talk on our way home. We talk on the telephone. Our friends know everything about us because we talk. Of course it’s available for the other gender too but then again if you’re a boy, you also have this “rule of limiting emotions”. I don’t know. Maybe it’s their nature not to cry about those silly part ways and break up’s and fights. Maybe they just don’t show. Maybe some of their friends know what they are going through but then again, they seldom talk and if they do, they’ll talk limitedly. You have to convince them first before telling the story to you. That’s their nature. That is what the society expects of them.

I wonder how it feels to be like them, too. You know, having no problems even if they’re all sweaty and greasy and untidy. I wonder how it certainly feels to court someone you really love and then dumped just because she wants to. I wonder how it feels to explode. You know, when I have all these thoughts but then again I am a boy and so I won’t result to talking to my blog and myself. I really wonder how it exactly feels to be a boy. However, as much as I wonder, I love being a girl and keeping all these diaries which normally begin with “I hate this day”. It feels great to choose between those fabulous and stylish clothes that it takes us hours just to dress up (and admire ourselves in the mirror and practice dancing and practice sitting formally and practice smiling that fall-in-love-with-me kind of smile and checking every inch of us to check for imperfections and many more…). It’s fabulous to receive those pretty bouquets of flowers and smelling them (even if it is odorless and we know it but then again, something tells us to smell those flowers just to look sweet and appreciative). It feels great to spend our whole day with our girl friends shopping or going to the spa or simply hanging out in their homes and then after we all go home, we still have lots to talk to them on the phone. We love waffles and stilettos and pink and blue and dolls and butterflies and gowns and penguins. It maybe weird but surely, it feels great and more importantly, it’s natural. Very.

Later

It’s two o’clock. Warren kneels on the sand, barefoot and topless. The sun is oppressive that he can actually grill ham and cheese on his head. He puts a handful of sand on the rectangular platform and then shapes it with water on a bucket. Warren starts on the base, smoothing the box-like formed sand and etching window-like structure in it through the help of a stick. He does it with love, making sure that the castle will not be easily blown by the wind. Every motion he makes marks a drop of perspiration from his forehead, making the sand stuck more on each other. He stands and gets into the cottage to check the time out. “It’s still early,” he said “I asked her to go here when the sun is about to set and the sky is purplish, orange-ish blue.” He was actually about to return and finish the torrents of his masterpiece when the waves forcefully washed it all away, leaving damp unformed sand.

“Well, I guess, this is what happens with sand castles,” he said while making another one, this time, far away from the shore, where things come and also separated. He makes it again with a curl on his lips. “It seems like three o’clock,” he said. He shapes the roofs of the castle, carefully as to not ruin his surprise. He adds water to make it strong and stable. He gathered pebbles on the ground and accentuated the majestic castle with it. He also etched on the sand those words, “I love you, Mariza, as much as the sand on this beach”. To make a sand castle is something challenging and tiring but Warren is determined. He lied down on the sand, feeling every grain on his back. He was so tired that he closed his eyes. He looks at the shore and he sees a lady, barefoot and unpainted nails, walking slowly with the ankle-high waves of the sea. She was wearing something long and with ruffles that looks like a wind chime dancing and flirting with the cool breeze. Her hair was long and silky, something worth touching. Her hands are swaying as she walks, and with every step she takes, Warren feels like he is being gently cradled on the clouds, and a soft rhythm of the harp accompanied by the humming of an angel is what dominated his hearing. He opened his eyes and he immediately went back to the cottage to check for the time. It was six o’ clock. He immediately got all those red, finger-like candles he bought a week before. He also got the bouquet of yellow Tulips fresh from Holland. He returned to the place where the castle stands still. It is the best castle everyone will ever see. He lighted the candles and waited. He practiced saying, “I love you Mariza. Will you be my princess?” He wondered what she will be answering but he thinks that his five years of courting her won’t be senseless after all. He sat while hearing his bumming heart. “What if she says no?” he asks in nervousness. He felt itchy mosquito bites on his legs, arms and back. “Where is she?” he says while guessing what time it was.
She then spoke. Fate… because it rained. Warren stared at the flickering light of the candle. One by one, it went out, until the last one. Before it even loses its light, Warren saw the castle being pierced with each raindrop. He wanted to save it but did not know how. He wanted to get an umbrella but it’s too late. It’s deformed and the message in the sand is no more than scribbled lines of a careless kindergarten, very inscrutable. Warren saw how the glorious rain poured out on his castle, the one he worked on and saved from the angry waves. He cannot understand. “How can something transparent as my tears can ruin the one I’ve spent half a day working?” he asks. Mariza came running and said, “Sorry, Warren. I think I’m late,” and he replied, “I think so, too..”

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

I Hope So

OCTOBER 13, 2008
3:58 PM

People come and go… but some leave marks of undying memories. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just this weird fear. Maybe I am wrong. I hope so. Since Thursday last week, I’ve been counting the hours until Monday. I told myself that today will be the day that my “missing someone’s presence” will be eased. I thought so then I was proven wrong.

Lately, I’ve been more concern about the future. You know, what lies ahead. Sort of things that answers what’s equipped with tomorrow and in my solitude, I realized that surely, faces that have been surrounding me for the past five months will never be the same faces that will be with me for the next five months. A semester break, right… and after the semi-vacation, I’ll be back to being the same stranger or just another familiar face whose name is forgotten. I’m afraid but quite scared to admit. I’m afraid that the person who have been very close to me will just be another acquaintance and though I still have my fears bugging me day and night, I am standing in front of that reality, pretending to be strong although it really kills me inside. Sometimes, I feel like I am just three years old and there’s a part of me that wants to scream and cry at the top of my voice. It seems like my rainbow-colored lollipop has been stolen when I am about to eat it. I know. This is not the ideal something to be depressed on. If you will be closely thinking, it’s true that it’s not a problem after all and I’m making such a big deal out of it. I don’t know. It’s weird and I, myself, find this very funny.

Today is Monday and I am not sure if this is really what I’ve been waiting for since Thursday. When I opened my eyes this morning, I knew that this will be happening. Today is the day that I might last see him. There is this big damn chance that this is it, whether I like it or not. I am never in control. I never wanted to appear weak and feeble in front of him and so I went to school with my mask. I know that no one can notice. I was best actress ever since. I don’t know what to say if ever we will have a conversation. I don’t know if I will even mention that this might be the last. I don’t know how to tell him “goodbye” while we know deep within us that after this day, it might never be the same. Maybe I’ll do my best to make him happy so that after this day, there is a perfectly valid reason to continue the friendship and both of us will make ways to find another borrowed time.

And I guess that’s it. Funny that there were just seconds of hi and hello and where is our room. It’s funnier that it seemed like new acquaintances that just enunciate words in order to break the silence. You know, just to say something even if it’s senseless. I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong and I hope so. I guess, after hearing many goodbyes, his was the most hurtful because I never heard it. It just showed and it’s more hurtful because I saw him very uneasy just like a very emotional person who any time from now will be showering into tears. I don’t know and I did not have any chance to ask and so this is what makes me regretful. Maybe if I just asked, I’ll know because he’ll explain and that will lead to a conversation of forever, something that will eliminate all those painful part ways.


CRIS ANNE

Friday, October 10, 2008

This is It

Finally, I am a step closer from a dream. Oops. Maybe ambition is a whole lot better term. Last night, a friend of mine, way back in high school, sent me a message inviting me to be one of the writers for a literary book. I was surprised. I did not expect that while I am doing my usual checking of my e-mail, a message popped which seems asking me if I would want to achieve my "lost" dream. Without even thinking, I saw myself typing "yes".


I wanted to withdraw. No, not directly withdraw my affirmation. I just thought that I immediately said yes without even thinking. I mean, I am a college student- a frustrated college student and all of those other participants are still in high school. I was just afraid that being the eldest in the group (not really obvious when it terms to physical attributes. Ha-ha! a joke...) and having all these obligations as a college student, I may not have the quality time that they need. I thought... and I remembered seeing a twilight-colored tarpaulin in my university. It says, "Hush! Listen to your desires." and I followed what it says just as how a kindergarten student obediently follows her terror teacher. I closed my eyes and amidst the silence, my neighbor screamed. She disturbed me but nevertheless, I was pretty sure that to write is what I really wanted from the start. I reflected and realized that most of the times while I am so busy solving triangles, scribbling numbers and rotating axes of a cardioid in an Argand plane (Oh. My apologies to non-Math majors.), at the back of my mind, I deeply dream of being a writer. I want to sit back, get a pad of rainbow-colored paper, push the pen and start writing something. When I opened my eyes, instantly, I knew what to do.


I did not withdraw my affirmation. I affirmed it more by giving my friend some more suggestions and ways to contact me. In the first place, why will I hinder myself from my contentment? It's funny that I am more fulfilled whenever I am writing something lousy and non-sense than solving word problems which happens to be challenging. It's funnier that it happens to me. I don't know. I immediately felt my blood rushing upon hearing that we will be publishing a book. A book? Yes. A book. You know, something which has many pages compiled and written by someone who really knows how. A book, certainly... and I haven't been that excited over the past few months. I am not expecting to be someone like Shakespeare, not even a Jose Rizal or Jessica Zafra. I don't dream to be someone who is well-known to all and sundry because that is where the pressure and obligations starts. I just wish to be someone who writes whenever she wants to and tell the world what kind of crap is going on with her brain.

I am also quite afraid. I do not know. I have this feeling that when I tell others about this, especially those people who celebrated when I told them that I'll be taking up the course BS Mathematics, I might be hearing discouragements. Right, discouragements again. The same discouragements why at the moment, I am surrounding myself with nauseating numbers. The same discouragements that made me engage into something they told that I'll be happy with. So enough with those who mind other people's business. Maybe I'll just show them "the book" after it is published. In that way, they can never discourage me again because I've proven them wrong.

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Sweet Dose of Imagination

When I was a kid, I always aimed to be Cinderella. Back then, I was crazy about the idea of turning to a beautiful princess and of course, finding my prince and celebrating happy ending. Those from-rags-to-riches sort of things disillusioned me unto the realities of life.


It's not that I am always staying on the negative side of things. I do believe in happily ever after endings after all, if ever you're curious. But then, I realized that I want to be a fairy goddess more than a majestic princess. Perhaps a thinner, younger and prettier Cindy's fairy god mother will do. This is the list of what I am going to do if ever I'll magically turn into a fairy goddess:

I'LL STOP TIME whenever I am with the person who matters most. I know. Changes are constant. I know, too. People come and people go. I have been told and warned all about these realities. So the remedy is *drum rolls* stopping time when I am with him. Isn't it nice? I mean, with a snap, everyone freezes except for of course, the two of us who will be screaming and dancing and laughing and tumbling and singing and walking and flying. We may also laugh at all those frozen people who seems to be hurrying but then again, the choice and power lies within my thumb and middle finger. We will go to every places we know and when the time continued, we shall always reminisce all the wonderful moments we have given each other.
  • I'LL BE ABLE TO TELEPORT. In here, I won't end up embracing insanity and melancholy for whenever I need someone to talk to, I'll simply close my eyes, concentrate and presto, I'll be standing right in front of somewhere I want to be. This aids a lot in solving distance problems. This aids a lot in avoiding all those feeling of longings and dissatisfaction oozing all those unspoken words. This aids a lot in solving emptiness. I was thinking that if I can teleport, maybe I can have him with me and we will have this blink-fast journey to places we see only in our dreams. Maybe if I can have this, I won't be too worried about his safety when he goes home and it's quite late and still a long, winding road awaits.
  • I'LL TURN BACK TIME. You maybe right about what you are thinking. I mean, yes, it's partly all about fascination and partly about regrets. You know, things I wished I never did. I was just thinking that maybe, if I could turn back time, I must have been happier today though at the moment, I am experiencing full bliss. Maybe if I could turn back time, I won't be wasting it doing soul-searching and giving myself tons of reasons to be sad. I must have been better and so the situation must be. If I can turn back time, maybe I won't be giving Cinderella her 12 o' clock deadline. It sucks.
  • I'LL READ MINDS and know by heart all that he needs to say which never reached his lips. I'll know how happy he really is or how uneasy with his perplexities. I'll know the perfect words to tell how special he is because for the past months, I have been searching for those and until today, nothing's more exact than my feelings. Maybe I can read minds of my professors, too and know what to say whenever they challenge my intelligence. Cool, isn't it?
  • I'LL BE INVISIBLE and follow him wherever he goes. No, not a stalker but someone who wants to be assured that he will always be fine and safe. I want him to feel my presence. Always. and whenever I notice that he is getting gloomy, I'll show up and say hi and do everything just to win his beautiful smile again.
  • I'LL HAVE THE ABILITY TO MAKE OTHERS HAPPY so that I'll be able to repay him even for a bit.

    This is just a short list. I mean, I can always continue and go on for as long as I take a little sweet dose of imagination. Yet for now, this is more than enough. I have given so much of my time with these child-like dreams of mine... but these are just dreams and dreaming is free for everybody.

Sunday, October 05, 2008

What I am Supposed to be

I am now four days older. A year away from celebrating my princess-like debut party which only happens in my dreams and a year after being called the "sweet sixteen". What am I supposed to be? Who am I supposed to be? If am eighteen, I will be going to the salon every week, having foot spa, hair spa and facial treatment. I might be getting my driver's license and all these sort of credit cards that will reflect my being independent and responsible. If I am eighteen, I will be very busy with my studies because I am expected to graduate as soon as possible. Last year, after celebrating the sixteenth year of my life, I became busy choosing the right clothes for me, something to prove that I am Ms. Friendster, Ms. Cool and Ms. Blogger all at the same time. I was busy clipping a pink ribbon in my hair then. I was on highschool and busy with girl and boy friends and love life. I was busy writing love letters signed anonymous and smiling like how hello kitty does it.


After all, seventeen ain't that sweet. It is about being caught in the middle with nothing to do and nothing to feel. You know, empty. People expects you to be no one or to be caught in between. They expect you to feel what you are feeling when it is Monday morning and you woke up early, got up early and leave early only to find out that while you are on your way to school, an accident in front of you shall happen and you got no choice but to wait maybe for two hours with the suffocating heat and your professor counting every second that you are late. Being seventeen is about putting yourself on the shoe of a thread of beef (if ever it has a shoe) and being stuck in between teeth that you have to wait for several hours until the person brushes his or her teeth and finally, you will be washed away and flushed away on the sink. This is what being seventeen is all about.


What they hid from me is that if I reach seventeen, I will still be reminded of that nauseating feeling when I was three. (Read LIFE IS A GAME post.) The feeling of being stuck on the floor with everyone watching you. Every blink you take feels like crying and so you will regret that you ever blinked. Of course this doesn't happen to everyone else. Maybe just for me. Maybe it's only me. The thought of being stuck really kills me inside and maybe to post is what this feeling's weakness is. Whenever I post, feelings start to fade or slip and I am forgetting it even for a short span of time, but at least I forgot it. This is in a way, being claustrophobic. This is having a fear on closed spaces that even if you scream, even if you try to get out, you cannot and know not how. The idea of being on the spotlight of the world makes me sicker. What am I supposed to do next that they will be proud of? Right now I feel so sick inside and I know that I am fed up. I know that I am worn out. I know that I am thrown up but I am throwing myself even more. What I do after turning seventeen is that I maximize the 24 hours of my life, loving every single minute of it and never feeling even a single spot of sympathy for my poor self. This is about crashing all my limitations and showing everyone that I am superman and fatigue is out of my vocabulary. Cups of coffee are now my best buds because they keep me going. They pushes me to do what I have to or at least make me believe that I still can even if I cannot.


Sigh. How I wish I am a year older. It must have been different.