Sunday, November 30, 2008

So Sick

(I think I can do it. I mean the thirty posts in thirty days. I think I am fulfilling my own NaBloPoMo for myself, with my own set of rules and it’s great and fulfilling but quite a challenge because I told myself to make more posts every month and oh, I must be doing thirty-one next month. In some way, that’s pressure. May I have the sufficient topics interesting enough to write about and may I have the will to sit in front of my computer, telling the world quirk facts about myself, never getting tired.)


I’ll be writing about today and about this moment. I am sick. No. Not with frustrations and longing for someone. Not with Math and academics but really, I have flu and it makes me really irritated. I don’t know the reason why I am having this but my mom told me that after sleeping late and eating unright and not on time, my immune system signals me to slow down because I am just a human with petty limitations. This flu is somehow a reaction of what my body is undergoing and at this point in time, this flu is what hinders me from talking loudly and with no hesitations. I cannot talk endlessly. Seriously. That’s something for me. I feel like my mouth is being zippered and it makes me even hotter inside. I feel like I am going to have a fever sometime later, hours from now and it’s not good especially at this very moment when I still have to analyze completely the discontinuity of functions. I have to pass the exam and having this sort of sickness somehow stops me. My body actually grumbles now, like I should get some sleep because tomorrow until Saturday will all be exhausting (and not to mention, frustrating). I have to eat right and on time but I cannot. I mean, I am losing my beloved appetite that I want to vomit each time I am thinking about food, especially soups. I don’t know what’s wrong but whatever it is, I want it to happen during vacation. I never wanted to be sick and absent myself to school. One day of absenting myself from my classes is a lot. I’ll be missing so much and so if ever I am still feeling like this until tomorrow morning, I won’t be minding this at all. I’ll still be going to school and make my head ache with numbers and Physics concept. I will still listen to my Communication 3 professor who will tell me that I got bad pronunciation. Besides, for this semester, I think, I felt this way for five times but each time, I still get well. There’s nothing new and be scared about. I think this is something ordinary. I think this is something that will just last for hours. A scare. A threat. A reminder… but never a reason to stop my usual activities. Never. There is no such thing as that.



I am looking forward to a peaceful vacation, something away from school and away from home. You know, something with a full massage and a good night sleep with scented candles all around. Something with citrus fruits and healthy juices, pies and pastries and the sun just hot enough to make my body respond. I am looking forward to breathing fresh air and seeing breath-taking sights. I am looking forward to doing everything I want to do without deadlines and pressures. I want to feel ultimate relaxation, something that will bring back all my lost enthusiasm and energy.



So, who will give me one? (wink)



PS


To contact me and give me one, just comment below and I am sure to answer you. SURE TO ANSWER YOU.

When It Rains

September 16, 2008. It rained; in the gloomiest way that downpour can ever happen. It rained when he isn’t there to lend me his umbrella and make sure that I won’t be cold and wet. It rained when I thought it won’t. It rained when I prayed so hard so that the heavy and dark clouds could still hold on.


It was a Tuesday last semester and a very different from my usual happy Tuesdays. This wasn’t the case when I was celebrating life. It was a sudden shift of crazy emotions. It was a missed opportunity, something that bugged me all day long, something that caused me to be unhappy for the rest of my day.


Our Table Tennis class was done. I changed my clothes, got out of the gymnasium, looked out for him and after realizing that he is nowhere to be found, rode a jeepney to the guidance councilor. It was a twenty-minute ride and my eyes were so busy looking out for someone I am quite certain that I won’t be seeing. I was still desperate, looking for spots that will lead me to him. I decided to eat my lunch, alone while hearing all the happy laughter of the students that surround me. I minded my own business, focusing on the frozen pasta and bread, making myself convinced that it was delicious and I did not waste my money in that kind of food. I went up that scary building, still with the thoughts that I might find him there, sitting and also wishing that he will see me. I knocked then opened the door, looked around and saw no one whom my eyes would be glad to see. I asked where Mr. Oscar Gomez is and the man who looks responsible enough told me that he wasn’t around. I believed him. I went down then out of the building. I looked at my right because I know that if he is still in that large university, he’ll just be sitting there, in that spot, where the canopy of trees are protective enough for his delicate skin. I saw someone, wearing that blue shirt which rolls itself up just directly below his elbows. I blinked then looked again. I regret that I ever blinked because if I didn’t, he might still be there. I was instantly unwell. I cannot smile and make myself at ease. I cannot stop myself from thinking about him. I entered the library, just making myself busy with books and stuff. Somehow, I realized that if I am focused with something else, I won’t be that gloomy. Everything will be better but I digress. I decided to just go home. I walked, hoping that someone with voice as great as his will call my name and ask me to sit for a while, but there was none. I did not hear anything except my foot escaping reality inch by inch. I wanted to slap myself because while walking, I am seeing images of him at the side of my eyes. It was painful to see because I know that it was nothing but imagination. I was just playing with myself. Little by little, I felt beads of pearl-like water stroke my skin. I thought I was crying but nevertheless, it was the heaven which cried for me. I saw my foot, paving its way to the terminal of broken dreams despite the flood made by the rain. I wanted to reach home as soon as possible but thinking about a missed opportunity slows my motion down. I was afraid that I would stumble and fall and there will be no one to cure my bruised and wounded knee. I was careful to not hurt myself even more.


I wondered when that particular rain stopped. As far as I remember, after I reached home and got some sleep, I continued questioning myself on what’s wrong with me but I refuse to answer. Maybe because I did not find that sensible reason for me to feel that way and maybe because I wanted to be fine and happy but cannot find that motivation to be. I won’t talk. I won’t smile… and when people asked me, I just answer, “It is because it’s raining”.

An Indirect Love Letter

This is some sort of acknowledgement for my college friend. His name is Ricardo Saladas, a block mate, a Math major, too, a friend. Ric for short (so, you’re getting famous in here. You might as well thank me for that. Ha-ha!). We had this little conversation a while ago, a yahoo messenger chat. Some sort of what are you doing and how’s Math in your life. Some sort of thank you yesterday and you’re always welcome. I said that I was updating my blog minutes before we talked. He asked for the link and I sent it to him. The last time he saw it was I think, last October, when I was still hibernating on blogland, when I haven’t reach my heyday of writing. He was, I think, kind of surprised after seeing that I posted a lot since his last check. He said “wow”. He browsed the page and saw some posts which triggered his interest.


I smiled after his first comment. He said that my blog was some sort of an indirect love letter. He said that it was a write-up of something that I want others to know but I cannot say directly. I think he is right. He knows it. I mean, he knows whom I am doing this for. He knows my intention, not my whole intentions but part of it. He knows that some of the posts there are exclusively for someone of high importance.


I am writing for myself, primarily, because I want to reflect on this some time in my life, when things aren’t how they used to be, when things have changed completely. I want to be reminded about my thoughts and perceptions. I want to know who I am in the past and what made me like this in the present. Somehow, I will have a clue on what I’ll be like in the future. As I always repeat, I want to make this a history and make myself immortalize thru this blog. It may fail, yes, but somehow, this is more trustworthy than an etch of my name in the sand where things usually meet and also separated. I want to mark my existence even if it’s nothing to most of the world. Secondly, yes, I am admitting that I post some of the stuff here because I know that he will come to a point of coming across this blog and read the things I want him to know, those things which are better left unsaid but worthy of knowing, those things which I cannot say directly and this blog is the perfect escape. So Ric is right, I think. I also agree that this blog is some sort of an indirect love letter that contains a “To: Mr. Anonymous” in the top part of every post and signed with love by me. It’s invisible and can only be seen by those chosen and special people who know me, or at least, know me better than how the casual people see me.


I am astonished at the fact that even though I don’t include names in a particular post, people who know me will know whom I am talking about. I don’t know if it’s called conscience or the inner self but whatever it is, it’s naturally amazing.


Sometimes, people’s comments are what remind me of reality. For instance, the indirect love letter. I have that concept in my mind but it was blurred and unclear. I was not very particular about it and it happened to be that Ric was the one who formulated the perfect term for the stuff. Thanks to him that I was able to realize some realizations regarding my reasons of writing.

My November 2008

I must say that November was the highlight of my year so far. I am maintaining this diary and I read everything a while ago. It was this month which contains my happiest and saddest moment (but as for the saddest, it’s almost unnoticeable because I spent so many days just savoring every wonderful minute of it). It was this month that those happy moments were written and will be reminisced from time to time.


Talking about my blog, November was my heyday. Blogspot says that I started out on this site last March 2008 but I do believe that my official beginning was October. I remembered signing up last March but I posted my graduation speech and never cared about the rest. I stepped into college and a subject requires us to make a blog spot where we are to post short stories and other brain-farts. Nevertheless, I was able to post six senseless things in thirty-one days. It was September when I first received my comment. It was actually from someone I know who happened to hop by my blog. It felt great. From being totally non-existent on blogland, somebody saw me and it made me pursue writing, if not in my chosen career, at least through this blog. Last October, I made a big deal out of my birthday, making me post more than how I did for the past few months. It was random. Sometimes I write about my dreams, my heartbreaks, being girl, boredom (which dominated my October), what-if’s, and then I got nothing to write so I made a list of my favorite songs, then about my hair, university and dormitory life (which at that point, I am insanely and madly missing), Math (and the frustrations I have with it) and lastly, the first When It Rains post. I realized that being so random, at some point, is good, because I just write what I need to say and never care about a particular theme. No pressure, just draining my brain away. It was also October when I had followers (God bless them) and people who comment on my posts, making me aware that I am being read and pushing me to write better each time.


Here comes November. I heard about NaBloPoMo, and it made me quite sorry for myself that I cannot join here. I want to be part of it but then, I decided to make my own NaBloPoMo. I decided to change some rules and prove something to myself and that is I can make thirty posts in thirty days. So I started posting. The other posts are concerned about fears because that is what November is famous for. Then I let out a bit of information about myself, that there was this man whom I dedicated some of my posts because of the heartbreak he’d given me years ago. Because of that feeling, I was able to write several posts. I wrote about school, which dominated my November. It was this time that I went back to school after my semestral break. I blogged about my classmates, friends, professors, subjects and my inspiration. I blogged about what happened during schooldays and the happiness which is equipped with it. I blogged about other people, like my grandmother and his mother. Comments continued to pour in, making me more determined than I was. I wasn’t giving up to the challenge until such time that I felt all the pressure coming from my subjects in school, responsibilities as a friend to my friends, the computer breaking-down and the duty I’d given myself for this blog. After making twenty-one posts, I became contented and wasn’t looking forward to making thirty posts. It was enough, during that time. I thought that if I have something to say then I will go writing it but if I have none, then I won't be forcing myself to do one. I realized that I beat myself last October and I made a dramatic change in the rate of my posting, like if you will make a line graph, you will see a line approaching the gates of heaven.


‘twas November. The month that made me write even more, the month that I had the things and feelings worth writing about.

I Want To Write a Poem

I want to write a poem (and don’t tell me that I can always write one in any given time or place. It just so happen that I have my own rules or justifications whenever I write one). The last poem I remember writing is entitled Innamorarsi, an Italian word meaning falling in love. It was January 2008 and right, it’s about love. It’s the usual love poem of a high school girl who had loved and lost and cried and so she wrote. It was the usual heart-breaking, tear-jerking, huhu-making poem. Err!

Actually, Innamorarsi isn’t about me. I mean, yes, I was the writer of that poem but then again, it was sadder than I was. I put into it too many exaggerations. It wasn’t exactly the emotions I felt. It was already an altered product, a manipulated write-up. I am not regretful at this moment because although it doesn’t contain my exact feelings, it was praised and admired. So I was contented (and not to mention that the person whom I dedicated that poem was guilty and miserable after hearing my poem. Ha-ha!)
.


For me to be able to come up with a poem, I need several things. First, I need an inspiration. It may not be a person. It may be a situation, a present living situation worth writing about. It may be a frustration or a depression and seldom do I write about happy moments. I don’t know why. For me, I write poems whenever I am sad and I write essays or journals whenever I am not. Second, I need a lot of improvement in my vocabulary. I feel like I am totally abusing the words which I have been using all over again for years. I think I need some synonyms. Whenever I learn new words with great spelling and meaning (and not to mention those words which are quite hard to pronounce), I am always excited to use them. They instantly come out of my mouth during casual conversations. As for now, I don’t have one. Third, I need an urge. I am always lazy. Really. In my life, I have an infinite list of things to do but I don’t focus at them because I am lazy. There is always an easy choice between action and in action. As they say, it’s better to be lazy than to be tired. I need something like a threat from an English teacher that if I don’t write a poem, I won’t be making good grades and won't be graduating and won’t be making a good job and won’t be making a nice and happy family and therefore won’t have my dreams come true just because I did not write a poem. I need something like that and in my present case, I repeat, I don’t have one (except perhaps, my alter ego who has all the energy to do everything that my imagination provides me). Fourth, I need a scary deadline. You know, something to make me working and writing, something that can eliminate my desire to always procrastinate, something that can make me start today and not later or tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, something which will make my hair rise whenever I think about it. I have a list of things to write about, but the problem is that I don’t have a deadline. I don’t have a strict boss who will insult my personhood if I did not make it on time. Fifth and last, I need to be really hurt. I don’t know. It is in those moments that I can always write a poem, a good one, perhaps. To be able to make a poem, I have to have my heart broken first for some time and it is actually good that words instantly guides my hand whenever my soul is really down. Effortless, just comes out naturally, like water falling from the dark clouds.


I want to write a poem because I miss doing one. I miss the sweet (and bitter) sound of poems they make whenever delivered verbatim and with enough intense feeling. I want to write a poem, just something to check if ever I did improve or my skills are already rusted. I want to write a poem, for a change, and for some sort of satisfaction.

I'm Finally Dealing With It

I am fed up at the moment. I am exhausted. Seriously. I don’t know why I am still typing and making a blog post when all the while, I don’t have the energy and the idea to make this one fun. I am too exhausted to type, I guess. I must be in my bed, dreaming about good things.


For this day, I tried my best to be the responsible student I am always supposed to be. I tried. I reviewed my Math subject. For this semester, it was Calculus. For heaven’s sake, it was Calculus, any system of computation or analysis by a specialized algebraic notation. It may sound like okay. It may sound safe but the truth is that it’s fatal. It can kill. It's worse than poison, even worse that what you've watched in the movie Saw. It can make you lose your sanity. Really.


It isn’t my hobby and like to spend my whole day frustrating myself with numbers and limits. I never wanted that to happen, until yesterday that I realized that my future, at some point, relies on Math. Whether I like it or not, I have to be serious about the subject. I have to put my heart on it, if in case, it isn't there. I have to deal with it everyday of my life (no, not exactly everyday of my life but just everyday of my university life). So I am there. I’ve already reached that point. Although the thought of limits and asymptotes makes my nose bleed and head ache, I chose to deal with Math today, to spend most of my hours analyzing and facing everything that I escaped during the past weeks.


I opened my notebook and though the vision of black ink on green graphing notebook made me sigh, I filled my mind with thoughts about my desperate need to pass the subject. (Hey, I am taking my first examination on Wednesday and I believe that if I fail this one, I’ll lose some of my confidence again. It will take me some time and full efforts to gain back what I’ve lost.) Despite the fact that I wrote very legibly in my Math notebook, symbols, equations and notations seemed like ancient alphabet for me that I just don’t understand. Math isn’t my alphabet. Math isn’t my language. I grumbled. If Math is the only food available on Earth, I'd rather die starving. I texted my friends and said everything I need to say, just to let them know the reason if I happened to be totally insane if they see me. I thought about my parents, the main reason why I am pursuing my Math career although I almost lose myself here. I opened my laptop immediately, realizing that grumbling won’t take me anywhere. It will just make me upset more. I searched the Internet. I searched for tutorials, for problems, for solutions, for anything that can at least help me with my frustrations. I found some. I spent my day searching for Calculus problems, clicking the link, copying the problem on a clean sheet of paper, solving for it by myself, wiping beads of perspiration in my forehead and smiling little by little as I realize that my answer is the same as the answer in the website. (God bless those people who powered those very helpful sites).


…and now, I am here, feeling the pain and pressure in my nape down to my back. I am still unstable about passing the exam and passing the subject. It has always been one of my fears (and take note, it's always on the top three) but I am more comfortable now. Somehow, I can say that I did almost everything. Somehow, I can say that I put in more than enough effort in torturing myself with Calculus problems and concepts and so if ever I fail the exam, it’s called limitation. It’s called incapability. I failed it with effort and willingness. If it will happen (knock on wood), it’s because it isn’t for me… and that’s a valid argument I am putting.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Just Another Sleepless Night

There was a very silent night that the stillness made me deaf. I wanted to scream and ask for help. I wanted to ask for a company but I know that there will be no one to rescue me. I wanted to shout “I am here” to the wall so that somehow, an echo will remind me that I am not and never alone. It felt like drowning, like I was undergoing on a scary nightmare although I really was awake. It was the sound of my heart beat and breeze that gave me the goose bumps. It wasn’t insomnia. It was more of a frustration, a crazy could-have-been.


What is the sound of a sleepless night?

It’s the sound of a silent cellular phone I’ve been waiting all night to beep and ring, the sound of every tick of the clock, reminding me that I have to sleep for my tomorrow although I cannot. It’s the sound of the first unwanted teardrop touching my skin and I’ll notice that after that first one, a second, a third and a fourth runs continuously, like a fountain, like blood. It’s the soundtrack of all the happy memories I am always waiting to repeat. It’s the sound of my breaking heart beat that no one except me can hear. It’s the sound of his whispers that exist only in my playful imagination. It’s the sound of the unmoving door which will never knock by itself.


It’s the sound of the shuffling of his feet to his slippers and to the floor and the trembling of my soul as it hears verbatim “goodbye”. It’s the sound of my breathing, which seems like digging deeper each time. It’s the sound of a sweet sob good night, while dearly and insanely wishing that pillows can hug and rub my back. It’s the sound of my grumbling throat when I choose to swallow my saltiest tear so that he’ll never see. It’s the sound of coins which fell and never reach the wishing well. It’s the sound of a ring which slipped from your finger down to a bridge and down to a waterfall which runs endlessly up to the ends of the Earth. It’s the sound of his assurance that nothing will happen to me although the night is deep and creepy which subsists only on my thoughts.


It’s the sound of a painful rejection you’ve heard from someone special. It’s the sound of a ceramic plate breaking into the kitchen tiles. It’s the sound of clashing champagne bottles only to find out that the bride ran away. It’s the sound of a violin with broken strings. It’s the sound of a deaf dying to tell you something. It’s the sound of an irregular breathing. It’s the sound of a laughing clown and a crying baby. It’s the sound of pounding regrets dominating my brain. It’s the sound of lizards tsktsk-ing for me.


It’s the sound of a restless bird which cries and hides. It’s the sound of eternally pouring rain chasing the poor bird away. It’s the sound of a bat which rejoices in the moonlight. It’s the sound of howling dogs and wolfs while you feel every inch of the warm blanket comforting your weeping. It’s the sound of your voice calling out for someone you know isn’t beside you. It’s the sound of his responses which you know isn’t true.


The sound of a sleepless night isn’t always destructive like a bomb. Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes are somehow like falling leaves of a tree. Sometimes it happened to be that the most silent things are the most deafening. Sometimes it happened to be that the sound of a sleepless night is the crow waking everybody else, while I realize that the sun is already up and I am not yet done emoting. It’s only me who can hear everything.

Friday, November 28, 2008

When It Rains

I am sorry. I missed a When It Rains post last week and I cannot afford to miss another one for this week, so here is the fifth (although I still have my doubts whether I will entitle this as When It Rains or When It Shines, but yes, I am not yet that responsible to make two regular posts weekly so I’ll be focusing first on the When It Rains. Maybe after the fifteenth post of this theme, I’ll be thinking of another regular post so as not to bore my readers that much, but as for now, my mind is still clogged with drizzle moments. May I find the will to follow what I said).

I noticed that in the university, there are no more rainy afternoons (and don’t ask me. I don’t know why. I don’t have such information about weather and temperature and atmospheric conditions). All that’s left are drizzle mornings and very shiny afternoons, making the sun’s heat more oppressive than how it already is. I liked it more last semester when the weather always goes according to how I want it to be, like every afternoon, the rain starts to pour just when the sun is about to drain all of my unleashed energy and every crack of dawn, the sun gives enough energy to people and plants to make them keep going. This semester seems to be really different.

Last Friday, November 21, 2008, I woke up at 5:40 in the morning. I was supposed to wake up at 5:00 so ‘twas so bad for me. While taking a bath and arranging myself, I started to accept that I’ll be attending my Math classes about fifteen to thirty minutes late. I started convincing myself that ‘twas okay and it won’t have that very serious effect. I became more upset because I rushed and did not care anymore whether I do look good or bad and did not care anymore if I am hearing my stomach grumble. I have no time to deal with those because trying not to be late is my greatest concern at that moment. I went out of the dormitory and felt little tears from heaven. I usually walk for three minutes to the road proper where I’ll be riding a jeepney to the university but for that instance, it took me forever. I rode the jeepney, thinking of the perfect alibi I’ll say to at least lessen the rage of my professor if ever he cares and minds. I decided to just blame the rain but after I tilted my head and looked up high above the sky, making me notice the perfectly blue heaven, I changed my mind. How can something so great be the cause of my procrastination when all the while, it was my entire fault? I felt so positive again despite of the very negative situation. I don’t know why but after I saw the sky being scraped by tidbits of pure and pearl-like water while the sun is about to pave its way between those contending buildings, I considered that it was one of the best sunrise I’ve ever seen. I felt that I was too numb to not notice sunrise every morning because I was too concerned about my professor’s impression on me. I sensed that I’ve missed enough because I was concerned about other things. I wasn’t late. I don’t know why but there was no traffic for that day, causing me to arrive in the university the earliest among my classmates. I still cannot believe it. It was one of the moments when it rains while it shines and I just thought that it tells me that whatever happens or no matter how bad the start of the day is, I will still be able to end up the day alright. I just have to worry about nothing. I just have to appreciate what’s obvious. No matter how strong, destructive and forceful the storm seems, there will come a point when it’ll stop and the sun will finally shine.

Farewell to Her

Today, I received a very shocking and bad news. One of my closest friend’s (actually a suitor from the past) mother passed away last night. I was really surprised, partly because it has been years since I heard the last news that says a member of the family died even if they’re still young and partly because there were couple of times when my friend introduced me to her mom and she was really nice to me. I felt that I was so welcomed to their family. She had all the energy and enthusiasm and I felt that life is just beginning for her. I never imagined that I will be seeing her inside a coffin.

I was supposed to go to the dentist to have my braces arranged. I did. It has been a routine for months now and who knows that while opening my mouth and imagining what the dentist is doing with my teeth, she’ll be giving me the news that caused me to be out of my mind until I finally got home and splash my face in the cold water of reality. I texted my friend immediately to give him my condolences and at least let him know that I was affected by the news even though we haven’t seen and talk to each other for quite some time. I really was so affected. I wanted to let him know about my real feelings- that I truly feel sorry for what happened and being his friend, I felt that I was not able to do what I should be doing during that time that he needed me the most (I mean the time when his mother is critical and surely, prayers and words of encouragement are so much appreciated). I regret that I heard the news quite late. I want him to know that I am feeling his hurting, especially today that he isn’t replying to any message I am sending. If I were in his position, I’ll be doing the same. I will also not answer back because I want to be alone and think of the good times I’ve spent with my mother. It maybe weird and irrational but people are just like that. They yearn for their privacy during the time that they need other’s help. I clearly understand why he cannot send a message to me. What will he say? Thank you for your care? I am okay? I appreciate your condolences? If I were him, I’ll turn my mobile phone off and just open it during the time that I am already ready to answer questions about my mom’s tragic death. He is not ready and to discern that people already know what happened without me telling them is something to think about. Surely, everyone’s effort to at least feel sympathy is very much appreciated but then I know I that I don’t feel exactly what he is feeling.can never imagine how impaired he is at the moment.

I’ll be going to the wake and the burial maybe on Saturday or Sunday or both, hoping that somehow I’ll help him handle some of his loneliness. I don’t know exactly the words to say and the things to do as his friend. The truth is that the last time a member of my family died is eleven years ago and it was my grandfather whom I was not that close. I was six years old then and I just cried because everyone was crying also. I don’t have any idea and experience about the feeling of losing someone as special as a mother. The thought already scares me. I am quite positive that at some point, my presence will be appreciated. It’s always like that. Whenever something heartbreaking happened, people may not be able to show their positive reception because what dominates them is the melancholy caused by the death (and you don’t want them to pretend that they are actually okay although they aren’t) but I’ll still be going there just to let him know that whatever happens, I’ll still be his friend who is caring quietly, that he doesn’t need to carry the burden all by himself because I am one of his friends whom he can tell everything he needs to let out.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Traffic Thoughts

I guess nothing is much more frustrating than an extreme traffic at the start of the day. Every morning, I suffer. Every morning, I leave the dormitory at about six o’ clock in the morning for my seven o’ clock Math classes. Without traffic, the travel usually takes me about fifteen minutes but because there is, even the one hour span of time is lacking. I still come to class late (about ten minutes past seven). It’s not late if you will use the university rule which allows fifteen minutes of grace period but since the subject is Math, I cannot afford to not hear the start of the lesson. I can’t miss a thing because it will cause me more frustrations and not to mention the fears I still have inside me about failing the subject and delaying my graduation.

I know the value of time. In fact, I seldom come to class or gatherings or meetings late. When it happens, I am still the first person to arrive so no one actually treats me as someone who’s not on time. Call me excited but it just so happen that I don’t want to be waited by people who have other activities aside from meeting me in their appointments. I wish that other people have that kind of mentality, too, but yeah, we’re different people with different mentalities.

I saw morning traffic as a valid excuse in my tardiness but I chose not to choose it. Whenever I am late in my Math class, I am always regretful because I know that if I’ll just leave the dormitory at five thirty, then I don’t have any problem. The conflict arises in the dormitory. A person is scheduled to wake up and take a bath at five in the morning. Another is scheduled to five fifteen and I am bound to the five thirty. I have no choice, especially that they are already professionals and much older than I am. After I take bath (which is about five forty-five in the morning), I have to dress up and arrange myself and be the girl he truly deserves. I skip breakfasts. It happened to be that we are allowed to eat during our classes. If not, then I’ll still eat without them knowing. I have my own rules (laughs). After the suffocating heat in the traffic and its inch-by-inch motion, I’ll reach the university at about five minutes before seven. It’s not that easy, especially that while I was on the jeepney, other people will go tsktsk-ing and it causes me to be upset, too. It’s contagious. Others will bother themselves listening to music and some act like they don’t care at all. Some people smile whenever they see me and that makes me want to walk. Just walk and forget about waiting in that cursed vehicle. During morning traffic, I never appreciate street lights. For me, it’s just something that blinks endlessly, like a ticking bomb which will explode anytime from now. It’s weird that I don’t see their splendor during sunup traffic jams. Come to think of this: yes, I arrive at the university not yet late but hey, reaching Math Building with my feet and speed usually takes me ten to fifteen minutes. I’ll still be late no matter how I struggle. I’ll still be late even though I tried everything not to be. I never wanted to explain to people why I came tardy. It’s not that they don’t understand but because I do believe that explanations are delivered by people who have points and valid reasons but I don’t have any. I cannot always explicate and use traffic as my alibi. It’s my fault and I acknowledge it.

A cup of annoyance, a spoonful of rush, a kilo of hatred, a pinch of helplessness and a tablespoon of regrets all mixed in a bowl of frustrations and seasoned by irritation and despair: this is what bitter traffic’s ingredients are.

Someday

Isn’t it funny to find out that one of the reasons why I blog is that I want others to know me only to discover that I know myself the least? Isn’t it funnier that it’s happening to me?

When I was in pre-school, I practice writing my name in that blue-red-blue paper, not yet searching who I really am. What I know is my parent’s name, where I came from and my age. Those were enough at that time. When I was in elementary, I claimed that I love English. It was also that time when I started making plans for me, like what I want to be when I grow up. What I know about myself that time is my birthday, my address, my hobbies, my ambitions and my crush. When I was in high school, I claimed my love for Mathematics. What I know that time is the magical feeling of falling into someone and the painful emotion of moving on. That time, I realized how to be upset, be busy, be tired, be jealous and be hopeless. That time, I opened my eyes not just to ambitions but to dreams, too.

Now that I am in college, I am expecting that I’ll fully understand my ego but I didn’t get what I expected. Right now, I am claiming my love for English and writing, and I care not if my course is BS Mathematics. I still memorize my name but I guess, I forgot who I am, making other people know me more than how I truly understand myself. I claim my happy emotions. I am never scared to tell other people that I am happy and glad, which most of the times, I am. It’s the only feeling that I acknowledge and the rest is unknown to me. There are happenings which made me jealous but quite scared to admit even to myself so I usually result in making myself occupied, appear unaffected and convincing everyone that I am “okay”. It’s actually easy but the hardest part lies on convincing myself that I am really “okay”. I believe that what makes me jealous is the fear of losing someone I don’t own yet. I have to be really careful on what to feel because not all emotions are entitled to me. I have my limitations. I know, and to be jealous is one of those. To express everything I feel exactly is one great challenge for someone like me who never wanted others to know that I have my insecurities and covetousness. I don’t believe in myself that much. I always draw the line, like this is just where I should stay and this is just what I should feel. Maybe less but never more. I want to be contented, never worry about what and who I have right now and put all of my trust to fate but how can I possibly do that when fate had already disappointed me before? That goddess must be refrained from doing something that shall make me fear more.


Maybe someday, I’ll finally have the guts to tell others how I feel accurately and make them do certain adjustments so that I’ll fear and be jealous less than how I unintentionally do today. I must seek their help so that it’ll hurt me less. By that time, I must have the guts to admit to myself that I am still not the person I want me to be, that I still have to improve a lot and that I still need to manage all of my way of thinking and way of feeling. Maybe that time, I’ll memorize my emotions and know how to deal with them. Maybe that time, I won’t pretend to be busy at all and face that somehow, I’m jealous about her and I am scared that he might be happier when he is with her than when he is with me. Maybe someday, I’ll be able to get rid of the monster in me who reminds me about uncertainties and painful possibilities. Maybe someday, I’ll never have this feeling anymore because I am so much assured and guaranteed that it is and it will only be me. I hope that that someday is soon.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Igniting the Passion

I have been dancing for six years now. I do it sometimes for money, sometimes for leisure and sometimes for the fulfillment of my responsibilities. Now that I am in college, one of my Physical Education subjects is Modern Dancing. I must admit that when I engaged into the subject, I was unarmored. I really had no idea on what to dance (Although I was dancing for the past six years, I wasn’t that particular to what those dances are called so I expected that Modern Dance is something much more intense that street dance).

So ‘twas actually the rebellion of a ballet. Our second dance lesson was a film-viewing of how the dance really looks like. I saw it as much more intense kind of ballet. ‘twas a ballet plus rolling, jumping and shaking, discipline and with art. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t looking forward to our dance lessons ever since I saw that Modern Dance is completely different from Street Dance not until our fourth dance lesson, which happened to be yesterday.

After the warm-ups and the passionate conditioning our body for movements, our instructor told us to lie down the floor with feet together and arms stretched on both sides. I felt my whole body. I felt my pulse. I felt my life. Then the instructed us to raise our chests upwards, feeling the stretch (and the pain) in our backs. I felt the stretch. I felt my limitations. I felt like I was surrendering myself to the One who knows me the most. I wanted to cry, not because I felt back aches but because I was slapped to the reality that though I believe in myself, I still have those insecurities and instabilities. Though I do everything to be the person I want myself to be, still I have my limitations. It felt so good to be reminded about what’s true. Next, the instructor told us to raise our foot and arms. I do it sometimes, just checking how flexible my joints are but in that instance, I was shaking. I was trembling and I am sure that it was not because of any pain but because of certain realizations I made while performing the dance. We are asked to lie in our stomachs and reach backwards until the point that we are kneeling. I was looking at the ceiling but nevertheless, I was looking beyond the ceiling. I was reflecting about those people I disappointed a lot, those things I was supposed to be doing but I wasn’t able to do, and those things that I’ve done but I wasn’t supposed to do. I was sorry. I was apologizing because I know that Someone is listening and I was amazed to realize that I had those realizations in while I was just dancing for an hour. While performing more exercises, I felt beads of sweat in my forehead, down to my eyes, to the bridge of my nose and cheeks and lips and neck. For the first time, I appreciated perspiration. It felt so good to feel the warmth of my praying body. It felt so good to remember those times when I perspired a lot and cared about how I looked like. That particular instance, I did not care. Maybe I looked like someone insane. Maybe I looked like someone who had been harassed and forced. I did not care. It did not matter anymore, especially when I realized that what’s inside matters more than what people are externally seeing. I know myself than how they know me and He knows me more than I know myself. I was not thirsty and wasn’t hungry. I felt like I am already full of the blessings showering in my life. I felt that it was the greatest thing I've done with my body.

Dancing has been one of my passions in life. It’s one of those things that I’ll do without even complaining and without exhausting, especially now that I find an hour for refuge and realizations, especially now that I was reminded that I still have lots of rooms for improvements, especially now that I was humble down to acknowledge my limitations.

Wednesday Sickness

Today I decided to always use my rights in doing certain decisions and choices. My Philosophy class a while ago asked me to explain that life is not a matter of chance, it’s a matter of choice and while I was busy filling up the my paper to rush to my next class, I saw that point in time to think about the chances and risks that I took and the choices I made maybe for myself and maybe for others. I reflected.


I noticed that for the past months, I am always having this so-called “Wednesday sickness”. It is not a scientific term but more of another crazy word found in my own dictionary, which is meant for justifying my unfair actions. What I mean by sickness is something which is crazy and unwell. Every Tuesday, I am so much happy. I mean, even more than what happiness really meant but every Wednesday, I am having this sadness in me. It happens always. Even before. Like, even though there’s just a tiny speck of occurrence which is not that good, I instantly feel lonely. Maybe it’s bad grade, an exhausting walk, a swelling ankle, a migraine, a spotted enemy, irritating traffic, bad hair day, menstrual flow, jealousy or I-just-feel-like-emoting days. I can always go on with my list of things to be sad about but I better shut up now or I’ll lose all of my readers (God bless them). Every Wednesday, I feel that way and a while ago, I thought that maybe, it’s time to change that scripted routine. After all, I am tired of frowning and releasing all of my energy in finding senseless reasons to justify my sadness. I’m like wasted. I seem like desperate.

Life, in my own perspective, is made up of ten percent of what happens to us and ninety percent of how we react to it. What happens to us, may be bad or good, are all vital in our lives. Those are the things that teach us how to react. Basically, those are the things which teach us to be strong, to get mad, to be happy, to get frustrated and to fall deeply in love. This is where the choices sink in. We choose our destiny. We make our future. It’s still up to us whether we can still smile despite of all the things that pour and whether we give up and be affected easily by everything. It’s really up to us and not depending on others.

I do believe that sadness is just a state of mind. It’s never a condition. It’s actually a choice. Just like my Wednesday sickness. I can always break that routine. I can always find every reason to be blissful (which, as a matter of fact, I already found) but sometimes, I grow unreasonable, irrational and nonsensical. I, at some point, became pathetic. I don’t have any room for regrets now. I mean, what’s done is done… but I really think that I did learn a very important lesson, which happens to be to celebrate everyday and erase all spots of any insecurity towards others. I should be loving what I have and I should be thanking God for everything He gives me. Period. Just thanking and not expecting. I should be making my decisions like I won’t be sad no matter what happens and I should be standing for it. After all, I cannot let my emotions ruin me. As far as I am concerned, sadness is just a state of mind when we tend not to see those reasons to be happy (when all the while, they’re obvious). And if it really is just a state of mind, I should be taking control over it.

Today I am cured of my illness. I just needed some reminders that I am blessed and lucky. After that, I was okay. I was standing with my weight shared by my feet again. Starting today, I’m pulling out the fun in my Wednesday life. Starting today, I’ll be practicing my right to make choices. It’s free. It’s necessary.

November 19, 2008
8:45 PM.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

One Morning, The Bubble Burst

…and I am not certain on what morning that may be. There’s no particular date and no particular time, it’s just that it burst and I got that time to realize just now. Maybe it grew little by little that’s why I did not have the time to notice.

This is post is actually dedicated to someone whom I owe most of my happiness and since his birthday is pretty much coming, I want him to contain an account in my blog spot because after all the goodness he’d done in my life, he has become a very special part of me and he is more than deserving for this petty post.

To be perfectly honest, I am still on my highest spirits at this instant and I’ll be lying if I’ll say that this isn’t because of him and he has nothing to do with this. I feel like I am on my peak of celebrating life’s delight because of the numerous blessings he allowed me to see and feel. I know that there are still some wrong turns or unexpected reasons to be dispirited but I care not. As for me, having him by my side means that I have all the reasons to be happy. Life’s journey is not that easy, I know. Family problems, friendship dilemmas and certain difficulties in my studies are what stress me the most and yet all those can simply be washed out with a single glimpse and smile from him. I just know that everything will be alright. Whenever he dreams, wonders and reminisces, I just stop to appreciate life and hear all the wonderful melodies I dedicate to him. I cherish the fact that he understands me so well and that I know him just about as well as I could know anyone. I am so much blessed by the thousands of smiles we have shared, by the very contagious laughter that lingers in my heart, and by our sweet concerns that have found a place of comfort in the sanctuary of our caring. I truly don’t know what I’d do… without the goodness he gives my life. He is my definition of a special person. To me, he is someone very necessary to my well-being. In so many ways, he fills my life with happiness and the sweet feelings of being so grateful and appreciative that he is here and he came. I can never inscribe this magical feeling. It’s just that no words can ever tell my exact feelings for him but then again, I am writing this for the world to see and know that I am the luckiest person on Earth because of his loving presence. He matters to me more than you can ever imagine and much more than I will ever be able to explain. I am often lost with words when I search those exact statements which perfectly describe my feeling and I was just wondering, who told him that my world needed someone exactly like him? I don’t know how that turns out but I am always surprise whenever he says the words I want to hear and he does the things that can surely make my heart melt. Within the words of this post, I want to say that he is incredibly special to me. He let me believed in myself and in all that I was made to be, especially when no one else does. He’d given me wings and with it, I feel that I can just do anything. I feel like he is always there to help me especially when everyone else fails and he is a willing traveling companion, ready to join me in all my journeys, too.

It’s not everyday that I wake up with love in my heart and appreciate everything- from those very simple ones up to those which are more complicated. I just thought that after writing so much about how my day was and praising that ‘twas wonderful and I enjoyed it very well, I am bound to write about the person who made my day interesting and that will be absolutely no one but him.

My Closet

A while ago, I checked my laptop and decided to erase some of my files there. Poor memory of the computer! I acknowledge the fact that I should be freeing its storage somehow of those senseless files or pictures that I don’t need anymore or else I’ll be losing them all at the same time (and I never wanted that to happen).

I am not supposed to be making a blog post about it. I already outlined my topics to write and today I am supposed to write about those things my mom warned me about but then I felt like I have to make that happening a while ago a short account so that even if I completely erase the files, I can still feel it in this blog. I shouldn’t be feeling this way- I’m feeling all the emotions I’ve felt in the past while browsing. I started with My Documents and I was surprised to see several Yahoo Messenger conversations there saved in a notepad. (Letting out a little secret: I usually save conversations and from time to time, reminisce and read it again) I couldn’t decide on which conversation will I erase and so I settled on reading each conversation. I know it’s quite long (because some of those conversations really lasted for long hours) but nevertheless, I enjoyed reading it. It was like bringing all the feelings I’ve felt… may it be extreme bliss, annoyance, depressions, love or heart ache. It’s like feeling those emotions the first time I’ve felt like that. I realized that memories are better off put into a closet so that it won’t hinder you from moving on with your present and past but it shouldn’t be forgotten too because at some point, it molded you into the person you are now and without those emotions, you won’t have that same principles that you are living today. So I left it that way. I did not erase it instead just make a new folder which contains all those conversations done with different people. After all, during the time that I hit on the save as button after a warm (or maybe cold) conversation, I have that special reason why I saved it.

Then I went into My Computer, (E:) Local Disk then to the folder which says Ajhay Perez (which is one of my nicknames). Inside it were three further subdivisions namely, peyups (which contains my projects and home works and papers during the first semester), HS (which obviously contains those school works I made when I was still on high school) and lastly the folder which name is ‘This is Just for me’. I find it funny that I yearn so much for my privacy when all the while, it was not password-protected and if I am a person who happened to drop by Ajhay Perez’ folder, I will check in first the ‘This is Just for me’ folder because that sounds very interesting compared to the other two folders. It mainly contains MS Word documents and notepad diaries, which I typed when I was feeling so depressed and I do not have any blog spot back then. While I was reading those, I can’t stop myself from smiling, knowing that when I was typing those, I felt like ‘twas the largest problem anyone could ever have and it could not get any worse until I finally encounter another problem. That time, I felt like I can no longer smile again and so that makes me a bit confident. I’ve been through hard times before but I managed to still land on my feet, dancing and stable.

I did not erase anything. I felt like I was cleaning our house and I cannot just throw the vases my mom loved so much because it has that particular sentimental value for her that it reminds her of what she’d been through. It’s both silly and satisfying to know my random thoughts when I was like five years younger and compare it to my random thoughts of today. I’d like to keep it that’s why I did not clean up my laptop’s memory. Maybe five years from now, I’ll be glad to read those files once more and experience the feeling I’ve felt all over again.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

My Last Step

Normally (I mean, schooldays), while I sleep so soundly, hugging my pillow tight, my alarm clock will go hysterical at five fifteen in the morning. Let the stress begin! It’s a sort of an irritating clock that will never stop until you forgot what you dreamt about so I’ll stop it, thank God that He provided me another day to enjoy and celebrate, get up and make my bed. Actually, I’ve been rambling the thought that I shouldn’t make my bed anymore because it was just me in that room and no one can actually see my mess but then, it has become a reflex for me that as soon as I step my foot on the cold linoleum-ed floor, I should be folding my blanket and arranging my pillows, hiding the fact that I dance when I am asleep. I’ll get up, stretch a little and then heat some water for my noodles and milk, take some vitamins that can help me (as far as I do believe). After that, I’ll go downstairs to take a bath and the cold water splash of reality is like slapping me to wake up and be ready for the busy day. It never failed to remind me that the day wasn’t a weekend. It’s a school day. It’s a busy day. It’s a day which requires devotion of oneself to the things (or crap) the professors will teach you, no time for day dreaming and no time for breathing a lungful of air of relief.

Schooldays (somehow) thwart me from updating my blog often. It always gives me tasks to accomplish (like reviewing for tomorrow’s graded recitation, finish reading a book-like readings that shall be asked tomorrow and finishing the paper which deadline is tomorrow morning), which sucks all my energy and granting me with just as much as necessary time to simply sleep and munch over my dinner. Yes, stressful, in a way, but to realize that this is my final step in achieving my dreams and ambitions, it’s surely worth it all the sacrifices and perseverance. After all, I do believe that if there is no pain, surely, there is no gain. As far I have observed, there is no easy way to be fortunate in our lives except the option to strive for excellence while you are still aiming for that goal… for that bull’s eye… for that particular point in your victory that you’ll believe in yourself the most because you got exactly what you wanted and struggled for. Each time I sleep, I think about tomorrow and the next tomorrow and the further next tomorrows… come what may, it makes me count on how many sleepless nights I have to suffer on finishing a research paper and it makes me feel the hunger I’ll be experiencing in the future- those missed breakfasts and dinners and it makes me feel the back aches I am bound to have due to extreme walking and rushing from a building to another. Come what may, it also makes me have that idea that I’ll finally be called, Ms. Bliss, that one day, I’ll wake up and see my dreams shaping into reality and I’ll forget that I ever sacrificed. It’s nice to think that I’ll be harvesting what I planted.

Schooldays and college life affected me a lot. Truly. A lot. Not just a little but a lot. It truly changed me from being Little Miss Happiness to being Little Miss Responsible-Happiness. There is a little manipulation done to the hierarchies of my priorities, like I don’t study if I feel like studying. I study now even though I am not at ease at even though I feel like sleeping. I understand clearly the reason why I am doing everything I do today (I mean, the efforts and all the hard works) and unlike before that I just do them because that is what they instructed me to do and I hate disappointing people who have their large faith in me. Today isn’t my birthday but I guess, the first week of classes for the second semester already marked its impact in me. I feel like it added another year to my age. I guess, I learned from my mistakes last semester that I don’t want to have that same cramming stage and resulting to regrets.

Just Before I Close My Eyes

Yester night, I found it quite hard to make some sleep. It’s not insomnia or any sleeping disorder. It happens once in a while (maybe once or twice in two weeks) and never did I need a sleeping pill to cure my well-being. ‘twas natural and it’s just another I-find-it-really-hard-to-sleep night. ‘twas an irony, in a way, because I was so tired the whole day that I really needed time to make my body and mind going again, replenish all those lost energy, and yet I still slept late. I wasn’t just drowsy though I know that I needed rest, lots of them. I (at some point) quite hate sleepless nights. Just imagine: a very quite surrounding where you can hear your breathing, a dark room illuminated by the plate-like silver moon and just enough time to reminisce how the day was and how tomorrow will be. At the past, I always hate dealing with the thoughts I have to face before I finally sleep (you know, those several wrong turns I made in the day. That makes me somehow regretful) but after finding reasons to be happy, I deal with sleepless nights with extreme excitement and not with laments.

I was excited last night, knowing that there’s a sure good thing that shall happen tomorrow (as far as I learned, I’ll be seeing him, maybe some talks, maybe some laughs, maybe that’s all. Wink). I was also happy at that moment, knowing that the day was great simply because a glimpse and smile from him reminds me about all the beauty of life. So what more if I ate a sumptuous lunch with him? It’s the simplest thing that can uplift my spirits the most even when I am tired and worn-out and fed up. I was supposed to be sleeping in my bed in our home and not reflecting in the corner of my dormitory. I was supposed to be sleeping soundly, starting my dreams and not counting those sheep one by one just to feel drowsy. After all, meeting him tomorrow at my bad hair and face day is a huge turn-off. I never wanted that to happen because as far as I am concerned, I care about what he thinks about me and his very intelligent perceptions. What he minds, surely matters. One way or another, thoughts about what shall happen the next day seemed to tickle me, giving me the sweet shiver and desire to rush the hour and welcome the day with a smile and love in my heart. It was so cold that I let the blanket rest on my body and the electric fan rest from his exhaustion. Maybe ‘twas because the Christmas season is beginning to sink in and maybe because I yearn for the warmth of his arms, encircled tightly around me. Midnight was fast approaching and I constantly reminded myself that I should get some sleep because tomorrow needs some of my oomph but I guess stubbornness is always incurable. I did not listen to my alter ego and instead, just continued to fill my night with thoughts of him. It was heavenly though I must admit that it was somehow incomplete because having him near beside me is so much better than thinking about him while distance makes its way in between us but nevertheless, I still felt that particular contentment that nobody else can ever replace.

Sleepless nights had never been that great. Maybe ‘twas not the sleepless night at all, maybe ‘twas just the thoughts about him, the thoughts about being smitten and the wonderful and irreplaceable feeling equipped with it. If nighttime is just that good, then I am more than willing to live my life every night and cherish the last thought that dominates my mind just before I finally close my eyes. I know that it’s not every day that I find that very special moment of my life and whisper to God how thankful I am to have his blessings and so whenever that opportunity knocks on my heart, I welcome it and embrace it tight so that it’ll never get off me. (Yawn!)

The Homecoming

Before I went back to my dormitory life, I (sort of) went back to my high school life and this wasn’t any sort of a time machine or turning back. It was more of a homecoming.

Monday afternoon, just before I ride the bus from out home, I went to my high school. I was just supposed to help them organize their present school paper but then again, I found pleasure in meeting high school friends so I spent some hours chatting with them. Others may say and think that after graduating, I was believe to forget everything which reminds me of high school life and go on with my present existence (I mean, college). After all, I already graduated and I got no commitment to their problems right now… but I digress. I am still a Montessorian by heart.

After graduating from high school, I felt that responsibility in my veins that somehow, I should be caring about the people who cared for me while I was still studying there. I owe them a lot. I owe them the fortune I have at the moment and I should try to repay them even though I know that I cannot. Most of my philosophies (and not to mention my wisdom) today are product of the combined values and virtues from books and teachers and to know that they are actually having difficulties with the positions I handled before makes me really affected. Their problems are also mine. I still had that attachment with my alma mater that even though I do believe that I did not learn enough to make me shine in college lessons, I learned more than enough to make me wiser in my decisions and be the strongest person to face my destined trials in life. At some point in my life today, I occasionally remember those familiar faces who had been with me when I was less mature than today and I do miss them, especially those hassle-free weeks which we do nothing but to laugh and make fun of the teachers who happened to understand all our needs (and one of those needs is enjoyment). There is still this tie that connects my busy planet and their current needs.

High school still feels like home. I honestly felt like I still belong there. Months ago, I treated it as a place where I go because I want to laugh and feel happy. It’s a place where I find my fun and caring friends whom I treated as my own brothers and sisters. Today, I am considering it as an origin of my principles and dreams and the source of my determination. They made me. Maybe it’s because the conversations I had with my friends still lingers in those pink walls. Maybe because the laughter I had is still recorded on those uncomfortable ceiling fans. Maybe because the home works and quizzes I peeked and copied from my classmates is still on the memory of blackboards (and oh, yes, I admit that I did it but this isn’t applicable in my college life. I am not doing it today). Maybe because the tears I cried because of life is still marked on those patient armchairs. As I set a foot on those stairs, I remembered how I used to be. Like I often come to school before as the earliest bird, maybe two hours before the classes usually starts, feel the morning breeze and see how students deliver their goodbyes to their parents, like I perspired a lot in those tournaments of Badminton and even have my feet injured, like I run fast through those stairs, never missing even a single step, like I usually stays on the Nipa hut whenever I don’t feel like listening to what my teacher will be lecturing and pretend that I don’t feel well and I can’t attend my classes (my apologies to moms who tried everything to protect their beloved children from wrongdoings and yet they learned an excuse whenever they feel lazy to study).

It was just months ago since I started living college life and surprisingly, I felt that I matured so much over those months. I grew… and I am very happy to realize that. Yet somehow, though I believe that I changed for the better, I am still unswerving and serving the institution who have touched my life and lead me to the pedestal where I am now.