The Wanderer

Initially, I intended this post to be about bitching over my current classmates (the cowardly chickens that they are... Can I say "cowardly" and "chicken" at the same time?) for signing the petition to change our Creative Writing subject into World Literature. They were too afraid to take the course. They chose the lesser evil instead. I'm not saying I'm good at writing but this is CREATIVE WRITING for crying out loud! And Sir Tan would be teaching us, someone who actually has the credibility to teach this to us!

Sadly, Sir Tan also doesn't want to teach the subject. He said he doesn't want to have to fail students or to have to give the class a passing grade out of sheer pity.

I don't know if I should be flattered by what he said this morning, though. It was something like this: "Creative Writing is a highly-specialized course. It's for 'crazy people'. You're not those people, except for Philip. You do not have the talent, passion, and competence for writing. Writers are born and not made. It means that you constantly feel uneasy and discontented about something. Like there's a missing part of you that can only be filled up by writing. You don't really care about writing, do you?"

Maybe he was just saying that to keep me from making a scene (I was really disappointed that time. I couldn't even look at my classmates anymore. I was disgusted. And like what usually happens to me everytime I feel an intense emotion, I was on the verge of crying). He even said we'll (him and me) do a one-on-one on the subject to make up for changing it, something that I dread a little since I feel that I'm only "good" in contrast to other people. (X_X)

This subject (along with French) is what I've been really looking forward to this semester. All the other ones are bull. Even if he insults my writing, I wouldn't care. Even if he says, "I think you need to go home and plant kamote", I would swallow it whole and would still enjoy the subject. It's CREATIVE WRITING (how many times do I have to stress this one out?!)!!!!

And so, there I was, surrounded by a bunch of chickens who know nothing else but to take the easy way out. If Fats, Kim, Rei, Ken, Joey, and Faith were here, this wouldn't be the case. I miss being with these people. People who actually have true appreciation for literature and the arts.

Okay, judging by those previous paragraphs, this post did turn out to bitch about them. But since we've finally put that matter to rest, let us go on with other more "gravity-adding" matters... Like being the loner I never am (or was).

I know I said before that I like to stay in school forever (that was the dominant dork in me, "speak for yourself!"..Sorry, ever since my friends let me handle their plurk accounts, I've developed a semi-serious case of multiple personality disorder.. And yes, I sometimes scare myself). Now, I take it back.. Without the company of those people I have fun with (primarya, the dork squad, and the extended friends I have), the school that I usually see as an institution too small suddenly seemed so big and yes, empty.

"Ubi sunt que ante nos fuerent?" (Where are they now, the ones who used to be here?)

I remember that being discussed in our British Litrerature class last sem. I was with people who had more balls (as compared to the ones I'm stuck with as of the moment). But now, I even feel hesitant to share my usually dark and green humor with the ones sitting beside me (I sit alone at the back, by the way... This certainly spells out loner... And I'm not used to being one - the loud person that I am) for fear of them not being able to get it (this is not to insult them coz I like some of them, but from what I gather, we have different ways of looking into things).

With no one to have lunch with and no one to walk with me around the campus, I attempt to find solace in sitting down in a corner whenever I have free time. And with the kind of grief I've been carrying around since last summer (the memory of that fateful May 27 still lingers like an uninvited visitor who now resides with me even if I try to chase it away), this won't be healthy for me. And plus my mouth isn't used to keeping still. And I keep remembering this line from The Wanderer,

"How cruel a comrade sorrow is

To one who has no beloved friends."

...but like what one person said to me at plurk, I'll find new friends to be with in time. And she's right, I probably will. I have to keep believing that "this too shall pass" because "a disheartened mind cannot alter destiny".

His first day of school

The nauseating smell of new clothing worn by students who walk by in a hustle, most of whom half-heartedly do so while searching for familiar faces (and for classrooms), whose eyes carry with them traces of gloominess inspired by the end of their time away from school... The others? They prance about with such glee (okay those "others" may be just him), desperately trying to make out just one familiar face amidst pacts of young strangers.

As he does so, he is reminded of two things: 1. that he may be too old for school since signs of puberty at its earlier stages (earlier than his, more likely) can be seen in the faces, in the posture, and even in the choice of clothes of this crowd; and 2. that he (badly) needs glasses (or contacts...you hear that Papa?).

Wearing his younger brother's cap to hide a bad haircut, he managed to squeeze into the mostly-fresh mob and found his way into his classroom. Late again. Inside, he is not welcomed by the usual faces anymore. He expected to see the faces of those people who've grown used to seeing him come in late but they weren't there in those seats anymore. Nobody even called out his name as he entered the room. Before, his classmates (nay, he calls them friends...well, most of them anyway. There's still 4 or 5 of them who he can't name) used to call his attention and project him snickers that somehow dignify his misdemeanor. Although accustomed to those snickers, he was given only a few smiles with glaring inhibitions. Smiles that tell of their non-closeness to him (okay so maybe he wasn't prancing that much, after all).

Now being the eldest in the class, he has been assumed the role of a "responsible student". A label that fits him like "a triangle to a circle". Class dismissed.

Outside, he saw who he's been aching to see: that panda-lover who's torso has been covered by the sky... *Michel Polnareff's song playing in the background*

His next class was about to begin and so he quit staring at the human sky, copied some stuff from the blackboard, looked at his notes and remembered one more thing about himself: that he has a good penmanship.

100 songs (this took me a while)

Appaprently, I've been tagged by Rian with this List of 100 Songs That Will Save Yor Life meme (okay, did I use the term "meme" in the proper context? I know I've been blogging for years now but I still get confused as to what those words mean exactly).

So here is my list of songs (in no particular order):

The Romantic Egotist (err...Masochist)

"I'm a romantic: I hope for an untragic tragedy. I want the impossible resolution, which life generally shuns."

Ever since that fateful Wednesday (27), every day has become a Sunday. And you all know how much I dislike Sundays.

Yes, these past few days has made up a chain of Sundays that seem to elicit an aura of "tempered mourning" on my part. The hotness that I complain that Sundays usually posess have brought upon me an emotional drought... And thus the garden of happiness (mmm..gay!) that I've tended for over two years have all been reduced into cracked and scorched earth (that's for thinking I have a green thumb)... Earth that once contained me, once held me with love and security (however false the foundations may have been)...

The subdued ambience that I have to live with is constricting. This "quiet reprimand" inspiring me towards madness... It forces me to continually grieve, to regret, to feel pain, to suffer - this is my idea of what penance is.

It's becoming more and more like a familiar mood, a substitute to someone who was once an ever present companion. But familiarity has its plus sides. I'm now learning to get used to not getting used to the person that I once was so used to having around.

And the presence of renewed characters (my best friend, other people who genuinely care) has made me feel hopeful. And I can say with such confidence that heartaches are never easy. I know I'm being dependent to other people for endurance right now but I am yet to learn to stop hiding under my best friend's skirt (especially if she rarely wears panties...just kidding, silly!). But I'm getting there. After all, this is a one-way road. But the thing about one-way roads is that you can always go back to whence you came and even allow yourself to be consumed by what once was when you decide brave backwards (really starting to scare myself now).

Here's to hopefully not looking back...

Not for long.

One of the characters (an aging tramp) from a television show I've been watching this summer to drive boredom away made a comment about her personality that made me think about how the two of us are quite similar (and I don't mean that I'm also an aging tramp). She said and I quote,

"I don't stay unhappy for long."

Now I don't really know if this is a good thing since for some reason, I find it insulting to the circumstance that calls for dismal emotions. But no matter what the reason for grief is, I still manage to find a way to smile or give out a laugh even. I keep forcing my mouth not to curve upwards but it's just not in my nature. I can't help myself from smiling or bursting into laughter whenever the opportunity to do so presents itself. I always spot something funny and worth being happy about even if just for a brief moment. I live for those - momentary happiness, since I believe that melancholy has made itself dominant in this day and age and that bliss exists in small packages so as to give us reprieve from all the overpowering sadness that everyone is doomed to feel. And a person should be receptive to these tiny sources of happiness in order to have something to live for in this troublesome world that man has brought upon himself.

If you've noticed from my previous blog entries, I've been having an emotional crisis. I have been whining about how I got hurt like some other silly character who's life revolves around love alone (yes, believe it or not, I too know a thing or two about love and I sincerely wish this phase that I'm in would end). It really hit me hard. I've been having sleepless nights not only because I'm now used to staying up late (night time used to be our time) but also because I can't stop thinking about the love I've lost.

Lonely and bored, that's what I've been these past couple of weeks and I find myself frequently asking the question, "Now what?". It's hard to live outside your habits. And since I've been used to including that person in all of my decisions, I now find it really hard to think for myself alone. It's even harder to find out that all of a sudden, in one false move, you've become a stranger to the life of someone whom you have known for so long...

I'm still saddened by it and I should be for a very long time. I've told myself that I should give that situation the respect it deserves by mourning over it until "the last syllable of recorded time". But I can't. As much as I want to, I just couldn't. No matter how hard I say to myself and to everyone else that I'm cynical, the truth is, I am a very positive person (and that wide grin you see plastered on my face every single day is proof of that). And it isn't fake. I don't want to come out as someone who supposedly "wears masks" infront of people, hiding what I truly feel on the inside (that act is sooo passe!).

I'm not smiling yet sulking on the inside. I'm feeling both. I'm genuinely happy and I can be so while being sullen. There is no such thing as a single emotion monopolizing everything else (somehow I feel that I've contradicted myself there...but that's me, a mass of contradictions).

You may have noticed how I've tried not to use smileys in my plurk account but that attempt did not last long. The pain is still there but it's gradually eroded by time. I can't live without happiness and thus, I've turned myself into a bigamy of emotions: I am happy even when I'm sad and vice versa.

Like what I said earlier, there exists small packages of happiness that help us breathe in a positive energy that make loneliness bearable. And in my case, these minute packages lie in the company of friends. And that is precisely the reason why I don't stay unhappy for long...

Feeling a lot like Lord Randall

"i am sick at the heart and fain would lie down...."

I was at the exit, trying to see if my mind can work this time but like my countless attempts before, it didn't. It's brightest idea was to try to make a deal with the devil but as it turned out, Satan stood me up. And so I was left realizing that there is no hell. There might not even be any God at all (Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret). So I stood outside gripping my bag's handle tightly in my right hand as if everything depended on how much force I exerted on clutching it. I sent a text message and suddenly heard his voice call out my name with a "Sir" coupled to it. I could hear the panic in his voice (he had a suspicion that something was up) and I decided not to let him hear mine so I just gave away a forced casual nod that carried with it a smile (I could feel the muscles on my upper lip tremble).

With the bag's handle tightly gripped in my right hand, I stood there in silence and so did he. There was noise all around - the noise coming from the motors of the airport taxis passing by and the noise from my mind that was screaming at myself for my unpreparedness, ordering me to say something real quick to ease the tension, and unusually enough, the most talkative person on earth (that's me) couldn't think of anything to say (one of those very rare moments) - but between the two of us, there was only silence. Finally, after a moment of blankness, he decided to break it. And from thereon came the outpouring of explanations and yes subtle tears.

We were walking around at the airport. I tried to stay close to him. How lovely we must look together with him only a few inches taller than me, and peculiarly, enough we have similar outlines! We could've been one of those couples. They're fascinating people. We sat and finally reached a decision.

In the taxi, silence found its way again and we did nothing but cry. After he got out, the driver asked me, "Why was your friend in tears?". I told him, "He lost his lover today." "Then what about you? Why were you in tears?", he asked again (who knew taxi drivers could be so nosy?!). I stared at him through the mirror and said, "I lost mine today, too." I looked away throguh the window to the horizon and turned on my PSP and sought the comfort of Nerina Pallot (and yes, Fats, Bonnie Pink too)...

".........do ya hurt but still feel alive like never before, oh Sophia?"

..and the tears were at it again.

Not gonna end good.

We do it all the time. The things we tell people. They're embedded in our words, in our daily conversations. We tell varying degrees of them for various reasons. Some of them subconsciously get into whatever it is that we say. Some of us have become very good at it that we don't even know we're giving it out anymore.

My own lies are catching up on me. Now I'm tangled up and buried within them. Choked and buried alive. You can't even see the person anymore because I'm all covered up in lies. Like getting smothered with paint to camouflage yourself from the enemy. And that's exactly what I'm doing. Except that I'm not doing it to an enemy. It's for someone I love. My enemy is "truth" itself.

Buried by a number of technicolored lies and yet I don't seem to mind since it's one of the things that keep me breathing. I have to endure all that - getting choked and being buried - just so I can breathe. I reek of deceit and I can't even tell that I do. I'm so used to the odor that I don't even notice how much I stink.

It's a new low even for me. I haven't lied this much to a person before. Not even to my parents or to my friends. Because we usually lie to the people whom we constantly talk to, and those people are assumed to be your parents or your friends, to make ourselves more likeable, to be in it for keeps.

I am it. I'm a walking lie. I'm a living mound of deception. A con-artist that's prophesizing about being caught a few days from now.

A person knows if he has lied too much. Enough to know if that amount of cock-and-bully stories of his is enough for him to get caught and punsihed. And I'm convincing myself that being punsihed for it is enough when in fact I know full well it isn't. How did I allow myself to be this manipulative and heartless?

But I'm not at all heartless. That's what I believe myself to be. I am the the most non-heartless person I know, as a matter of fact. If I were without a heart, how could I have been able to love? How could I have chosen to do this? To create this, to be what I believe is a better version of myself?

______________________________________________________

It's a word that I can't say out loud with a sense of pride. It's something that I've been deprived of, hence, I deprive others of it in return. No, that did not sound right. I should never put the blame into others. I alone are responsible for my actions however influential others have been. Those who allow themselves to be tricked gets to be tricked. It's tolerance. And tolerance, like it or not, is all you. It has nothing to do with how strong or weak other people are. It's how you respond to them. YOU. I. I alone am to blame.

And now, I feel that they have choked me enough, my lies. Like I said, enough to have me caught. You know you're being choked by your lies not by listing down all of them but by believeing them to be the actual truth. By desperately wanting them to be the reality you so loathe vehemently.

But still here I am, lying my way on a one-lane street towards getting caught. After all, all destinations lead to the truth, whether or not you started the journey with such falseness. Everything will end up getting solved and then I'll feel myself exposed. Naked with my own lies that cover up my body. Nudity is such a terrible thing. Being predictable, pellucid, vulnerable. Everything in its nakedness is susceptible to anything, most especially to shame. That is why people wear clothing, to conceal what is unlikeable (or dear) about them: their naked selves. And everyone wants to hold a naked body. You'll never know how people would handle it, your body. Some of people's grips can hurt you. That is why we choose the people we can be naked with. That is why we spend most of our lives being clothed. A lie is completely different. Lies are not garments. They never keep you warm (even if you think they do...feigned warmth, that's what it is).

I'm nearly there. This trip's about to end. And it's not gonna end good. There is never an assurance that something is gonna wrap up in a good way. Something is always bound to go wrong. It can happen while you are about to set sail, while you're half-way of getting there, or while you're already there. There is no end to the possibility of experiencing grief. And to lie impertinently seals the contract for that possibility. And I can only be certain that this just isn't gonna end good and as much as I've been trying to prepare myself for it, I still feel like I'm never gonna be ready for it. So now I hold my breath and here goes nothing...

Hello, I Need You - Michelle Featherstone

Because everyone just wants to be your friend.

Aren't you glad that you can actually build a foundation of your relationships with people without even meeting them in person first (especially when you're not so good on first impressions)? Call it a trial run. See if it works out.

Everyone is just an "add as friend" button away. And it's thrilling to know that people have become more welcoming these days. We sometimes absent-mindedly accept these strangers who force themselves into our lives, not knowing that they may actually be potential suspects to our being beaten up with backlashes. For some people, it's a great opportunity to get close with those whom we desperately want to know. It's a different version of flirting with disaster, if you the person has the most evil of motives.

Yet, sometimes, it's amazing what beautiful friendships you can force into people. And I choose to look at it that way. Let me savor my denial. Add me! XD

Hope springs eternal...

This summer has been all about preparing myself for an impending tragedy. People say it's better to know ahead if something bad is about to happen, but in my case, I'd rather be taken by surprise.

Knowing that something undesirable is in the offing and knowing that you can't do anything to stop it from happening is worse than being blind-sided by it. Just like when you read Tolstoy's "The Death of Ivan Ilyich". You know Ivan's gonna die but there's still that little candle of hope glimmering inside you, wishing he won't. You don't mind relighting that candle when the flame suddenly goes out everytime you get reminded that the character's actually gonna die. But still you keep on reading, determined to find a different ending than what was already foretold; unfazed by what was already predetermined.

Yeah, it's like that. Days suddenly become too short. Hours seem to move in such fast pacing. It's like holding up a handful of sand on your palm and allowing it to be blown away by the eager wind as if you owe it something and you can't say no to it, taking away the sands from you. For some reason, you can't close your palm and save the grains of quartz from being scattered away. Worse, as they get spread out into the air, some of them get inside your eyes, hurting you, making your eyes red with tears.

There was a certain point back when I managed to remain alive after being inflicted with consumption (you know, the sickness that crippled me during the last two-three semesters), when I verily thought that that was it; that nothing worse could ever happen to me. It was such a brief yet liberating moment. For a short while, I thought of myself as invincible (like what I used to say, "that which doesn't kill you makes you want to taunt death even more"). I've convinced myself that I've crossed some sort of finish line and that beyond that line promises no things sordid. Of course, I was wrong. And this summer of helplessly waiting with resigned audacity for that tragedy to happen is proof of that. I've realized that there is no single finish line, only different races that you're bound to participate in every single time.

And yet others say for me to cherish every moment. But from the way I see it, you can't cherish every moment while you still can. I don't think that's ever possible (even if I keep saying "carpe diem" to some people...but then again hypocrites are like that). Because you, I mean I (since I'm not sure if I can say the same for you), always hope against hope that each moment won't be the last so that I can save some for the next (sounds twisted? That's okay. I don't expect you to understand -- and I did not just call you a dim-witt. I meant that in an inoffensive way).

Every single day while I keep counting down what's left of them (the time left), I earnestly guard the flickering flame of my candle. It's all I have left. I can only hope and do nothing but cross my fingers for the best and prepare for the worst (since my google search results for "how to sell your soul to the devil" hasn't actually reaped substantial results); to keep on living this moment that I have with someone as if it weren't gonna be the last, albeit I am fully aware of the misery that's been smiling at me and dying to meet me up ahead.

"Hope is a good breakfast but a bad supper." And since I'm very hungry and it's all I have left to eat, I'm just gonna have to suck it up and chew... It'll all be digested soon anyway. And since it's my name (Philip Hope, people!), I'm chancing that at the very least it has to count for something.

P.S.

I know I've been very vague in this post but don't bother asking what that tragedy would be. You're bound to find out soon anyway.

The Bad Brother

Sorry for the highly domestic content. I think I may have been watching Desperate Housewives way too much these past couple of days (where's that "d'oh!" emoticon when you need it?!).

Teasing your younger brother and sister is probably normal in most households. In fact, it's so normal that people even only brush off what it can do to the ones who were teased and to the ones who did the teasing.

We are four lucky offsprings of a happy family in the suburban world (geez, did you taste the sarcasm right there? I swear it's as bitter as my version of burnt rice -- when the rice cooker is put to rest for a while, of course) with my brother Marc and I being the older ones and my other brother and sister being the younger generation.

As the ones who have experienced the world first, Marc and I like to lord over the 11 and 10 year olds. Yes, we love playing the age card. It somehow puts us to a higher position (seniority rule). This somehow warrants us to boss them around and to let them do our bidding (even if we can always do it ourselves, but the lazy a-holes that we are, we like ordering weaker people -- something which I guess we got from our parents... You know how domineering they can be.. Urgh!). Yes, we're like the evil stepbrothers only that we're the real ones (actual brothers, not the step ones although we may as well be since we do a lot of stepping on them anyway).

But one thing I know that's bad and I can't stop doing is teasing and resenting my younger siblings whenever I see them get excited about something. Like when we were on our way to pick up the monitor for our other PC (which means they finally have a PC of their own and they can finally play games there without having to beg us to use the PC intended for us older children which we selfishly keep to ourselves), I can tell that they were thrilled about it. And like a reflex reaction, my brother Marc and I killed that excitement by teasing them about being excited, about being a newbie. Then I somehow got annoyed by their jumping around and by their asking a lot of questions and yelled at them. They get scared when I yell and so they sheepishly stood there still, wearing now-somber faces. And Marc and I did more mockery of their fervor. And my poor younger brother and sister desperately tried to reduce what's left of their excitement into slightly noticeable quivers of glee. They really tired hard to cover up their joyous anticipation. They wouldn't want their Kuya Philip and Kuya Macky to tease them, or worse, get angry and snap at them again.

For some reason, Marc and I discourage the feeling of exhiliration. For my part, maybe it's because I don't like to think that I wore the same stupid expression of enthusiasm whenever I get all excited about something new. Also, maybe it's because I know that that pleasing feeling will not last long. Pretty soon we'll go weary of being excited with something and then we break it. Or maybe because I'm jealous of them? I'm not really sure which one it is.

So now, little traces of excitement are seen in the faces of my younger siblings. And I feel sorry for them for denying them of the pleasure that comes with expecting something nice to happen. Oh, why must I take part in killing their joy?

A non-absolutist/hypocrite's shout out for his younger anti-social brother

Why is it that some people are so apathetic? (I say "some" because I'm not an absolutist... I like to keep it on the safe side of things... In other words, I'm a chicken... Yes, there... Happy?) And by "some people", I mean my younger brother Marc (and to put people's speculations to rest, for the nth time, HE IS NOT GAY!).

His apathy is probably an offshoot of his being anti-social. And like most anti-socials (still being safe), he's emo but unlike the majority of these species (again, not absolutist), he doesn't dress like one (in his defense, just because you like the music doesn't mean you should live up to the stereotypes you see on cable television -- yes you, MTV). I know that being "vampire-ish" and the whole enchilada is in as of the moment, what with the monolithic fanbase "My Chemical Romance" and other suicidal-appearing whiny boys in a band (it's weird how "boybands" and "boys in a band" differ semantically) have garnered over the past few years and add to that the growing followers of the Twilight books (for the record, I am not one of them), but I say it's overrated (although I like to listen to a few catchy angry-boy/girl punk music every now and then....a non-absolutist AND a hypocrite).

Although we look alike (as much as I would like to assert the contrary), the similarities end where the personalities lie. He's the exact opposite of me (and just because I said that he's not gay doesn't mean you can go around saying that I am, although I'm not denying anything nor approving as well). He's quiet while I'm everywhere (and I mean everywhere). He's more on composure while I'm all about materializing emotions into obvious gestures.

He has developed this ability to create this invisible wall around himself blocking entrance from anyone around him... and for a person who likes to be in sync with most people, I find that wall quite an obstruction. So I've made efforts in making him reveal himself more (not to sound like a functional big brother with a halo on his mushroom of a head) -- this happens when I'm not too engrossed with myself and other people. I want him to come out (not the gay way), to integrate himself with the rest of us. But all my efforts usually end up being rebuffed.

And my efforts include those that I said before (see What used to be my "dollies"):

...I used to play with them (not the roaches, but the decors, of course) and pretend that they're the equivalent of dollies (since I'm not supposed to be caught playing with one coz my dad had this habit of strictly and forcefully injecting objects of castration to us kids... and we all know that this effort of his didn't work out despite his tyrannical method of raising us -- I guess there are just some things that you can't force into a child). I'd even invite my younger brother to play and (you'll find this quite a relief) he always turned me down. And I'm thankful for that. Otherwise, he'd be gay (my dad would've cursed his wretched genes. But that doesn't matter. I already did the cursing long before. Who wouldn't when you have genes that make you inherit his large ugly feet, wide gigantic hands, abnormally gray hair, and on top of that, oily and pimple-prone face!). He has always been repulsed by my habit of sentimentalizing things, my habit of putting emotion into everything that I do (he's kinda like my dad, but in a kinder, more tolerant way)...

This apathy that he has towards people (although this one's slowly diminishing ever since he tried to court his classmate) and as well as to the things around him that are obviously screaming for his action (like just leaving his used plate on the kitchen sink with those used by other excused apathetic family members -- "excused" because they're too young and they're permitted to be carefree for now since they'll have their share of responsbilities once they learn more about what their private parts can do in the future -- and not even thinking of washing them so that they wouldn't seem like an eyesore for some people) irritates me.

He just sits there, watching TV or if not he lies around on his bed with his earphones on... Locking himself away from the sound and activities of the actual life outside his room and even those around him...

So why can't you just wash the plates for crying out loud?!~

This Sem, The Recognition Day, and Two Overkills

I can't say that this has been the greatest semester in my academic life. In fact, this is probabaly one of those that sucked. I know I've been telling people that I actually love the fact that I won't be able to graduate this sem (health issues), but everytime I see my friends and classmates get busy-busyhan over their thesis and other graduation requirements to the point that they spend lesser time with me (I can't text them to come over here at my place ASAP anymore...I mean I can, but they won't come. They'd only send an SMS that says "Sorry Flip, I'm busy with our thesis. Next time, ok?"), it makes me want to curse my fate and wish myself like them.

Everytime I see their worried faces and hear them complain about thesis work, I wish I were worrying with them too. Never before have I felt so seperated from them - seperated by a few academic units and a spotted left lung (which is now healing, by the way).

I take what I said before back. I want to graduate with you. I want to graduate with you guys so bad. I want to be able to march with you; to cheer with you as people we know receive their awards on stage; to laugh with you on those seats while thinking at the backs of our minds that we're gonna miss times like these when we just burst out into laughter; to be bored with you as speakers diligently finish their boring talks of the worn-out topic on "the life ahead" (OVERKILL #1). I can't picture myself doing that to any other lot other than you guys...

Yet sadly all I can do is watch you guys do all those without me. But I'll still be cheering you on; sincerely hoping you guys won't get knocked up just yet, like what a parent does with their minds full of care*. (*The Wanderer)

I've usually taken pride of not having received a grade of 3.00 ever...until I became too confident in my Literatura 1 (Panitikan ng Pilipinas) subject. Yes, this sem I got a taste of what it's like to fall from grace... And this is evident in my grades in English 145 (Intro. to Shakespeare) and English 155 (Survey of British Literature). I've been overconfident, lazy, and irresponsible. And I deserve to have such low grades (1.75 and 2.00)...

No flat ones this sem, either. And I can no longer blame all this to my sickness. I've used it as an excuse way too much that I can't even convince myself with my lies anymore (OVERKILL #2)...

I felt down all of a sudden realizing that I've been nothing but a coquettish and unproductive individual these past few months. What is left for me to stay proud of myself? I needed something to make me feel hopeful again...

And that something presented itself in front of me like a dangling sweaty naked highschool kid on a wire (just when you thought this post was gonna be serious all throughout! XD) when I attended the Recognition Ceremony at school to take pictures (since I am a staffer of the institute's yearbook for three consecutive years now...what a loser! X_X) and to congratulate my friends. I was late, as usual, and was desperately trying to make out familiar faces from the pool of blurry figures inside the gym (I don't have 20/20 vision and I broke my glasses). As I was doing just that, my name was called on stage along with the other junior and non-graduating students who are recipients of the Academic Leadership Award. To put things simply, I'm an honor student! "What should I do? Should I go on stage?" were questions that demanded for an answer right there and then. I panicked. I was in doubt as to what to do. In the end, I didn't receive my certificate on stage which is too bad since I would've loved to make a scene and make my friends feel my presence. It was a great opportunity to make myself feel reintegrated to my batchmates. I'm a part of this affair too! We're not that far away from each other. I'm not too different from you guys after all...

I am well aware that the reason why I'm still part of the honors list is because the grades for this semester hasn't been included to my over-all GPA yet and I probably have a very slim chance of making it into the list with my current grades, but let me just have this even just for a second or two. I need this to fuel me into driving far away from the kind of student that I am right now. I know now that whether I like it or not, I have to turn into this something that I dread of becoming: pamugas... *gulp*

To my primary friends, the dork squad, extended friends, and my batchmates, good luck on the paths you choose to tread... Congratulations! ^_^

Stood there, watching her cry because of me.

There are probably a lot of children out there who are more disrespectful than I am but that doesn't make my case any less serious.

I've seen my mother cry a lot of times and whenever she does, it's always either because of me or my dad. But now that my don juan of a father has been away, I'm mostly to blame for her teary episodes (and they're not because of too much happiness).

The thing is, I'm scared. Scared because I am becoming more and more aware of my capability to hurt those who are around me -- especially my mother. I'm scared because I somehow feel a sense of happiness, nay, pride about it.

Like the other day, my mom and I had a fight (again). This is all because I forgot to cook lunch and she went berserk (which is understandable because of the stress at work and our maid has gone MIA for 3 days now and she's forced to rely on me, the most irresponsible eldest child of all time). Being the diabolical son that I am, I of course talked back and said insensitive things...to the point of blackmailing her! Plates were shattered into broken pieces. I was afraid she'd pick up the kitchen knife and stab me with it but thankfully she retreated to her room crying. I followed, trying to find out what she's going to do next, and yes, to assure my victory.

She was on her bed, wailing like an unfortunate character in a tragic play, her back towards my direction. I stared at her, that 40-year old adulteress and was thinking "You're not at all different from your philandering husband." I was filled with disgust while looking at her. Never before has she appeared so puny in my eyes; so puny that I can actually crush her if I wanted to.

Seconds later, I became aware of the other people breathing air inside the room. I looked around and there they were - my younger siblings and cousins who were taking turns playing X-Box games until my mom came inside weeping. I've never seen so many startled and questioning eyes... They were staring at both my mom and I. Then for some reason (the four of them must have communicated via telepathy), their eyes focused solely on me...eyes that were extracting my guilt. Forcing it to come out...and it did.

I finally came to my senses and remembered enough about what I've learned about morality so far. This was the time that I got scared. I became afraid because a few seconds ago, remorse seemed like a distant emotion -- an empty label for a distant emotion. I was willing to sever my tie with my mother and even wished her eternal damnation. Finally being shaken by these evil thoughts, I gently and very slowly patted her back in a genuine effort to console her. My hands were really shaking and when I tried to look at her in the face, I only managed to stare at her dry thin patch of brown hair that's weary with marriage and familial problems... Her back was still towards me undulating because of her sobs and she was covering her face -- probably filled with disbelief over the extent of her ungrateful son's loathing towards her. I came to recognize her as my mother again. My mother, the poor recipient of my disobedience and ingratitude. I finally realized that it was actually all my fault.

It's troubling to think that being evil is always there, ready to embrace you when you forget never to let your guard down. And dapat may kasunod ang sentence na 'to kaya lang nakalimutan ko. Nadistract kasi ako. Nanood ako ng Square-Off Frankahan sa ANC. MSU-IIT vs ADMU! I'm still proud of our team kahit nanalo ADMU... And take note, split decision pa! Woohoo! XD

Life is short. Have an affair.

...Says the tagline for ashelymadison.com, the now defunct site that gets its kicks in the business of adultery. It's basically a business of cheating and lying. I know I'm no saint (God, no!) but it's natural for every hypocrite to become indignant when they see something that's morally upsetting (what's bad only becomes bad when done by others and is only good when I myself do it because I have reasons for doing so, as I always say).

See, one thing about living with the truth is that it's not always pleasant and that's why we hear a lot of people lying their way out of any unpleasant situation that they are stuck in. Just like Madame Bovary, for example. She always tried to escape the actual life she had (a boring husband, a life that fell short of what she had in mind for herself, the banality of her marriage) by holding on to what is left of her highly romanticized view of the world. And while it brings us selfish pleasure doing what she has done, it does not often lead us to a happy ending. It's not good to be (too) idealistic in this world. And so, Madame Emma Bovary burned her insides by swallowing arsenic in the end and died - a fate that I fear having.

So to all the Madame Bovaries in this world: my mom, dad, my classmate's boyfriend, my neighbor across the street, and me, who are we kidding? Life is short but we're only paradoxically increasing the length of its shortness thus making it shorter than it usually is. It's not healthy.

That little sound next to "Yes"

Lately, I can't seem to stop myself from nodding when people (friends, mostly, as well as teachers) ask me to do something for them. Or maybe I just say "NO" to the wrong people? Like my family, for example. When my mom asks me to pay the electric bill, I say no and come up with excuses (this is what I love about being a student; people think you're always busy with school work). I only say yes to people who I would care when they think of bad things about me if I don't grant them their favors. With my family, it's okay if I let them down (okay, that came out wrong). They're bound to love me, anyway; regardless of whatever it is that I decide to do (in theory, that is). I'm comfortable with the fact that they will never bat against me. I guess what I'm trying to say is that your ohana (watch Lilo & Stitch) will - or should - always be on your side. They're set on default mode. Yes, I need to sort out my priorities (I'll get to that soon).

Okay, back to saying YES. I think this is because of my desire for people to like me, to think good of me. My friends, teachers, and other higher ranking individuals -- these are the people I can't afford to disappoint. Their stay isn't permanent. We don't have the same blood running through our vessels. So losing them is more of a possibility as compared to losing my family (and I pray to God both scenarios would never happen!).

Like right now, (and like what I said in my other blog) I'm swamped with paperworks...paperworks that aren't even mine! In my friends and classmates' efforts to try to graduate on time, they seek out help from someone who has no thesis to worry about, someone who's gonna have to stay behind since he got sick and enrolled only 3 units last sem, someone like me. I'll be turning my calendar from March into April next month without me holding a diploma on one hand. I guess I somehow deserve to be punished for that, thus, they hand over their thesis paper's review of related literature (don't mention it, Devie and Tin)  and their other INCs to me (yes, Ian I'm currently working on your term paper for Philippine Linguistics).

I miss being a nonchalant student. This is all because of that little sound next to "Yes" that I can only write down but can never say.  "No, no, no, NO, NOOOOOOOO!"

...come to think of it, I did tell them "No"...but it came out as "Sure, I'll do it. When do you want it?" Oh, boy...

Bitterness calls for cursing

One thing that most people don't know about me is that if I curse....a lot. If you've ever heard me swear in public, that won't even come close to the propensity of my swears when I'm alone or hate someone who is not within a 6-mile radius of where I am (I'm bad with numbers and estimating things, so you can put down that raised eyebrow now. This doesn't even compare to the error John Keats has committed in his poem, "On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer"... And did anyone ever condemn him for that? Didn't think so).

It's a habit which I learned at home and then got further fortified at school. (Do you see the potential wonders that happen if these two institutions could work together?) As I was saying, cursing people has always been my habit and I do it on everyone who upset me..even on my mom (nay, especially to my mom).

Like right now, I'm endlessly cursing this cute smiling girl from Davao... Just when I thought we were already friends, she'd go around ruining it... Sometimes I wish she'd get hit by a car.... We'll see if that smile would still look cute on her then...

"I've done it now"

Reading through the stuff that a high school plurker posted in her journal (she was mostly complaining about how hard their teachers are on them because of the never-ending nose-bleeding requirements they give them), I missed being in the most vulnerable stage of puberty (and I mean being 16 and all) -- back when I used to go along with the popular claim that nothing could ever top highschool memories. I was wrong, of course. I don't know how a single past memory can retain its being "huge" when new ones always come along and that by and by, the more we progress through time, we perpetually (although subtly) disconnect ourselves from that memory making us barely feeling its impact to us back when it actually happened before. And with this, that memory loses its importance and is slowly forgotten like a friend whom you've never kept in touch with since you graduated in elementary, or a father whom you've never felt any emotional connection anymore since you've seen him beat up your mom and adorn her with numerous bruises and even a blood streak or two. And just when you thought I was going somewhere with this post, I actually wasn't. Can't think straight right now with Sir Tan losing his patience over me...

Wrapped in ice...

An agreement is something that two (or more...depending on how many people were present) people, well, agree on doing. With consent. Nobody is abiding to that against their will. It is assumed that both parties know what they're doing and why they're doing it.

But when that agreement isn't formal, it's always subjected to change. Anyone involved can always pull out from that agreement. There are no strings. There are no punishments if you decide to stray away from what was agreed on.

I worry about people's unpredictable nature. One moment, they're in on it, making you feel relieved and happy. But then not a day or two longer, they decide to cut you off from their lives and they leave you hanging -- just when you thought you've built bridges with them. Just when you're starting to feel thankful. Just when you start to treat them seriously as a friend. And that feeling of relief you that you have never even fully enjoyed yet? It's not there anymore. What's left is the horrible emotion of being left out. The feeling that a person would feel when onboard a plane that's about to crash, yes that -- but it's playing on a loop. That's what I feel. Your heart wrapped in cold, slippery ice. Yes, ice. You feel cold inside and you try to breathe in more air and then your lungs expand but not because of oxygen. It's your heart getting thicker and thicker as the ice that covers it grows into more layers. And your chest feels heavy. And you worry coz you know that it's not air that's inside it. It's just ice. Heavy, ice.

*sigh* If only people would just stick to being genuinely helpful...

Scolded on an empty stomach

I don't want to turn this blog into a medium where I could express my hatred about people and how these people always make me feel like an underdog, but then again I probably already have with my previous posts. Besides, isn't that what personal blogs are for? Isn't that what the internet is for? For porn, violence, and emotionally-battered individuals, who, by the way, of course know how to operate the computer at the very least (I guess this is what separates personal bloggers from the other run-off-the-mill, sad, and hurting people).

Anyway (is there any other word that has the same function as "anyway"? I feel like I've already used this word in way too many posts.. Getting kinda tired of using it), today was our video shoot for the MSU-IIT Debate Varsity's (MIDV) city-wide debate event and Rei was assigned to come up with a script while I was the one given the task to do the conceptualizing (which is odd since I have no aesthetic sense and all).

The day before, I texted Rei to email me the script so I'd be able to invoke whatever small quantity of creativity I have in me. She told me she's having problems with her PC and so I told her to just email it to me once she's done haggling with her wretched unit. It was nearing midnight when I fell asleep while waiting for her message. I woke up really late (this is probably my fault coz I have this habit of always coming to an event late) and Sir Mike and Sir Darwin were already mad at me.

Yes, I was late and I should be scolded for that. But what I don't get is why are they all taking it out on me?? Why not get mad at Rei as well? Rei wasn't there. Apparently she has ulcer. If they're mad coz I came late, then why aren't they mad at the others who also came in late? Like Justin, and Mark, and Maya? They arrived minutes after I did because they first had their lunch (great, I even skipped breakfast). Why do I get to be the one to absorb all the "pangasaba"? I was scolded with an empty stomach, I spent money on buying donut (Dunkin' Donuts was way across the street and I've been meaning to eat choco-filled for days now) and on ordering food (coz I thought we'd have a working lunch), and yet those three had to worry about nothing, nevermind that they were late comers as well.

And in the end, we were told that not all of us was gonna be in the video. So apparently, I went there just so I could skip breakfast, get soaked in the rain (and I thought the rainy season was way over), have my vest borrowed (Mark did not arrive wearing a formal attire), spend money, and to be told that it wasn't necessary for me to be in the video. Just nifty.

I know that somewhere along the trail of this event, you could probably blame me for this (especially for coming late and all), but it doesn't feel good when you get blamed. I don't think that anyone ever enjoys being blamed at.. Believe me, it is nothing but pleasurable. I've had very hard experiences about the blame-game which can be traced back to when my parents both blamed me for the splitting up of our family (it's hard when you try to parent parents). I'm not saying no one should be blamed, that somehow doesn't sound right since people have to learn the value of responsibility (something that a lot of us have been evading countless of times). What I'm trying to get at is, put the blame evenly on people who truly deserve it. Don't focus the blame on just one person just because the other one isn't there (or because she has ulcer or something), or because the other three are just more close to you and all...

A pushover. That's what I am. I know I may come off as passive and all that's why most people like to boss me around, tell me things that they want to be done coz I don't say "no" coz I'm afraid they'd be disappointed if I do so. If I lose in a competition, I don't become violent. I don't react as much as my other teammates (that is, if ever I do react at all). I know I take defeat lightly. I even take victory in a slightly similar manner as well. If we lose, that's fine with me but it would've been peachy if we won. But if we did win, well, who doesn't want to win??

I know it's easier to scold me than others because I rarely talk back (I only talk back to my mom and other family members, and other selected few). I'm the more vulnerable one. I'm the one with the least character in the group. I just wish they would stop "taking advantage" of that ("taking advantage" isn't the appropriate term for it but I'm out of words and it's the only thing that comes close to what I intend to say). Why can other people easily get away with things like this? o_o It's a gift, what they have.

Unanswered calls and busy numbers

There has always been something about unanswered calls that makes me feel all tense and worried. Everytime I call someone and I hear a continuous ring instead of a familiar voice, that to me signifies that something is wrong. And what's as worse as an unanswered call? A busy number. The fact that I don't know what has happened to the person on the other line depresses me (yes, it has been my source of depression now). I hold my breath, while my heart palpitates, and while at the same time my mind wanders off to all the bad things that could have happened to that person from the other line (whom I'll also be cursing a little bit for making me feel worried) until someone answers the call or until the ring has ended. But even when it has ended, I worry all over again because I become too stubborn to stop. I have to hear someone...anyone, at least! Just a little sign of life would be enough.

Whenever this happens, I seem to feel like this creepy nobody from the outside desperately trying to break in to connect with someone who treats me like a stranger. For a person who treats everyone as a friend (yes, I have that sickness), that's a hard blow (And now I'm hearing Bugs Bunny say, "Pow! Right in the kisser!" ...Weird... I watch too many cartoons... X_X).

So if I ever call you on the phone, it would certainly be appreciated if you guys would answer... ^_^