Photosynthesis

When you were younger and (impossibly) more self-centered, you whined like the world owed it to you to listen. Eventually you learned that happiness should be shared, and negativity, in all its nasty forms, should be shelved. Nobody loves a loser.

Dark Reaction

So you keep the bitter, the sad, and the angry in specimen jars and examine each of them in your spare time, always having to be careful so as not to end up trapped in those jars yourself. 

While you wish you could share them with someone, you almost never do, because you almost never can. Some miseries are simply inexplicable and are thus easier borne by one than by two.

Light Reaction

So you keep on, and remind yourself to smile and laugh about the good things, of which there are quite a lot. In those small moments, the universe is wonderful and everything glows in the light of an idyllic summer sun.

And that light is enough to fuel you, for today at least--and for tomorrow, and the day after that--until one morning you wake up and there's more light than dark. 

And that's how you know you've made it through, and can make it through again.

Bibliophilia

I should really write more. It seems like I'm always holding it off, waiting for that next drift of inspiration. On days like this one though, I remind myself that this blog isn't in the running for a Pulitzer, nor a Palanca--it's my personal blog, so maybe sharing more of my (not overly) personal thoughts wouldn't hurt.

In line with that, I have a realization to share!

That's basically it, sorry for wasting your time. If you found that boring, you can move along now. 

See, I like girls who like books. Almost--if not all--l of the crushes I've had like to read. My girlfriend goes through audiobooks and actual books like they're popcorn. Even my very minor crushes are/were apparently bookworms.

At first I thought it was just because reading is kind of an "in" thing now (my inner hipster slightly resents this), but my crushes are legit bookdorks. They're Lit majors, Booksale hunters, or polygamous readers; the type who'd spend an entire week's budget on books with (almost) no hesitation nor regret.

Maybe this is also due to the fact that I could never imagine myself with someone who doesn't read. That's like half a relationship's worth of conversation we'd be missing out on. And apparently, even for minor crushes, I'm attracted to something other than looks.

On a related note, J and I were at National in Glorietta 5 last Friday night (because bookstore dates are the best). We were talking about the Harry Potter chest set, which I said I wanted for my future kids. She asked "what if you have a kid who doesn't like to read?" to which I objected, since their hypothetical fetus will probably be listening to stories at the first sign of a heartbeat. 

Okay, enough about my hypothetical future bookworm offspring. My point is, literature really plays a big part--not just in my general life, but in my love life too. After all, I was in love with reading long before I was thinking about things like crushes. Also, words are sexy, and girls who read are hot.

---

I haven't written such a light post in a while. It feels good to give this blog a break from all the angst!

Vicarious

I'm tired of a life lived through your stories. I'm weary of the details of a good time or an annoying day where I'm always a spectator and never a character; the only reason they matter is because you matter.

You know I love you, but telling me all about a life spent with others shouldn't be all there is to spending your life with me.

Skinny Bitch: On The Narrower End of Weight Issues

Ever since the age of ten, when I discovered the amount of time and money that one could save from not eating proper meals, I started growing thin. I grew thinner and thinner until I earned (along with unbearable amounts of ulcer-ish pain) the envy of my diet-crazy friends, and the concern of nurses and doctors whenever they reminded me of my woefully below average body mass index. I started eating properly again, but I just couldn't gain the weight anymore. Well, not until recently. I'm glad to report that my BMI just (barely) made it to normal levels, and all I need to do is maintain the weight.

Still, that's work for me. Yes, I am an effortlessly skinny bitch. To most, it may seem like a blessing. That's probably because you haven't experienced being underweight. It only ever comes in handy when:

• You're involved in those team-building activities where group members need to carry or lift their team mates. I usually get passed around like half a sack of potatoes.
• You're a trained ballet dancer. I was forced into ballet by my high school PE program, and it was one of the most awkward and embarrassing moments of my young life. Needless to say, I am not—and will never be—a trained ballet dancer.
• Your carpool gets very crowded and sitting on each others' laps becomes a necessity. This is rather unfortunate for the person you have to sit on—in my case, my sister who's four years younger. Ha ha.
• You're in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model. Sadly, not only did I use to have the weight of half a potato sack, I also happen to share its level of fashion knowledge.

On the other hand, here are some challenges I've encountered as a skinny bitch:

• There's a reason it's called underweight. Just like being overweight and being obese, being underweight is medically not normal. 
• You can't donate blood. The last time I tried, I came up short by half a kilo, I think. And it's something I've always wanted to do, too.
• You're something of a weakling. Especially since my arms seem to gain no fat nor muscle, I could never lift things. Those carry-your-team-over-the-web activities? I proved pretty useless once I got to the other side because I couldn't lift my other team mates.
• You get trapped outside with a signal #4 storm. Seriously, I've tried. I happened to be walking on a slanted surface during a really windy storm. I could feel my balance being affected. I imagine it would have made for a really bad Mary Poppins knock-off.
• You're not even tall and you get mistaken for a kid. Which always, always happens to me. Either that or people mistake me for a prepubescent boy, which isn't comforting either. Damn it people! Do I have to wear my birth certificate on a chain around my neck?

But really, this is all for fun. To normal-weighing people who go crazy about dieting (especially by unhealthy means), please don't stone me to death. And please, stop trying to be those starved skeletons you see on the Internet.

Weight is just a number. Whether you have a little too much, or too less of it, should not run nor ruin your life. If you're really trying to gain or lose some pounds, you should do it for yourself, and not for those critical significant others, relatives, neighbors, or friends. 

And if you happen to be a self-imposed weight critic, please do the world a favor and STFU. You know what everyone hates more than a skinny bitch? A nosy one, I'm sure.

Runaway

One evening, a few weeks ago, I sat caught in the middle of a traffic jam and the pouring rain. One of the (many) things that usually piss me off is riding jeepneys on rainy days. The windows are all draped with thick plastic and the general lack of air and space triggers my slight claustrophobia.

Luckily I was in one of the seats at the very end of the jeep. Staring out at Taft Avenue, I noticed a pedicab driver, singing at the top of his lungs as he pedaled by, completely drenched in the rain. He whooped as he swerved and passed under the torrent cascading from one of the LRT station roofs.

It's crazy to admit, but admired the pedicab driver--or rather, I admired the freedom he exuded. The image of me, crammed inside a jeepney for fear of getting wet in the rain, was one that I felt defined my life in general. I'm confined by rules, by things I've been led to believe I should be doing.

Click for source.

Lately I've been catching myself thinking about living more. I've grown tired of my rules and my duties, of always doing the right thing even when it makes me miserable. I want to do crazy things--dance in the rain (Gene Kelly style), stay out late, go on vacation, pretend to be a rock star, go on a road trip, or talk to total strangers. Or something, anything out of the ordinary.

It's the way I've been raised, and it grew on me, I guess. I've always had to be responsible--for myself, and for people around me. I've always been wary of letting people down, that I sometimes find myself in situations I'd rather be out of.

I have this fear that I'll be stuck in the routine my whole life. I know the responsibilities will just continue to pile up, and I want to get away--even just for a while--before I have to deal with them again. For once in my uptight life, I want to run away and come back, just to feel that I've changed somehow.

But for now I just have to make the best of what I've got, find small ways of escaping the ordinary. And someday I'll find the means, and or the courage, and maybe a buddy who'll go crazy with me.

Chiaroscuro

Let me tell you about my clothing choices. Oh, no, I'm not going to pretend to be fashion-savvy. Trust me, I couldn't put a fashionable outfit together, even if my life depended on it.

It's just that the other day, I was wearing black, which I almost never do. As of my last tally, my closet contains exactly one black and two dark blue shirts, and about one shirt for each other color. The rest of my tops are white. I don't know when this started, but after four years in college, the white shirts have slowly piled up.

I really prefer white shirts, mostly because the weather is baking like an oven most of the time, and I, unfortunately, tend to sweat profusely and easily.So white clothes keep me cool and comfortable, while also keeping me from perpetually looking like I just came from a jog.

Click for source.

However, I've been thinking about how there's a lot more to my clothing choice than just comfort. I realized that I actually suit my shirt colors to my mood—and based on that, I'm pretty bipolar, I guess.

Most of the time I'm white; I'm bright. I catch the light, reflecting it, reaching out. This is me in my happiest, most hyper moods. I go out on impromptu drinking sessions, I dance around, and act like a kid with ADHD. This is me in my most sociable, most engaged moments. I laugh at anything and try everything, just for the heck of it. I breathe the air and sunshine in, like a silly sunflower in bloom (and mind you, the concept of me as a sunflower is silly in itself).

But other times, I'm black; I'm dark. I absorb the light, curling up, cowering in corners, shutting out. I refuse to talk to people, spending whole days shut up in my room, watching movies and reading.This is me in my most detached, apathetic moments. I watch anything—to distract me, because I think about everything—especially the unnecessary stressors. The air feels trapped and I feel too tired, too heavy to move. 

Lately I've been alternating between dark and light shirt colors; dark and light perspectives. Too many things going on, and I'm losing focus. As colors signify moods and emotions, I'm pretty much overloading on the whole spectrum every day.

Most days I come home tired and drained, and fall asleep feeling defeated. I wake up the next day hoping for the best; for the nearest I can get to a clean slate. Then the day comes at me again and before I notice, I'm stuck in the cycle.

But it's fine, I guess. I'll find a way around it, I always do.

We are all are light and dark, in our own ways. We all have the potential for goodness and positivity, yet we are at the same time inevitably flawed.

The thing about black and white is that they both are overloaded with the whole spectrum. One simply chooses to reflect it, seeing it as an opportunity to exude brightness, while the other keeps everything in, trapping the light.

Having choices is freaking difficult. And as we've all heard at some point, our life depends on what we choose make of our circumstances. No wonder life is such a pain in the ass. We'll just have to deal with it, then. If we make enough good choices, maybe we'll even turn into prisms and achieve states of rainbow-shitting happiness (very similar to Maslow's concept of self-actualization, except this has hints of substance abuse).

[Okay, I think I just pushed the analogy off the cliff. Don't mind that last bit. Just stay happy, folks.]

Growing Pains

I know it's pretty late to blog about Inception or my birthday. Nevertheless this is a blog sort of about my birthday and it starts with me watching Inception.

I actually watched the movie a couple of weeks before my birthday. It was the first movie I ever watched by myself, and it was an awesome first time, I must say. I loved how intelligent the whole thing was. However, it didn't blow my mind as much, because I didn't think of the many interpretations of the plot when I watched it. Aside from the kick-ass zero-gravity fight scenes, what really struck me about the film was that it showed how easily we could lose track of reality.

The slightly depressing part is, I think I'm getting too grounded in it. This is where my birthday comes in. You see, I turned twenty barely a week ago. And while I don't want to be Peter Pan, I'm a teeny bit worried that I might be getting too caught up with the mundane things in my life. 

Actually, people never believe me when I tell them my age. I'm already used to being mistaken for either a boy, or a fourteen year-old (and on one hilarious instance, I was mistaken for both). I have no problems with acting like a kid either—you know, playing computer games when I'm supposed to be studying for exams, not cleaning my room, that kind of stuff.

But the thing is, I'm afraid I may have forgotten how to dream. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a detective, a ninja, and a magician. Later on I wanted to be a lawyer. Then I started reading the Harry Potter series and I wanted to be J.K. Rowling.

During my last year in high school, I seriously considered a degree in Humanities or Creative Writing. After doubting my writing prowess and having countless mini-debates with my mom, I decided to let it go. I personally settled for a degree in Computer Science, because it was a "serious, real" career—and the salary isn't so bad either.

And then you probably know the rest—I shifted out and landed in OrCom, which I think is an awesome course. It's where I want to be. Now my concept of dreaming is lusting over a job as an account manager for an advertising firm. I'd earn enough and buy my parents a house, buy myself a car, and then get my own place. I want a kid or two (but unless I start gaining romantic interest in guys then I'd probably have to save up for a costly, husband-less procedure, or for adoption). So far off, I know. It probably shows maturity, and having goals is a good thing. But where'd my other dreams go?

Sure, I'm gonna grow up. Who says I can't be awesome at it?

I know stability is a good thing, but I can't help but want to shake things up a bit. I just turned twenty, and now, more than anything, is the time to live life before my responsibilities start catching up with me. I mean, my mom's constantly on my neck about graduating ('cause I got delayed). I already have a family to support, and future hospital bills to worry about. So don't blame me for wanting to be young and reckless and stupid. I just want to be alive.

(Yes, I know that was incredibly cheesy and cliche.)

I guess the first un-adult thing I should do is to stop thinking too much and start doing (fun) things instead. So I'm gonna go now,and I'm gonna have fun. So should you.

Stage Fright

I'd rather hide behind the curtains

I don't want to be seen.

I'd rather watch, dim the lights,

or man the ticket machine.

But I would sing in the shower

when there's no one to hear.

Oh I could be a rockstar

if not for this fear.

You see, I dream to entertain

with swooning fans at my feet.

To get up on that platform

and lose myself to the beat.

But I shake and I cringe,

I run away from the spotlight.

It's just this terrible, weakening

incurable stage fright.

Quite an impromptu poem for a humanities class tomorrow, because I realized all my poetry are either mushy, crappy, or brooding. I'm not sure if this is a welcome change though, it still seems a bit morose or something. Anyway, even if it's quite hurried, it actually is something I've been wanting to discuss for a while. But more on that later, I'm too scatter-brained to blog. Man, school is tiring.

Underwrite

Okay, so I haven't blogged the whole summer. Needless to say, it was uneventful. Painfully uneventful, actually, that at one point I was almost convinced that learning to eat fire—with the matching inevitable hospitalization—would be a good way of spicing my summer up. But not really, I didn't plan to do that. Owing partly to the paranoia I inherited from my mother, and partly to my incredible laziness, I never learned to eat anything more daring than weird vegetables and moderate amounts of spicy canned food.

I never went anywhere, nor went swimming. I didn't learn how to drive, or even to cook a decent meal. Heck, I didn't even go out with friends. Probably the most adventurous thing I did was trying out for a summer call center job for ePLDT Ventus—I met a couple of funny people—but they never called me back. Thus ensued another summer of astounding levels of nothingness. 

That's changed now. To my huge relief, classes have resumed. My schedule still is prefect for bumming out—free Tuesdays and Fridays—which I kind of dislike, since I've had enough of my small house and my pink room to last me a couple of stressful weeks. I've been doing nothing for so long that the thought of spending nights sleepless and poring over readings seems almost appealing.

Writing is pretty. [Click the photo for credits.]

So what's there to learn from all of this? I have no idea. I just wanted to share, because today I came home from the first real, whole class session I've had in the semester, and tomorrow we're leaving for an overnight stay in Fontana with my parents' friends. 

I just feel like I have my life back. And apparently, me with no life means me with no blog either. I just realized how much of myself I really put into this blog—it's not that I didn't have any thoughts at all in the last two months, it's just that I was in a mood so lethargic that I couldn't seem to put them into writing. 

I'm reminded that writing is really a lot more than just a hobby for me—not just a way to release excess thoughts, or bitch about how the universe loves to bully me. It's not just a venue for my pseudo-profundity, or a grammatical exercise. Writing is really my life.

Back when I was fresh from high school, I decided not to pursue a Creative Writing degree because I was quite sure that with my moodiness and meager creativity, I wouldn't be able to make a decent living. And then the whole course-choosing-then-shifting thing happened. Through that and everything else I think I've proven that writing is my passion—something I'm sure I'll be doing for as long as I can, regardless of whatever career path I land on.

It's a good feeling to have something you can own. It's about time I claimed it, don't you think?

The Post That Has No Point

Aren't you getting tired of me saying "it's been a while, but I'm back" every month or something? Well, I am. I've now realized that I can't guarantee any regularity in my posts anymore. Fact is, I kind of have a life at the moment, and often I'm just too tired or preoccupied (with, say, my How I Met Your Mother Marathons) to actually write about it. I guess you could say inspiration took a break from me.

Man, I've been swamped. I could ramble all day about school work, or about the hassles of good old everyday commuting, but tonight I just don't want to. Tonight, I just want to relax and smile and breathe the world in.

 

Something happened last week. I kind of got into a fight. Long story short, I got told a few things about me that I wasn't so glad to hear about. But in retrospect, I know they're true, and I'm glad I heard them. My bubble does need a healthy bursting every now and then. The thing is, that fight was probably the first and last I'd have with that friend in a while--she's accepting a job offer abroad, leaving in a month. 

And then this week, just tonight, I was with my ComSci friends on an impromptu DPSM Film Fest Premiere Night viewing. It was fun, but honestly it did get boring. I realized the only thing keeping me there was that I wanted to watch my friends, the people I knew.

[insert One-Tree-Hill-ish background music here]

I also realized that year after year, a bunch of my friends turn into seniors and graduate. Others, still turn into professionals, breadwinners, or simply people with high ambitions for their careers, who take off in pursuit of those goals. The thing is, they usually leave once I've just gotten close to them. I don't know why, but I often end up bonding with people just some months before they graduate or leave the country, or move some place else.

Which is bad, since I'm the super clingy type of friend, the one who'd rather keep all the people I love near me forever and ever, if I could. But I'm learning that while it's sad how people come and go, it's also one of the best things in life, I think.

I've always been happy to meet new people and create new adventures with them, but I guess it's only now that I appreciate the beauty having to say goodbye to people. Some people just have to leave, because they've served their purpose in our lives and it's time to move on to new adventures with new people.

And even if I've only had what seems to be such a short time to spend with those people, I think that in a way, that's the exact amount of time I need with them, maybe. That way I get to treasure my adventures with them more.

So this has turned into the sobrang cheesy talaga! post with no point. All I really want to say is, you, my friends, are such wonderful people. Thank you for making me feel right at home with you no matter how stupid or crazy I get.

[end of One-Tree-Hill-ish background music]

Photo caption:  HIMYM is like a year2000something version of FRIENDS. ;)

This Is Why You Need To Sleep

Dear blog, I missed you.

Vacation's been kind of fun (from a bum's perspective, that is), but with school looming back into the picture, I think I'm cracking from the stress. There's so much to be done and seemingly so little I can do about it. Seriously, I've been staring--intently--at those journals for 30-minute periods over the course of three days. I don't know if I'm just plain lazy, but well, I have been itching to get started on that damn literature review. I just find I have insufficient information, that's it.

Hence, I've taken to blogging again. Fat lot of help for my group mates. Haha. I didn't blog at all for Christmas since it wasn't much of an affair this year, but expect a year-ender by tomorrow or by early next year if my mood--and my ever-looming deadlines--allow it.

  Me on Christmas Eve.

What other news is there? Well, I've also been pretty depressed lately, I guess. Surprisingly, I'm a bit more off than last year, with all the single-ness drama I was pulling. This year seems sadder, I don't really know.

No scratch that. Actually, I do know why. It's an abstract concept, nonetheless it's been keeping me awake for the past couple of days. I've been having trouble sleeping again. So for those of you who may have noticed how...different I am lately--well you know why. Not so worried about that though, I roll fine with depression. It'll pass quickly enough. In the mean time I just try to stay away from people so I don't drown them in my misery. Haha.

Probably the main reason why my season's been so lousy is the absence of something to look forward to. And I mean something positive. Sure, deadlines are things to look forward to--along with graded recitations on articles I have yet to read, and the paperwork waiting for me when I get back to school. I just need something to spark some excitement, some drive.

WARNING: The following paragraph is too depressive for the season. You may want to skip it.

The thing is, starting a new year with the same old setup isn't an exciting prospect. I'm sorry, but towards the end of this year things have just been so static and lame. And in these sleep-deprived, work-anxious yet boring hours, it's hard to hope that things will change for my definition of better just because it's the new year. The bad vibes couldn't spare Christmas. Will the new year be any different?

So anyway, I meant for this to be a short entry, not a two-page wallow-in-misery thing. I'll stop now, find something to eat, and cheer myself up however. Got to keep going. *Toodles*

In the words of Natasha Bedingfield: I [am] pocketful of sunshine.

The comic strips are from Garfield Minus Garfield. Never knew it would be that depressing without the cat.

Something's Mi si g

You can ignore this post, doesn't make any real sense, well maybe except for me.

So I've been perpetually hungry and restless and all that. I have about 5 movies waiting to be watched, 7 and a half of the Demonata books to read, and some Chuck Palahniuk ebooks to try out too. I have several games on this laptop, from Plants Vs. Zombies to The Sims 3. I have cable TV. I have a guitar, and several gigabytes of downloaded songs in my hard drive. We have a refrigerator, which my mom has wisely stocked with an assortment of snacks. I have my Facebook account, my Plurk page, and I have enough cell phone credits to last me for the week. I have one or two friends nearby whom I can call to invite out, or crash with. To say that I've laid out some boredom-prevention methods is quite an understatement.

And yet, I'm fidgety. I can't sit still long enough to get anything done. Whether I'm reading or playing or watching TV, I can't seem to stop myself from getting up every ten minutes, heading downstairs to the refrigerator. I open it, stare at its contents, craving for something I just can't define. I grab one snack or another, and then halfway through finishing my food I decide it's not really what I wanted.

I can't believe it took days and a Facebook post to figure it out.

Maybe it's because this has been going on for a while, that I'd somehow assumed I was used to it. But now it's getting to me once again. Maybe it's because of the break, a time when I don't have school to worry about, or  idyllic tambay hours to fill my day. Maybe it's that Christmas is just around the proverbial corner, and everyone talks about being with the people they love, the people they care about—the people that matter.

Maybe it's because I've had to say goodbye in different ways to a couple of people just recently. And probably because there's someone I've been wanting to be with for so long now.

I might have a lot here, it's a good life. But something's missing—aside from cash of course. Haha. Seriously though, sappy as it is—I'm missing you, and you, and you, and most of all, YOU.

Raiding the fridge is my way of showing you how much I really care.

Photo shamelessly stolen from Definitely Filipino.

 To all the people I miss (whether you're halfway around the world, or just 30 minutes away from my house), and to all who share this feeling of missing, let's still keep Christmas merry okay?

All right, I'm going back to reading now. No wait, lemme check the fridge first.

Post Drinking Session Dissonance

As I've learned in my interpersonal communication class, there is this thing called post-decision dissonance. If I've learned anything right in class, this simply pertains to the doubts one encounters after making a particular decision. This is usually where rationalization kicks in, and you find that you're defending yourself against, well, your own arguments. Happens to all of us, doesn't it?

In class, we were given the compulsive shopper example. But since I am among the rare subspecies of females/human beings in general who do not derive utter joy from draining my wallet in one shopping session--I'm more of the type who takes light years to decide on whether or not to buy even just a shirt--I really couldn't relate to it. Last Thursday night/Friday morning though, I realized that I might have found another common illustration.

You've probably heard of the Latin phrase in vino veritas, translated in English as in wine there is [the] truth. The most common explanation for why people do the stupid things they do when they're drunk is that it's their natural self coming out, with all their repressions thrown out the window.

Cuervo not included in this shot.

After all, it's so easy to say "oh, I was drunk, I didn't even know half of what I said". I don't know, but I'm still pretty unsure about that one. I'm certainly no expert when it comes to drinking. Sure, I might forget more than half of what I say when I'm drunk, but the things I do remember, well, they are all true.

Case in point: so I got emo-drunk at our batch party and I ended up doing a monologue of sorts. It's all hazy, but thinking back I realized that a lot of the things I said were honest as hell and that it was the first time I had ever shared those kinds of thoughts to a group of people I barely knew.

 

I know the alcohol had probably killed way too much of my repressive brain cells at the time, but I don't lay the blame on it entirely. I know I made a conscious decision to start talking, and I know for a fact I was still able to filter what needed to be filtered (well, with some people anyway).

So I don't know. Maybe alcohol is what leads us to betray ourselves. But we shouldn't absolve ourselves from all responsibility for the things we do or say. (Unless, perhaps, you've drunk enough to be in a coma, but  then at that point you can't really do or say anything, so nevermind).

The thing is, we wouldn't even have to worry about this if we weren't hiding so many things in the first place. As for myself, I was embarrassing, but ask me right now and I can tell you the exact things I shared that morning. I wasn't really hiding them, just not so keen on sharing them to everyone.

But seeing that the world is so full of people who are so good at hiding and not expressing what they really feel, maybe we should all hold a worldwide drinking session so we can let it out. I'm kidding, of course. I'm pretty sure that would do more harm than good--imagine learning that your best friend is harboring some secret desire for your mom or something like that.

All I'm saying is that, if it's not really criminal, abhorrently immoral, or devastatingly hurtful, try letting it out. Don't wait for the empty bottles to betray you into spilling what you've kept  bottled in for so long.

Cheers to a Merry Christmas folks.

And regards from me and my drinking buddies. They'll hate me for this. Hahaha.

CREDITS: All photos in this post (and in the one before this, too) are courtesy of Ria Landingin.

The Flip Side of My Pillow

Oh boy did I miss my blog. This time the hiatus wasn't due to any introspective revelations or personal issues and all that shit. Simply put, I am now officially an OrCom major. With just about a month since sem break, I  already have reams of photocopied reading materials, deeper-than-ever eye bags, and loads of papers and reports coming up. But hey, it's the life I chose. Apparently there's just no avoiding stress in my life, so I'd just go for the stress I love. No quitting now. This is really it.

Aside from trying to study seriously I've also been busy tying to build relationships with the new people around me, and maintaining the ones I already have. I guess it's been good, although I really need to bond more with my batch mates. Will make sure to get to that this sem.

Other than that there's nothing very new on my end. Well, other than my regular haircut (which my mom still hates), and a renewed state of poverty--the likes of which I haven't experienced in months. I'm broke as ever. But well, life goes on.

So let's go to today. Today is a lazy day. I wanted to go out but I decided against it, and as a result I'm stuck home in a restless, perpetually hungry sort of state. I can't even sit still to finish this movie I'm watching, and  I don't know if that's due to the fact that I've downed two cans of Coke Zero and too much chocolate in the last three hours.

I don't know. I think I'm supposed to be worrying about something right now, but incredibly, I'm not. I don't know if it's just the Christmas chill in the air (this, by the way, is my favorite kind of weather), but I feel hopeful. I feel as if life is just chock-full of possibilities at this point.

Sure, I've got problems. I'm the kind of person who never seems to run out of them, mostly because I like to make them. But at this moment, I think things will either settle, or fall apart so something better can come together. And that's all right with me.

On second thought, maybe this is just the Coke Zero talking. Oh well. ;)

FAIL Better

I've been gone for another while. My apologies, life kind of got in the way. Academic life, I mean. The last week of my sem was a seemingly endless downpour of papers, papers, and some more papers. Luckily, I got through it, and now I have more or less a week and a half before I have to go back to the toxic, mind bending UPM life.

I miss it already, actually. I'm not exactly a workaholic, but I could manage a week of staring at a computer screen, reading, shit-talking my way through papers, and gulping down bottle after bottle of Lipovitan. But I can't quite deal with hours and hours of nothing to do, no one to go out with, and everything to think about. Movies, every TV series I could think of, endless games—I'm just so tired of it. I've been meaning to write, but I've been putting it off, since my brain felt literally exhausted. I felt like I ran out of words for a while.

And then there's this other thing. I've been thinking about me, my relationships. Well, one in particular. Lately, I've been putting such a strain on the person I value most, and it's because of this irrationally insecure side of me that I can't ditch. I've been so busy comparing myself to others—and thinking about how I don't even come close—that I've quit trying.

That's part of the reason why I haven't blogged for so long too. I felt like I didn't have anything good enough to say, so I didn't even start. I don't know why I'm like this with the people—and things—that I love most. I want so much to be the best that it feels like an all or nothing deal. I keep on waiting for the right time, for when it's all perfect and proceeding according to plan.

Who am I kidding? That's never going to happen.

Let's face it. Life is unfair. I'm never going to get that edge. I'm going to have to earn it. I'll just have to keep trying—and die trying if I need to. So, I'm still a failure. I'm not great; hell I'm not even good.

But I think, that nobody is perfect, really. And the few people who seem have it all good are bastards who managed to grab all the luck. Haha. But really,  I don't take it against them. For us normal people, failure is a fact of life. So if you're not failing, you're probably not even trying enough. Live a little. Try and fail some more.

  Just keep swimming. Or something like it.

And besides, there are just some things (and, say, a certain person who happens to be YOU), that I love too much to quit on. So I'm back. Yeah, you know what I mean.

Where Are You Going?

Don't hide away like an ocean
that you can't see but you can smell
And the sound of the waves crash down

I've gone missing for a few days, for two main reasons. One is that our internet connection sucks bigtime. Haha. It was down for two days, hence my social networks have all been abandoned.

Reason number two is that I've taken to volunteering in the past three days. Since Tuesday, I've been in UP Manila, repacking goods for distribution to Cainta tomorrow. It's sad that my parents didn't allow me to volunteer for deployment. But well, I'm glad I was able to make the most out of my week-long break. Unfortunately, making the most out of my week does not include finishing (or even starting on) any of my academic requirements. Am gonna have to cram during the weekend after all. *Sigh*

* * * * *

After a particularly dragging (and ever so slightly awkward), but fulfilling day in school, I went straight to watch and help set up for a gig somewhere in Makati. It was more of tambay time than helping out. I went there to clear my head, but as usual, I couldn't squeeze an ounce of insight from Borgs and his band mates. At least the music was great.

Among the songs, one in particular stuck. Actually, I've been loving Dave Matthews Band's Where Are You Going for a couple of days now. Hearing that song tonight (or last night) made me think about the thousands of homeless people affected by the typhoon, with nowhere to go. I watch the news every evening when I can, and it's tough to see the devastation that Ondoy has brought about. Rebuilding a nation, both physically and psychologically is a tough task. But as they've said, we are a resilient people. We'll make it through this challenge, just like we've made it through everything else.

If along the way, you are growing weary,
you can rest with me until a brighter day

On a personal note (yes, this is my blog and my ego dictates that everything has to have something to do with me), I guess the song title is a question I've been asking myself lately. No, I'm not confused. Yeah, I'm sure I'm not confused. I'm just wandering around.

Where are you going? Where do you go?
Are you looking for answers, for reasons under the stars?

This is a little dilemma brought about again by the fact that I like to think ahead. I hate how when I find myself one place, I feel the need to know why I'm there, and where I'm headed next. The computer scientist in me loves algorithms and a logical sequence of events. But life is just so effing crazy, and not everything has logic in it. I want to stop thinking, planning, and figuring out and just live everyday instead.

I am no Superman, I have no reasons for you
I am no hero, oh, that's for sure

So maybe I'm giving spontaneity a try, and it's turning out to be good. I just need to get used to not having such a tight grip on everything and everyone for once. Thus my current motto is simple: LOOSEN UP.

But I do know one thing, where you are is where I belong
I do know where you go, is where I want to be

*Incoherent post, I apologize. My brain cells aren't quite working right.

Partly Cloudy

Two minutes before I'm set to leave and I decide that I want to blog.

I've been so unpredictable lately, a lot like the freaking weather. It's scorching sunlight one minute and torrential downpours the next. It's been ruining my outfits, haha. I don't even know what to wear anymore, and my bag contains more of my wardrobe than my school stuff--shades, a pair of slippers in case it floods, and a jacket. Yes, unpredictable like the weather. So unpredictable that even I don't know what to expect from me anymore.

I'd rather not go into the details of my life right now, as I'm tired of my stories--and so are the people whom I've been dumping on for the last two weeks (thanks friends). If anything must be said about my life, it's pretty fine. Steady progress. I'm actually starting to feel the demands of schoolwork, the unique pressure that only the last weeks of a semester can impose on a student. Yeah, I'm looking forward to sem break and I want to get things over with.

Oh, and yeah, I've been tumbling too. Visit it if you want. I'm just reblogging stuff all the time anyway.

So there. Hello life. I'm generally at peace with it and with myself right now, save for the questions that I can't help but ask sometimes. Mostly they start with why. But hey, no use in beating myself over it. I still hate not understanding, but over the last couple of years I've learned to accept the fact that there are some questions you'll never get the answers to. And some questions you don't want to know the answers to, as well.

So I'm fine with lazy afternoons like this one--watching a blinding setting sun that reminds me of the Little Prince though my bedroom window, or some place where I'm hanging out. John Mayer, The Weepies, Dave Matthews Band, and the Goo Goo Dolls are singing to me, while my head feels heavy and drunken with thoughts I don't feel the need to think about. I just let them float around.

Me too. I'm still afloat, and I'm perfectly fine. And the world spins madly on.

Under The Spotlight

Everything has to start from somewhere. So where do I start?

Well, I'm starting to go on TV series binges. Gossip Girl Season 3 is airing, both in the US and on cable TV here, but since my dad is monopolizing the boob-tube most of the time, I'm once again taking advantage of this little thing they call the "torrent". Haha. Oh, and yeah, I watch Gossip Girl. So gay, I know, especially for me. It was a former friend's fault. And apparently I found Gossip Girl so good I'm still watching it long after that person and I stopped talking. Talk about bitter endings. [Hey, if you happen to drop by, I kind of miss being friends with you. I'm serious.] But what the hell. Let sleeping dogs lie and eventually die.

I have also fallen in love with this amazing fabulous series called GLEE, courtesy of my girlfriend. Can't get enough of it. It's a musical. And apparently everyone in the series sings. It really is great--it's the kind that makes you want to sing and dance along. They make Kanye West (yeah, that jackass, as Obama said) sound good. Trust me. YOU HAVE TO WATCH IT.

Watch. Now.

I just finished watching the third episode a while ago. And it was all about confidence. It got to me, I guess. You see, I kind of have to do an intermission number for an org event in school. I'm still hoping they find someone else, because I have no idea why I said yes. I haven't seriously sung in public in years and I think I've developed a bad case of stage fright.

Or maybe it's just a lack of confidence. The thing is, singing is just one thing. I just have an issue of sorts--let's just say I'm not secure as I should be. There's always this feeling that I can't get past mediocrity. With everything. With music, with writing, with my relationships with people. Whatever I have, whatever I give--just not enough. Okay lang, puwede na. But never really that good.

I don't know why I got to feeling this way. Or maybe I do, but I'm not sure. Funny thing is, writing about it feels weird. It's not like those issues that people have that they repress, or that happens subconsciously and they never admit it. I know and I'm telling the whole world wide web. But why can't I seem to do anything about it?

All the world's a stage, as good old Shakespeare says. And apparently I've lost my stage presence. When I'm up there, or just here, I see people looking at me, waiting. They're waiting for me to do my thing, and they're expecting it to be good. I feel like I don't have the right to screw up. Which, in retrospect, is one of the things that make me screw up.

I have to find it. Just don't know where or how, but I know I don't want to stay scared. The world is a stage, and hell, I wanna be a rock star.

Because Lemony Snicket Is A Wise, Wise Man

Oftentimes, when people are miserable, they will want to make other people miserable, too. But it never helps. -Lemony Snicket

I haven't actually read A Series of Unfortunate Events, except for half of The Reptile Room which I read in Powerbooks Rob during one particularly boring long break. But I have a friend who has a book with quotes in it, and he loves to send me some. And so I fell in love with the wisdom of Lemony Snicket.

Anyway, that quote above talks about what I've been thinking about lately--how some people just love to make others miserable. I can't say I'm not guilty of indulging in misery--as the person who knows me best says, I do have a habit of making myself out to be more miserable than anyone so I don't get blamed for something which is really partly--or maybe wholly--my fault. See, I'm a bad person sometimes.

Sure, I love to complain. It's always easier to write, or tell stories when you have something to complain about. But I know how misery feels, so on an average, give me a day or two--two weeks, tops--and I'll throw it away and we can live our lives normally again.

I did that once, just stacked 'em all little chunks of misery up. It ruined my relationship and made me a very, very insecure person. I had to reevaluate who I was trying to be, and who I really was. All because I couldn't let it go. So I've long since learned that it's an awful thing to pack your misery in a bag and drag it along for the rest of your life.

So let it go. Just toss it away. Give yourself and the people around you the break you all need.

Misery is like a dead rat--until you throw it away it will ruin the day for you and for everyone else within a 10 feet radius. They might end up moving away to avoid the awful odor, and who in the world wants to be left alone with a dead rat?

Nope, not me. That's for sure.

The Great Preemptor

I feel so sick. Not emo sick, it's just that my throat hurts and I think I'm coming down with the flu. Thus I am using it as an excuse to be lazy. Last night, after reading Rizal's On The Indolence Of The Filipinos, I decided not to do the paper. Indolence is necessary naman daw eh. [Original argument: it's a tropical country and it we can't work in the sun the whole day.] Now I realize that the sun was not yet out at the time that I was attempting to do the paper, but hey. Anything for an excuse to waste my time on Facebook instead of being productive.

Aside from being lazy, I think I also do these kinds of things because I am the master of the preemptive strike. This is mostly because I am extremely apprehensive. I always try to think ahead, to have a Plan A and B at the very least. Throw me into any situation and my brain will, by default, think fast. Or at least, as fast as it can, in order to come up with a plan, no matter how trivial.

With this comes certain insecurities or whatever they are--the point is that, sometimes, in the process of thinking ahead, I just get the feeling that I can't do something. Then I think it over, then--most of the time--I drop the effort.

Exhibit A : PI100 paper. I knew my brain was not in the proper state for analyzing those five chapters and coming up with something coherent. No, I wasn't going grade conscious over it, I'm just fussy. Especially with writing. It's kind of all I have, you know. It's basically the only thing I can humbly say I know how to do. So when I write, I try not to shit-talk my way out of it (except in desperate cases, such as mind-bending STS essay exams). I may not be brilliant, but I like to try harder every time. Hence, I opted to pass the paper late. Maybe next week, if I don't forget. Haha.

Exhibit B: Dropping galore. Last last sem, when I made the decision to shift courses, I dropped seven motherfreaking units. That was seven thousand pesos' (and more, for the lab fees) worth of Chemistry and Computer Science subjects. Obviously, my parents were not the happiest people on earth at that time. But my begging and OrCom sales talk worked, and so I went from 21 units to an all-time low of 14 units. I was afraid I'd either fail, or have a stress-induced breakdown in the process of trying to pass. Later on, they all told me that I would've passed anyway, and that it was sayang. A waste of money, and a waste of an otherwise unblemished transcript. But I don't really regret it. I still am convinced that it saved me from a nervous breakdown (my whole life was just a pile of you-know-what at the time), and that it also saved my GWA from another bunch of 3's.

I also quit on people. I give up on establishing relationships when I know that it will just ultimately be screwed up. I quit on people who refuse to even try. And I quit when I sense that I'm forcing myself on them.

I'm going to hit you now, just in case you plan to hit me later.

So there, I'm a quitter. I know they say winners never quit, and quitters never win, but I don't know if the person who said that ever tried Chem14 or CS123. And even if they did, to hell with that. I'm a quitter. I'd love to try and make it, but I'd rather quit than not be able to deliver. It's not that I'm afraid of failure--I'm getting better at it, actually--just that I believe that not everything is worth the struggle. Some things; some people, maybe. But not all.

I realize that living life with a disclaimer on one hand and an eject button on the other isn't exactly the best way to go about it, but until I figure out a better way, I'm sticking to this plan.