Monday, December 31, 2007

De Facto

Looking at people's Christmas albums depresses me. Although it is kinda dumb to not use your own wisdom and freewill to NOT look at something that will juice out your anguishes, it's as if I don't have a choice anyway (given the fact that almost all of my contacts in Multiply posted albums having some old Christmas message. Not that I know what those freakin' messages are.). I just woke up a few minutes ago, and acting as if I'm on autopilot again, I shooed off my sister who's using the computer and instantly logged in Multiply.

How dreadful. Some took pictures of their presents, but a lot took family pictures with the Christmas tree with the whole family. Oh sure. I'm jealous alright.

Let me get this straight. I don't actually have a family during Christmas, and I did not unwrap a single present from my parents. There was none for me, for Christ's sake. I was in awe while I was observing my siblings unwrap and unbox their presents covered with that yellow gift wrapper from ToyTown. That feeling of deep wonder was not felt for my siblings, but it was in fact, felt for myself alone. Am I really that bad to not receive gifts of some sort? Oh sure. I had that CLUE board game. But duh. I bought that for myself. My sister just wrapped it off just so I have something to open when Christmas day comes.

I'm not really going to start a one-man rebellion against my parents. For starters, they're technically separated. Making some fantasy that they will give me a joint gift at the very least is kinda wrong, if not dumb. I have to understand then my parents that I don't really deserve much of something, because I have four siblings ahead of me. And yeah, I think that 100 grand laptop I received last year was for 10 Christmases.

Well, not really. I'm just looking for some dumb ol' reason to not envy my siblings, because after all, I should understand them. And shits like that.

How about my Christmas, you say?

Christmas is not a season for gifts. Nor for a family get-together. You can always do that anytime you like. Christmas for me has been a symbol of how I'm evolving as a mature lady, so to speak. Emotionally mature ladies don't give a fuck about receiving presents, nor dread because their family is not complete during the yuletides. What they give a damn about is how to make people (especially their siblings) happy. Because after all, that's what Christmas is just all about.


Ha. And you thought I'm going nuts by giving a litany about my crappy Christmas. I'm receiving my iPhone on Wednesday, dumbass.

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Now seriously, what is wrong with me?

Ever since Christmas started, the earliest time I was able to sleep was 3 AM. And as of this writing, my insomnia had hit an all-time record of hitting the sack at 8:30 AM. My body's immunity to lethargy is something that I should be thankful for, that is, if I have something to do. Like some thesis revising. Or investigatory project analyzing. Or something that requires physical work, like building a house or a highway. That'll be worth the time.

I read in Cosmo that in order to easily fall asleep, you can either relieve your mind, and let out stuffs that make you so stressed out, or you can count mob of sheep, jumping over the old wooden fence, and getting themselves killed by a lawnmower or something. I did both, but neither really worked. I ended up making a story that one sheep has a leukemia, and the only thing that can cure him is the man on top of the lawnmower's kiss instead. Then that tin man from Alice in Wonderland came and did this tribal dance that killed everyone. The end.

My insomnia has its benefits, as you probably cannot see. For one, my menstruation was put on vacation, and I haven't heard anything from that stinky red substance for about two months already. Another is my incogitable loss of appetite for food. That's a good thing if you have a body like mine, actually.

No, not really. The whole household have been coining me as 'the panda', because of my big build, and the dark circles around my eyes. Mom even insists that I wear pink bangles, with respect to Panda of Tekken 5. Oh yeah. Funny like hell.

Lethargy, come back. Please?

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Unfulfilled Resolutions

This is the last Saturday of the year 2007, and we are all two days away from the year of the rat. Funny, though. It had always been this way, hardly even having that new year spirit. What's with new year anyway? People don't get to receive anything, evidently. I mean, on the other hand, careless people get to lose innate stuffs (except for fat, that is. If it can actually reduce fat, then don't be surprised if our house will be burning like hell before you can even say "Wow, she's really fat").

Before I make a new and spanking resolution that I shall swear to God that I will really abide to, let's review that resolution I made for 2007.

LORAINNE'S NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION FOR 2007

1. Forget Coke. Forget Sprite. Forget Royal. Forget 7UP. FORGET SODAS FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, DAMMIT. I've been making this as a new year's resolution for 5 stinkin' years!
-Yeah-freakin-right. The only days that this resolution was remembered was those days when we have to eat soup or bread because these foods tastes like shit when gulped down with a carbonated drink. That's probably some chemical reaction or something. My belly increased dramatically, so to speak. And you can very much thank that humongous amounts of carbonate, sugar, and alcohol for that. And my irresponsibility. Sure. Blame it all.

2. Study HARDER. Forget boys, gays, and homos, for that matter. YOU WON'T NEED THEM.
-And indeed, I studied a lot harder than last year. I guess it's too late anyway. Nice-y pants-y universities don't really consider much of the senior grades, which is a guh-reat tragedy, if you ask me. The school implemented transmutation as our primary grading system for this year, which practically did nothing but to indeed mutate stuffs. More deserving people was able to grab that academic award, and everyone's grades zoomed up. God, this sucks. It's like I'm pretending that all of those high grades I was able to garner were important for something, at least.

Forget boys? This one was badly violated, considering the stupid pseudo-romantic affairs I had with people from the opposite sex that have nothing but raging hormones. I never took one seriously, of course. If I did, then I would have been whining about all of it until now. Worse yet, I could've cried. Oh what a wimp. As I've experienced, meeting boys and consequently falling for them is pretty normal if you're around my age. Being offered to have sex after a date is quasi-normal. What is unusual is the fact that someone even bothered to love me, a gigantic pile of saturated fat, in an eros sense. It's funny and interesting at the same time how all of those shiznits ended because of my superb insecurity.

Everything seems too good to be true for a fatso like me anyway. My parents could've disowned their eldest daughter for being so damn fat long before I even started ranting here. But I guess they're probably still waiting for another juvenile reason (like making them wait for a few minutes, or purchasing an ugly shirt from an unknown shop.) before they throw me out of the house. I sure can't wait.

3. Try to meet other friends. (SUPER REDUNDANT.)
-This resolution is by far the only one I've consented seriously. I made friends by learning how to lower down my pride and disdainfulness, and thus be mature enough to understand people and their respective personalities.

God. I should be the next Gandhi or something.

4. Lose weight.
-Yeah. I did.

But it all came back after I stopped going to the gym, and stare at my personal trainer's delicious muscles. Jesus. I've never seen something else worth savoring except for that roasted chicken I saw at Roaster's. Until now, his smile is enough to give me chills for a whole week. Mom saw him a few weeks ago and he was still looking for me. I swear I'm feeling that we'll end up together and be so physically fit forever and ever.

5. Lose cellulites.
- I lost some in my thighs and ass, thank you very much to Treadmill # 3 in the gym.

It all came back of course. Apparently, going to a review center near a McDonald's branch was a bad idea.

6. Talk to the long-forgotten swimming coach about swimming again.
- Look, I don't need to talk about that guy I used to worship to go swimming again. I saw him once, and for sure I did not speak a word to him. He reminds me of my mediocrity in many sense.

7. Talk to those long-forgotten friends I've been checking out on Friendster and laughing out loud to their grammatically wrong sentences. Ex: Busog na me, gutom pa ba you? As if I don't make mistakes.
- I did. I even added a lot of them in Friendster. Now only if they would change their habit of abusing grammars and making people who have to read it suffer...

8. Be a GIRL for a change.
- I bought a hoodie with a plunging neck line yesterday. Does that count?

2008 Resolution will be out on Monday. Right on the New Year's Eve dot.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Christmas Weirdness

Something's wrong with me. Oh fucking no.

I'm having this overly-weird feeling of contentment. Like you know, not wanting an iTouch, nor an iPhone, nor a DSLR camera. Obviously, those are only the things that are in my mental wishlist, ranked by pseudo-trendiness of course. I can't believe I'm suddenly having this unusual euphoria, the one that I would always get when my soul's full or something.

Oh damn it. Blame my mom. She took us all out on Christmas Eve, and told us that we will just drive-through at that McDonald's branch near our village. Oh, and did I mention that she did tell us that we will drive-through only at McDonald's? I did? Yeah well apparently my mom forgot what she just said. Instead of just driving-through one fastfood restaurant, we ended up munching on tons of calories from two different fastfood restaurants, and one donut shop. Jesus. It would be really okay if there was a time interval between those fastfood escapades, but what the hell. From Eastwood, we went to Greenhills. From there, we went to Taco Bell. I swear to God I can still feel some churros crawling in my mega-thighs.

After that, we went to a mall in Taguig to shop our asses off. The last time we spent 10 grand on clothing was 2 years ago, and all of what we bought was just from one store. Sports Warehouse. Damn. I enjoyed the shopping, actually. It was the first time I felt so anxious in picking out new clothes to fit, then throw it over the counter, thinking that my mom probably has a vault in her bag anyway.

And it changed everything. And by that italicized word, I mean the whole gadget-freak thing. I'm denying the fact that I'm not losing it, because duh. Fantasizing about gadgets has been the source of my shemale wet dreams, and have made me distinct among the bazillions of people around me. Ever since that faithful day my dad and I went to Octagon, I've been worshiping motherboards and graphic cards like hell. It's not because I don't have a specific social life (Alright. Maybe I do. Like any of you would give a damn anyway.), but because gadgets are very much people I would like to meet. It's not a matter of being a geek at technology by collecting such advancements, but on the other hand learning what you should ergo be by these smart things.

But now, oh WOW. It's not that I can't decide between an Apple iPhone or a Motorola Razr2 V9m because of their outstanding features. It's if these things are useful, and can leave good impressions to people. It's if these advancements can exterminate my clothing shortage for college time. It's if these mobile phones are available on size 20, or have this incredible and miraculous ability to make my thighs 50 pounds thinner or lighter.

Oh, for the love of God.

I'm not turning into a damn fashion-wise bitch. No fucking way. I'll re-read all my T3 magazines, post some tech joke at PhilMUG, and do some more research on a potential replacement for that DSLR that should be my Christmas gift tomorrow. On the dot.

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Christmas was...okay. I received a Clue board game and this graffiti jacket from Mom, a Starbucks planner with hefty cash inside from that lady who works at a high-rolling hospital near Meralco (I think she's my aunt. I'm not sure. I mean, she keeps giving me these nifty stuffs every now and then. I'll go with the auntie idea, because she's my dad's sister.), food and cash from my other relatives. Dad was weird. When I told him that I've decided to just buy a cooler DSLR camera on my graduation next year, he told me to buy an iPhone instead. No, not just told. He more like requested me to buy one.

El weirdo.

Anyways, I'm thinking of shutting this blog down soon. I don't really know why, but I have the slightest feeling that I'll be abandoning it some time next year. I saw Patti's blog a while ago and I realized that I'm writing crap, compared to my classmate and friend's awesome articles. There's not even a tinge of shittiness in any of her articles, nor swear words. I'm no good.

Better make the last of everything good.

(Oh and by the way, I answered my own question and ate up a chunk of my pride last night. I sent a Christmas greeting to whatshisfuckingface, and he replied accordingly. And no, my hopes aren't rising up.)

(Alright, maybe they are actually rising up. As if I care anyway.)

(Okay. Maybe I do care. For myself, not for some goofball who knows nothing but to drink and entice girls to have sex. Jesus. What a college kid.)

Sunday, December 23, 2007

TV Talk.

It's funny how television shows can make me so...eccentric. Ever since people have stopped ordering pastries from us, I was slacking off more than I did last summer vacation. I finished the third season of House last April and May. But ugh. Look what we have here. I already finished the first season of Ugly Betty the fourth season of House, and the sixth season of Family Guy. The idiosyncratic part is that I'm still freakin' bored. Damn right. I know I'm better off at a mental institution.

I did not like Ugly Betty that much. There is seriously no way that Betty Suarez can be like, a true person living in our modern society. How can someone be so apathetic like that? I know, I know. It's television, evidently. But don't you people get it? Television shows have to somewhat portray a contemporary metaphor that will teach us some kind of morality thingy, unlike those freaks at Heroes. I mean, who the hell can even jump off a bridge that is 100+ feet above the ground then be able to just dislocate a bone, then afterwards correct it herself? It's like f-ing Transformers again.

The only reason I watched an episode of Heroes is because of Masi Oka who is the cutest thing next to Bobby Lee of MadTV. That's episode five, ingeniously entitled 'Hiros'. God, he's the coolest Japanese ever.

I like how Seth MacFarlane was able to put together funny clips that seem to be out of order in each episode of Family Guy. It gets so twisted when one character would reminisce about something all of a sudden, then this clip of what he did would show up. I like that. I wish we can do that in real life, you know?

Mom: Oh come on now. Let's go to the mall!
Me: I can't, mom. I have diarrhea. I don't want to end up being arrested again in the mall like that last time we went shopping and I had an overdose of burrito and milk.
*Insert clip here showing the full-force of FBI and LAPD and NYPD or whatever police department dragging me out of the mall with my crap flowing down like water from my asshole, smearing like hell.*

That would be sooo cool.

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Using Friendster as your gateway to your past world is the niftiest thing ever. I mean, here I am, about to graduate from an all-girls' high school, likewise for my ex-batchmates who will also graduate from that school where I used to study for my elementary education. The difference is just there you can see teenage boys' puberty, and you can be so f-ing touched because you will realize that you really had come a long way since you first held your first pencil or crayon or something that you use in school.

In an all-girls school, the only signs of metamorphosis you can witness are from that of your same female species, which in my opinion is not really much of exhilarating. Well, duh. I know it's not really obvious, but I'm actually a girl. Yeah, I so can't believe it too. Anyways, the only thing that can produce a humongous lump in your throat is the fact that you and your girlfriend s are so much mature now, compared to what used to be when you were still oh-so young and eating each other shits is still a fad.

Friendster is like a time machine, really. The only difference of this social networking crap from the conventional stereotype is that you're not literally being time warped, but hence just being transformed to this world you used to have.

Which makes me ask myself...

What if I did not transfer to my current school? What would happen? Will I have social skills?

Do you know what the hell would happen?

INTROVERSION would have never exist at all. I wouldn't probably have my own blog if so. I would be so socialized, I would never ever ever need a high-tech confidant other than those friggin chatbots.

Now that's scary.

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As it turns out, my father will not be able to come home this Christmas nor New Year nor whatever week that is close to the aforementioned holidays. I cried for a while, of course. He's my dad, for Christ's sake. He's the only person smart enough to understand my point that there is no line between my wants and needs, and thus spoil my guts to death.

He gave me 2 grand (dollars) as a redemption, I suppose. But then I have to share it with my other siblings. 4 other siblings. Damn. They better thank me for I'm no selfish bitch.

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I have a question.

Do you send Christmas greetings to a person you used to have a relationship with? Not that the relationship was anything fruitful, but uh, I don't really know. I don't know too why every Christmas, my pride would just hide somewhere between my mammary glands, then consequently I would be so fucking kind to people and give them gifts. It's like freakin' Satan on angel dust.

And oh, for the love of God. I don't have that damn Christmas spirit, please. Jesus. I'm like Grinch's yummy shemale version here.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Not Much

So this is what a day-off feels like. Freedom and boredom sucks.

I've been working my ass off for the past few days. I was scooping out molds of crinkle mixture, shape what I've scooped to a sphere, throw it to this basin filled with powdered sugar, then arrange it together with other crinkle spheres into this baking pan with powdered sugar, put the pan in the oven, wait for a couple of minutes, then pack them.

This is what I did for 15+ hours for each day that I worked.

At first, I was very much overjoyed. I mean, really. This is the first time that my vacation had been productive, at the very least. Nobody living under our roof cannot, for the love of crinkles, call me a fat-ass who slacks off 10 hours a day. Or the whole day, if you would like to be more generic. That's because I worked my way to a buttload of pastries my mom asked me to make.

But after 10 hours (I don't know why I keep using 10 as a number. Something to do with the horoscope shits probably), I felt absolutely bored with all of it already. When the maids are in the other side of our kitchen that is seperated by a wall, I would curse myself to death. It is a wonder too that one of our maids asked me what "stupid", "shit", "fucking hell, and "God this so suck please kill me now" means. I was surprised that they heard everything I said to the crinkle mixture. Maids have some kind of telepathy now? What the hell.

So there. Today's my day-off. And tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. Until we get some more orders, I guess I'll be spending my days watching the first season of Ugly Betty and Heroes. And please don't call me a slacker. It's not like I have anything else to do anyway.

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I am still touched.

Monica gave me her Christmas gift last Tuesday at the year-ender party Ira organized at her crib. She ordered me to not open it till I arrive at home, which did not happen till the clock striked at 10 pm. And GOD. I was so flabbergasted at the sight of her gift. Come check it out.


IT'S STEWIE FOR CHRIST'S SAKE. I just love that baby.

The following aren't gifts, but they were scribbled all over that gift wrap. I know posting them is not making any significance to any of this, but I don't know. It kinda hit me that my world revolved around these scribbles for quite some time. And I liked it, actually.


The Holy Grail. He used to be my swimming coach, by the way.


I can't believe I'm posting this.



I miss Geometry too.

No friend had ever given me a shirt for Christmas. Not until Monica did so.

THANK YOU BODIKA. You don't know how much I love your gift.

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Sunday, December 16, 2007

Things Can Suck Even More

when they change.

Things can surely suck even more when they change.

Apparently, this will probably be the first time I'm going to talk about fucking changes in a general view. I don't have an idea why, but change is definitely one topic everyone loves blabbing about. And besides, I have to make up for that pinkie promise to my own toe that I will join an essay-writing contest a few months ago, which I had evidently let go of last week because of countless academic pressures that are eating my minuscule brain cells. The deadline was two hours ago, actually.

Everytime change would get in my way, one quote I have read somewhere would always pop in my mind. "People change because you change". I don't quite get everything that it is stating, really. How come things that change(or even just things per se) would be always blamed upon persons who question them? Not all things are rhetorical. For my 16 years of existence, the two things that have been known to be so grandiloquent that questioning them will make you so dumb are God and physics word problems.

I hate change. I hate everything that changes. Moreover, I hate people who change more because ostensibly, they think that you will still support them amidst the transposition they are suddenly going through. What about changes that are for the better, you say? They still suck. Nobody changes for the better. If so, then why isn't it that the world is still not a better place, like that Michael Jackson song is blurting out? Don't just everyone get it? Changing for the better is the same as changing for the worse because um, duh? CHANGE. CHANGE. CHANGE.

Of all the things that God had chosen to become inevitable, why the hell does it have to be change?

Fuck change.

I need to smoke to relieve this stress changes are giving me. Or drink a beer or two.
----------------------

How peculiar.

When I woke up yesterday morning, the first thing that automatically popped in my mind was our thesis. A few seconds later, our investigatory project. A minute passed, all our requirements had flashed right into my eyes like an awful Powerpoint presentation. After two minutes, I went to pee. Not that I want everyone to know how my morning routine goes.

Now seriously, what the hell is wrong with me anyway?

The first theory that tickled my curiosity was the fact that the holiday vacation and ambiance hasn't kicked in. This is probably normal, really. A day barely passed by since I had spent my last school day in 2007 anyway. So to speak, I'm still experiencing some difficulties adjusting my life dial from "fucking hell kill me now please God why are you doing this to me I know I'm the worst daughter you ever had but all of this school shit has gone too inhuman" to "time for some vices and intimacies with your blanket and gaming consoles."

The second one was the atrocious truth that the last 3 months was so depleted by several projects and problems, that my insomnia is now in its worse stage. Other than that, cramming for requirements everyday that have become very incessant since I entered my current school had probably brainwashed me into thinking that I still have tons of things to accomplish before I can acquire total relaxation. If this will continue till Christmas, I'm afraid you people can already confirm to your friends and family that yours truly is finally joining the bandwagon for mentally retards. I hope my psychotic state can help you and your family to have some yuletide goodness.

The final one is..I dunno. A hoax, as I can put into mere words.

I didn't go out yesterday. Yeah, sure. Oh look at Lorainne here. She is so introverted she probably doesn't know what social life means.

It had become a fad for people in high school to go out after school during Friday's, or some school days that are pristine steps for vacations and whatever. Not going out on the aforementioned days makes you not more than a loser, as people are coining it. So yeah, I guess I am one. What's new, huh?

Well, not really.

Frankly enough, I did not go out yesterday because I was saving moohlas for upcoming celebrations of vices with some classmates and of course, I will be getting a tattoo on my butt crack with them.

You read that right, virtual world. The introvert will get herself a hardcore tattoo on her butt crack. Beat that. Mom and Dad already gave me the go signal because it is so obvious already that their daughter is nowhere near normal and civilized. I have no plans of donating my blood to anybody aside from my feminine napkins, if some of you will ask.

I can't believe it. I will be wearing a tattoo under my toga for graduation next year. That is so neat. I feel like a gay person wearing my first ever pink thong. Now all I need is to smoke and to have some piercings on my liver and to eat crack and there you have it! A complete dipshit more than ready for college.

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26th, DLSU-CET results.
5th of next year, ACET results.

I seriously cannot wait any longer. Everytime I would be reminded of this, my teeth would just impulsively start gnawing on my lower lip so fast, that I have earned my mouth two canker sores and some random scar that bleeds every single time I eat.

Well, whatever.

I'm still considering going to a Misa de Gallo later. For my UP dreams. NOT.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Hell in A Handbasket

I would appreciate this one as a Christmas gift, of course. If by hell you mean cigarettes, kiddie drugs, absinth, and a good picture of that summer-lovin' I had, that is.

Ah, the taste of my last afternoon delight as a pristine step of my Christmas vacation. It tastes funny, though. Like I'm not even supposed to be here, or something. Right. I should be in hell, actually. It is a but a wonder why I ended up at my room, typing stuffs. Not good for a senior student, but nice one for an introvert.

Anyways, I received delightful gifts today. All of them are edible, except for the thing Ayu and Eleen gave me. Thanks. I will surely need it for my upcoming wet dreams this holiday season.
Here are some of the presents I enjoyed eating and staring at:


The Greatest Gift Pack EVER - from Rica Guerrero, Ayu Martinez, and Bianca Marjalino.


The Most Scrumptous Banana Cake I had -from Reann Gali...


...my good Mandarin classmate. :) (WTF is with that smiley)



I wish this was edible too. Not in a sexual way but uh... (the thong is from Eleen Manlapig and Ayu Martinez, by the way.)

There were many other gifts too. Like that Taisan from Nina Meily, and the brownies from Alyssa Flores. Damn. It's times like these when you just thank God for giving you such naughty and rich friends. I'll surely miss this.

Oh hell. I'm gonna start blabbing about how sad it is that this will be my last Christmas vacation as a high school student again. I'll better stop now, really. And besides, I have five more friggin academic weeks to reminisce past high school experiences anyway. So screw it.

THANK YOU FRIENDS. REALLY NOW.

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Mom's friend who is a well-known chain-smoker in her suburbia offered me one of her cancer sticks a while ago right in front of my mom's face. My initial response was happiness, because duh. Finally, someone have detected my need for nicotine and 10,000 other deadly chemicals. I don't really know how the hell she knew everything.

But of course, being the goody-goody daughter that I should be in front of my mom's eyes, I sadly shook my head. If she weren't there, I could've grabbed that stick and lighted that shit with this nifty Zippo lighter I was supposed to give as a Christmas gift for a friend.

Damn. That was close. I'll resort to drinking kerosene tomorrow.

I don't know what's the big deal with smoking anyway. Well for me, that is. I'm already drug-driven, thanks to steroids, which I am still chugging down until now. Why do I still need to do precautionary shits with cigarettes, if my meds had already destroyed my body?

God. One more fucking offer to smoke, and I'm afraid that I'm going to give in already. Sorry, but that's just the way things are when you have a good knowledge that your mortality rate is hitting at an all-time low figure every single puff you make with your inhaler.

I can't take it anymore. Bad influence be damned. No one's influencing me but my obese self, really.

I dunno.



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Thursday, December 13, 2007

I Guess, You Guess, We All Guess

I invented a very intellectual joke just now.

What do you get when you cross asphalt roads, massive mediums of transportation (like..uh..200okg, probably?), and Physics?

A blank paper caused by blanked minds, of course.

I'm very much assuming that this is what most of my batchmates can describe for that sixth page of that Physics exam from hell. It was really that bad and hard, actually. While tinkering my brain for the right formula I can use to find that stupid acceleration, I was also thinking of the right thing to blame as the culprit that is very much inducing the sudden blackout of my mind. Blame it on the fact that I crammed our investigatory project. Blame it on my lack of sleep for the past few days. Blame it on my country's political and economical crisis. Blame it on my obesity. Blame it on my pubic hairs. Blame it on the fact that I did not study painstakingly for my favorite subject.

Akon's right. BLAME IT ON ME.

Right after the exam, people started whining, shouting, asking questions to this and that. Me? I just laughed heartily. You know, that laugh Santa Claus makes when he's high with this special drug he created, which is a combination of Tylenol, valium, coke, vicodin, and a bit of Rudolph's red nose. For some unknown reason, everything seemed to be so funny. It's as if I sniffed some of Santa's drug myself.

I was reading through different blog entries concerning the deadly Physics exam last night and most of them had the same reaction that I had. Funny. And weird. Some were asking how the hell do you get the frictional force when there's no applied force nor a frictional coefficient given. Some were even asking if we can sue our Physics teacher for making a word problem that none of us can even solve. How..absurd.

I'll fail Physics. For sure. And to think that I told my dad that I deserve a DSLR for Christmas because of my grades this year. I will day on Christmas Day.

I shall do my daily monologue here. So please. Skip this part.

The final velocity of the car should be 0, because it stopped after 5 seconds. To find the acceleration, you then have to subtract 15 from 0, then dividing the by-product by 5. Doing this will result to an acceleration/deceleration of -3m/s/s. Find the weight of the car by multiplying its mass by the gravitational constant 9.8. Find the normal force by multiplying mass by the acceleration we got earlier, then add it to the weight. Since the car slided after stopping, it is evident from there that there is no friction between the car's wheels and the stupid asphalt road. And with this, you automatically have no frictional force. Therefore, no frictional coefficient.

I suck harder than ever.

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I was surprised when I saw my name on that little box below the editorial article in the recent issue of Pauliworld. It was more of surreal, really. If you've been reading my life for the past couple of months, you'll then know why.

As far as I can remember, I never attended any meetings called by the school paper EVER, except for that first meeting that very much resembled the school's first day of classes; people greeting each other, congratulating, and garbling out questions. Luckily, the school paper is nowhere near the school jungle. You can quit if you think you can't handle the pressures being offered right in your face.

Apparently, that's what I exactly did. Since then, every freakin' time someone would mention Pauliworld, my heart would skip a beat. It's like I killed the editor-in-chief, or smashed those machines that are used to publish the school paper. Knowing myself well enough, that's the feeling that I would usually get for doing something inappropriate and uncanny. Like cheating for the Physics exam, or deflowering myself using a used candle.

So yeah. You can just imagine my ghastly reaction when I saw my typographically-errored last name encoded in that green box. Taragas, huh? That's probably kismet's way of letting my remorse out for deciding to quit this unparalleled chance of writing for the school paper. How mature. I typically get insults like that from 3rd graders, and even those kids think that playing with my last name is the least thing they'll do.

Well, all of it probably comes with the package anyway. With a very mundane and inexplicable name, I cannot think of any good reason why someone would pronounce or even spell it right. I'll just blame my dad for his futile attempt to give her first child the most princess-y name ever this time.

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Love(and that guy who broke my heart) is like my addiction to Coke. No matter how I try to avoid it, it will all just end up on it again. The more you think about it, the more your mind and body hungers for it. Maybe there's still cocaine left in Coke. But for love? I don't know. Maybe it's all in the infatuation dopamine and norepinerephine and fucking endorphin gives.

You don't really have to get the surrealism. Nor the idea.

Forgive me. I don't really know where the hell this mawkishness is coming from. My current lethargy is not much of a help for me to forget stuffs. Stuffs that are....stupid.

You get the abstract.

What you can do is pop my blackheads and invent a new dish out of the pasta-like substance that comes out and defeat the culinary master out of Wolfgang Puck.

Oh well.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

I Just Blogged 3

I don't know why I'm doing this, really. I have my periodical exam for Physics tomorrow and God knows why I was not able to study intensively for it. Well actually, I have an idea why. It's our investigatory project, dammit. I was only able to finish it off a while ago and uhh. I feel so reinvigorated for some reasons. Yeah, with only 3 hours of sleep.

And it looks like I'll be getting four later. What a way to prep my self for my second to the last examinations. Thanks a lot, George Ohm.

I just blogged to say that I'm missing that guy who broke my heart. Because I'm fat. And not sex-educated nor liberated in any way. I'm blaming the Christmas-y feeling. Why do we all have to be so absurdly sentimental during the holidays anyway? I mean, it's explainable for those people in the West, with their ever-so white f-ing snow.

What about us posers?

I'm having dreams about getting into UP-Diliman with a killer bod. Jesus. And it's all because of you. I know that miracles per se can't really fluctuate my massive thighs in two months time, but fuck divine interventions. I'll be sexy enough for college. YOU just wait. And when that time comes, you'll be praying to God just for my smile. Ha. Beat that.

AAARGGHH.

I can't take this monologue-ing shit anymore. I used to think that I can shove him off with my brains, but I know that my hypothalamus ain't enough for him to even notice me again. I have to get skinny. I have to shed some skin. I have to stop eating.

Yeah that's right. Stop eating. There's no point in eating anyway. What's with munching tasty food, right? Now I understand Nicole Richie.

Goodness. I suck at sourgraping.

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For the second time, the owner of is not a bitter pill/bitch/pig. She just misses that cathartic feeling of being.....hurt.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

Dream on

People have been flooding my Multiply message board with their wish lists for the past few days. I was about to click that link to post a new blog entry for my own, but then I remembered my sense of non-conformity and sullenness. Yeah, how ironic.

I have issues regarding wish lists, really. It's not that I'm being bitter about the fact that when I make one, I'm sure as hell that my parents wouldn't really grant any of those things I really want. I mean, I doubt it. Having me as their daughter is a sneak preview of hell already, for Christ's sake. No one would treat Satan's prodigy in a good way.

In fact, I don't really know why I have this strong grudge against wish lists. Ha.

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Do you know what else is weird?

Christmas.

Christmas used to be so fun when I was still an innocent little girl, with a brain so clean its impulses are squeaking and medulla oblangata shining like hell. I would look for any material capable of making a beat, then I would go out and go caroling or wassailing on my own. A block of wood and a small metal tube boosted my self-confidence, and my croaking voice made people realize that I'm no Aretha Franklin. I did that for three freakin' years before I realized that there is no point in singing Christmas carols for people who don't fucking care whatever you sing. Old people are an exception. They are so kind, they will still surely bake you some cookies even if you perform a rendition of Britney's Gimme More with their crippled legs as your pole. No offense, but I wish all people would act like that and be so civilized around kids.

I've never received a girly girl gift ever since I was born. There was this one time when I saw a big gift with my name written on it under our Christmas tree. I rummaged through the piles of gifts, in search for my sister's gift. And ha. There it was. a rectangular box that is a 75% smaller than my big gift, all wrapped in an artsy-fartsy gift wrapper. My lips suddenly curved itself into a sharp grin, as if I'm impersonating Grinch. Even as a kid, I'm already full of arrogance. No wonder I grew up into a selfish pig.

Christmas day came, and as usual, my sister and I raced to the Christmas tree with our mom and dad beaming behind us. I grabbed my big gift and my sister acquired hers too. I quickly teared the wrapper and my eyes bored to my gift. Damn. An automatic magic slate again? I looked behind me and saw that my sister's gift is a Barbie doll. I rapidly grabbed the pink box and gave my big gift to my sister. I don't know what kind of evil possessed me at that time, but everytime I think about it, I cringe like hell. I can't believe there was this instance in my life where I wanted to be a female-something so badly, I exchanged an educational machine for a blond doll that is probably dumber than my dog.


But now, Christmas is just a word.

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I commuted yesterday in a very conventional way. You see, the conventional way is fighting that gravitational force exerted by the slope by climbing all the way up from my school to the DepEd building. Then from there, you have to ride an FX routed to the nearby mall. When you get to the nearby mall, you have to ride another FX coursed to the city wet market. Then you can drop off at any point in downtown where you can ride a tricycle that will take you directly to you house situated in a fancy-schmancy village that is probably 20-30 meters away.

I liked it, actually. I used to just ride a taxi and tell the driver my destination and off we go. There will be no adventure in this kind of trip except if the driver is coincidentally drunk and crashed the car into something massive, or if you're just tad too unfortunate because your driver is horny and decides to rape you, or whatever.

But of course, something awkward just have to happen.

The FX I have ridden is definitely a love shack in disguise. I mean, come on. The only person not coupled in the ride is me, the person beside me, and the driver. It was a very tormenting trip, probably because all of them are PDA-ing right in our faces. Of course I was anguished. Who wouldn't be? That time would probably the greatest epitome of when and where you have to shout 'Get a room!' before anybody starts licking somebody's throat in front of your eyes to let out the bitterness in you. Ah, how anguishing.

I'm no bitter pill, excuse me. Displays of affection just reminds me of how stupid love per se made me for quite some time. Dopamine and norepinephine be damned. I'll never be so dense again to let fucking butterflies fly in my large stomach again. My stomach is thus reserved for carbonate reserves only. Those butterflies has to find a sanctuary of their own.

Love did not teach me nor made me realize anything except for the followong facts:

- College boys are simply horny. They think that being in love with somebody can get their way in a chick's body.
- Infatuation is the worst thing that can happen to you. It makes you so paranoid and psychotic that even your dignity will be very ashamed of you, and thus will leave you dumbass alone. Being a druggie is way better. Trust me.
- Nobody will ever ever EVER love you for who you are. It's always either you have big mammary glands, or he is just damn introverted to look for any other girls he can trick into sleeping with him. No matter how smarty-pantsy you'll get, your parents are the only ones who will love you for that.

All I'm saying is, love is non-existent. If it does, then why do we have to get hurt? Problems and challenges are enough to develop us as intellectual persons. Why do we still need to be tormented by love?

I just lost my pride by bringing up a sappy topic again. WTF.

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This week is a shitload of catharsis. We were all jogging down in memory lane, and reminiscing high school moments we shall all cherish before we go to different colleges and universities in roughly 3 months' time.

No more strict school rules.
No more greasy canteen food.
No more homeroom.
No more nuns.
No more school buses.
No more intimidating classmates.
No more class presentations.
No more surprise inspections.
No more bisexuals.
No more jogging pants.
No more red tiles.
No more PCH.
No more CL.

No more high school.

Mark your calendars, people. On the 17th of March, we will all bid goodbye to our hellhole that suddenly became our second home; a home that is a better version of our own households, because no matter what we have to go through, there will always be people behind our backs and supporting us until the end. People I will surely not forget who went through all cramming thinga-majigs for my 4-year stay in SPCP (oops. I mentioned that shit.).

HIGH SCHOOL FRIENDS.

After 10 years, Monica will be Dra. Canta.
After 10 years, Nina will be Dra. Meily.
After 4 years, Rachell, Jacque, Juella, and Patti will all be nurses.
After 5 years, Alyssa will be Engr. Flores.
After 4 years, Charlene will be a businesswoman.
After n years, my batchmates will all be professionals in their own respective fields.

What about me? I'll be the crankiest engineer the world has yet to discover and truly love.

I'll miss high school.

Really.

I can't believe I'll be graduating from high school already.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

My Vicissitude

...is completely strangling me to death. I want my lethargic personality back, God. I don't want to be this irregular anymore.

This day seemed to be just a drift among any other school days that have passed. I mean, if I had skipped Mandarin class and take a power nap for two hours in the clinic, then this will be the first time I enjoyed a sleepless Monday. You can thank the rumor that we were to have three freakin quizzes. A rumor, for the love of God. You don't start rumors regarding academics. Jesus. Don't they ever learn?

Oh, the bitter symphony of a student who studied for her Mandarin quizzes which turned out to be pretty much bogus in the end. Sad.

On a lighter note, I have finally experienced that IMAX 3-D shit everyone was blabbing about last year. I payed 350 pesos for it, oh wow. And of course, because of my pride-filled brain, I did not let out a single word of amazement when something seemed to be coming out from the screen. I was analyzing everything. Yeah sure, we studied this one during that Optics session with Ms. Mondigo. But that was different. The 3D glasses does not have dissimilar colors, au contraire to that polarizing filter....

Stop, Lorainne. Stop. Control that adrenalin rush. Control. Control.

It was great in a way that my friends are with me. We were supposed to break away from the first batch and take the second trip home in the afternoon. But due to my paranoia and superlative insanity thoughts that we will be caught by the MOA guards, just like what they do to kids who smoke pot in movies, we went back to the lobby.

Damn.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

30 Minutes of Fame

Alright. Make that an hour and five minutes. But you have to add the part where I danced that notorious papaya dance Mr. Manzano have made famous through his game show. God. That literary portal made me realize that my body is hungry for some groovin'. Damn.

We presented that 5-minute skit for 7 times. I thought all of it was so fucking good. Congratulations to my classmates, especially the props team who worked haphazardly every single minute. We deserve a perfect score for this one. We all do. Or maybe because I'm hardcorely egotistical about our literary portal. 4-2 deserves a perfect score, I deserve to die ghastly.

Now let's talk about that
el estúpido uno contra cincuenta game we had at school. Sure. Yesterday was indeed a happy day. I got a high GSA, as indicated by my NCAE result. We weren't able to have that Physics quiz about Mr. Newton's laws because our batch is the audience for the juniors' speech choir. And yeah, due to unexpected predicaments, yours truly was picked as that lucky person to complete the panel who will help the players who will serve as the 'one', hence the name.

So maybe I was a bit unfair. Or I don't know, maybe REALLY unfair. Nobody voted for me. I was just...picked. I realized a while ago how that time when I was laughing my ass out with the two other DOH's turned out to be the most excruciating time of my life (more chastening than that time when I was having hard time excreting my shit out, because I ate 2 packs of Happy peanuts in one seating. With my celebratory beer, of course.). My conscience is still bugging me right now, actually. Add my menstrual cramps, and ahh! Now I give you a preview of hell.

I'm sorry for being so..conceited.

I will never ever ever join academic contests or game shows again. Dumbasses just can't procure any fame.

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I think I'm going to fail Physics. Not that I'm showing my humble side after my day-long display of complete arrogance, but because as of this writing, I haven't hustled a perfect-scored quiz.

I hate motions.

Can we go back to electrostatics again? I miss George Ohm, and his cute omega symbol. I miss drawing schematic diagrams of circuits. I miss talking about electric potential energy.

I miss getting unbelievably high quiz scores. I remember getting an astonishing 19 over 15 in that last quiz in Physics last quarter. And with that, 10 points was added to my previous grade in my report card. Woah. I'm still far-fetched right now.

And now, I can't even perfect a single quiz.

Note to self:
Lorainne, you are not losing it. Someone is just distracting you, really. Maybe it's your alter ego. Or your manic depression. Whatever that stupid distraction is, remember to wash your undergarments. Your mom will be all hysterical again if you don't.

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NCAE result time.

I'm glad that I made the right choice in choosing my course for my tertiary education. In my occupational field of interest, it clearly showed that I have the capability (and hots, evidently) for investigative (physicists, physicians, analyst, blah blah), and for mechanical (engineering, male jobs. The latter part is not a green joke or whatsoever, pervert. I am so talking to myself right now.)

I destroyed my stupid dream of becoming a doctor, more specifically a damn neurologist, a few months ago when I learned that I will have another brother. Ugh. Watching House MD makes me want to pursue Biology as my premed course, and go to that new Ateneo med school near The Medical City after. Yeah, what a stupid idea. Base your future on Gregory House's stupendous medical expertise, and you can also might as well work on Princeton-Plainsboro too.

I don't know why, but I'm having this weird feeling that I'm not going to end up as an Engineer. My heart doesn't want the abbreviation/title Engr. before my name. It wants a god-diggity-damn Dr. instead. It doesn't want me to end up working for a telecommunications company. It wants me to work in a prominent medical institution where I can tinker people's cerebral cortexes and malpratice or whatever.

Who the hell even follows the heart anyway?

I am going to be an engineer. Oh yes I will. You just wait for 5 years.

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You know what else is a wonder? I can easily write a 1000-word shit here in this blog, but I just can't write an essay about my country with the same number of words on MS Word.

Oh, and get this. I'm deferring my entry to that essay-writing contest by Manila Times. I believe that writing about what would it take for my country to develop is the most hypocritic thing I'm doing. And obviously I have to stop, because being a hypocrite and an introvert at the same time will drive people away from me. Ok, so maybe I would somehow fancy the latter idea. I will stick to my introverted belief.

So to speak, I will not join that contest anymore. I'm no journalist, essayist, or whatsoever. I can't write stuffs about anything that doesn't include myself. That's how cocky I can get.

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This blog entry is so long.

But I just can't stop blabbing. Someone just please shut me up.

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Ha. It took me roughly 2 hours just to complete this freakin' entry. Blame it on television shows.

So yes. I'm shutting up now.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Retardisimo

I have this weird habit of researching about stuffs that nobody in my age range has an impenetrable interest on. That's how useless I can get, actually. Anyways, I googled 'Dirty Sanchez' a while ago, hoping to get some proper information about the aforementioned term that is somewhat connected to what I saw a few weeks ago in a video link. And yes, it is a pornographic term that I have yet to elucidate.

Thanks to Wikipedia for the blurry and highly-delusive details. I learned a bit, really.

Dirty Sanchez is a sexual favor done by anyone who is exceptionally horny. A partner then puts feces above the upper lip of his/her lip, resembling a mustache, hence the el weirdo name. This act is connected to Coprophilia and Coprophagia, which is any sexual favor involving shit, and eating crap respectively (although I don't think ANY of this is respectable).

First of all, I cannot think of any reason why someone would actually eat his/her shit, or in more disgusting cases, eat the crap of others. What pleasure do you even get in eating dirt anyway? Yeah, I used to eat feces too, actually. But all of it happened when I was still a mindless kid, dammit. Even if Steve Jobs would give me the whole Cupertino just to eat a blob of his shit, I wouldn't do it for the world, or even for myself. I'd rather be eaten alive by African cannibals. At least I would satisfy those hungry tribes with my fat ass certainly not in any sexual way.

These people shall surely enjoy hell.

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I have bad news for those people who are long expecting me to be the new face of MyDeathSpace or SatanSpace or whatever hellish website you can think of aside from this trashy blog.

I'm leaving the bandwagon for hell (or death row, if you hate metaphors). There's just too many kids trying to be in the nicest line ever made by a group of posers. I mean, if they're committing suicide, then I'm gonna stay and live my ol' rotten life. I can't believe these people actually have valid reasons why they should die. And here I am, trying to figure out one good excuse for God to give me that waiver that will surely guarantee a package trip to heaven in my after life. Now that's non-conformity for you.

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For all of you who are addicted to House MD like me, I will spoil the hell out of you.

1. In the first episode, House will solve the medical mysteries by himself. If you can remember, House fired Chase, then Cameron abdicated as follows. And with that, his whole team is nowhere to be found in the medical institution where House is. Chase and Cameron took new jobs in Arizona, while Foreman also has a new job in New York. For all those bisexual aficionados for Wilson and House's love affair, don't worry. Wilson is still there.

2. In the second episode, House will then look for 3 new doctors who will be part of his new team. Unsurprisingly, he got 40 interviewees, hungry for some medical mumbo-jumbo with Dr, House himself. It's the whimsiest episode I've seen in the past 3 seasons. Or maybe I'm just so depressed, medical comedy is my only way out of manic depression.

Chase and blond Cameron are engaged. Not as cute as Chase alone.

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I can't wait to go back to school on Monday. This house is increasing my weight and making me all depressed about it at the same time. A sign that your belly is so abnormally big already is when you've noticed that no matter how long your shirt is, it will keep rolling up and consequently exposing your pot belly. Damn.

And since my nerdy ego kicked back 2 days ago, I've got nothing to do now. So yes, let's give the following lyrics some meaning.

I wanna put my fingers thru your hair
Wrap me up in your legs
And love you till your eyes roll back
I'm tryin to put you to bed, bed, bed
I'mma put you to bed, bed, bed
Then I'ma rock your body
Turn you over
Love is war
I'm your soldier
Touching you like it's our first time
I'mma put you to bed, bed, bed
I'ma put you to bed, bed, bed

And if you've been living in your closet for the past few months (because I think even those AIDS victims in Africa enjoy every minute of their day with this addicting song. Jesus. Why do I keep hitting on those poor earthlings anyway? My email is on my profile, for those of you who want to bombard me with hate mails. Thank you, really. You guys are making me famous.), the title of this song is Bed, made famous by J Holiday.

If you will sing it, then you'll automatically get its evident meaning. But if you're half-Jesus and you've never heard of sensuality or whatever, the lyrics might give you an impression that it's written by an incestuous father for his innocent daughter. I mean, add 3 more creepy lines then voila! I now present you a disgusting sonnet. I'm sure Mr. Shakespeare will like it, really.

You make me so hot
Make me wanna drop
You're so ridiculous
I can barely stop
I can hardly breathe
You make me wanna scream
You're so fabulous
You're so good to me Baby Baby
You're so good to me Baby Baby

This song is awfully sex-driven. I mean, what else from the opposite male can make you immensely hot aside from his.....(*insert a green joke that only a nympho will surely understand here*)? But if you actually read between the lines of the whole song, it's good. If you're sexually active, that is.

Beep beep beep,
Ang sabi ng jeep (said the jeep)
Beep beep beep beep beep
Beep beep beep,
Ang sabi ng jeep (said the jeep)
Beep beep beep beep beep
Beep beep beep
Ang sabi ng jeep (said the jeep)
Beep beep beep beep beep

No wonder our country is nowhere near growth and development. I mean, look at our transportations. They're already whining, for Christ's sake! Oh come on, it's evident in the third and fourth line, same goes for the sixth and seventh. The jeep does not want any fucking diesel anymore. What it wants is change, obviously. Ha. And you thought you're an activist.

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That scholarship is not for me, nor I deserve any scholarship in the duration of my sucky life. Maybe in my graduate studies. But I doubt that God will give me another big shot scholarship...

Okay. Stop blabbing.


Friday, November 23, 2007

I Can Actually Die Right Now

Ever since I've discovered that I already have a sure school for my collegiate education, I've been tossing and turning on my bed, imagining what my sucky fat life would be in Mapua. And damn. No matter what I imagine, I would always look like a fat pig. That's either a sign that I will have no chance of slimming down, or a warning from God that I should stop having dry and quasi-academic fantasies.

Mapua is definitely a good school for my engineering dreams, I know. Dad took up Computer Engineering as well for his freshmen year there. When I told him the good news, he became ecstatic as hell. I don't know, he probably wants me to continue his terminated Mapuan education. As you all don't know, I'm the reason why he had to transfer to another school. Dad made love with mom..then ZING! Teenage pregnancy reveries fulfilled.

Blah-diddy-blah-blah, dad. You know very well that you have a conceited daughter. That's why she will be changing her course again to ECE.

I want a title. Badly, really. A hard-earned title. A fucking title that would shout out to the world when I finally graduate that I am, therefore, an engineer. Engr. Paragas. Engr. Paragas. ENGR. Damn that 5 characters. I've been doodling that tasty title with my last name on a size one of a paper for the last 3 days.

You people are all in trouble if I do not end up with my desired title. Knock on wood my ass.

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Odd, isn't it? I'm writing on a morning of a school day. And no, I did not skip school, for Christ's sake. I have the final paper of our IP and our data gathering for our god-forsaken thesis to deal with, dammit. As much as I would like to be killed by my seemingly baneful groupmates, I cannot leave them alone for some reasons surely NOT connected to kindness or whatsoever. Jesus. I have no heart to begin with anyway.

Today is actually the second day of our small holiday. It all started yesterday, really. They have some big time convention/seminar at school with imported caucasian speakers. They probably don't want us to interfere with their idealistic shits, and/or bother their award-winning moments with such foreign invaders. So to speak, they gave us a 3-day vacation. It's more of a 3-day escapade in hell, if you ask me. They bombarded us with tons of homeworks. Damn those obdurate creatures. It would probably kill them if we relax our minds or whatever.

My nose is surprisingly numb for pesky holidays. I can't smell that Yuletide shit again. Oh well, that's a handy excuse for me to not give gifts. Hurr-freaking-hay.

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I gotta go to school now. Not to study, but to help people design our classroom for the literary portal shit next week.

UGHHH.

Happy Thanksgiving to all ye immigrants.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

I'm Quasi-ready.

I should say that this day sucked. For one, I will not be able to play for the 1 vs. 50 game for next week because nobody voted for me, even for the panel who will serve as the department of health for the said game. I'm thinking that nobody did so because none of those representatives actually know me, aside from Monica (who was luckily voted by those other representatives to be part of that panel I was talking about. What a crucial attempt to break our friendship, huh?). I want to play SO badly. I want to humiliate myself and show the world how much of a stupid-ass I am.

But those people just won't give me a freakin' chance. Well, your loss.

(What I just said awhile ago is in a sardonic way of course. I will never ever pick a fight with smarty-pantsy people. Seriously. It's either they don't know me, or I'm just a tad noob.)

Another thing is that every senior student today was inspected due to two absurd things:

-Allegedly, somebody told our English teacher that students don't actually surrender their gadgets. Instead, they would hide it in their pockets or bags or lockers or some good place that only them and a couple of her peers would know. Honestly, I was deeply affected by this one. Not because I bring my babies to school most of the times, but because why does she have to be such a pesky and bratty girl anyway? She reminds me of that kid from Adam Sandler's movie Click who keeps on bragging his new stuffs to the Newman kids, and being such a goddamn tattletale towards everybody he hates, I suppose.

-We thought it was our fault, actually. Let's just say that T-Pain played a major role a while ago.

I thought it was cute that after the said inspection, senior students who don't really know each other would break down into small groups and talk about what just happened. I mean, really. Peace and order is definitely the new cute.

But then, something hindered me from saying that this day really sucked.








I can't believe I passed that stupid exam. As you people don't know, I was not able to study for this exam, evidently because we went out the day before to watch a crappy and sappy movie...went home late..blahblah.

And I passed it. I really did. I really really did.

I can't stop gaping.



Monday, November 19, 2007

Ugh

I'm probably weirder than I think I truly am. As of this day, I've made a total of 7 sonnets. And to think that I started last night. Oh, the horror. I don't really know what pushed me to do so. And I don't think it's the product of boredom again, because boredom can never lead you to unleash your inner hopeless romantic or whatsoever. If that's the case, then you're either in love, or you're just frustrated because everyone thinks you're mentally retarded.

Anyways, I finally took my last CET ever yesterday. I can't really say that it's the easiest. Although it can be evident with the paper they used(which is only a quarter of the usual short bond testing paper with ellipses that you have to shade.), there are countless items that I have to guess, because I was not able to review a single thing. I'm not going to blame the fact that I went out last Friday, and arrived at 10-ish PM already. Ooh, let's just blame my stupidity, shall we? Jesus. The truth that you're stupid as an ass comes handy sometimes.

My dad was superlatively proud when he knew that his freaky daughter should be a GIFT awardee after all. And I told him that it was probably the administration's fault, because they're obviously depriving me. God. Will it hurt these people to print out the truth that my GIFT grade is A+, and NOT just A? My coach told me that the grade she gave me is a hardcore A+, because I'm active enough to deserve such grade.

Or maybe all of it is a simple display of discrimination. Damn. I told you being so fat really sucks. They treat us more badly than they do to excessively ugly people.

I hate paranoia.

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Of course I'm going to share one of those weird sonnets I made. I have pride and dignity, you know. This sonnet's title is the name of a famous mall in the metro. It's big, and a high-rolling tycoon owns it, and any other establishments with the same name. And no matter how many times you read it, this is not intended for anybody that once proved his significance to my life. And no, I'm no poetic bitch-ass.

I don't know what lead me to do this
Maybe it's because I miss you so badly
Your love, how my body longs for your kiss
My heart, trying to win you back unreasonably

Things are not better off without you
Maybe I'm still infatuated, oh I don't really know
I reminisce the days when your whispers would depict love that seemed to be true;
Or maybe I'm just still sad that you have to let go

I want to show you how much blissful ignorance is
I want to show you how much I loathe you now
But that thing is, I'm still not ready to take the risk;
The risk of making everything more sour

Maybe if you come back, I would get better;
For we shall spend our lives loving each other forever

It's a wonder how I can get so sappy at times like these, when I would fail to smitten myself just by thinking of what used to be...cute.

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This week can be summarized into one word: YUM YUM.

We'll have our sickening field trip tomorrow for my Mandarin class. No classes from Wednesday to Friday.

Ooh yeah. Long freakin' weekend, here I come.

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Friday, November 16, 2007

I Slept

..for quite a good 8 hours last Monday. Yummy.

This is actually my first time to do this. You know, go home early then sleep already. And take note, I did not procrastinate anything. I already finished everything that is due the next day at school. Ah, this is really the good life, Mr. Kanye West and Teddy Pain.

I got over the fact that my Mandarin grade made me less deserving to get that stupid academic award. I cried over it at school, then cried over it at home. Then I'm over. I learned that I have to move on and try harder this quarter, if I really want to get that academic award and make my parents incredibly proud of their suicidal daughter.

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The fact that my writer's block would easily go away when I have to cram a chapter of our thesis or a mere laboratory report surprises me to death. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is what you a real stressful confession.

This day really stressed me. No, really. First off at our first period, which is English, we talked about the upcoming English/Science fest which I think will be the weirdest day ever in school history. English and Physics are two completely different things. Yeah sure, our Physics subject is taught through the English language, but that's merely it. Shakespeare is not to be confused with gravitational forces, which is the same thing as Newton killing himself just because his lover(which I assume is his ever-famous apple) killed itself too. What a stupid stupid idea.

Now guess who the hell was able to grab that opportunity to prove her inanity again.

Oh yes. It's me. Har-dee-har. Add one more stressful and pressuring thing on my list, and I will really, really, really explode badly this time. I have the final paper of our investigatory project for Physics to deal on, and the gathering of data for our thesis, and the Manila Times blah-diddy-blah-blah writing contest I decided to join in a couple of weeks ago. I have two weeks to finish my final essay for the said contest. I doubt that I will be able to make it with all these stupid things I have to do for me to finally end this socially-burdening life of mine.

My mind is punching my sanity to rant about schoolworks right now, but oh boy. I seriously just can't.

Maybe in my collegiate years. HA. What a teaser.

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Sometimes being so freaking fat just simply sucks. I mean, I'd rather be so ugly then have a spanking-sexy body.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

NAILED. NAILED. NAILED.

I just got my report card awhile ago. It was very good. But one subject's grade really made my day.

PHYSICS.

I never ever ever made a grade in a science subject 10 points higher than the previous one. I literally gaped at that super duper high score before realizing that I indeed nailed my favorite subject(other than advanced algebra, that is). 10 points, well deserved. Yum Yum.

Contrary to what I thought last month, my general average got a bit higher than the usual. It was enough for one to be an academic awardee, but ugh. Mandarin be damned. All of my subjects are already above that 88 mark(as I can remember. God, I lost my report card again.), except for that dipshit elective I have. Mrs. Wong gave me a hard 80. 80.00, actually. I was this close into having that precious academic award, but it looks like God is challenging me again.

Damn.

And I was so close into being a GIFT Awardee too. All I needed was a plus sign behind that 'A', and voila. An award for my graduation next year.

I think God hates me. You know, for refusing to worship him and acknowledge him at times. This is probably the result of all of those treacherousness I've been showing to him for the past few months.

I wish I knew who God really is. And then I can go to him and he can smack me in the head with an infrastructure or whatever personally so I can already realize my mistakes and thus stop doing them all over and over again.


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Thursday, November 08, 2007

Schizoid

I just discovered this lately, of course. When you're no bipolar, you're actually either normal, mentally retarded, or just suffering from schizophrenia. But in my case, I just found out that I'm suffering from both shitty disorders that clearly depict some serious mental problems.

God. What a psycho.

And I thought those suicidal moments will help psychologists to discover another manic disorder that will be considered as another major breakthrough for the 21st century. Oh man. Let me stress and tinker my brain more, and the next thing you'll know, I'll be running on the streets naked, shouting "LAB REPORTS! THESIS DEFENSE! IP's! STUPID PEOPLE! TREACHEROUS FRIENDS! CIGARETTES! ALCOHOL! SEX! BWAHAHA!" My parents will finally disown me by then, much for their own good.

Oh hoho no, that is not mental retardation. That's the product of constant intake of carbonated water. sugar, caramel color, phosphoric acid, some natural flavors and most especially, caffeine.

My belly's larger than my breasts. Jesus Christ. I need a break from Coke. I guess that's what I really really need to stop blabbing on these disorders that are hindering me from being the normal person I want to be.

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The new classrooms suck. I want our old classroom back, together with its countless insect boarders and abandoned webs. And yeah, with those two air conditioners that are surprisingly not run by turbines or whatever, but by those homeless felines. What a joy.

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Ah, what a wonder.

There is seriously something wrong with me these days. If you've been living under a rock for the past 2 millenniums, people who go to a certain place to learn stuffs will never feel a certain rush of excitement to hence learn. Logically speaking, to learn means to understand, and to understand means forcing these things to be absorbed by your brain, which has been absolutely hard for the past 12 years of my life spent on preschool, elementary, and secondary education. I'm no child prodigy.

But now, every school day seems to be a happy day. Not because I finally have a female crush, but because I'm hungry for schoolwork. God, that semestral break really molded up some schoolwork spirit, huh? I guess. Every time a teacher would give us some assignment, my lips would curve upward. I would happily scribble the assignment down on my school diary, and would also do it willingly at home, or in some cases when my energy is at its highest peak, in the school bus.

This is probably because I have this slight feeling that I flunked Mandarin. According to our Chinese teacher, I failed my quizzes. And yeah, I failed the examination too. I wouldn't be really surprised if my adviser would hand me my first ever conference slip tomorrow. I mean, who the hell likes Mandarin anyway? I took that shit because I thought I've decided that I'll take up Foreign Studies for my collegiate education, and ergo learning the world's most spoken language is a mighty plus.

But that was when I still didn't know how to maximize my educational assets. I picked that course primarily because of my bizarre likeness to airports. And that's it. Yeah. Dumbass, I know.

Schoolwork fetish. Ugh.

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There's this pesky kid from the grade school department who was in the same lane as I was in the school pool lately during GIFTtime. I'm assuming that she's a 4th grader, possibly training for their intramurals. She's the most absurd swimmer I knew. I've never seen such heinous abomination in my whole life, aside from myself, of course.

She has this two long pigtails on either side of her head. She would always put her arm on my shoulders, as if they're the new gutters. Jesus. I know they're the biggest thing you've ever seen, but that is not a reason to cling on it. And by so, my 200m Backstroke was, by far, the most dreadful thing I did today. As you all don't know, my usual routine is to stop for a minute when I finish a lap, then go and do a lap again to go to the other side. But today (oh today), I did the deadly laps non-stop. Because if I would stop, she would irritate me again. Damn that kid.

Our short-lived conversations that scrutinized my english-speaking capability.

Kid: "Are you an Indian?"
By which I replied no, of course. What a new way to insult me. Yeah, sure. Distinguish my race by how dark my underarms are, and I'll strangle you till your bones are soft enough to eat.

Kid: "My teeth is squeaky!" *rubs her finger to her tiny teeth*
To shut the hell out of her up, I irritatedly moved the side of my head near her mouth so I could pretend to be amazed by the squeaking wonders of her little incisors.
Me: "Oh."
Kid: "Does your teeth squeak too?"
Me: "No."
Kid: "Why?"
Me: "I don't have an idea."
Kid: "Well, drink water!"
Me: "I don't like water."
Kid: "But wate-"
And thank God our coach already gave me the signal to start doing laps again.

Kid: "I don't wanna do that torpedo arms floating thingy anymore."
Me: "I don't wanna swim anymore."
Kid: "Well, what else do you do? Track and Field?"
Me: "I do Physics."
Kid: "PHYSICS? But that's math!"
Ha. In your fucking sucky face, kid. Physics is no math. Physics is the only thing susceptible of explaining why you are so god-diggidy annoying.

Good thing she went out of the pool ahead of time. God knows what I could've done to her if she didn't do so.

Look, I know I have 4 siblings under me, but what the hell. They aren't as bothersome as this kid is.

So people, beware of kids like this. The next thing you'll know, they will be following you into your respective homes, and would murder your stuffed toys.

Saturday, November 03, 2007

Surprise, Surprise. I Can Speak Perfect English, Jimmy Kimmel

Oh yesiree I did. I did not post yesterday just so people would think that the bored0m stick is not burdening my asshole, or whatever. But to nobody's surprise, I practically did nothing yesterday. Sure, it was All Saint's day yesterday, and all of you have probably visited your dead love ones in some cemetery or wherever.

How about me, you may ask?

Well, I slacked off, as usual. We don't have any dead relative in any of the countless cemeteries here in the metro. All of them dead-asses are either in Dagupan City in Pangasinan, or in Bulacan. Of course, being the lazy slob that I am, I did not join grandma and grandpa to their Halloween Escapade yesterday. Much as I would like to be scrutinized by my older cousins who have nothing to blab about aside from the fact they will be graduating next year with their magna cum laude-d diplomas, I cannot take the burden of commuting to a place that is 170 kilometers from my home.

Grandpa used to drive that blue Nissan pick-up when we have to go there for our yearly visit for our dead relatives I hardly even knew. I was so pissed off when grandpa told me that they'll be commuting this year. I asked my mom why the hell would he prefer to commute, when he can drive our car, or whatever car he wants (they have a couple of cars). Mom then told me that grandpa's getting old, and can't really drive that far anymore. I've never felt so flustered in my whole 16 years of existence.

God. Sometimes being awfully arrogant and selfish sucks. Even in a hermetical way, it would make you realize how bad you really are.

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I was channel surfing awhile ago, and I came upon to one of my favorite channels ever in cable tv, which is the DZMM TeleRadyo in channel 26. I saw a headline that made me sigh exaggeratedly.
"ABC Network ng Amerika, ininsulto muli ang mga Pilipino." (America's ABC network insults Filipinos again)

As a citizen of this rotten country, my first reaction was: "What the..? Can't they just lay off for at least a month?(for the record, that racial slur is still a couple of weeks ago.)"

My second reaction was: "Whatever that insult was, I wouldn't really give a god-diggity-damn about it. Not that I'm perfidious to my country, but it's just that I don't really care that much about my country right now."



Oh wait. I finally got hold of the stupid video.





And this is my final reaction:

This is probably the most sickening thing I've heard and watched all day. Just so you know, Jimmy Kimmel said "Because especially in the Philippines..I mean, they probably don't speak English..no one can read the ransom note or anything."

What a dumbass. I need not to elaborate more.


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I can't believe I'm saying this.

I don't want to return to school. I was thinking of our thesis awhile ago, and the mere idea of it haunted me all day. Our first drafts for the first three chapters of our thesis are missing, and I have yet to find it when I'm in my studious mood.

Ha. And to think that I was itching to go back to that hellhole a few days ago. Ugh.

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Thursday, November 01, 2007

Damn It Did

Fine. I look like a moron by being awfully hypocritical to my last post and thus posting again. It's either I play PS2 or Wii or slack off in my room or blog anyway. This semestral break is going absolutely nowhere.

I was checking out new secrets posted at PostSecret awhile ago. One secret killed me, really.

"i am afraid that the person i would love and myself will never meet, since we would both be too introverted to introduce ourselves."

Fuck. Why do some people have to share their secrets anyway? Don't they know that some people have similar secrets to deal with? I don't know why that particular secret had struck me the most. I mean, yeah sure I'm an introvert. And dammit. All introverts are misanthropic, for Christ's sake. It's not our fault we all have a tinge of Asperger's Syndrome in our pituitary glands. And it's not also gonna be our fault that some people are just born to socialize like hell.

I made a couple of what-if scenarios after pounding that stupid secret in my head.

WHAT IF..

1. I had the body of Giselle Bundchen? (And be brainless like her? No way. And even if I have both the brain and the body, I don't think that THAT will impress anyone. She looks like the extra-Asian version of my butt crack. Seriously.)

2. I'm the god of the opposite sex? (That would be weird. You know, having an obese teenage girl as a god. I doubt that even a male yak would take me sedately.)

3. I am the fantasy of every living human with XY sex-chromosomes? (Well, that would be cool. Even the most homo and hetero and trans and metro would sure be thinking of my sickening body. Damn. That should've been my thesis. You know, proving that the third and fourth and nth sex is non-existent. Ha.)

4. I have social skills, or whatever you call such? (Studies have shown that people who are very much delighted by the wonders of the universal language[clue: not english] really do lack social skills. It's a sad fact, I know. I mean, look at Stephen Hawking. Jesus. He's socially deficit.)

5. I don't giggle when I'm nervous? (Now this I would like. No more further elucidation needed.)

But then I realized that I'm already transcendent on my own. Ha. What a moronic conclusion. (and shoddily narcissistic too)

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This day was quasi-productive.

In the gaming world, that is.

I was able to finish Final Fantasy X-2 today. Woah. What an achievement for a gaming poser like me. After 1 and a half year of tinkering my video game console, I was finally able to complete all the 5 chapters of that stupid 'ol game.

Look, I've been playing Final Fantasy for as long as I can remember. And God knows why I haven't been anime-d yet. You know, worshiping those hot-as-hell characters in the game. I find Squall hot, and that's it. It's hard to have fantasies with a video game character. I have to imagine myself as one of the characters in the game in order for my fantasy to work. And duh. I'm no Square Enix worker to do that. I tried doing it once during one boring Filipino class, and I ended up imagining Simoun smoking weed instead.

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Okay. I'm goddamn bored. Isn't it evident? I've been blogging everyday.

I have to stop. I just have to.





Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Niggling

Woah. What a day. What a freakin' fucking shitting crapping motherfucking day.

This was really A day.

I prayed for action, and I got it instantly. Thanks, God. But I wish this hear-thy-prayers service of Yours would work excellently everyday, not just on times you feel that the world is in need of graces and blessings and whatnot. Oh wait. Do I have to put that on the comments/suggestions box again? Crap.

Anyways, mom made me go to Mapua Intramuros to re-schedule my MSAE ALONE today. Not veraciously alone, but alone in a way that she stayed at the nearby mall, and made me walk to the aforementioned institute which is roughly the distance from my school to Megamall. At first, I was hesitant as hell. Well, who wouldn't be? I would only pass by Manila if we would go to Baclaran or Quiapo or Divisoria, which has become weirdly intermittent nowadays. So, to put it into absurd and obscene words, I'm still a Manila baby. (EEEW. Just thinking of it makes me cringe so bad.)

It was a very enduring adventure, so to speak. I'll take it as a prerequisite stage for my college life. I know I've been commuting since 4th grade, but this is still one hell of an experience I wouldn't mind having all over and over and over again. As I walked out of the Mapua grounds, I was then thinking to myself.."Hey, why not make a story out of this? Or a crapbook? Or a plastic bottle? Or a doll?". I was about to laugh silently at that meaningless latter part when I realized that it's raining. Hard. Not funny.

I walked as fast as I can to that covered pathway near the golf course that's also near the Manila Bulletin building. I waited for 45 minutes for the rain to..well..go away, I guess. Too bad it didn't, so I just took the risk of being soaked wet and being laughed at and talked about it just so my mom and I can go home already and escape the rush hour madness around the city.

But crap. It was STILL fun. No matter how unfortunate it was, I don't know why I can't whine about it. What a sad wonder.

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I've been observing my misanthropic self lately. And based on evenings spent on the couch, I've been hardly watching the news these days, compared to a few weeks ago wherein I'm more than eager to take in fresh information.

Maybe it's because of my extremely-idealistic belief that the Philippines will cease to exist in a few years.

No, really. With how the people in our government run our country, and by how poverty is killing each and every poor Filipino each day, it will be no wonder if the Pearl of the Pacific will be erased in the world map.

The Lesson: No one should ever listen to a hardcore pessimist. They're worse than mental patients.

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Want an anecdote? I'll give you an idiotic one.

I'll refer to that speaker thing that asks what your order is and you shout what you want to it as 'the speaker'.

Mom and I went to that Taco Bell drive-thru in St. Luke's Hospital in QC a while ago. When the speaker already belted out and asked our orders, mom ordered one crunchwrap. After a few seconds, the speaker asked if we want anything else. Mom made a correction and added another crunchwrap. The speaker wasn't able to hear mom's second reply, so he asked again. Mom shouted, the speaker didn't hear. Repeat the idiosyncratic process about 3 times. Mom, who is already angry at this point, shouted: "ISA PA NGA KASENG CRUNCHCRAP!". Instead of calming her down, I laughed my ass out.

Reminds me of that incident when we went to the McDonald's drive-thru at Katipunan after our review class. Classic.

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By the look of my stretch marks on each of my mammary glands, I think I will not be posting for quite sometime. And no, I will not go to the hospital and have an operation for my boobs. It's just that they can magically predict my future by going into different directions. Now that is what you call a hidden gift.

So here is my crappy article about talents, which I posted last week in my Multiply. It's so long and boring and crappy, nobody ever replied to it. Enjoy if you can.

Talent Schmalent

REclaimer: This is not written for my convenience or whatever. This is actually for one of my closest friends who is going through a very very hard time right now. What type of hard time, you may ask? Well, read between the lines, dumbass.

Talent.

What's in a talent?

Talent is seemingly what people have that they are exceptional on, or for me, it is what you have that gives you that stupid right to be respected. Talent is also that thing you can be proud of that you have, because..well....not all people have what YOU righteously have, ain't it?

I remember one time when I was still in 4th grade, and we were then asked to write our talents in a page of our notebook. I don't know what subject it was for (and for the love of God I'm dead sure that it's so not for math or penmanship), but I recall well that I can't write a single thing. No, really. I would look to my seatmate's notebook to see if we have the same talents, but sadly, he's a goddamn boy who likes to pretend he's Hulk Hogan and play basketball and play some badass game on PlayStation, very au contraire to me. He had a nasty crush on me, though. But that's another story.

And so, our adviser told us to pass our notebooks since he'll check it and show it to our excessively sullen guidance counselor back then. I hurriedly wrote.."I like beating boys and my crush, Alejandro." Wow. What an f-ing talent (and a retard, for that matter). Mom got called by my homosexual adviser and our ever-depressed guidance counselor the very next day. And up to now, mom never brought up that boy-beating talent ever again. That's probably one of those absurd reasons why she sent me to an exclusive school for girls for my high school education. Whatever.

Freshmen year came, and I signed up for this new club called AWL. I can't remember its meaning anymore because they rejected me, and no one ever gave me a special reason why it should be of significance anyway. And so, the very same thing happened again. We were asked to write our talents on a size 1 of a paper (and I probably bugged those senior moderators to death because I kept wondering why papers in SPCP have sizes and stuff. What the hell. They weren't able to explain it to me anyway), and the only thing I was able to write was..'creative writing'. My sixth grade teacher told me that I can write well, and thus I supposed that this probably is my talent after all. And ugh. I thought that rejection I got then was a sign that my sixth grade teacher had a love affair with a relative of mine, or she likes me - A LOT, or she just wants to shut the hell up out of me because I speak and write better than her or she had probably mistaken me for someone I look quite well that works for the school paper. Well, she could've admitted that to me and committed suicide right after. What a bitter hag. A

I was already on the verge of my decision to forget about writing and whatnot, but SIR HOTTIE JOHN showed me the way. Let's just say that he likes the way I write....HEEHEE. What a homo.

Journalism absolutely underdeveloped that writing skill Sir John cultivated. Let's skip that Indian teacher who drained all of our brains by pretending that he was, indeed, a teacher and not some Indian who never knew how to take a bath and use a deodorant.


FAST FORWARD TO NOW.

If someone would ask me to write down my talents in a manila paper, I'm now confident that I can write those things I was able to develop during my high school iife (which will end in four months. HURR-HAY).

Talents are like pets. You buy them when they're little and innocent and ignorant or some whatever adjective you can describe to an animal who likes to be cute for a living. And then through food and love and care you supply them, they develop and grow into..well..adult pets, I suppose. And by that time, all you can do now is brag them around because you worked hard for them. Your pets' mortality rate did not hinder you from caring and loving for it.

God gave us all these things we [shall] excel on. Why do you think will He create quintillions and quintillions of human beings in the first place anyway? To just watch them eat, sleep, and die? Seriously, no. We all have these things which we shall be known for, and which we shall use to be respected or make a stand or whatever. And at the most, these things are the only reason why we can love and appreciate ourselves, isn't it? And by thus, we can finally let our significant other feel that TRUE love he's supposed to be feeling from and to you.

It is possible that you weren't able to find that talent I'm talking about for the past 16 years of your life, but please. Keep in mind that you only have yourself to help you in finding those gifts you have. I for one cannot help you to find your talents. I mean, even your parents can't (I guess). Why? Who the hell can even control what you can and cannot do anyway? You should get my point now. Ikaw lang ang TALAGANG nakaka-alam kung ano ang mga kaya mong gawin at hindi.

And when that time comes when you have finally discovered your inner fortes, you'll finally get the point of this 1000-word shit I wrote for you out of concern and boredom.

Don't ever ever deprive your talents. Don't ever ever ever do those shitty mistakes I''ve done to myself just because I think I'm still underdeveloped. For Christ's sake, WE ARE ALL DEVELOPED ALREADY. Pre-adult is fast approaching, goddamn it.

-Never ever sign up for the school paper, go through the hassles of the highly-competitive screening, then quit it all in the end. People will not respect you.

-Never ever think that people's perceptions will define what you really are. If you are up for the challenge of swimming for 8+ laps just for the sake of proving that you can hence do it, then GO AND DO IT. Never fucking hesitate.

-SO WHAT IF YOU'RE FAT? SO WHAT IF YOU'RE TOO SKINNY? SO WHAT IF YOU'RE SHORT? SO WHAT IF YOU'RE UGLY? Flaws are just God's way of making things unique and funny. If we would ALL look pretty and perfect and other shit, do YOU think that will make things more interesting? I don't really think so. Put yourself in God's shoes. Wouldn't it be boring if all people looked so good? God, watching ANTM bores me to death more than a documentary about sticks in NatGeo does.

-Take all the risks that you can, as long as it is for the good.


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I'm finding what I just wrote very hypocritical and ironic. Well, who said someone can escape the perks of life anyway? I'm probably the next God or something.

And no, I'm not bitter. WTF.