How I Loathe Thee

Why do people say that it’s the thought that counts all the time? It’s getting stupendously irritating when they would always blurt that out when you would give something so ugly to somebody (Ugly people deserve ugly gifts. That’s primary logic for you.).

When I was still in grade school, I gave my imperious classmate this butt-ugly keychain of a Disney character for Christmas. And by butt-ugly, I mean really fucking ugly. See, that Disney character is supposed to be Stitch of the movie Lilo and Stitch. And as it turned out to be divisoria’d, Stitch, who is naturally blue, became as yellow as a corn. His eyes that were supposed to be black became apple green, much to my surprise. What the hell. Somebody messed up the damn time machine again and brought some retro monster to the future.

And for sure, the stupid classmate cried (for reasons that I still have to know) and blabbed all about it to our adviser. The damn teacher called me to her table where my classmate who was crying as hell was hanging out. As I remember, this is how the conversation went:

Stupid Classmate: Ayan po o, miss! Niregaluhan po ako ng pekeng Stitch!
Me: Ulul!
Stupid Classmate: Ayan tignan nyo po o! Nagbabad-words! Ipakulong nyo na po!
Teacher: O tama na yan. Ikaw naman kase Ann,(Oh fuck my juvenile ego, alright. People back then used to call me my first name because my second name seems to be a little complex. Jesus. What is so difficult with pronouncing 2 goddamn syllables?) bakit naman nakakatakot na monster yung binigay mo?
Me: Eh yan lang po yung nakaya ng nanay ko bilhin eh. Sorry po. (This is truly a hoax. I gave my other classmates high-rolling gifts, and yeah. She deserved to get a 5-peso keychain of Stitch’s retro cuzzin.)
Teacher: Ah eh ganun naman pala eh. Pagbigyan mo na, iha. At least naalala ka nya, di ba? It’s the thought that counts naman eh.
Me: Oo nga naman.
Stupid Classmate: Hindi po totoo yun! Mayaman po yan eh! Wag po kayo maniwala dyan!

It was funny, really. That classmate never treated me the same way again. I gave her a loot bag full of crappy candies for our farewell party for her drastic change.

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A while ago while cleaning our classroom, I've realized how lucky I was, in terms of some behavioral and maturity aspect.

While I was fixing the things of my classmates, I arrived to a damn conclusion that I entered the wrong school for my high school education. Sure, the place is wonderful because of so many physical things; it has countless buildings, unlike that of my previous school, which only has a total of 5 (or 6, if you count the church nearby which we frequently used for different masses.) small and cheap-ass constructions. It provides quality education that can give those kids at science high schools a run for their money. It is known to be one those exclusive institutions that has a very high standard among its stockholders. And yeah, it is also an excellent foundation for kids of the middle to upper classes of the Philippine society.

It may appear to you that my school is everybody's dream school. I thought so too, but that was before I became an Environmental-Friendly Committee Chairman of my class. Before then, I thought that I was very much fortunate that my parents enrolled me to a school that makes my previous school a shithole.

Some people in my school just don't know how to clean their dirt. If I had a dollar for each wrapper of some food I picked up a while ago, I'd be filthy rich by now. All of that incongruity makes me ask myself if it's really THAT difficult to place that dirt in a trash can. Are their nerves swollen, or something? How about their fingers? Are those experiencing some muscular cramp like that of I would usually get during GIFT time? It makes me wonder why these people are susceptible of cleaning their body, and not their surroundings.

Much to their convenience, my classmates know that I have not been assigning cleaners for different parts of the classroom for the past few months. I mean, what the hell is the point of doing such if nobody will abide to it? That's the most stupid thing one can do, evidently. I know I may have not some golden ticket to top universities here in the metro, but I know for sure that making people clean in that way will never ever make them clean.

So what did I do instead?

Nothing, of course. I was their all-around cleaner for a small number of months; cleaning the washroom as good as I can, providing the trash can (which was stolen later on), erasing the board, sweeping fucking dirt on the floor, and arranging chairs. Oh sure, my job seemed to be so small to be acknowledged anyway. Even our adviser hardly reminds me to do my job. With this, I've come to a conclusion that I am, indeed, a pushover. How ironic for someone who has a bouncer-like build, huh?

With that, people would complain how dirty everything is. The washroom, the floor, the cabinet..the everything. And who are they to blame but me, right? I don't even have the right ro retort or whatsoever in the beginning. For a senior student, one can only normally juggle their way through graduation with only two things: college and school requirements. But I was juggling three; the aforementioned two, plus the dirty classroom. I have to do so many things, which is not really all that apparent from my juvenile blog posts. I did the whole chapter two and three and four of our thesis, and the juicy and crucial parts of our Physics investigatory project. Obviously, will you be able to clean the room by yourself with all of those goddamn things on your mind? I know I have my own committee, but it's as if they don't care anyway.

Mom told me that our room is dirty because I'm disorganized. Well, to everyone who thinks the same way as my mom, look at me. Seriously. Right now, I am still so stressed with all of those schoolworks I did. I have reasons, duh. I became more stressed a while ago as I've realized that people can be so physiologically immature about stuffs.

I'm not really fond of comparing stuffs because the mere action of it is puerile, but if you're in my shoes, it's quite inevitable to do so. In my previous school, people know how to clean. In fact, that's where I learned to sweep fabulously and consequently scoop dirt to the dust pan. It is also where I learned to scrub tiles make them white as hell. I can't believe my grade school made me more mature than my high school.

At the end of the day, it's not really where you study that matters. Instead, it all comes down to those people you are studying with. Neat buildings and a whopping tuition with people who cannot wipe their own asses is a joke compared to a cheap school with people who are able to not only wipe their own asses, but wipe other's asses' too.

(This long litany is caused by alcohol. All of this scum was brought to you by no more than Jack Daniel himself.)