For a couple of years now my perspective of fear have been evolving and as far as I know, it includes phrases like flying cockroaches, confined places, and butt-ugly people. This is one big change since I used to be acrophobic and it really killed me. I used to skip the escalators in Shangri-La Plaza because they're so damn high and long and everything scary. That's how paranoid I was about falling down and eventually dying or whatever. I overcame it by simply riding a bunch of roller coasters within a span of 3 years and voila! Stupid acrophobic no more. Well, maybe I am still stupid, but who the hell gives a damn anyway?
When everybody loathed math, I loved it. I cannot expound my love on numbers 'n angles any further because I've done this a couple of times before and nobody really wants to hear somebody profess her love for some abstract bullshit (make that REAL and hardcorely abstract). Of course, if you love something, the last thing you can imagine is hating or cursing it. That's like, some guy's rule or something.
But that's what I thought before I received the result my first quiz in College Algebra. I quasi-flunked the thing, for Christ's sake. Now who self-respecting and math-loving person would ever do that? Yeah, that'll be yours truly.
Ever since I hid that stupid test booklet with my disappointing score on the cover written and encircled by no less than red ink in my file case, my conscience kept on bothering my whole system. As much as I would want to review my fucking mistakes, my heart would get in the way and block everything up. It's shameful and saddening at the same time because I used to nail my Algebra quizzes. Like nail, nail. And now, I can't even let it hit the high mark. Something's just really wrong.
An hour didn't pass by without me thinking all about it. It's like a stick of cigarette I'm hiding in the back pocket of my jeans; it's burning and consequently, I have to take it out and use it or else somebody would find it out and I'm sure as hell that I'm dead meat when that happens. It's so guilt-strickening that I wasn't able to fully enjoy Carell's Get Smart we watched a while ago. It just kept on hitting and hitting on my brain and saying 'open it! open it you damn fool!'. And being the damn fool that I truly am, I reviewed my answers lately.
And man, I am really concluding now that I can be so friggin stupid and not know it. Maybe it's a gift God gave me to exercise on something less important, like love. You can always blame your heart and overratedness if all else fails when it comes to love anyway.
But when you get a low score on your college algebra quiz just because you mixed up the signs or forgot to erase the grouping symbols, the only person you can blame is yourself and your careless brain. And boy, I sure do not like putting my brain to onus, because that'll be so degrading. Instead, I just shook my head slowly and scribbled five 'shit happens' phrases on my side table. I never felt so fucking good in my life.
The tragic thing is, all of those mistakes I made are way way waaay less than inevitable, and could have thus been prevented if I'd just hit my head with a metal tube or something as hard. It's like that MV Princess of the Stars tragedy, only less catastrophic and all. I mean, people actually died because of their fault, and hundreds of lives could have been saved if they just acted like smart and responsible people and stopped being douchebags.
Ah, fear.
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