Friday, May 30, 2008

Exhale

College, by far, has been good to me.

I mean, fuck that thought I blurted out the last time that I won't really have friends because I think I'm weird. Not that I'm proclaiming that I'm not weird or anything all along, but I actually have friends now. What a wonder.

I can't really remember how my first day in college was. Half of my total time in school was spent introducing myself and catching my breath because our classes were mostly at the ninth and twelfth floor of the Bro. Andrew Gonzales Hall. Well yeah, there are elevators, but its too bad enough that there will always be this long cue of students waiting for it to hit the ground floor and take them to their respective floors. I wore silver flats that are a size bigger than the usual 11 which is surprising because that was the first time I ever wore something ostentatiously bigger than a specific part of my body. Of course, shit just have to happen always, being so damn inevitable and crap. Get this: the more sweat my stinky feet produces, the more likely those flats will just slip themselves off Big Foot's asset. By the time that we were already dismissed and I was climbing my fat ass up the stairs of the LRT station, the whole padding of each of the flats is already wet. The fingers of my feet are gripping so hard at the top part, that I swear to God that the belt design bullcrap is literally begging to be released and go on with its gripping life.

I soon as I arrived at Shangri-la Plaza, I felt how tiring and tedious this whole process of college bullshit really is. And to think that I'll be doing this for the next four freaking years? Oh man. That thought alone just makes me want to transfer to UP or some university that's nearer our residence.

But then again, I've got nobody to blame besides my low-class brain. And hey, I culled this shiznit. If my future's gonna be as bright as that ultra-bright light that represents God or some immortal being you should respect in religious movies, then this will be all worth it. And fucking hell, there's no way I can boost my GPA to a 2.0 level for UP in a year filled with nothing but engineering algebras. I know I'm dead.

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I'm restraining myself from blabbing about the wonders of independencia de la universidad because that'll be the most freshmen thing a freshman can do aside from his/her state of being a freshman. But it's not working. I feel like some deranged guy who was imprisoned since birth and was not obviously allowed to check out malls or watch television and stuff and was suddenly allowed to go outside for his first morning piss after 50 years. Kinda like those kids in Austria who are products of horniness in the field of incest.

Mere independence is probably the main difference between college and high school. You get to do a lot of things with a group of people in high school. In contrast to college, you get do a lot of things on your own. See, that's why I love being a damn introvert. I can like, shift gears very easily that's why there's no such thing as a transitiion period between high school and college in my God-forsaken life. I'm guessing that college will hone my introverting skills yet again. No friends and social life, here I come! (Now that's sarcasma for you, you, and you.)

Take our ENGLCOM class for an example. We are actually allowed to bring our iPods during writing sessions. That's the neatest thing I've heard of since that time my Algebra teacher allowed us to eat rice and viand in class. And our ENGTRIG (Trigonometry) class is so cool too. Our teacher doesn't give a fuck about attendance, and we can eat stuffs in his class.

I know I'm acting like a dope right now, but who the hell cares. College is beginning to be fun, and I hope it will still be after a couple of months. HOPE.


Sunday, May 25, 2008

As I Bid Goodbye

You know what I hate? My blogger persona. I think it's gonna be my main problem in college, that's why the idea of shutting this shit down has been lingering so long in my mind. But I must admit that my stupid blog is my main outlet, and merely deleting it would make me go seriously deranged, if not insane.

Let's see now, I am virtually schizophrenic. I don't usually talk in rapid English in real life. Often times I would even find it so hard to talk like this without punishing my grammar or whatnot. And people would really find it exorbitantly bizarre if I do. I don't speak what's in my mind; I write it. English is better off written than spoken in this judgmental country of ours, so I cannot really blame anyone except the whole nation who are advocates of our national language. I mean, even call center agents don't talk this way normally. Something's just so wrong with me, and it took me four slow years in this filth to even realize it.

We had this Getting-To-Know-You (GTKY) activity during our LPEP and beforehand this activity, we were told to write down our nicknames horizontally and place acronyms with each
letter that corresponds to our personality. It was sorta modified in a way that just as long as we think of a word and one of the letters of our name is in it, we can us it. So I used my nickname instead of my real name, because duh, Lorainne's too long and maximizing my vocabulary is the last thing I want to do in an orientation for engineer wannabes. So OYEN: O for Open-Minded, Y for loYal (man, sorry for sticky caps-ing. I just HAVE to emphasize the letters.), E for apathEtic, and N for Narcissistic (and/or conceited, because narcissistic popped out first.) And when it was already time for sharing, I realized what a great mistake I've made.

What in the world made me choose my blogger persona over my fat-girl character?

I can tell that my words weirded the shit out of everybody. I mean, every single one of them asked for the meaning of the last two words, and commented on my chosen adjectiives. I knew I should've chosen words that are far more ordinary than apathetic and narcissistic. And now, I just realized that I've shown everybody my weirdest side ever. See, that's the reason why nobody chose me for that I Love You game. They probably thought I was this weird fat girl who does nothing but to eat and read sci-fi novels. My God, I don't even read sci-fi novels. They just simply freak me out, like the way I freaked my blockmates.

During our high school lives, my friends and I would pick over those weird kids high school will always have. And now that high school is over and I can smell the stench of college's ass just around the corner, I think that karma is now ready to kick my ass out of my social life. I'm thinking that I'm gonna be the weird kid this time, and just like weird kids, I'm not gonna have friends or whatever. Everybody's going to be so disgusted at me, I think.

What a paranoid.

Patti told me that they're all just intimidated by me. What the hell, Patti. People don't get intimidated by me; they're disgusted at me.

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I never got the chance to continue my 'high school life' series anymore because obviously, high school is just detaching a chunk of itself away from me as the time goes nearer for me to just bid it one last goodbye and say 'hello-diddly-do' (Flanders style) to college. And writing something about things I would do when I was still in high school will never be possible without the high school spirit, which of course is starting to move itself out of my black heart.

In less than 24 hours, I'm about to start a whole new life again. Of course, there goes the usual scare-fair where your friends would meet other friends who shall teach them the real values of life in a mature way, unlike in high school where flunking an Algebra quiz can be overcomed by food-tripping in the oil-infested food variants of the canteen and singing R&B hits that ranges from Boyz II Men's almost-impossible falsettos, to T-Pain's radio-mixed voice. Good times, Good times.

Yeah, the only thing I'm scared of is losing my friends (and virginity. For Christ's sake, I doubt it.). I'm not really scared of college per se, because all I know is that I'm used to doing things on my own (IP! Thesis!). And goddamnit, I'm an introvert. It should not matter to me if I don't have friends, or should just resort to imaginary friends with the help of crack. I just know that I can surely make it on my own. Yeah, shit happens and will keep happening till God-knows-when. But for sure, I'm not gonna let shit get in my way now.

(I'm finding it absolutely weird that I'm being all optimistic about college and stuff. I gotta be on crack.)

So yeah. To all of my batchmates who are also to start their first day in college tomorrow, good luck. And may we never be stuck in an elevator for it would be so awkward, I'm afraid that I'll wet myself right there and then.


Hello, college. (And DJ, please play OneRepublic's song Say now for my dramatic egress.)

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Birthday.

Today is probably as dramatic as a bunch of kids from the usual high school drama club, only more dramatic and gloomy and emotive. Today being technically my last day before college, I cannot expound more on the emotions curled up somewhere in my pancreas. For one, they don't exist.

Now that is what you call bullshitness.

So yeah, this is my first post as a 17-year-old bitch, and I'm getting a slight smack in the head (by no other than God, duh.) everytime I think of something immature and stupid. Man, four days have already passed and the only benefit I'm getting is this.

Yeah, birthday was good. This is the first time I slept through my birthday, and did not wait for time to take its toll on my day. I woke up like a normal person on a completely normal day. As I opened my phone, I was surprised by the number of people who remembered and waited till the short and long hands of the clock made their way to number twelve together. I don't usually get touched by quasi-philanthropic acts like these, but what the fucking hell. I was terribly unhappy during the past few days because of my parents, and these bastards and bitches made up for it by greeting me a 'happy birthday' and throwing in the usual 'tumatanda ka na' (you're getting older) semi-pun with it. I admit, the latter is sickening already. But when you're sad and you just want to fuck life, any joke will surely brighten up your day.

Monica is the first person who gave me a real birthday gift. Not money, or garbage, with emphasis on the latter because for some reason, she likes giving her trash to other people as a gift. What a sicko, I know. She gave me a copy of Jessica Zafra's Twisted 8 : The Night of the Living Twisted. Sure, it was supposed to be a graduation gift. But I still accepted it. I mean, what gift shouldn't be accepted anyway? Up to now I'm still open for Christmas gifts and Valentine's Day gifts and other gifts people forgot to give me. I've already finished the book and I really
really really loved it, more than I loved McCafferty's series. I swear.

After that we went out for some reserved lunch at The Peninsula Manila. The food was so scrumptuous, that by the time Mom already allowed us to hit the desserts, we were catching our breath like hell. It was that good, I can't even remember what we ate. But I still prefer McDonald's. Don't get me wrong, but it was all too formal. I'm guessing that the jeans-and-shirt combination made me less of a human for clothing myself with it. Next time, I'll probably wear an onion sack.

I spent the rest of the day with Monica at TriNoma. You know, I never knew going to the mall with a hefty amount of cash would be so fun. I swear. I bought two things that are so random, they're now rotting in the shelves because duh, I don't know how to use them, or where or whatever (except for the Beatles bag). I don't really like shopping for clothes without my mother, because she's this only person who knows what pieces of clothing are flattering to my figure. The latter is questionable, since I think I don't even have a figure. Figures (Pun!).

17 is the dumbest age ever. This is totally the age Innocent Britney's song during the previous decade, 'Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman' is referring too. You're kinda in-between two age groups and that being heavily-stereotyped, 17's a gray area. If you put in into simple terms, sixteen is barely legal and eighteen IS legal. And I'm a what? Oh screw my seventeenness.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Zeitgeist

I was playing with my spicy chicken noodle a while ago, thinking of my last week as an immature shithole, and how the hell am I going to spend it. Actually, I've already created this sort of mental list of things I shall do every single day to relish these precious last days of my callowness I shall surely miss when college finally hits my big ass. Like for tomorrow, I'm going to enroll my sister in my previous school. I know, right? That's not even puerile, for Christ's sake. Mom wanted me to run a few errands like this one, so I might as well just do it for the sake of saving my ass from being bigger than its current state by sitting on it at home all freaking day long. And after that, off I'll go again to DLSU to buy the prescribed PE uniform for my PE class the week after. And for the rest of the day, I shall play with my MRT/LRT Stored Value Card by exploring the city and end up in some jail. Now that is one hell of a day.

It was just a week ago that I was doing exactly the same thing. Mom treated me to Chowking for dinner after LPEP Day One and we ordered the same stuff: noodles, tofu, etc. I was also playing with my noodles during that time, and thinking of things I shall accompllish before the start of the classes, and/or my new life. Monday, check. Tuesday, hmm, there's something really special about Tuesday, but I cannot really remember what the hell is it. Wednesday, I'd probably get a tattoo - then BAM! The bowl of steaming hot noodles fell off the table and made its way between my humongous thighs. It took me a minute or two to realize it or to even hear my mom's surprised gasp. After the busboys helped me to clean up, mom kept asking what the fuck happened to me. I told her that I was just sleepy so she could stop asking.

Now 6 days after, I realiized that while I was thinking of things that I shall do with Wednesday, a small part of my brain is still stuck by the mystery brought by Tuesday. And it just hit me that Tuesday = 20th = 17th birthday. How the hell can I even forget my own birthday? Yesterday
was Janine's(a former classmate) birthday. Three days ago, it was my brother's birthday. Eight days ago, it was Grandma's birthday. And to think that I can remember these people's birthday, I can't help but be surprised at what's happening to me, too. Last year, I even posted a birthday wish list, an entry on my last Thursday as a 15-year-old, and my weird birthday depression. And it's beyond flabbergasting that I even managed to forget my upcoming birthday.

I can't really blame anyone - not even myself for all of this outré crap about yours truly forgetting her own birthday. I mean, fuck birthdays. With the familial revelations I witnessed this week alone, forgetting my own birthday is just of normality. It could be worse, you know. I could've eaten our dog's ass and swear that it tastes like mine, or worse yet, I could've just bring back the emotive-suicidal days I used to have last year. No freaking way I would let the latter happen. And that doesn't mean that I would also do the former. Fuck you, fuck you.

So yeah. Two more days, and I have a year to be as immature as I want myself to be.

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I don't get it why I can write stuff like this when I'm bothered by my emotions and the like. And when I'm bored, all I can write about is how my avoirdupoisness is freaking the shit out of everybody, including our dogs. Anyways, I was supposed to email this one to my father days ago before I realized that I can just ignore my parents if they're tiring me like hell. So young rebels, knock yourselves out.

You know what's weird?

My parents. I actually don't know if they are my real parents, and my liaison with them is just based on paper. If that's real, then I'm probably the lead star of a local television drama situated in the afternoon - you know, the character who's being mentally killed by her mere 'father and mother'. And sooner on with the story, I'll find out through DNA testing and the international hit talk show Maury that my father is not really my father and my mother is not really my mother. I'm suspecting that I'm Stephen Hawking's child with a Filipina he met in a chatroom ages ago. At least my real dad is being a dad that he is, and my real mom is not the hypocrite my fake mom showed me.

I envy my friends who have broken family as well. See, even if their fathers left them, their mothers don't preach about how smoking is so fucking badand smoke behind their children's back. I've had enough of stupid hypocrites and I can't believe MY own mother is doing this to me. 6 days before my 17th birthday. or is it 35th? I don't know, really. My parent's problems with each other have been absorbed by my big body and surprise! - I've physically and mentally matured way way waaay ahead of my age. At 17, I should be partying, doing drugs, smoking, drinking my fat ass off and other stupid stuff teenagers around my age commonly do. Well, that's not what's happening.

Your problems with each other have molded me to become a better person; someone who shall withstand useless vices in the duration of her life. I don't really know if I should thank you for that. See, if I did, you guys would continue the evident. You will still be the gigolo you are born to be(at least that's not harmful for me.) and mom's gonna puff cigars till her lungs dry up. I told you it's weird.

We had this thing in our freshman orientation called Pito-Pito, the seven parts of St. John Baptist De La Salle's life. We were to write our reflections in each part and whatnot. One part wanted me to reflect on who do I consider my hero. I remember that 4 years ago, we had this project in Philippine History about the same thing. Heroes. I would've chosen Hiro Nakamura of Heroes because he's this cute japanese guy who can stop time and do stuff, but Heroes have yet to exist 2 years after 2004. So yeah, I considered you as my hero. I still remember how green with envy mom was when she saw my project with your picture and some description of you. I felt bad after that.


But then I remembered that this shit's too goddamn long, and I doubt that anybody would even read it anyway. I'm not really encouraging anybody to start a grudge against their parents. It's just that there will come a time when you finally realize that your parents are doing stuffs they're not supposed to do. Like my dad being a selfish father, and my mom being a chain-smoker. Things that happen out of nowhere and of peculiarity are probably made to startle you or to wake you up from the reality that's waiting out of the boundaries of your mind. In that case, I'm lavishly woken up.

And it's too bad I can't go back to sleep anymore.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

LPEP

My feet are dead. I swear. Probably because of the two-day orientation I had last Monday and Tuesday. Chuck Taylor sneakers aren't my best friends in fashion anymore. Although they look really cool because they really are in their own, they hurt my feet like hell when I walk or climb too much. The fifth fingers of both of my feet are cursing me right now - and trust me, you don't really wanna hear the exact unsoundness my fingers are making me feel. And I highly doubt it that anybody even wants to hear a foot finger bitch about her fat owner.

Anyways, let me talk about the LPEP 2k8 for my college, because I don't have anything in mind that is as interesting as this 2-day orientation.

I didn't enjoy the orientation and I'm assuring all of you that it wasn't the school's fault. I just didn't feel like waking up so early in a summer morning and ride trains one after the other and walk and walk and walk. This is gonna be my problem since in less than two weeks' time, classes for my university will start. Well yeah, I don't mind the boring mathematical lectures I'll be hearing come 26th. I'm so used to those anyway. What I mean is I don't want to wake my ass off in wee hours just to get to know people. I have 4 more upcoming years for that, please. (What a hardcore introvert)

So yeah, unlike my previous educational life that kept me from sharing personal shits about it, I'm gonna share, share, share like a rich kid to his only friend, the poor kid. Not that I'm assigning roles here or anything. Similes?

Unluckily in my block (EQ), the number of girls are exorbitantly inferior to those of the boys. There are only 6 of us with real mammary glands (and no man boobs, really.), and the rest are all frankfurters. That's 15% of the total class, landing to the girls-boys ratio of nominally 1:5, 4 girls can have 5 boys each, and 2 other girls can have 7 boys each. No repeatition, actually. That's how hardcore female shortage is at the College of Engineering.

Oh, and yeah, that's not only the hardcore part.

You see, everything is just about hardcore in this world I decided to enter. The mortality rate (40-something students out of 300-something will be the only ones to graduate on time. Normally.), the lessons (every freaking math), the people (don't even get me started on the real nerds), and the new environment. I can really feel that I'm on my own now, for Christ's sake. I go to my college in the city on my own, and I go home on my own. And sooner on, I have to make decisions on my own. Independence is a bitch.

My favorite part of the orientation was the Animo Building. Everybody does, I guess. The DLSU Pep Squad taught us stupendous cheers I'll be screaming at the upcoming UAAP season. I've been supporting the Green Archers since my freshman year in high school, and now that I've made it in their school, I'm more than excited to see MY (take note: MY) schoolmates play in the court like hell. Oh Giddy.

So yeah, that's it. I'm officially a Lasallian now.

No more regrets about that. Just like what my Advanced Algebra teacher scribbled in my last quiz ever in high school, I have a bright future ahead of me in DLSU. I'm just praying to God that I don't fuck things up or something, just what I normally do in my studies.

Animo La Salle?

Yes. Animo La Salle, finally.

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Sunday, May 11, 2008

I Just Blogged 7

Incredible.

That's probably the worst understatement one can truly give for how glorifying and thrilling Ironman really is. I'm not usually the type of person who criticizes or reviews movies or whatnot, but really, saying how stupendous Ironman justifies the comic-book hero, if not the whole marvel comics system. It's way way WAAY beyond fantastic.

Anyways, yeah, for those of you who are planning to give yours truly a well-deserved brthday gift please be it anything related to Ironman. Ironman, alright? Not some stupid ironing board or something as imbecile as it is. I'll be so ungrateful, I'll throw that shit in your goddamn face. Many thanks.

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God-diggidy. Tomorrow's our LPEP for my college. I don't know why I feel so scared, really. I've been through a lot of orientations in my life but seriously, this is the only one that's making me so fucking nervous. I'm beginning to embrace my voluntarily-forgotten mentality of being all paranoid about what would people think of me. I hate to say this, but I think I'll be judged again by how fat I truly am inside and out. I'm still hoping otherwise.

Wish me some luck, I guess.

Monday, May 05, 2008

Back

Sometimes, I don't really get the point of living and doing stuff for those things you want, and then end up not really getting even one of them. It seems like God's taking the time of His life (like, what the hell for an immortal) gambling our lives, and off we go weeping through them consequences. Okay, so I don't really mean that. I was rejected, like, again. (This is a private matter only a number of people can relate to. So, yeah. Yours truly got rejected again. For the...what...bazillionth time? Oh yeah, I've lost count.)

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Seriously, for reasons unknown, I can smell my 17th birthday that is 15 days far from today. Nobody's giving me hints or anything. Not even my mom who incidentally just adores mentioning my birthday again and again when the event's nearing. What a weird surprise.

I've said this before, and now, I'm gonna say it again: I don't wanna get old. When I was still a kid, I would pray to God to just turn me into a 20-something year-old because I think I'm a trashy lady trapped inside a girl's body. Kinda like that girl in 13 going on 30, except that the setting is in the 90's and I'm 100 pounds heavier. Getting old just means more responsibilities I'm swearing that I don't want to do. Like being less juvenile, or simply quitting the kiddie stuff. God, it's like taking out the fun out of my life. No more Dora, no more Dora.

Over my teenage years, I've proven that getting a year older is the worst birthday gift I've been receiving all my life. I know it's kinda cynical and dumb to try to defy my own birthday and the sadness it would bring, but what the hell. It's all I can do to prevent the usual catharsis I would experience during this time of the year. I mean, ever since Dad's presence during our birthdays was killed by overseas working, I've lost taste of my own. Birthdays had simply lost their meaning, whatever the fuck that meaning is. I doubt that birthdays even have meanings, because they ruin everything.

Maan, I hate birthdays.

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It took me barely a month to recover my old self. And by old self, I mean my personality that's been seriously suffering from sarcasma and arrogance long enough. It seems that when I'm torn between two anything, I'm boring and very very reserved. As if the former isn't obvious even when I'm no torn-ass.

I was torn between two famous universities I applied for my collegiate education. For the whole month of April, I didn't belong anywhere. It's either this particular school, or that. People would ask me where I would go, and I'll just stare at them with my empty eyes and mumble 'wherever'. I have this strange habit of ignoring major problems like such, and just turn to the external problems instead. Like for our thesis defense - I was worrying of what the panelists would think of the food we presented to them, not the presentation of our thesis per se. When we were already defending our thesis, my eyes are directed not to the teacher panelist who asked us a question, but to the student panelist who's starting to munch on the pasta I bought. Is the pasta good? Does it have E. Coli? Oh my God, what if it has E. Coli? I don't want to fail Research, for Christ's sake. Don't eat it! Don't eat it! It has E.Coli in it! What a fucking cynic.

And yeah, now I've decided - DLSU Manila it is. I mean, look at the bright side. It's far from our house, I have many many friends there, and and...oh what the hell. There are far more bad things that I'd have to cope with than the good things. That's what probably deciding to study there makes a very good decision. It could be some reverse psychology bullshit.

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Boy, if I had a penny for every time I would blurt out my course ever since 'where-are-you-going-for-college' fever started, I'd be so damned rich I wouldn't have to go to college anymore. Of course I'm fucking exaggerating. This blog would DIE if exaggeration is not applied. But you have to get my point by now. It's really getting all tiring, really. It makes me feel resentful towards the course I picked over those others that are more intricate and that would leave a better impression of myself to other people.

GAH.

I went to a nearby notary public to have this non-fraternity contract notarized as a prerequisite for my admission in DLSU a while ago. With how the secretary's eyes jumped when she saw the header of the contract, I can tell that she's new or something. After stamping the contract with the lawyer's name and other information, she looked up to me and asked:

S: 'Anong course mo?' (What's your course?)
Me: 'Um. Computer Engineering po.'
S: 'Sa AMA ka magcocollege? Di ka ba nakapasa sa ibang college?'(Are you going to AMA for college? Didn't you pass to other colleges?)
Me: *Taken seriously aback* Uh..sa La Salle po ako magcocollege..(I'm going to La Salle for college.)
S: 'Di nga?' (Really?)

I mean, WTF, lady. Isn't the bold header of the contract enough to give you information about my collegiate education? I've never felt so insulted in my life. I just gaped at her, wanting to rip her face off like a crisp brown paper filled with love scribbles from past love affairs I do not wish to reminisce.

Sometimes, I feel so awfully guilty when I get mad at imbecile people. But what the hell. Stupidity is a CHOICE. You can either make your brain work, or nothing. Nobody's even obtuse, for Christ's sake. So don't you really dare tell me that asininity's some inborn crap I have to deal with if I still want to live. What, you gonna kill me? Oh please. I'm pleading you to do so.

Ah, madness.