Sunday, August 31, 2008

Things Have Changed For Me

Oh. So that's why it's for three hours.

I finally got myself a taste of some ol' college final examination. And for the love of God, it wasn't as tasty as it may seem to be. In fact, it tastes like friggin shit. I should know; I've eaten my own shit before, after all.

So yeah, on the day before the finals on algebra, I slacked off. My brain can't seem to handle any more x's and y's and Christ, it's getting so freaking incessant already. A mentor from Experts told us before that you should never study 24 hours prior to your exam, because that will fuck your head out and make you forget all that you've squished in your frontal lobe. God, that guy should be knighted or something. His rule backed me up when my mom barged into my room and caught me playing with my PSP. Ha! In your face, mom.

The most-awaited day came, and for reasons I have yet to discover, I was nervous as HELL. Well yeah, I know one reason: this is the last chance I have in order to prove myself to my professor that I am, indeed, a budding engineer. I've been failing my algebra seatworks because they're too damn hard, and the only thing that can make up for all of that is the final exam. Unlike those others, I didn't compute for the actual score that I should get in the test. For one, I lost all my seatworks, therefore hindering me to compute properly. And two, I don't like spoiling out the fun, really. I just want to enjoy the test, and thus not be blinded by the fact that I have to get it all perfect or something like that.

The Einstein-level of difficulty of the exam finally gave justice as to why final examinations are three hours long. And I'm not really exaggerating or something, because it was really damn hard. In cases like this, it would be really really fun and convenient to put the blame on the teacher and his way of teaching, among other superficial reasons. But now that I'm in college, blaming others rather than yourself is bullshit. It's like 'Look, there isn't any other person to give the onus to. Your professor have given his all by merely teaching everything in a span of three months. And you..you just sat there and farted - all term long.'

And yeah, it was indeed my fault all along. It's my fault that my brain - amidst the fact that it's being punched about a hundred times a day, thanks to algebra and trigonometry - is still not geared enough to withstand friggin problems and equations that needs to be solved. I wish I'm being sardonic.

Yeah, but I'm awfully not.

My ENGLCOM professor was right. Being mediocre just plain sucks.

---------------------------

After my last exam last Saturday, my blockmates and I went out of the school through the longest way ever, which is passing through SJ. We could've used the north gate instead...sure, but due to the facts that we were all so hyped-up and it was, after all, just half-past 9 in the morning, we walked our adventurous feet out of south gate. So there we were, standing outside, staring at each other and thinking of where to go now.

Charly Brown? Yuck. I read in an issue of Menagerie that they rated this one with a 0.0.
Tropical Hut? No friggin way.
Red Ribbon?

Well, we gave it a try.

It was good. Just...good.

However, my big nose smelled that there was something missing. I don't really know what element it was, but it's as if the fun is not exactly evident without it.

Had a good time though.

So yeah after hanging out with my blockmates, I hurried back to the Metro, stopping at Shangri-la Plaza at Shaw Boulevard to meet my high school friends that I'm missing A LOT. Upon seeing Rica and Ayu, my mind drifted back two years ago, when were still high school kids. We would push each other out till one gets weary as hell, and we would laugh at our Biology teacher's twsited tongue.

Those were simply the days. And those days will never go back, I'm afraid.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

VJ Hunts and SC

You know what's rare? My mom being supportive and all. The only thing I remember that justifies it was the ever-great swimming competition way waay back two years ago and she wasn't even as supportive as mothers should be. I mean, she just practically sat in some secluded area and watched my frustrated swimming career go down the drain. Yeah well I don't really want a supportive mom anyway. That'll be like going to school with some lampin (thin cloth) draped over my back and some cute little lunchbox tied on my backpack. So gross.

But mom's true motherly colors (which I am assuming are really really warm colors) came out last Thursday evening as we were crusing down C-5 road on the way to our home. I was staring out in the dark streets as I feel my eyes starting to slow down its blinking pace, and water starts to surround my vision. I wish I was drunk, because that would have been a good reason to pass out on mom's unrelenting stories about her gym mates and my dad's shenanigans abroad. But since I wasn't, I just scratched my eyes and sighed. Igi Guerrero's voice suddenly filled the seemingly boring ambiance of the car and for reasons unknown, mom instantly recognized the voice.

Mom: Di ba yan din yung VJ sa Myx? (Isn't he also a VJ in Myx?)
Me: Oo, ma. Siya nga. Macho Papa. (Yes, ma. He is. Macho Papa)
Mom: Haha!
Me: *Blank*
Mom: Alam mo anak, bagay ka dun sa VJ Search ba yun? (I don't really have that exquisite ability to translate this to English. My mom's just telling that she thinks I'm fit to join a local VJ hunt.)
Me: *Snorts*
Mom: Seryoso ako! (I'm serious!)
Me: I don't think fat slobs are even legit to appear on TV without funny stints or some high-noted song.
Mom: ANO?? Alam mo namang di ako magaling ako sa Ingles eh! (WHAT? You know very much that I'm not good in English!)
Me: Ma, bakit ba?

And I don't really have the stupidity to tell the whole story in a form of how we communicated or anything.

So yeah, my own mother is telling me to join the famous VJ hunt. Har-dee-har-har. I thought it was a simple joke, you know, just to fool the shit out of me and do her some favors. But yeah, it's hard when your mom's serious about something that you don't take seriously at all. Like school and love...bullcraps like that. Mom's claiming that my innate feeling American accent and unusual loquiaciousness should be maximized and clearly the best way to do this is by joining some contest for video jockeys - people who blab and blab and blab about music. I suppose I can give this a shot, I thought. All is well except for one thing:

I'm friggin fat.

I haven't even seen an overweight VJ talk like crazy on TV, what more for a morbidly obese wannabe? That's probably the reason why they require a full-body picture for one to join the contest. They don't accept slobs like me, for sure. For reasons unknown, people don't really listen to fatasses. It's as if they don't matter - AT ALL. Like they're not a part of the society because they're the ones being grilled by the society. What a sad, sad world.

I wanna try, but I can't.

Society is dictating that I can't.

Screw you, society.

-----------------------------

You know what's the best shopping center in the metro aside from Divisoria's 168?

UP Shopping Center.

God. It's like the ulitimate haven of necessities for college students. Cheap printing and binding services, cheap food, AHH! Cheap stuff rocks.

And hello? Where else can you find a grocery right smack in the middle of a university?

UP rules. I'm gonna pray to God for a spankin' new brain so I could have some UP goodness. HAH.

-------------------------

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Row Bot

I. Am. Deeply. Bothered.

Dear Person,

When life gives you lemons, you make lemonades or chasers or whatever out of them. This just simply states that when life gives you something, you have to use it in one way or another. That's probably the oldest rule of thumb I know, and up to this date, I can still affirm its accuracy in giving everybody their respective happiness and success in life.

But then there was you.

Now I don't really know if that rule of thumb refers to all kinds of blessings - humans included. I haven't read an epitome of the analogy that shall complete the phrase "when life gives you humans - and by humans, I mean freaking GOOD ones, you ___________". It seems that somebody has yet to find out a use for people God destined us to meet - people we all usually call soulmates. I'm no Confucius or anything, but I think the answer to all of it is...appreciation. Not JUST appreciation, but deep appreciation. Leading to love and..

I'm so leaning off the wall. And I'm slowly falling off to the ground and for reasons unknown, I want you to be there to catch me. I know I weigh a ton and all, but you're the only person I know who appreciates my elephant-ness and you know that I know that you will definitely be there. On the ground. Waiting. Because I'm tired of idling my ass on the wall for fucking months now. And you're...I don't know. Just kind and lovable, I guess.

----------------

My brothers and I watched Wall-E last Saturday. I kinda planned on ditching the kids at first, because I promised myself that there is no way I will let my eyes watch some robot who eats trash over the great Zohan. Mom wouldn't let me watch the Zohan movie on my own, nor let her young sons watch Wall-E by themselves. So well, that's all too bad, actually. Instead of realizing my surreal plan, it all backfired because mom paid me 200 bucks to shut up and let the kids watch the damn movie. 200 bucks, and I'm good to go. God, I could never be a president. Not that I'm planning to or anything.

I never knew a Disney Pixar movie can be so..so..meaningful.

The first few scenes are pretty much boring, and I didn't even find Wall-E cute. I mean, he's just pretty much a small machine with this big ogling eyes that just seem to move in all places. But it is kinda sad to know that he's the only one left in the Earth, trying to put all the trash of the people into one place so they can finally come back. It could've been really nice if I was Wall-E and there were no more friggin wastes and Coca-Cola Corporation is back on the biz. Man, my happiness will never be measured by then.

One day this spaceship came and shook the hell out of Wall-E's environment. The robot braved out to see it leave another robot - an e-probe. that is. He was so fascinated by the beauty of the e-probe that he followed it for friggin days. Weirdly enough, the two finally introduced themselves to one another after the e-probe blasted some rusted ships on the deck. I mean, how bizarre is that? Anyways, it was the first time somebody actually spoke a real word in the movie. Whle pointing to herself, the e-probe then gave her name..."Eee-vaah". So I really thought it was Eva, like Eva Mendes. It took me some time to realize that a Spanish name is not suitable for the e-probe, and for sure, her name isn't Eva. It's Eve. How cute.

I'm not gonna spoil it all up for you. I'm not that cruel.

But the point of the whole movie is that all of your efforts for one person will always be reciprocated in the end. Be it a display of love or just a series of good things; it will all return once things fall into place.

Oh, and love really do conquers all. Even friggin robots. Wall-E just removed our rights to call people who are so stoned-hearted robots or whatever.

Much gratitude to Wall-E for making us all realize that even the filthiest and stinkiest creatures of all time can alos be loved.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Maturity

Everytime I would pass by that small space before the stairs of the LRT station in Vito Cruz, my eyes would immediately set on the boxes of cigarettes an old man is selling. It seems like only yesterday when I last puffed one, and I know for sure that I want to puff another one. Again.

Before enrolling in my current school, I thought I already got over with pepang mania (pepang=cigarette) and I can easily survive college life without having to increase my carbon monoxide levels and smell like dead rat or something. Since I already tried the habit and consequently found out that my body doesn't like nicotine the same way it adores all types of edible chocolate, I presumed that fumes of cigs won't make any difference on my decision to refuse to smoke all throughout my life. So yeah, there I was on my first day, passing by the famous agno without even thirsting for a cancer stick. I thought from then on that I've moved on from my foggy vice and just stick with alcoholism because I can't really see the wrongness in beers aside from the fact that they give you big bellies that stick out through the largest of shirts. And hello? Beers taste so fucking good, and you don't have to be an alcoholic to attest that.

It turns out that my presumptions were wrong and dear lord have mercy because it's all coming back agaiiin.

I have so many theories as to why my lungs are begging to be murdered yet again, as if my two-month long wet cough isn't enough to rip it off to pieces. Maybe it's because of my environment, obviously. I've been spending so much time in school nowadays because professors are scheduling makeup classes here and there, for the reason that finals week is fast approaching as we all know it. Maybe it's because of some of my blockmates and friends I've seen often times smoking in Agno or Castro. It's hard to ignore what they're clearly doing, probably because I've done it before and my body seems to be begging for another round of it again. Or maybe, just maybe maybe maybe, I'm soo fucking stressed out and nobody's really helping me to let it out somewhere safe.

And by safe, I'm pretty sure all of you won't really refer to cigs, unless you're a chain smoker.

So here's the catch: as much as I would want to buy a pack of cigs, I just cannot. Seriously CAN'T. Like I can't do such thing, or whatever. I don't think it's because of the lighter thing again (I'm afraid of fires, making me unable to even hold a freaking lighter), because I can always ask somebody to light a fire for me. I don't even think it's because of what people might think of me when I will start the uncool habit again, because ever since college started, I've been immune to inferiority...which is just impeccably weird because my blockmates have been teasing me about my body for the last three months and it seems that it's not making any bad effect on my psychological whatever. For the love of God, it's even doing GOOD. The teasing made me less sensitive and MORE apathetic, which is a good thing if you're an introvert.

Well, it's probably because..I'm getting more mature each day. I don't have an idea what/who is triggering those bullets from the maturity gun and pointing them straight at me, but surely enough, my mother can definietly bear witness to this. She's been blabbing about my maturity stints all week long, for Christ's sake. She's presenting superficial evidences like the fact that I've not been bringing my PSP to school for the past few weeks, and ditching sleep just to watch documentaries late at night. God, mothers can be so overly-sensitive sometimes. I'll not be surprised if she gets mad at me because my breath smells like menthol and not the usual shit one day. "Anak! You're brushing your teeth na? Kelan paa?? You're growing up na talagaa!! Soon you'll leave me and just send your yayas to look out for me! Kawawa naman ako." Right back at ya, mom.

Being mature for my case means resisting urges uttered by my heart. Sure, my heart is shouting out Marlboro like hell everytime I pass by somebody smoking like crazy in the streets, but I can't do anything about it. My mind wants me to quit being a high school kid because obviously, I'm not one anymore. It's all pretty much like mind over matter, but modified to fit my life, resulting to mind over heart. I'm not really weirded out by all of it. In fact, I'm grateful because my mind finally settled itself almost a year before I hit the legal age. People now don't have the right to call me immature, because I'm evidently not.

But that's in real life.

So in this other world I have, I can be immature as long as I want to.

Probably because there are no vices HERE.

Friday, August 08, 2008

Westlife is from Yuruf

I was watching the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics in a local channel that seems to lack funds because of the incessant commercial breaks they have to put in between the notable happenings of the said event a while ago. I loved the percussion part, if you'd like to know. I wonder where they'll dump all those ancient-looking drums..

Yeah well anyways, come commercial time, I was flipping through channels when I suddenly stopped at a local music station because, well, the video that was then showing is that of Westlife's I Have A Dream. I don't know what happened - probably some kind of a flashback thing, like Raven does in her hit tv show That's So Raven, only the thing I'm seeing is the past, and not the future. The song instantly reminded me of my childhood days, you know, back when I was still normal and much much more immature than any other kid around the neighborhood. Back in those days, there were only two bands that existed in my dad's discman that I begged to have and consequently had: Westlife, and A1.

Now don't get me wrong or anything about all of this bullcrap. To clear things up, I liked them because of the fact that their songs are so darn catchy, I can memorize one in three hours. It's kinda surprising that their looks are not the ones that caught my attention. My eyes feasted on these adorable Irish boys who sing like falllen cherubs for quite some time for sure, but I really fell in love with the tune, rhythym, melody, and other musical whatevers you can think of. Being an 8-year old and all back then, I didn't care about the meaning and the words. I mean, just as long as my ears like it, I'll surely take some time to hear it.

So, after nine years, I reviewed the lyrics of their popular songs I really liked. And surely enough, I was surprised by my dumbness nine friggin years ago. How can I not realize that the lyrics are just so...so..good? They may suck (a lot, for that matter) now, but who the hell fucking cares? What people don't reap from this all is the evident fact that these boy bands that are facing major extinction are definitely more than their angelic faces and cheap dance interpretations of their own songs; they have meaningful - no, make that heart-melting - songs to go with the whole package. It's just so fascist of some of us to look more on their, well..faces, rather than the message of their voices. Damn it, why do ALL boy bands have to have overly-gorgeous boys anyway? So that people will support them? Oh for the love of God I hate this discriminating and very weird world.

-----------------

For the nth time, I lifted my empty wrist to find out that it is indeed empty for I lost my precious watch again. I then resorted to my phone to check the time - 11:04, and I was still on the platforms of the Shaw Boulevard MRT station, waiting for the fucking train to arrive already. I had to come to school a while ago because of the trigonometry makeup classes scheduled at 11:20. As the train arrived, I hastily went inside and grabbed the nearest pole as the machine started to growl and move.

Boni Avenue Station, Boni Avenue Station. Please allow the elderly and the women and the children to sit. Mangyari po lamang na paupuin natin ang mga nakakatanda, and mga babae, at mga bata. Maraming Salamat Po. Next station, Guadalupe Station.

Guadalupe Station, Guadalupe Station. God knows what the female announcer said. A foreigner who looked as if he was harassed by a pack of wolves just came in..in the female section of the train. Just seriously right beside me. He could've had composed and placed himself somewhere else for the train was almost empty, but he just have to be beside me.

So yeah the train began to move towards Buendia, when he suddenly asked, in a very confused voice, if the part of the train where he was currently in is for women. He asked ME. I opened my mouth to answer him when some lady butted in, which surprised us both. The lady, speaking in her best flirty english ever, interviewed the foreigner and further asked his country of origin.
Foreigner: Guess..It's in America..that's a clue for ya
Lady: Um..Yuruf? (By which I'm guessing is her word for Europe)
Foreigner: Uh, what?

I snorted so loudly that both of them instantly looked at me. It's a good thing my phlegm-infested lungs are always in the mood to cough, so I just followed my snort with a phlegmy boom of my mouth and throat.


God, please stop giving me useless experiences.

Friday, August 01, 2008

Anecdote Whatever

If useless anecdotes can be sold for probably fifty-pesos each, I'd be really really rich by now. I mean, I don't really get it why I keep having very unusual experiences ever since I entered the University. I don't even know if these anecdotes even serve as something more than things I can share to people I know. Or don't know. Or whatever. The point is, I don't mind being so anecdotal and all, just as long as -

Wait.

Why am I even complaining that I'm having so many anecdotes? I should be thankful, for Christ's sake. Anecdotes are things that should be shared, and therefore I am sharing mine now.

Anecdote #1

It was then a gloomy Thursday morning when I walked hastily to the platform of the last part of the LRT. I can see the train coming from afar, and I positioned myself in that spot where the doors would usually open to let the passengers get in. I was looking at the rusted tracks when suddenly heard a radio-ey voice so near me. I looked behind, and there was this old man with his radio transistor of some sort, wearing an LRT shirt that says nothing more than what it's standing for. He looked at me, and smiled. I forced a human smile and quickly turned my back to him. I got so creeped out that I climbed in the train too quickly but ended up having to stand on the other side of the train, where the doors wouldn't usually open. I faced to my right and there he was again, that old man with his transistor. As the train started to move, I heard someone mumbling something like 'lasalyanong inhinyero', two words that are printed in the upper left side of my ENG shirt I just recieved the day before. And guess who just read it. Yes, it's the friggin old man with his friggin transistor. He approached me and started talking about his kid studying in the University who's recieving honors and stuff. He even had the nerve to ask me if I was really a Filipina, because he's having second thoughts about my citizenship.

I don't really think that his stories are weird. What IS weird is that a stranger just came up to me to talk. Let me assure you that I'm no gullible shithole, nor I look like one.


Anecdote #2

After forcing and stashing five application forms in my bag, I hurried down to the Velasco gate to walk my way to the North gate and consequently exit and go up to the Vito Cruz LRT station near KFC. I was walking normally, ignoring the heavy burden my backpack is putting on my shoulders. I was climbing down the small steps near the conservatory, when I suddenly tripped BIG TIME. Everyone who was also walking there was so surprised. I mean, even I was enormously startled by my own blooper. How could a huge college kid trip so easily? I ended up spraining my ankle, and consequently limping the poor left foot to school for the next three days.

Anecdote #3

Ever since school started, I keep seeing this cute guy in all the train stations I have to board at. Even in the Ortigas Station, where I would drop off during Wednesdays and those days when Mom's in Megamall, hitting the gym with her friends. So one fateful morning at the platform of the EDSA station, he came up beside me and waited for the train - our train to pass by. Since it was so early then, I let the first train pass by because it's one of those primitive types that I loathe because they're so..well..old. Well I thought that Mr. Cute Guy right there would board the train, but my anticipation just died when he also just stared at the throng pushing each other just to get in the train. I raised my eyebrow in confusion and moved to the farther part of the platform. Surprsingly, he walked slowly and casually to the same position I just chose. Because he's a cute guy, I never suspected him of being a criminal, lurking in the early yawns of the morning at train stations. After the first train departed and I heaved a sigh of impatience, he uttered a 'Hi' to whomever. I didn't really think it was me, because that would be so friggin surreal. Who the hell would even have the heart to greet a humongous pile of saturated fat anyways? So, yeah.

I boarded the next train and well of course, he did the same. As I waited for the train to arrive at Vito Cruz, I tried my best to not look around the train and search for him because for sure, I would be freaked out. As the train stopped at the Vito Cruz station, I jumped out of the wagon and strolled my way to the turnstiles. I climbed down the dirty stairs slowly, so as to see if cute-turned-creepy guy is still with me. I was the last person to get off the steps and I didn't see any clue of him, which is creepy times a hundred, if you ask me. I got in the pedicab and in minutes' time, I finally arrived at our building. I scanned my ID on the scanners nailed on the turnstiles, and walked hastily to the elevators. Since there aren't a lot of students during that morning, I was lucky enough to have the elevator for myself. Or so I thought it was.

I was about to hit the close button when a hand suddenly gripped on the doors. It was..the cute guy.

I've never been so creeped out in my whole crappy life.