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Impulsive. Random. Unplanned.

Those are the kind of blog posts I usually make here. Yes, just like teenage pregnancy, I've been making impulsive, random, and unplanned blog posts for INTROVERSION for the past 6 years. Though with this impulsiveness and randomness, I have zoomed my way up from zero into becoming my own hero. I used to suck at this blogging thing, with my superficial posts that revolve around my insignificant life as an introverted teenager. Fuck it, I went through the suicidal phase, had two douchebags for boyfriends, had a crush on my swimming coach's abs and package, hated my best friend for engaging in a taboo relationship, loathed how discriminating the world is for fatties like me. I did more whining and ranting about how fat I am and how the world can suck on its own balls rather than actually doing something about it. I did more sourgraping about how fun it is to do stuff alone rather than socializing and getting to know other types of people. I did more planning rather than pushing everything through.

Now I realize how stupid I have been for six goddamn years. But you know what? I wouldn't even know now how much stupidity I have in my system back then if it weren't for me looking back at these juvenile and normal mistakes. Yes, they make me cringe like fucking Jonas Brothers, but it is really better that way. Better to accept them, because you would really appreciate yourself much more now.

With this, INTROVERSION will be signing off before 2011 hits. No, the archives won't be burned or anything. Everything will stay intact. I guess it's just one of those things I have to change since I am starting to outgrow it. I mean, if I don't do something about it like the way I did to my Harry Potter fanatic days, it's just gonna be a one-liner in my memory vacuum. My blog means so much to me. I know it's just a small space in the information superhighway that I'm betting nobody really knows much about, but it has been witness to every freaking milestone in my life, be it an accomplishment or a mere downfall. It's like having an imaginary friend but less weirder and well, more blatant. I am in love with this blog forever.

So, yeah. By next year, I'll be rebranding this blog to make things more accurate my life-wise. It's up to you if you would like my teenage persona much better than what I am now. All I know is, I'm no introvert no more. I am the fucking VP of the promotions committee of my professional organization. Eat that, bitches!

Random Update

I've been hitting the gym very frequently ever since mom enrolled me into one again last month. I wish I knew where I'm getting all the weird motivation from so I would stop wondering why amid the fact that God threw me off a jeepney last Wednesday, I managed to limp my way to a normal cardio workout this morning even if I have this swollen right ankle that looks like as if it houses a large amount of whatever liquid. Everybody's making fun of it and unusually, I am too. Insults would more often than not piss the fuck out of me but for reasons I don't want to dwell into, I insult myself with out-of-this-world commentaries too. Not that any of you would need to hear that or anything.

So here's the Oyen routine goes: I do 20-25 minutes of treading, 15 minutes at the ellipticals, and if I am still hyped up I would go for a 15-minute cycling craze, which does occur a lot. I rest for a few minutes then I proceed with my strength training that consists of total abdominal crunches, obliques crunches, chest presses, and chest inclines. For the life of me, I don't know why I am doing this. You know, workout so hard and stuff. I am in no hurry to slim down as I have a.) no boyfriend who's pressuring me to be as hot as Katy Perry, b.) have a good group of friends who appreciate my fats as they come handy during those dull moments when everyone's in dire need of something to laugh at, and c.) every man I seem to date seems to think that my body's right for me and surprisingly, some are even finding me sexy.

The world gets more fucked up as the apocalypse approaches. Shame.

I've been dating a damn lot too since the breakup. I'm not exactly looking for another scumbag to spend useless days with under the influence of what is popularly known as "love", but seriously, I just need people to talk to. New people who doesn't have issues the same as mine because I've spent so much time with those kind already. I'm keeping my old friends, but I'm feeling that weird need to expand my social horizon as I always get this feeling that my circle is limited to my college and high school schoolmates only. Where 's the fun in that?

Nobody would even take that as a wild guess because I'm not even that type of person to begin with. I'm not unequivocally pretty as my extreme obesity is hindering me from being so. Bullshit discrimination. But after dating and getting to know various men plus my deadly daily workouts, I kinda just realized the other day that hey, I am fucking pretty. These men get so aroused by my facial features that they overlook my humongous arms and thighs. And obviously I work the other way around as I blab about nothing but my fat parts. I should kill myself.

Cambiamento

The cold gush of air brought about by the rusty air condition unit of her dormitory made its way through the thin bars above the wooden door of her room. She was wrapped in that big red comforter as the darkness almost eats her restless and longing soul. If it weren't for the sound that punching the keys of the keypad of her old phone made, one would've thought that the room is empty. The sound provided her more than the company she needed for the blank afternoon; it was comfort too, at the same time.

Later that night he fetched her from the wallows of despair that have held her captive since she got her heart broken. She smiled as he gave her a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead. It's all some part of a script, she thought. I'm about to bid farewell to my grandeur with this person I barely know.

Knowing this person is just there.

Knowing this person won't commit.

Knowing that love doesn't have to exist.

Knowing that she won't get hurt at all costs.

I'm ready.

A Letter to John Mayer

So before I start this crap, let me remind you that I am in no way doing this just so I can get John Mayer's attention nor anybody's attention. I just kinda thought of making one to you know, let my fuck-life-i-wasn't-able-to-watch-the-concert sorrow drown beneath words, instead of juvenile tears and about five hours of nothing but John Mayer's arousing voice. Mentally arousing, I mean.

Here it goes.

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

Dear Mr. Mayer,

I thought of doing this while I was walking my way down to 7-Eleven, with a black menthol cig locked between my fore and middle finger, and my iPhone on my left hand, tapping the next song area with my big thumb to find something that will empathize with me, at least for the lonesome night. And then the first few strums and beats of Half of My Heart came through my green earphones, and consequently made its way to my junkie head. Instead of using my thumb to tap my way out of this song, I used it to press the lockscreen button. I placed my phone to the left front pocket of my jeans that made me feel sexy, and concentrated on my thoughts as the song approaches its chorus and I push the doors of 7-Eleven open.

Oh, half of my heart's got a grip on the situation
Half of my heart takes time

Today's a Wednesday, and you're coming on Friday to sing in front of screaming girls (and most likely homosexuals, too) who paid so much because a. you're a pretty boy, and/or b. you're damn funny. Yes, I do tend to make very hasty generalizations a lot, but that's because I know a damn lot too. I grab the plastic wrapper and open the door of that glass case where they store the buns and the hotdogs.

Half of my heart's got a right mind to tell you that

I can't keep loving you

The lyrics right there and then nailed through my system, and as an effect I placed the bun sliced-side down, which I of course only noticed when I grabbed the hotdog that I wanted and kept on shoving it into the bun. The old man right beside me looked at me and had this weird and funny expression on his face, as if I just crapped all over the place. I mussitated a quick sorry and fixed my sandwich up. I don't really know what the hell happened; it's as if there was a sudden glitch. Like I suddenly downgraded from a gigahertz to a kilohertz, and all because of two stupid lines. I made my way to the cashier as the second verse closes on yet another two lethal lines.

Lonely was the song I sang, 'til the day you came
Showing me a better way and all that my love can bring

Seriously, I don't know how the hell you can write lyrics that can be so darn meaningful, it almost fucking hurts everytime one hears it. This time, I'm the one who's hurting. And it's not even because of my former boyfriend. God, I've moved on ages from that.

I made my way out of the convenience store, now with a Big Gulp on my left hand and the right gripping the sandwich firmly. Why I am acting so absurdly is beyond my knowledge, and it's bad enough that I can't skip the rest of the song because my two hands are busy. I can't put an object somewhere for ten seconds without fearing that someone will take it. They don't call Manila crazy for nothing, you know.

You will hate that I never gave more to you than half of my heart

But I can't stop loving you

I can feel the soft bun wrapping itself to the hotdog as my grip tightens. Why the hell am I reacting so violently? Is it because I won't be able to watch your concert? I've loved you ever since I was in grade school, and your album Room for Squares stayed constantly inside my then music companion, the discman. I went through my awkward adolescent years listening to your songs and though I cannot say that Neon specifically helped me to cope up with the pubic hair appearing all over the place, it greatly improved my taste in music and in men. I'm not gonna go through the details, but you can contact me personally if you're that interested to know.

Is it because I'm stuck in this sick denial phase? I wish I know. How the hell do you even know, Mr. Mayer? I bet you don't know. It's sad that this is just a sickass world that leaves us with questions nobody can't answer. Unless..

Unless you would grab that chance to let it all in and find the answer.

But would you, Mr. Mayer? Nah, I don't think so. In fact, I don't even think that you can relate to me at all. I just thought of writing this letter to you because lately, I've been spending way too much time thinking what the fuck happened to that other half of my heart. Is it waiting for this other boy I am very very very much into, or is it still reserved for this boy that I've been loathing for the past few weeks? The stupid questions just pile up like trash for Christ's sake.

But hey, while I wait for that moment when you finally google your name and go through the thousands of pages and see this shit, I will light another cig and smoke my way out of this misery. I though that being morbidly obese won't give me man problems because no one would ever commit the gruesome mistake of even touching me, but once again, life proved me wrong. I hope it still does for the coming years. Things are being way too predictable already, like a boring sketch in Saturday Night Live.

Oh, and by the way, I commend you for deleting your twitter account. Though I found your tweets quite amusing as they were very witty, it was nice to know that there are still celebrities that aren't hungry for all that internet attention. That was very cool of you, Mr. Mayer.

I bid you goodbye, and thank you for the time. I'm sorry if this letter just revolved on the only thing that's bothering me right now. I'm pretty sure I bored you to death. And just like your song, this will all make perfect sense someday.

Someday,

Lorainne

Unproductive

I hate it when there's nothing new to do. I borrowed leisure books from the library last week, thinking that I'll be busy with something before I actually do get busy with schoolworks next week. I'm really interested in graphic designing and figuring out how the human memory works. It just tickles my interest, you know, aside from weed and its effect on me, of course. I read the graphic design history book a week ago and the little texts made me lose my interest to the topic, thus making me very bored which consequently makes me want to smoke and play poker, either with someone inferior to me poker-wise, or with 8 computer-simulated idiots in 3D poker.

Unfortunately, that's how fucking unproductive my week went by.

If I'm not playing Rockband with my boys up at Sherwood, I'm either playing poker or sitting at the lobby stairs of my dorm building, taking long drags and giving strange looks to people who sometimes stare at me for reasons I don't really want to know. School's a trash. It's like my whole life suddenly took a 180-degree turn where there is now less time spent on school than any other place I can think of. Often times I find myself spending more time in the bathroom, pretending that the small shower cubicle of our dormitory is a big tub that can never be filled. Sad.

Oh, and I chugged down three Sleepasil capsules this week because my insomnia is making a great comeback. It's pretty good; made me look prettier on a totally useless and random day. What I love about is the absence of that groggy feeling you get after a sleepless/oversleeped night. Aaaand yes, my eyebags are less darker and baggier now. Thank God for Sleepasil.

Anyways, I'm out. Believe it or not, I actually have to do something tonight.

Mental Masturbation

On a given random time of the day, I find myself praying to God that if He could, at least for one minute, go hide my vagina and replace it with a dick (or even a strap-on, whatever He digs) so I could become a man or a lesbian and forget the freaking troubles my current gender preference is giving me. But He won't; He just would not give me my weird wish.

I'm so tired of being a woman. I think everything about it is just pure bullshit. The menstruation, emotional breakdown, boobs, bikinis? My God. Just thinking about all of them at the same time frustrates me more than thinking about how fucking delayed the series of tormentingly unfortunate events at school got us all into. As you know I am already delayed by a term; I've accepted that crappy fact long, long ago. I'm not on the borderline of being kicked out, nor am I on that danger scale of having too many accumulated failures. I'm just an ordinary college student, if you are to make the college of engineering as a reference, that is. It's a sad fact that from a straight-A student way back in high school, I've become this trashy shit of a pupil that no self-respecting parent would desire to have.

I don't consider my course to be something that should be disregarded, even though I'm a trash. I mean, come on, it's freaking computer engineering. The course title itself speaks for who I am, who my blockmates are, and who my college friends are. Sadly, because of the superiority of the other courses in my college, we remain to be at the bottom of the goddamn list. They did not open the subjects we petitioned a fucking term ago, much to everyone's dismay. I wouldn't be so outraged if these courses were useless, but these subjects are majors. Major subjects mean a LOT to me now for the reason that they hold the key for me and my peeps to stay on the track. The rule of this game is simple: keep the majors coming, and we'll all graduate a term late. We did not break a rule. They did, and boy, did they fucked our lives up BIG TIME.

I do not want to dwell too much about it because I just got my notebook repaired days ago and I don't want to go back to that suspiciously hidden repair center to get the keyboard repaired this time. As you probably do not know, my laptop has been suffering from laptop cancer ever since I can remember, and I kept on insisting that it will survive through chemotherapy (frequent hitting of the lid) and radiation (restarting the system for about five times until it stops BSOD-ing). When it brought me hell last Finals week as I crammed our programming project (I swear to all my gadgets that I almost threw my notebook at the wall because of the recurring LCD glitch), I decided that it really is the time to have it repaired. I can't afford my laptop to be so crappy since it's running a brilliant OS and a bunch of handy programs, it makes me look crappy too. So yeah, I got it repaired before I went off to enjoy my term break.

Ah yes, term break.

THAT WAS ONE HELL OF A TERM BREAK.

I know I'm gonna sound like a college freshman or a freshly deflowered alcohol virgin right now, but I've never drank so much as I did during my term break. Tuesday was probably the only day that I cooled down, as far as I can remember. For Monday night, my college friends and I went to this place in Baywalk to celebrate the term that just ended. It wasn't big; it was actually just this small gathering we had to drown our respective sorrows. Mine, mostly, because I just broke up with a boy I dated for a year. I appreciated that because that was exactly just what I needed for me to just forget the breakup crap and move on with my life. I stopped moping after that night as we made our way to Drew's place down south after Grade Consultation last Wednesday. It was my first time to spend my supposedly sad week with my college friends who all have dicks and smell like something I do not want to know, and I enjoyed it so very much.

We had shots of Bacardi and Pepe Lopez as we all got into our amats stage, much gratitude to King's Cup. We sang random songs as we all sobered up into the dawn. Then, with big grins on our faces, we went to Drew's room to sleep. It was all good.

We went home pretty late on the next day which pretty much pissed me off because I had to be home early in order to fix my stuff for my other term break getaway, which was Ayu's three-day beach party in Laiya, Batangas. I was really excited for it because after a long time, I'll be spending some time with my high school friends. I guess there is really a part in me that longed for the company of girls. After all, I spent 4 puberty-induced years with these bitches. Even though I now spend more time with my college friends, dicks still cannot replace that bond I already have with my girl friends whom I consider my own sisters.

So there. The roadtrip kinda sucked ass because it was a really hot day and Laiya was pretty far. But everything was worth the pain because the place was perfect. It was this big villa that is just a short walk away from the white sand beach of Batangas, and the rural feel of it just made me unwind so easily. I shared my room with two of my friends who are also enjoying their respective singlehood, which is good to know because I don't want any breakup story to spoil our vacation. I would not go into the details as I know for a fact that details bore the shit out of anyone. But let me just assure you that I enjoyed every freaking minute of it. I had fun being friends with my bitches' boyfriends, which made me miss my birdies for a while. The whole getaway made me realize that no matter how fucked up my life gets, these ladies are gonna stand by me, regardless of my stupid actions and decisions.

And right there and then, I've moved on.

Talking about a recent breakup is like a subliminal trashtalk, so I'd like to do that smoothly. People have been asking me if I'm alright, and how am I coping up with all that shit. For the benefit of this blog and as my reference on future breakups, I am okay. Sometimes I miss him, but most of the time, I thank God for His blessing as I made the right decision. I've learned a lot from this boy, and I mean a LOT. My friends know that; I am no sourgraping ass. I'm thankful for the wonderful experience, and how the whole relationship chiseled my life path. I cried, yes. I whined, yes. I moped around, yes. You wanna know why? Because I have a girl's heart. Having one sucks so bad because no matter how manly your mind gets because of your environment and habits, you're still gonna be this woman who will be so fucking fragile throughout your life.

But am I regretful of anything? No way. I was happy with him, that's for sure. Now that he's gone, I am happier and excited on how things in my life are gonna turn out.

And you're gonna witness all of it.

Fin

I did everything that I could.

It's over. I'm done.

Random

Weirdly enough, I am starting to think that this certain classmate of mine fancies me and/or my big ass. He keeps on asking me things I am duly not concerned about, like the schedule of make-up classes and whatnot.

Me and my selfish imagination. *Snorts*

Anyways, hello. Ever since August started, it's been proving to be such a bitchy month for me and for everyone I know. My mood levels has been fluctuating like our dormitory elevator that has serious machine issues. The first time I got stuck in that piece of crap was a total nightmare since there were lots of people with me whom I couldn't really care less about, except for my friend, that is. Two were claustrophobic and one old man just couldn't shut his mouth up. But after the same incident took place for about thrice a week for a goddamn month, I don't really give a shit about it anymore. In fact, I've learned some tricks on how to make it move once it gets stuck in a. in front of a wall, b. in front of floor door, or in most cases c. just simply refuses to move. I guess that's what you get for paying 5k a month for rent. Oh well, there is always that nifty condominium elevator that's a thousand times safer.

It is observable too that I am in this frequent desire to make budget reports regarding my own budget. In fact, for this week alone, I've already made three. And it's just Tuesday, for Christ's sake. I don't know where the hell this certain percentage of assets is coming from, but boy am I enjoying the frills of it. I am earning more than my friends who have engaged themselves in the complicated world of networking, much to my surprise. They kept on inviting me to join them with their gig so I can earn lots of benjamins come Christmas time. Being the awfully materialistic person that I am, the offer caught my attention even though I know that easy money doesn't always guarantee easy success. Sometimes, it has a catch, though I'm not really interested in finding out whatever that is (maybe because it's too obvious enough). So yes, I was ready to jump the bandwagon until I told mom about it and she slapped me with a big fat NO. She said she'll give me what I want so I need not join any of that. Since I'm not so sure about joining it either, I took mom's word and let my friends do their networking.

And I'm thankful that I made the right choice. HAH. I'm swimming in my own money, bitches. Eat that.

So there. Even though I'm having a lot of problems with almost every single thing I have in mind right now, I still do (and miraculously at that) make the most fun out of everything. Take for instance our low-cost power supply project in our electronics laboratory. The project itself may sound so boring, but every moment of doing it excites me the most. We shopped for materials today and for reasons unknown I was so anxious about purchasing electrical parts - again. When I first went to Raon street for my electric circuits laboratory project last term, I didn't really enjoy it since we were rushing things off and my wallet didn't have a lot to offer. But this time, I was so ready to buy my OWN soldering iron, soldering lead, desoldering pump, and many other things that I would like to put in my OWN toolbox. That being said, I don't have to borrow materials anymore, and have that right to refuse usage of it to anyone who doesn't have any.

Nah, I kid. I would let you poor people borrow it, but for a minimal fee, of course. You know me. I'm a greedy pig.

Last week was a bliss, I should say. I had fun with my college friends - too much fun. Even though I had my first taste of how unlucky Friday the 13th really is, every misfortune was waaaay too worth it. We haven't hanged out totally ever since school started, so the three-day holiday was just the right type and amount of relaxation I needed after almost three months of engineering hell. I hosted our organization's acquaintance party, though I can't really say that I did a good job since I was too stressed and tired with all of the hullaballoos we went through on that day alone. But you know what the weird part was? I cannot, for the life of me, empathize those feelings I had during those jaded moments but instead just feel so grateful that fate find its way to make what I envisioned my weekend to be a reality. The field trip for our ELETRO1 class sucked ass and being sleepless that day and all, I just wanted everything to stop and let me and my friends have some well-deserved sleep after a fun night together. And yeah, the field trip was cut short because of whatever constraints, and we all slept in the bus. Oh how I loved it.

But since it was all just like a jaunt in a prairie, we are now back on the hustle and bustle of the city, aka the real world. Finals week is only two weeks from now and we are all rushing everything. God, I hate my life.

I swear to God my term break better be worth all of this wait and torture.

Ciao!

Twisted

I was helping my good friend Charles with his literature assignment last Thursday and it hit me.

I am so freaking metaphorical.

I thought I was just being descriptive with all of the 'rain of sadness' kind of shit, but I thought hard about it while I was jogging yesterday as David Guetta tunes blare out of the cheap earphones of my iPhone. How did I become so metaphorical over the past few months? Neil Gaiman's Jingo did not have a lot of metaphors as it was the last novel I've read, what more than my Strength of Materials textbook which bores me to death with its countless beams and supports? God I hate textbooks. Someone should revise every textbook in my table and inject them all with humor, or drawings of cute little stars and hearts and other girly crap like that.

Maybe I should.

This is the reason why I am staring to loathe jogging. It makes me think so much about the most random of things, and even my stinky pile of problems that I do not want to discuss. I bought cheap earphones so I can divert my attention to how a particular song gets me so pumped up and how I will make running more complicated than, well, running. But this is not the case, much to my dismay. Kinda makes me think of skipping Black Eyed Peas and Lady Gaga for just something as simple as a long beeping sound so my ears can bleed themselves out. That way, I won't be able to hear anything, not even my thoughts.

How morbid.

And emo, at that.

I still remember this certain phrase I've read in Second Helpings, the second installment of the Sloppy Firsts series. My thoughts create my world. Marcus Flutie said this to Jessica Darling and it seriously punched me in the face. If I have good thoughts, then I have a good world. Otherwise, then I have a bad world to live in. The weird part about it is that I neither have good nor bad thoughts; they're always twisted, at some point. Like it's this shaft that's subjected to an infinite angle of twist. Once it is twisted, it goes on and on and on until another soft shaft molds into it and twists for the rest of my life.

But the good thing about it is that the ends of shafts stay the same way as they are, no matter how you twist them in the most crazy-ass way you can think of. Those ends represent my personality.

I stay the same as my thoughts twist infinitely.

My twisted thoughts create my twisted but hella fun world.

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Who's Enraged Now?

The week I've been dreading for has finally arrived. It's that time of the year that I'm very very VERY irritated at even the smallest of things. It's not PMS, mind you. It's worse than PMS. Kinda gave me the idea (just now) that maybe all those PMS-able days that I don't usually have have been cramped up now in a week, that's why my temper is sky high every freaking second. This happens annually, and quite coincidentally falls on the middle of July. That being said, I still do think I can get stranger than I already am.

And so, I am now resisting the urge to throw my sister's netbook because of its f-ing small keys. I can't get the modem to run in my laptop so I just have to settle with this toy. GOD I HATE NETBOOKS SO MUCH.

Anyways, I pity the people I hang out in school everyday for they suffer the consequences of my extreme mood swings brought about by, oh I don't know, bipolarity, maybe. What I am experiencing now (which I experience yearly) is highly unexplainable; I've researched solutions so I could deal with it while it is a its' peak, but I got nothing. It's very hard for me to control my anger and how it manifests itself to my voice which is already dark enough to begin with, so telling people to simply lower down their voices would easily boil up to "SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH" or of any higher degree.

So, I've decided to use this blog as a medium to express my current state, and to further eradicate any catfights for girls, and trash talking for guys. Stop talking shit behind my back or I would all punch you in the face, I swear. (My God, see what I mean?)

- For starters, quit stating or finding the obvious. If what you're looking for is already right in front of you, go and get it, stupid. Don't ask me where the hell is it because I will seriously throw it at your face, together with a bunch of foul words you will wish you've never heard. If you keep on saying something that's been cleared out already (and/or a wrong word that have made its way out of everyone's mind ages ago and you're hoping to get a bunch of good laughs about it), SHUT UP. It's so irritating to say and hear the same things over and over again, like a freaking broken record.

- Quit giving corny jokes. If I'm in my normal state I would just throw it back at you with an even cornier one. But now that I'm weirder than usual, I will seriously get mad at you. Stop wasting my time with your stupid jokes because they aren't even funny. In fact, I do smell sometimes if one joke or anecdote originally came from me, which makes me angrier. That is NOT really a good way to flatter me. I don't really believe in imitation as being the greatest from of flattery, so just shut the fuck up.

- Do not try to be funny by being cocky or tackless. God knows how some of you can do the miraculous act of putting two seemingly different things in a fusion that can be the death of me, but seriously, just stop it. I don't care if you're smarter or wiser than me, but stop shoving it into my face with sarcasm that is supposed to be laughable, BECAUSE IT IS SO FUCKING NOT. How about just shoving it into my face, you may ask? Why don't you try it? Just promise me that you will run for your life after because I don't want to be arrested for murder just because of kicking your ass out till you die.

Anyways, I'm done spreading the word. Have to study for a quiz tomorrow.

Musings 2

All those career talks make me really, if not extremely, excited for the REAL world out there that's waiting for me. For the longest time, I've been wanting to finish my studies already and work my ass out for myself. Yes, I am very materialistic and desirous, as I unluckily got this hereditary trait from my father who give a quarter of his pay to us, and the rest will fall to the hands of the cashier at an Armani store. He used to be a gadget aficionado like yours truly but when he was exposed to the colorful European couture during his long-lived yet mundane eurotrips, he turned out to be part-gay and had this fascination for clothes that were so expensive to begin with. I don't really mean the gay part because that will be sad on me and my siblings' part, I just find the thought of him scuffling for D&G underwear pretty well, gay and funny.

Anyways, my mom and other grown-ups in our family keeps on asking me on my plans after saying my adieu to university life, right probably after my last grade consultation day. For someone who keeps shoving into everybody's face that she's lethargic, I don't want to be one of those fresh graduates who wants to lie low and take about four months of break because heck, four and a half years of murdering your brain wasn't just a phase. No, I don't want to stop. As long as the opportunity is already there, I gotta grab it because I have the rest of my life to take a beak, but I gotta work now.

I've already sketched my plan in my mind:

• Finish the damn thesis first and have the OJT on my last term so if the company liked me, I can be absorbed or;
• Have the OJT first and work hard on the thesis right after. I can look for a company later on.
• Unlike my father, I want to work in a multinational company as a hardware engineer. As for the software part, I don't think I can be a good software engineer since my definition of playtime comprises of having to haphazardly surf the net and/or play with the computer. And given that softwares are programmed which means I will be programming a lot, expect that three-fourths of my work time will be spent on Facebook.
• If I work in HP, I have the privilege of living across my workplace since Mom got us a condominium at McKinley Hill. And my God, just merely thinking of it is just so exciting. I have a cool job at a cool company who is just in front of our cool place in the coolest location ever. I'll be the definition of cool in the near future. Most probably it will turn into awesome when I hit my 40's.
• I'll grab every business trips that will come my way. I miss eating McDonald's and Burger King in big airports of other countries. The last time I did eat a foreign burger from the fastfood chain was in Schiphol and that was seven years ago, damn it. Mom even bought me this art kit there on our way back to Kuala Lumpur before we arrive in Manila. And in KLIA, I bought this random Malaysian magazine. So much for souvenirs.
  
• And speaking of airports, the niftiest one I've seen is the Schiphol but I could've sworn that HKIA is the winner if it weren't for the Filipino galore. Seeing other Filipinos abroad is the weirdest encounter I have to avoid.
  
• As for marriage, I don't think I can marry anybody without earning a lot of moohlas first. I can wait and enjoy my single life till I hit 30. But beyond that, I don't think I can have kids anymore. I can marry, but I don't want any painful labor moments nor offsprings. If you want to get me pregnant, you better do that before 2021.
• And since we are on the topic anyway, my parents will not be spending a cent on my wedding day. Not that I'm full of pride but my parents do deserve a break after spending almost a million just for my education. And that's just me, for Christ's sake, I have a sister and three brothers to keep in my mind. My wedding day is the start of my life that I will detach myself from my parents' captive and that's why I'm being a responsible teenager by planning all of these so I can earn bazillions. *breathes*, Pangbawi lang.

Will I keep this blog up until I'm a workaholic already? Oh yeah.

Much Ado About Non-Existent Things

In my defense, I don't know where the hell that previous post came from. I guess there still exists a part in me that likes to blab sentimental stuff out loud. But who freaking cares anyway? I'm dealing with an imaginary audience here.

And so, with about four hours of sleep relative to yesterday's very lethargic afternoon when God pulled my eyelids up to hit right smack in my face that I do have a life and should start moving my ass around, I'm gonna tell you how my week went. My mom got me in the mood to write again by citing my exemplary writing skills while driving our way home, as she fetched me from our dormitory at friggin five in the morning. My phone started ringing as early as 4:50 and I hurriedly gathered my stuff and my sister's stuff. Getting up wasn't the challenge, actually. I was awake since yesterday's lazy afternoon, so you would see that I practically just have to stand up, carry the bags, and ride the elevator down to the lobby.

And who the hell would know that waking up the lady security guard would be the ultimate obstacle? Not me, of course. The previous guards were awake and/or will be awake upon your first mutter. But this one, oh God, I don't know what she nibbled or drank before she passed out, but she better stop the intake of such. See, the gate of the dormitory closes at 12AM and reopens at 5AM. The guards are the ones who get to lock the gate and consequently keep the key to wherever she wants, but I'm guessing that the butt crack is a hot spot. I muttered to wake her up, but she's immovable. I poked her with my left forefinger for about 20 times and to my delight (even if I expected it to eventually occur seven minutes ago) she arose and opened the gate.

So, back to my week.

I've been having three school days (out of the normal four or five) ever since the previous week. Holidays and whatnot kept kicking in, and I don't really know if that is the right reason to celebrate and all. I mean, less school days, oooh, what a joy. But my God, it's making me more torpid than I ever was. Sayang ang momentum. It's like running on 120 in EDSA then being abruptly stopped by an MMDA traffic officer for a number coding offense or something stupid.

Aside from the recurring holidays, professors are also becoming to be such a headache. Not actually in the sense that they're giving us a truckload of schoolworks, just like any merciless professor would do, but surprisingly, it's the contrary. They're not showing up! See, I have this awfully unusual excitement to learn new stuff, specifically from my electronic and electrical majors. I'm in that rare stage in a college student's life where my interest to my major subjects are sky high. I mean, come on, the topic of diodes already wakes me up during ELETRO1 (Basic Electronics 1), what more if we already discuss the succeeding topics? I studied Java porgramming during the summer break in preparation for CPEPROG (Advanced Computer Programming) yet much to my dismay, we're still not playing around with Netbeans. It's like having to learn the C language all over again but this time, there's no freaking instructor.

For those of you who are from Peyups and shrugging your respective 'so what?' reactions because this happens all the freaking time to all of you, these professors do not even give us topics to study to compensate for those times that they're not gonna be around. Yes, syllabi do exist, but hell like we know if our professor is gonna skip a topic because they're cool like that.

Haaay. I'll shut up na lang. It's not like they're gonna appear right in front of me now to give me the lecture that I've been wanting to have since weeks ago. And besides, they're cool as hell anyway. My professor is one of the founders/promoters of the much-oggled IntelliPen.

I guess that's just how life roll.

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

My mom asked the golden question while driving us home.

"How come you write really well? Wala namang writers sa angkan natin ah."

Mom, I'm not a writer. If you ask me to write a formal paper or a column or simply whatever, I'll write crap. I just happen to be good at playing around with satire and toothless humor like I truly am in real life.

Someday

You're the one that got away.

Yes, I know that.

Yes, I am aware that I may have probably made the dumbest decision of my life; to let you go.

To break free from your love and affection,

To stop this whole nonsense whirlwind of a blind romance,

To let you go.

Yet now, I'm a smarter person.

I know that I'm in love with him, and he's my life.

I know that forever may be such a gargantuan choice of word to describe how much I want him, need him, like him;

But he's all that to me.

And though it would have appeared before that you were my forever, I'm putting a halt to the perennial silence.

You're not, and never will be.

Someday is a blue moon.

And when it appears again, kismet is to decide if it's our time.

But for now, and for as long as time permits us so,

My heart will always be for him, as it really was back then.

Back when I wasn't sure of with you.

Someday.

Well, Hello There

Often times I'd just wonder what the heck happened to that part of my brain where all of my emotional sweat goes. See, back when it existed, I would just easily juice it up and as it flows, I'd write random, if not gobbledygook, stuff here. Well, right now, judging by the date of the previous entry (and its infatuated-driven content), I'd say that it just literally went BOOM because of the emotional outburst being in a relationship had given me. What I do not understand of course is how I was able to write continuously during my first whirlwind of a romance.

Maybe it's because he didn't mean so much to me. Whatever.

Anyways, hello and hi. I'm still alive and fat as hell, just like the way I would usually describe it. You can't really blame me, really, since I've been this way since my mom fought with hell just to push me out of her womb during the crucial seconds of her labor. But you know what? I'm really getting sick of ranting about how I'm getting more and more obese each day. It's like the more I rant about it, the fatter I get. I don't really know why that occurs. Life's weird antics, I guess.

Having Alejandro as my boyfriend always makes me realize that no matter how fat I would get, I will still be that pseudo-successful teenager I am ought to be. Having him makes me grateful for what I've already accomplished through the past 18 years of my existence. My body or grumpy face may not be flashed in a billboard in EDSA or C-5, but to a lot of people, my work has done a lot already. My boyfriend never really does smack that truth to my face every single time I go freaking boohoo about my weight and smudgy piece of an ass, but he makes me realize it all by just loving me, and ignoring the continuous increase of cellulites around my body. (GOD! There I go again with the fat issue. I just couldn't shut up for a sentence, can I? )

Well, aside from being alive, I still am a struggling engineering student with weird hormonal issues, very unlike the typical female teenager. The professor discusses the use of Thevenin and Norton theorems in solving current and voltages across circuits and I think about weird sexual images resistors and voltage sources often form. Nobody knows this, of course, because it's all part of my subconscious mind. I don't tend to tell stuff that I do subconsciously, but this is an exception because it's getting pretty weirder and weirder everytime IT happens.

GAH. I wish I was normal.

Not to brag or anything, but often times I think that I'm too special. I mean, who the hell isn't?But too bad that I'm taking that specialness too granted that I've already forgotten the pristine reason why it was all given to us in the first place, which is to nurture our personalities and given talents for the betterment of ourselves. I can take good pictures, but when a good scene is just right in front of me and my camera is on top of a high deck, I'd slack off, thinking that the same scene would appear tomorrow or something. I can design great posters and edit pictures, but when an opportunity is licking me right in the ear, I'd easily push it away. I used to be really good in math and circuits, but because of extreme procrastination and that burning desire to just take the rest of the day off, I've lost that bagenius touch.

Sigh. I miss my uncolleged self sometimes.

But God, I love college so damn much. I love my college friends who, amid the wide gender gap, still make me feel as if I have a penis of my own and thus respect my ideas, no matter how stupid those ideas often get. We laugh at each other's jokes, and make fun of each other's stupidity. These people are the kind that is always up for everything, and will always take your words for the things they do. Generally, you would think that boys don't like listening per se, but take my friends differently. We may not graduate at the same time, but I'm really happy that we'll all be working in the same industry soon.

I love the freedom college has given me right on that very first day in Andrew building. My high school has been a mere chokehold, which of course without the presence of my friends would never be bearable. Freedom doesn't always mean being able to do things you've constantly wanted to all your life, it also means taking responsibility in things you usually don't mind. Money, for example, doesn't always come handy for a full-time college student who's appetite grows larger every minute. If money used to mean just buying a scrumptious lunch or snack, money now means handling and organizing your finances well for other stuff like photocopying readings, printing reports, and other mundane school things.

And of course, I love my boyfriend whom I met in college, just not in the same university. Cheesiness aside, he made me more mature, therefore being able to act as an adult who still knows how to have fun.

Haaaay. Well, whatever. F the emoness and sudden hibernation. I'm back.