For a couple of years now my perspective of fear have been evolving and as far as I know, it includes phrases like flying cockroaches, confined places, and butt-ugly people. This is one big change since I used to be acrophobic and it really killed me. I used to skip the escalators in Shangri-La Plaza because they're so damn high and long and everything scary. That's how paranoid I was about falling down and eventually dying or whatever. I overcame it by simply riding a bunch of roller coasters within a span of 3 years and voila! Stupid acrophobic no more. Well, maybe I am still stupid, but who the hell gives a damn anyway?
When everybody loathed math, I loved it. I cannot expound my love on numbers 'n angles any further because I've done this a couple of times before and nobody really wants to hear somebody profess her love for some abstract bullshit (make that REAL and hardcorely abstract). Of course, if you love something, the last thing you can imagine is hating or cursing it. That's like, some guy's rule or something.
But that's what I thought before I received the result my first quiz in College Algebra. I quasi-flunked the thing, for Christ's sake. Now who self-respecting and math-loving person would ever do that? Yeah, that'll be yours truly.
Ever since I hid that stupid test booklet with my disappointing score on the cover written and encircled by no less than red ink in my file case, my conscience kept on bothering my whole system. As much as I would want to review my fucking mistakes, my heart would get in the way and block everything up. It's shameful and saddening at the same time because I used to nail my Algebra quizzes. Like nail, nail. And now, I can't even let it hit the high mark. Something's just really wrong.
An hour didn't pass by without me thinking all about it. It's like a stick of cigarette I'm hiding in the back pocket of my jeans; it's burning and consequently, I have to take it out and use it or else somebody would find it out and I'm sure as hell that I'm dead meat when that happens. It's so guilt-strickening that I wasn't able to fully enjoy Carell's Get Smart we watched a while ago. It just kept on hitting and hitting on my brain and saying 'open it! open it you damn fool!'. And being the damn fool that I truly am, I reviewed my answers lately.
And man, I am really concluding now that I can be so friggin stupid and not know it. Maybe it's a gift God gave me to exercise on something less important, like love. You can always blame your heart and overratedness if all else fails when it comes to love anyway.
But when you get a low score on your college algebra quiz just because you mixed up the signs or forgot to erase the grouping symbols, the only person you can blame is yourself and your careless brain. And boy, I sure do not like putting my brain to onus, because that'll be so degrading. Instead, I just shook my head slowly and scribbled five 'shit happens' phrases on my side table. I never felt so fucking good in my life.
The tragic thing is, all of those mistakes I made are way way waaay less than inevitable, and could have thus been prevented if I'd just hit my head with a metal tube or something as hard. It's like that MV Princess of the Stars tragedy, only less catastrophic and all. I mean, people actually died because of their fault, and hundreds of lives could have been saved if they just acted like smart and responsible people and stopped being douchebags.
Ah, fear.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Rain Babble
Ever since my body clock had adjusted itself a month ago just for the good of my collegiate education (I get sleepy at around 10, I wake up at 5AM. I know it's the weirdest thing ever to happen to me, alright. Don't rub the shit in.), I've been waking up to the sound of birds chirping like hell and the sun's rays glistening on my heat-hating face. Well everybody knows that I'm no morning person, and hearing friggin birds scream like Steven Tyler is the last thing I want to experience. Goodness, it's like being raped by nature early in the morning.
I woke up a while ago with the blurry sight of the branches of our neighbor's tree dancing to some howling tune I once heard back when Typhoon Milenyo is still the deadliest shiznit to hit the country ever. While still lying on my back, my eyes tried to peer through the irritating yellow curtains mom ordered to be put up a few days ago. I can see big droplets of rain hitting the window pane so hard I can definitely hear it. There's no sun in sight for the clouds are relatively unhappy with its dirty white shade. And no singing birds! No siree.
My eyes formed into big circles, just like what I would do when I'm in deep fascination about something. I can't really blame my eyes, you see. My favorite type of morning just woke my guts up, and it's really really good.
My mouth quickly blurted out some orders to my snobby sister to draw the curtains to the sides so I could see the beauty hidden beneath the gloomy atmosphere outside. Right after drawing the curtains, I told her to slide the window panes open so we could breathe in the glumness only typhoons (and real mad typhoons, for that matter) can bring. And for sure, I became more jubilant as the cool wind started to enter our room, and tiny needles of rain smashed into droplets right on our floor. My God, it's like freaking Christmas. And that's only the effect of the typhoon, as you can see. I'll probably burn the house down because of happiness when our whole archipelago will shift itself to the far west where there's a hell lot of snow. I can't wait.
See, I don't even know why I love stormy weathers so much. It doesn't really date back during my childhood years, because my overly-strict grandparents would never allow me to go outside and soak my whole body in the rain. I would always peer through our window, looking at my friends who are obviously enjoying their outdoor shower. One time, when my grandparents weren't around and it was raining like hell, I quickly went out and joined the other kids. I enjoyed it so much that I didn't see my grandparents' car quickly approaching. My ass suffered so much after that.
Everytime my aunt would massage my body, she would complain about how this coldness present in my sanctuary wouldn't just go away no matter how many times she would rub me off. She told me once that I'm probably a snake in my previous life, because you know...snakes are cold-blooded and stuff. I used to think that I was a rat before, but that's a different story.
Rain, rain, don't ever go away.
I woke up a while ago with the blurry sight of the branches of our neighbor's tree dancing to some howling tune I once heard back when Typhoon Milenyo is still the deadliest shiznit to hit the country ever. While still lying on my back, my eyes tried to peer through the irritating yellow curtains mom ordered to be put up a few days ago. I can see big droplets of rain hitting the window pane so hard I can definitely hear it. There's no sun in sight for the clouds are relatively unhappy with its dirty white shade. And no singing birds! No siree.
My eyes formed into big circles, just like what I would do when I'm in deep fascination about something. I can't really blame my eyes, you see. My favorite type of morning just woke my guts up, and it's really really good.
My mouth quickly blurted out some orders to my snobby sister to draw the curtains to the sides so I could see the beauty hidden beneath the gloomy atmosphere outside. Right after drawing the curtains, I told her to slide the window panes open so we could breathe in the glumness only typhoons (and real mad typhoons, for that matter) can bring. And for sure, I became more jubilant as the cool wind started to enter our room, and tiny needles of rain smashed into droplets right on our floor. My God, it's like freaking Christmas. And that's only the effect of the typhoon, as you can see. I'll probably burn the house down because of happiness when our whole archipelago will shift itself to the far west where there's a hell lot of snow. I can't wait.
See, I don't even know why I love stormy weathers so much. It doesn't really date back during my childhood years, because my overly-strict grandparents would never allow me to go outside and soak my whole body in the rain. I would always peer through our window, looking at my friends who are obviously enjoying their outdoor shower. One time, when my grandparents weren't around and it was raining like hell, I quickly went out and joined the other kids. I enjoyed it so much that I didn't see my grandparents' car quickly approaching. My ass suffered so much after that.
Everytime my aunt would massage my body, she would complain about how this coldness present in my sanctuary wouldn't just go away no matter how many times she would rub me off. She told me once that I'm probably a snake in my previous life, because you know...snakes are cold-blooded and stuff. I used to think that I was a rat before, but that's a different story.
Rain, rain, don't ever go away.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Pelikula (Movie)
Our maid is doing a great job pissing my ass off. And yeah, after not showing up for almost a week, that's the only thing I can say that really makes sense and whatnot.
And surely I'm giving you an early warning that this shit is just a shitload of crap about how I truly loathe our maid and Filipino movies. So if you're an advocate of your own helper, then get the hell out. Like, now.
Everytime our maid would see me doing something that seems so important (like sound tripping, or stalking people) with the computer, she would make this irritating and unmatched effort to disturb my soul. She does a lot of things, but let me assure you that the most aggravating thing she'll do is turning on the television, quickly punching the numbers 5 and 6 on the remote, then therefore watching freaking movies till her eyes bleed out. It's bad enough that our computer is very much near our television set, and she would still turn the volume up. I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't mind her turning the television on and whatnot. What I DO mind is the fact that she keeps on watching friggin Pinoy movies that are nowhere near unique.
And as old folks would usually say; as you get older, you're more susceptible to giving an ass about the BIG things. Like the country's movie industry, and my butt.
See, I used to adore Filipino movies back when I was outrageously blind about the incessant essence of every film. But now, you can''t even force me to watch one, unless it has some unique story indie films usually have. I mean, why the hell are the kidnappers always the antagonist in a comedy movie? And why is there always a scene where they dance and lip-synch near the beach or some resort with a bunch of people? I've realized only now how blinded our maid could get. Why can't she even see the continuing trend among these movies? Ayayay.
No wonder the country's film industry is merely dying. As I can see it, it's dying for its own good. People get tired of seeing the usual story, the usual twist, the usual characters, and the usual setting. They think that since the past generations have widely accepted Redford White and Babalu's antics, or Sharon Cuneta and Gabby Concepcion's dramas, the modern progenies would also do the same. That's why they're probably making movies with the same old plot, and consequently killing us all.
Man, I should've trained that maid to watch HBO instead.
------------------------------
And surely I'm giving you an early warning that this shit is just a shitload of crap about how I truly loathe our maid and Filipino movies. So if you're an advocate of your own helper, then get the hell out. Like, now.
Everytime our maid would see me doing something that seems so important (like sound tripping, or stalking people) with the computer, she would make this irritating and unmatched effort to disturb my soul. She does a lot of things, but let me assure you that the most aggravating thing she'll do is turning on the television, quickly punching the numbers 5 and 6 on the remote, then therefore watching freaking movies till her eyes bleed out. It's bad enough that our computer is very much near our television set, and she would still turn the volume up. I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't mind her turning the television on and whatnot. What I DO mind is the fact that she keeps on watching friggin Pinoy movies that are nowhere near unique.
And as old folks would usually say; as you get older, you're more susceptible to giving an ass about the BIG things. Like the country's movie industry, and my butt.
See, I used to adore Filipino movies back when I was outrageously blind about the incessant essence of every film. But now, you can''t even force me to watch one, unless it has some unique story indie films usually have. I mean, why the hell are the kidnappers always the antagonist in a comedy movie? And why is there always a scene where they dance and lip-synch near the beach or some resort with a bunch of people? I've realized only now how blinded our maid could get. Why can't she even see the continuing trend among these movies? Ayayay.
No wonder the country's film industry is merely dying. As I can see it, it's dying for its own good. People get tired of seeing the usual story, the usual twist, the usual characters, and the usual setting. They think that since the past generations have widely accepted Redford White and Babalu's antics, or Sharon Cuneta and Gabby Concepcion's dramas, the modern progenies would also do the same. That's why they're probably making movies with the same old plot, and consequently killing us all.
Man, I should've trained that maid to watch HBO instead.
------------------------------
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Happy Independence Day
Dark and stormy clouds cover the whole city as over a hundred different sounds produced by screaming cars and the husky voices of shouting barkers fill everyone's ears. Of course, the latter's usually the job of the environmental gore brought by air pollution, but nobody gives a shit about how millions of germs and viruses are easily entering their system with every intake of air everyone does. What they simply give a shit about is how the hell did the prices of everything rose up in a snap. And yeah, how the government is being so superficial by giving out subsidies that will surely not help.
A dirty kid whose ostentatiously minuscule physique is enough to kill her on her own creeps through the glass door of a supermarket. The new security guard takes his cap off with his right hand, and consequently pulls his blue handkerchief that his wife have folded in a square and wipes his sweat off his forehead. He puts the cap back again and walks to the glass door to stop that kid from entering again. His boss had reprimanded him once about letting street children enter the vicinity of their supermarket saying that it's 'too posh to be filled with dirty people'. In reality, he is technically a dirty person, because by his boss' definition, dirty people are those whole live in the nearby squatter's area and who are evidently filthy-looking and grubby-smelling. And he still doesn't know how the hell he was able to get inside.
A teenage girl who just bore her second baby three weeks ago stands at the end of the longest line she'd seen. She knows that she arrived too late, because she's already hearing the rumbling of the engine of the NFA truck. After a second or three, the line she was in before had suddenly disappeared as those hungry victims of poverty disperse quietly. She nods her head and walks away, back to her grubby house. It seems that for the second day, her two sons will be begging their neighbor for a cup of rice yet again. She knows it's not her fault that her husband forgot to leave her with another twenty-pesos. He forgot again that they live too far from that place the NFA truck would usually park at. It's a good thing her sister gave her fifty-pesos, at the least.
And while a small percentage of the country are thinking of what they will wear the next day, the remaining are holding their grumbling stomachs that are slowly tearing each and everyone of them apart and somehow still thinking of where they will get the money to buy food at the present.
The gloomy atmosphere of the Thursday afternoon offers the greatest and most accurate description of how our country has been feeling for the last five or so years. It's hard to think how we've been all unfair to our heroes who shed their own lives for this weird-shaped country of ours. They fought with their all might just to set us all free, and here goes the government trying to imprison their own citizens. Is this all worth the sacrifice?
I think not.
Our independence is nowhere to be found, for we are all incarcerated by poverty and violence caused by no less than the people who should be alleviating such. We have yet to find out the taste of the being free, the kind that goes way beyond our imaginations and dreams. And as of now, freedom from all the burden we're all carrying is the last thing they can give us.
How ironic for an independent country.
A dirty kid whose ostentatiously minuscule physique is enough to kill her on her own creeps through the glass door of a supermarket. The new security guard takes his cap off with his right hand, and consequently pulls his blue handkerchief that his wife have folded in a square and wipes his sweat off his forehead. He puts the cap back again and walks to the glass door to stop that kid from entering again. His boss had reprimanded him once about letting street children enter the vicinity of their supermarket saying that it's 'too posh to be filled with dirty people'. In reality, he is technically a dirty person, because by his boss' definition, dirty people are those whole live in the nearby squatter's area and who are evidently filthy-looking and grubby-smelling. And he still doesn't know how the hell he was able to get inside.
A teenage girl who just bore her second baby three weeks ago stands at the end of the longest line she'd seen. She knows that she arrived too late, because she's already hearing the rumbling of the engine of the NFA truck. After a second or three, the line she was in before had suddenly disappeared as those hungry victims of poverty disperse quietly. She nods her head and walks away, back to her grubby house. It seems that for the second day, her two sons will be begging their neighbor for a cup of rice yet again. She knows it's not her fault that her husband forgot to leave her with another twenty-pesos. He forgot again that they live too far from that place the NFA truck would usually park at. It's a good thing her sister gave her fifty-pesos, at the least.
And while a small percentage of the country are thinking of what they will wear the next day, the remaining are holding their grumbling stomachs that are slowly tearing each and everyone of them apart and somehow still thinking of where they will get the money to buy food at the present.
The gloomy atmosphere of the Thursday afternoon offers the greatest and most accurate description of how our country has been feeling for the last five or so years. It's hard to think how we've been all unfair to our heroes who shed their own lives for this weird-shaped country of ours. They fought with their all might just to set us all free, and here goes the government trying to imprison their own citizens. Is this all worth the sacrifice?
I think not.
Our independence is nowhere to be found, for we are all incarcerated by poverty and violence caused by no less than the people who should be alleviating such. We have yet to find out the taste of the being free, the kind that goes way beyond our imaginations and dreams. And as of now, freedom from all the burden we're all carrying is the last thing they can give us.
How ironic for an independent country.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Quit or Stay
Well you've probably guessed the evident trend already: I'm blabbing too much about college. I mean, it's hard to not do so anyway. With the new environment and new people around me, the last thing I could do is to keep my freaking big mouth shut anyway. If I could just tell you about my everyday experiences and discovered wonders as a freshman, I really would. But doing so would really be so juvenile and stuff. And people would think I'm home-schooled or something.
College is no different from high school anyway. I mean, sure the independence thing is the most evident thing you can point out between the two. But the quirks and perks of high school is still there, only more mature and less religious. I for one wasn't really culture-shocked about how things are simply going around me. I don't know if it's because of the apathy thing I'm very famous for, but really, it's like high school all over again, just with a helluva lot of boys and no more religious advocates forcing us all to move to some chapel and attend the mass. I hate reminiscing, but when you're somewhere new (and very very far, for that matter), your mind just kinda drifts off to the past that was just barely four months ago, and compare it to your life right now.
Everytime I get in the train every morning and as my hand grips tightly on the nearest metal pole, visual images of my mother driving our car at the C5 road would always (and I so mean always) appear all of a sudden. My mom would drive me and my sister to school every morning back in high school. When we would leave the house at a lavishly and ungodly time, mom would treat us with a drive-through shindig at a fastfood restaurant. And my God, did my classmates envy me, or what? While they would review for something, I would meticulously set my food on my table and munch on it quietly. And boy, they sure didn't like it.
And now, I go to school alone, with some sleepy old man driving the train, and a sea of strangers trying to drown me with their same old stinky armpits and dripping sweat, fresh from a milliion or two gargantuan pores all over their body. And unless the operator of the train is bazillion times crazier than Bush Jr., and/or he truly loves me like hell, he will not stop the train in a nearby fastfood restaurant if we're too freaking early, much more drive the whole train through it. Instead of using the old look-at-me mechanism by buying food and eating it in the classroom, I would just buy a newspaper and (duh) read it, because there's nothing much to do in an early morning. My blockmates wouldn't envy me, of course. I mean, who the hell would envy a fat kid with an el-cheapo newspaper at hand anyway? And boy, they sure don't care.
And everytime I do the whole commuting process again when I have to go back home, I couldn't help asking myself if I can do this tedious bullshit for four years. Every step I take as I climb those stupiid ladders that are so endless at the stations, a point goes to the option 'oh quit this, there are a bunch of dorms out there. stop being a quasi-martyr and make yourself comfortable, for Christ's sake'. So far, it's leading by a billion points against the option 'stay, you're doing this for your humongous thighs..oh, and for your education as well.'
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College is no different from high school anyway. I mean, sure the independence thing is the most evident thing you can point out between the two. But the quirks and perks of high school is still there, only more mature and less religious. I for one wasn't really culture-shocked about how things are simply going around me. I don't know if it's because of the apathy thing I'm very famous for, but really, it's like high school all over again, just with a helluva lot of boys and no more religious advocates forcing us all to move to some chapel and attend the mass. I hate reminiscing, but when you're somewhere new (and very very far, for that matter), your mind just kinda drifts off to the past that was just barely four months ago, and compare it to your life right now.
Everytime I get in the train every morning and as my hand grips tightly on the nearest metal pole, visual images of my mother driving our car at the C5 road would always (and I so mean always) appear all of a sudden. My mom would drive me and my sister to school every morning back in high school. When we would leave the house at a lavishly and ungodly time, mom would treat us with a drive-through shindig at a fastfood restaurant. And my God, did my classmates envy me, or what? While they would review for something, I would meticulously set my food on my table and munch on it quietly. And boy, they sure didn't like it.
And now, I go to school alone, with some sleepy old man driving the train, and a sea of strangers trying to drown me with their same old stinky armpits and dripping sweat, fresh from a milliion or two gargantuan pores all over their body. And unless the operator of the train is bazillion times crazier than Bush Jr., and/or he truly loves me like hell, he will not stop the train in a nearby fastfood restaurant if we're too freaking early, much more drive the whole train through it. Instead of using the old look-at-me mechanism by buying food and eating it in the classroom, I would just buy a newspaper and (duh) read it, because there's nothing much to do in an early morning. My blockmates wouldn't envy me, of course. I mean, who the hell would envy a fat kid with an el-cheapo newspaper at hand anyway? And boy, they sure don't care.
And everytime I do the whole commuting process again when I have to go back home, I couldn't help asking myself if I can do this tedious bullshit for four years. Every step I take as I climb those stupiid ladders that are so endless at the stations, a point goes to the option 'oh quit this, there are a bunch of dorms out there. stop being a quasi-martyr and make yourself comfortable, for Christ's sake'. So far, it's leading by a billion points against the option 'stay, you're doing this for your humongous thighs..oh, and for your education as well.'
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Monday, June 09, 2008
Morning Train (Eight til God Knows When)
You grab the zipper of your sling bag and try to open it quickly as the security guard inspects your things. After doing so, you walk to the ticket machine and push that stored value card that has been in your sweaty right hand since you got off at the station approximately 2 minutes ago in the ticket slot. As it popped back at the top of the machine, you hurry to go down and get in the train as fast as possible. You know it's already rush hour, and your first class is at 8 AM. As you join the throng of the people waiting for the south bound train to arrive, you caught a glimpse of the time at the station's digital timex clock. 7:10:27 AM. Yeah, you're dead.
When I'm bored in the train, I try to think of some reason why I never get to see these people in front of me ever again. I think there's some rule God invented that strangers in the train are like dog's shit; you don't really want to have it near your body because it's useless and as far as strangers being all strange and whatnot, they're disgusting. Not really THAT disgusting, but you know. I know you know.
And no, I don't really want to see these strangers ever again. I'm just wondering why I never get to see the same strange faces again when I ride the train in the afternoon or the morning after. Ah, the wonder of futile curiosity.
When I'm bored in the train, I try to think of some reason why I never get to see these people in front of me ever again. I think there's some rule God invented that strangers in the train are like dog's shit; you don't really want to have it near your body because it's useless and as far as strangers being all strange and whatnot, they're disgusting. Not really THAT disgusting, but you know. I know you know.
And no, I don't really want to see these strangers ever again. I'm just wondering why I never get to see the same strange faces again when I ride the train in the afternoon or the morning after. Ah, the wonder of futile curiosity.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Oh Quit It
Omigod. My grandparents are at it again.
I know I posted something with the same banana almost a year ago when the college-slash-course issue was still raging hot and I was still yet to finish some chapter of a thesis. But my eyes are really getting heavier and heavier by the minute that lethargy is kicking my head like hell. I'm too sleepy to do some back-reading, dammit. It seems like only yesterday that I'm begging God for an afternoon melatonin shower because my whole system was exorbitantly restless and ironic as it seemed to be, it constantly refused to sleep and/or to rest. And now I have lots of sleeping potion. Now that I don't really need it.
Anyways, yesiree my grandparents are yet again scrutinizing my course of choice, saying that it's too damn manly and all. And they still don't get it. I've already had two Mondays with friggin' three hours of Algebra in the afternoon and for Christ's sake, they still don't get it. And there is no way that I'll explain the whole engineering thing, like, again. I'm tired of blurting out to them the reason why I even bothered choosing an engineering course in a school that's kinda like in the prairie but then the prairie's not too prairish over a science course in a school that's less than thirty minutes away from home.
I mean, forget it. It's not even all about the school, it's all about the course I've chosen for my collegiate education. They're claiming that I don't have the guts to play with some computer hardware and solve mathematical bullshits. They want me to take up some course that I'll be taking for granted- Journalism, Literature, or Mass Communication and the like. I'm not saying that one should deteriorate kids who are taking up courses like those, but it's just that we have our own skills and talents that have been already honed and surely, my talent belongs in the manly section and nowhere else.
I wish they could just shut up for a while and appreciate the beauty of having me as their granddaughter. Well, yeah if you look at it, there is no damn beauty. But then again they're all depending on me to help them afford their luxuries by the time I'll graduate and consequently work. It's either they appreciate me, or nothing. Damn life.
I know I posted something with the same banana almost a year ago when the college-slash-course issue was still raging hot and I was still yet to finish some chapter of a thesis. But my eyes are really getting heavier and heavier by the minute that lethargy is kicking my head like hell. I'm too sleepy to do some back-reading, dammit. It seems like only yesterday that I'm begging God for an afternoon melatonin shower because my whole system was exorbitantly restless and ironic as it seemed to be, it constantly refused to sleep and/or to rest. And now I have lots of sleeping potion. Now that I don't really need it.
Anyways, yesiree my grandparents are yet again scrutinizing my course of choice, saying that it's too damn manly and all. And they still don't get it. I've already had two Mondays with friggin' three hours of Algebra in the afternoon and for Christ's sake, they still don't get it. And there is no way that I'll explain the whole engineering thing, like, again. I'm tired of blurting out to them the reason why I even bothered choosing an engineering course in a school that's kinda like in the prairie but then the prairie's not too prairish over a science course in a school that's less than thirty minutes away from home.
I mean, forget it. It's not even all about the school, it's all about the course I've chosen for my collegiate education. They're claiming that I don't have the guts to play with some computer hardware and solve mathematical bullshits. They want me to take up some course that I'll be taking for granted- Journalism, Literature, or Mass Communication and the like. I'm not saying that one should deteriorate kids who are taking up courses like those, but it's just that we have our own skills and talents that have been already honed and surely, my talent belongs in the manly section and nowhere else.
I wish they could just shut up for a while and appreciate the beauty of having me as their granddaughter. Well, yeah if you look at it, there is no damn beauty. But then again they're all depending on me to help them afford their luxuries by the time I'll graduate and consequently work. It's either they appreciate me, or nothing. Damn life.
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.
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.)
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.
-----------------------
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
--------------------------------------
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.
--------------------------------------
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.
---------------------
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.
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.
---------------------
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.)
-----------------------------
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.
---------------------------------
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.
---------------------
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.
-----------------------------
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.
---------------------------------
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.
---------------------
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.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Ah, Life
You know bloggy, I've been thinking so much of various ways on how to cut down this fat crap stuck inside my body. What about jogging in the morning? Nah, my piggy-smell would attract all dogs from our street alone. What about going to gym...again? Mom said its too expensive, and I'm blacklisted in their gym, remember? What about killing myself? Yeah that'll probably do. But then again I'll probably be fat again in hell, so either way, I should cut my fat down. My God. What a skeptic.
I used to think fat jokes are fucking funny. You know, back when I was still unobese in an unmorbid way. But now, they're friggin mean after all. What is so funny with You are so fat NASA orbits satellites around you? That'll be pretty cool, you know. I'm so significant, orbits adore me to pieces.
Anyways, I'm blabbing about my fatness again because I'm afraid I'm gonna be obese for a very long time. You see, I haven't done anything productive for my body, except for some stupid highlights to my hair my mom insisted me to try. Whoa! What's that? A newsflash to mom? Highlights don't suit me?! Well isn't it just damn right in all places.
-----------------------
HAH. Funny. Look at this. I got it from Marty.
Wow. Was that weird, or what?
---------------------------------
I used to think fat jokes are fucking funny. You know, back when I was still unobese in an unmorbid way. But now, they're friggin mean after all. What is so funny with You are so fat NASA orbits satellites around you? That'll be pretty cool, you know. I'm so significant, orbits adore me to pieces.
Anyways, I'm blabbing about my fatness again because I'm afraid I'm gonna be obese for a very long time. You see, I haven't done anything productive for my body, except for some stupid highlights to my hair my mom insisted me to try. Whoa! What's that? A newsflash to mom? Highlights don't suit me?! Well isn't it just damn right in all places.
-----------------------
HAH. Funny. Look at this. I got it from Marty.
Welcome Lorainne, here is your handwriting analysis.
The circumstances when Lorainne does express emotions include: extreme anger, extreme passion, and tremendous stress.(I like extremes) If someone gets her mad enough to tell her off, she will not be sorry about it later. She puts a mark in her mind when someone angers her. She keeps track of these marks and when she hits that last mark she will let them know they have gone too far. She is ruled somewhat by self-interest. All her conclusions are made without outside emotional influence. She is very level-headed and will remain calm in an emergency situation. In a situation where other people might get hysterical, she has poise.(This is unbelievably REAL)
Lorainne will work more efficiently if given space and time to be alone. She would rather not be surrounded by people constantly. In a relationship, she will show her love by the things she does rather than by the things she says. Saying "I love you" is not a needed routine because she feels her mate should already know. The only exception to this is if she has logically concluded that it is best for her mate to hear her express her love verbally. (Whatever)
Lorainne is not subject to emotional appeals. If someone is selling a product to her, they will need to present only the facts. They should present them from a standpoint of her sound judgment. She will not be taken in by an emotional story about someone else. She will meet emergencies without getting hysterical and she will always ask "Is this best for me?" (Well, duh! Who wouldn't?)
She has the best of two kinds of minds. One is the quick investigating mind. The other is the creative mind. Her mind thinks quick and rapidly in the investigative mode. She can learn quicker, investigate more, and think faster. Lorainne can then switch into her low gear. When she is in the slower mode, she can be creative, remember longer and stack facts in a logical manner. She is more logical this way and can climb mental mountains with a much better grip. (God, did you do this?)
---------------------------------
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Honk If You're Emo
After a honk or a hundred, you go out of your house with your backpack slinging itself as you walk quickly to your school bus. As you enter inside, you try to deactivate your ears because you know very well that your conductor is muttering some curses to - who else? - you. You made your bus wait for seven minutes, and here he goes, acting like Silas with the fiery glares and whispers of doom. You smirk accordingly as you find your usual seat with your other busmates who are lethargic as well. Every blink is just so so heavy. And yeah, everytime it closes, you just don't want to open it up.
You finally wake up as the sound of footsteps rushing out of the bus. You wipe your saliva that's still somehow dripping towards your chin. Wow. You actually slept through the trip. Surprise surprise, alright. You go out of your school bus, lazily trying to fix your quasi-wet hair and sleepy eyes. You startle as the engine of your school bus roars out of the school. You shake your head off as you see it drive away. Maan, I should have just stayed inside and let them bring me back home, you think. Well, you know very well you can't, actually. You have five quizzes due today, and everyone knows that skipping all of it is the most imbecile thing a graduating student can do. As you walk towards the Annex 2 building, you try to recall what those quizzes are for and about. Filipino, something about that kid named Celso. Math, polynomial functions. English, conflict umbrella. Economics, probably about the country's economy and; Physics, Newton's Laws. Your heart skips a beat just by thinking about the latter. Let's see, Physics is after recess on Tuesdays, so yeah, you're dead meat.
----------------------------------------
It's been a long time since I wrote about something so sensible, I for one cannot let go of it. Let's see now...
Why I Can't Write Any Good Stuff Anymore.
Yeah, that'll show 'em.
If you've been reading my past entries, you can see the evident trend that they are all filled with all things juvenile. From Dora the Explorer to Greek Mythology, and my Age to Parental Control. I cannot really blame anybody, because practically, I know that it's my fault as to why this blog is slowly dying. I remember articulating that this blog is the mere output of my stress and my life and all months ago, but surely now I keep on avoiding and avoiding my own problems and resort to just thinking about how stupid Dora's backpack is. I mean really, Dora's whole life is just something I want to have now. At least she doesn't have to feel deteriorated by people, because duh, she appears on national television and kids friggin adore her. Me? My fucking bed is the only who adores me.
Call me emo or whatever shit you want to put before my name, but now that school's over and we're all off to different colleges and universities, I feel so helpless because I'm alone. Fucking ALONE. For an introvert, that's like, heaven or something as divine as it is. But being the hypocritical bitch that I really am, I now feel the need to go out with any of my true friends that have been with me for the school year that passed. Friends that helped me to cope with stupid changes, friends that made me laugh all year long, friends that gave me advice during the Great Depression, and friends that are truly, truly, TRULY, friends. Not friends who are pretending to be friends with friends of a lot more friends. Good luck comprehending that.
And now that I've said it, it brings me great happiness to acknowledge you all in here, in my shrine.
I MISS:
Rachell Ann Gonzalez, Patti dela Concepcion, Juela Sanchez, Jacque Topacio, Denise Santillan, Nina Meily, Charlene Liwanag, Alyssa Flores, Rica Guerrero, Ayu Martinez, Crissa Tenorio, Gia Cruz, Bianca Marjalino, Marian Ortiz, and the rest of 4-2 (YES! Even the dope, really. To the dope: you know who you are.).
It sucks when it[graduation] sinks in barely a month after it happened. You know, when those people you really, really love are not around anymore, not morbidly speaking or anything.
I MISS YOU GUUUUYS. Oh fuck it.
You finally wake up as the sound of footsteps rushing out of the bus. You wipe your saliva that's still somehow dripping towards your chin. Wow. You actually slept through the trip. Surprise surprise, alright. You go out of your school bus, lazily trying to fix your quasi-wet hair and sleepy eyes. You startle as the engine of your school bus roars out of the school. You shake your head off as you see it drive away. Maan, I should have just stayed inside and let them bring me back home, you think. Well, you know very well you can't, actually. You have five quizzes due today, and everyone knows that skipping all of it is the most imbecile thing a graduating student can do. As you walk towards the Annex 2 building, you try to recall what those quizzes are for and about. Filipino, something about that kid named Celso. Math, polynomial functions. English, conflict umbrella. Economics, probably about the country's economy and; Physics, Newton's Laws. Your heart skips a beat just by thinking about the latter. Let's see, Physics is after recess on Tuesdays, so yeah, you're dead meat.
----------------------------------------
It's been a long time since I wrote about something so sensible, I for one cannot let go of it. Let's see now...
Why I Can't Write Any Good Stuff Anymore.
Yeah, that'll show 'em.
If you've been reading my past entries, you can see the evident trend that they are all filled with all things juvenile. From Dora the Explorer to Greek Mythology, and my Age to Parental Control. I cannot really blame anybody, because practically, I know that it's my fault as to why this blog is slowly dying. I remember articulating that this blog is the mere output of my stress and my life and all months ago, but surely now I keep on avoiding and avoiding my own problems and resort to just thinking about how stupid Dora's backpack is. I mean really, Dora's whole life is just something I want to have now. At least she doesn't have to feel deteriorated by people, because duh, she appears on national television and kids friggin adore her. Me? My fucking bed is the only who adores me.
Call me emo or whatever shit you want to put before my name, but now that school's over and we're all off to different colleges and universities, I feel so helpless because I'm alone. Fucking ALONE. For an introvert, that's like, heaven or something as divine as it is. But being the hypocritical bitch that I really am, I now feel the need to go out with any of my true friends that have been with me for the school year that passed. Friends that helped me to cope with stupid changes, friends that made me laugh all year long, friends that gave me advice during the Great Depression, and friends that are truly, truly, TRULY, friends. Not friends who are pretending to be friends with friends of a lot more friends. Good luck comprehending that.
And now that I've said it, it brings me great happiness to acknowledge you all in here, in my shrine.
I MISS:
Rachell Ann Gonzalez, Patti dela Concepcion, Juela Sanchez, Jacque Topacio, Denise Santillan, Nina Meily, Charlene Liwanag, Alyssa Flores, Rica Guerrero, Ayu Martinez, Crissa Tenorio, Gia Cruz, Bianca Marjalino, Marian Ortiz, and the rest of 4-2 (YES! Even the dope, really. To the dope: you know who you are.).
It sucks when it[graduation] sinks in barely a month after it happened. You know, when those people you really, really love are not around anymore, not morbidly speaking or anything.
I MISS YOU GUUUUYS. Oh fuck it.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Age and Mythology
For some reason, I was doing a lot of thinking about my incoming 17th birthday last night. I don't really have an idea why, but it just hit me so hard like my brother's pressurized fart: age is the only possible thing you can physically defy. With how modern times have transformed cosmetic surgery into a mere normal activity, I have come to think of other ways that can help me fool people with my age. Oh wait. There's none.
I don't want to grow up.
---------------------------
I was watching Wowowee a while ago, God knows why. There was this question that was flashed on the screen, and consequently asked to the contestants. The question was asking if Diana is therefore the goddess of moon and the hunt. I blurted out yes, since we all know that Diana is just the Roman-ized version of Artemis, the original Greek goddess of the kind. And what do you know? I'm wrong. They claimed that Artemis is, really, the goddess of moon and the hunt. I was like, wtf? Confusing gameshows. I used to like such, though. Probably right before they turned out to be more irrational than they are claiming to be. Ludicrousness and unreasonableness don't really go together in the society. It's either you be funny and smart, or be so corny and dumb. Now that is justice.
Anyways, I'm reading Edith Hamilton's Mythology again. For unknown reasons, mythology just cannot detach itself from me. It's like I have to connect every little thing to some god/goddess and bore everyone with it. Just like last night.
Mom: Ay, tignan mo o! Bilog yung buwan! (Oh lookie at the full moon!)
Me: Ah oo. Alam nyo bang si Artemis ang goddess ng moon? Di nga lang moon eh, pati wild things kanya din! (Ah, yes. Did you know that Artemis is the goddess of the moon? She's also the goddess of wild things, actually.)
Mom: Huh?(I need not to translate that.)
I've only appreciated the Eight Brief Tales of Lovers after re-reading all of the stories of the characters there. Somehow, Baucis and Philemon's very very touching story of love kinda moved me, probably because it's the only story the doesn't seem oh-so supernatural. I liked Cupid and Psyche's, too. I mean, definitely, that thing's a classic already.
-----------------------------
I don't want to grow up.
---------------------------
I was watching Wowowee a while ago, God knows why. There was this question that was flashed on the screen, and consequently asked to the contestants. The question was asking if Diana is therefore the goddess of moon and the hunt. I blurted out yes, since we all know that Diana is just the Roman-ized version of Artemis, the original Greek goddess of the kind. And what do you know? I'm wrong. They claimed that Artemis is, really, the goddess of moon and the hunt. I was like, wtf? Confusing gameshows. I used to like such, though. Probably right before they turned out to be more irrational than they are claiming to be. Ludicrousness and unreasonableness don't really go together in the society. It's either you be funny and smart, or be so corny and dumb. Now that is justice.
Anyways, I'm reading Edith Hamilton's Mythology again. For unknown reasons, mythology just cannot detach itself from me. It's like I have to connect every little thing to some god/goddess and bore everyone with it. Just like last night.
Mom: Ay, tignan mo o! Bilog yung buwan! (Oh lookie at the full moon!)
Me: Ah oo. Alam nyo bang si Artemis ang goddess ng moon? Di nga lang moon eh, pati wild things kanya din! (Ah, yes. Did you know that Artemis is the goddess of the moon? She's also the goddess of wild things, actually.)
Mom: Huh?(I need not to translate that.)
I've only appreciated the Eight Brief Tales of Lovers after re-reading all of the stories of the characters there. Somehow, Baucis and Philemon's very very touching story of love kinda moved me, probably because it's the only story the doesn't seem oh-so supernatural. I liked Cupid and Psyche's, too. I mean, definitely, that thing's a classic already.
-----------------------------
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Cups
My mind pushed me to do this. Blame..uh..it.
Lately my sudden knowledge of how big my mammary glands have gotten over my puberty years is deeply bothering me. You see, I don't give an ass if my body fully develops or not. What matters to me is that I make it to my legal age alive and a ton less, with the latter remaining arguably impossible(and the former being so much for a suicidal. Well, no. Make that a quasi-suicidal.). Being almost a year away before this stupid process finally stops, I have come to think that I may be lucky all along in terms of physical development. You see, as formality dictates, females normally experience a little bit (or too much for some) of problem in the face. You know, the usuals being the acne, pimple, blackheads and whiteheads. Sebum party, alright.
I didn't experience those, um, actually. No, really. You can call me egotistical or pig or sebum lackluster or whatever you want except for the latter because it sounds so friggin lame, but it's the damn truth. I remember that one time when I thought I have a pimple on my face because something's reddish and quite yellow(or was it olive? Hmm, maybe purple. I'm not sure. Check my mood.) in the middle. I consulted my sister who's like, the CEO of some Sebum corporation because she produces way way way waaay more oil in the face than me (and for the nth time, she's more experienced in the facial care department. Like I could care more, really.). She said it was too small to be a damn pimple, but she wasn't sure if it was one in the end. But, whatever. I was so excited to be stressed because of it for the rest of my days and stuff.
I woke up the next day and it was gone. Boo-fucking-hoo. Well, I have blackheads instead. Man, I swear to God that if someone who is exorbitantly interested in macro photography would pick my nose as the subject, he/she would freak out because of the increasing population of these things are experiencing. Beat that, chocolate hills.
What I lost in the face is what my mammary glands gained. I'm not speaking about the Sebum and acnes and all of that, but, you know. I didn't have oil overdose but now, hold your breaths because as of yesterday, my cup size pivoted its way to C from A. You can say your respective OMG's now.
I don't like having big boobies. I mean, Jesus, I don't even like having boobs. What the hell are they for, anyway? Oh yeah sure the baby needs milk blah blah, but can it just STOP growing and stuff? I wish all of my Estradiol can be donated to those others who hate me now because they have small boobs.
Too much is just really, really bad.
------------------------------------
Lately my sudden knowledge of how big my mammary glands have gotten over my puberty years is deeply bothering me. You see, I don't give an ass if my body fully develops or not. What matters to me is that I make it to my legal age alive and a ton less, with the latter remaining arguably impossible(and the former being so much for a suicidal. Well, no. Make that a quasi-suicidal.). Being almost a year away before this stupid process finally stops, I have come to think that I may be lucky all along in terms of physical development. You see, as formality dictates, females normally experience a little bit (or too much for some) of problem in the face. You know, the usuals being the acne, pimple, blackheads and whiteheads. Sebum party, alright.
I didn't experience those, um, actually. No, really. You can call me egotistical or pig or sebum lackluster or whatever you want except for the latter because it sounds so friggin lame, but it's the damn truth. I remember that one time when I thought I have a pimple on my face because something's reddish and quite yellow(or was it olive? Hmm, maybe purple. I'm not sure. Check my mood.) in the middle. I consulted my sister who's like, the CEO of some Sebum corporation because she produces way way way waaay more oil in the face than me (and for the nth time, she's more experienced in the facial care department. Like I could care more, really.). She said it was too small to be a damn pimple, but she wasn't sure if it was one in the end. But, whatever. I was so excited to be stressed because of it for the rest of my days and stuff.
I woke up the next day and it was gone. Boo-fucking-hoo. Well, I have blackheads instead. Man, I swear to God that if someone who is exorbitantly interested in macro photography would pick my nose as the subject, he/she would freak out because of the increasing population of these things are experiencing. Beat that, chocolate hills.
What I lost in the face is what my mammary glands gained. I'm not speaking about the Sebum and acnes and all of that, but, you know. I didn't have oil overdose but now, hold your breaths because as of yesterday, my cup size pivoted its way to C from A. You can say your respective OMG's now.
I don't like having big boobies. I mean, Jesus, I don't even like having boobs. What the hell are they for, anyway? Oh yeah sure the baby needs milk blah blah, but can it just STOP growing and stuff? I wish all of my Estradiol can be donated to those others who hate me now because they have small boobs.
Too much is just really, really bad.
------------------------------------
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Slow, Slow Piss
That was how my life was in the beach for 4 freaking, fucking, fidgeting days filled with filthy sand and goddamn bitches who made me feel a lot more inferior than a dog's shit. Hells yeah, I'm that inferior in the body department. God, the beach is such a bad idea all along, I'm going to narrate everything to you guys. You know, to make up for the nugatory sense this blog lost since my last post, which by my elementary calculations is a week and four days ago. But not for long, damn right. I'm gonna post all my drafted entries after I finish this crap, like everyone could really care less.
We went back to Subic after two weeks because, well, I don't know, exactly. Mom probably has the summer fever and she wants us all to feel the same way. I don't have an idea why going to the beach for the second time just did not in any way excite me for a bit. Anyways, here it goes.
April 10, 2008 - Thursday
We left the house at around 2-3 in the afternoon, so consequently, we arrived at Subic at 6-ish in the evening. And since mom is just so kind, we did not rent any cheap-ass cottage for our things. Instead, we lived in tents that is anything but comforting. Kinda reminds me of my Girl Scout days, when we were forced to build tents on mountains and stuff when we camped. But at least that's fun, because there were a lot of activities scheduled for us, very much unlike our stupid vacation where there are only few things you can do: bum around, swim, eat, sleep, then go bum around again.
See, Monica was supposed to go with us. She would've saved me from the extreme boredom I got. I mean, I was not only bored, but dammit, I was pissed as well. But things just can't go my way or something. I wish I could've just ditched this whole thing and just slept over at Monica's house or anything.
I practically did nothing on this, um, night. I played a little badminton, flew a kite with my brothers, then off I went to hit the sack at about 5am of the next day.
April 11, 2008 - Friday
I wasn't sure if it was this day, or on the 17th, but nevertheless I greeted Janrae some birthday devoirs a birthday celebrant truly deserve. He turned, 20, I think. And I need not to elaborate anything about this much further. (HA. Yeah-diggidy-right) And for sure it was this day, since he confirmed it by replying to my birthday message 8 hours later. Whatever.
I swam all day, then slept after. Blah blah. Got a good tan, spared my shithole of a face from sunburn, you know, the usuals. I met this cute guy who claims that he's this environmental advocate from UP Los Banos and thus he keeps on picking up bits of garbage around our vicinity. The operative verb 'met' is probably the worst overstatement I ever used. God, I'm so conceited I did not even bother to ask the person's name or anything. Anyways, he left early, so the boredom fire still raged and cracked like hell.
I woke up at 8pm and bummed around, again. Mom suddenly texted me to join her for some 'eating time' at the nearby bar. Dressed with my school jogging pants and some jersey shirt, I..well..obliged. I was an open bar anyway, and Mom won't let me have any hard drinks. At least secretly drinking local beers didn't cause a mishap between my clothing. That would totally suck.
April 12, 2008 - Saturday
The minute I woke up, I decided to just laze around and skip swimming for this day. My body's kinda bored of defying gravity in water anyways, so I just answered some sudoku puzzles and snored and slep. I told you it was boring.
After Mom showered her ass off, we went to SBFZ (Subic Bay Freeport Zone) or as I would call it, The Zone. See, The Zone is practically my heaven. It's the most disciplined piece of land here in the country, aaand, you have the most civilized people stuck in there. Not that I'm civilized or disciplined or anything, but watching people act so nice like it's a natural trait is so so so amusing. Well, for me, that is. It's a reminiscent of Oceania, the setting of George Orwell's 1984, only much much more cleaner and a bit friendlier.
We bought chocolates(which will later on be eaten right before the night will end) for friends we left in Manila, and a handful of other stuffs you couldn't find anywhere else except in Royal Subic/Puregold Subic/Freeport Exchange. Other stuffs, except for liquor, that is. That liquor superstore right in front of Freeport Exchange is surely, surely some heaven hidden by God so as to not attract drunkards. This is the only place I know inside The Zone where you can purchase both Pepe Lopez and Jose Cuervo at affordable prices. I'll be celebrating my 18th birthday there, for sure.
And for dinner, we went to the infamous Meat Plus Cafe, just beside the liquor superstore. Their specialties cost a lot, really. I thought that an order of Roast Beef is good for two, and mom's New York Steak is also good for two. When the busboy laid out my roast beef on top of my table, my eyes grew in amazement. God, all this for 300 bucks? Obviously, it wasn't good for two people. Yet on the other hand, it was exorbitantly right for an obese teenager. The plate is as big as my two boobs combined; roast beef soaked in sauce on the right, mashed potato with a gravy saucer on top, and vegetable sidings on the left. The minute the meat entered my hungry mouth, I began salivating for more, more, MORE. Now I get it why a plate costs so freaking much. I swear to Lord God, that's the most scrumptious meal I ever had.
There's another incident that happened, but you don't really want to hear about it.
--------------------
Dear Bloggy,
I'm sorry. I'll make up for all the loss, I promise.
Love, the Owner.
We went back to Subic after two weeks because, well, I don't know, exactly. Mom probably has the summer fever and she wants us all to feel the same way. I don't have an idea why going to the beach for the second time just did not in any way excite me for a bit. Anyways, here it goes.
April 10, 2008 - Thursday
We left the house at around 2-3 in the afternoon, so consequently, we arrived at Subic at 6-ish in the evening. And since mom is just so kind, we did not rent any cheap-ass cottage for our things. Instead, we lived in tents that is anything but comforting. Kinda reminds me of my Girl Scout days, when we were forced to build tents on mountains and stuff when we camped. But at least that's fun, because there were a lot of activities scheduled for us, very much unlike our stupid vacation where there are only few things you can do: bum around, swim, eat, sleep, then go bum around again.
See, Monica was supposed to go with us. She would've saved me from the extreme boredom I got. I mean, I was not only bored, but dammit, I was pissed as well. But things just can't go my way or something. I wish I could've just ditched this whole thing and just slept over at Monica's house or anything.
I practically did nothing on this, um, night. I played a little badminton, flew a kite with my brothers, then off I went to hit the sack at about 5am of the next day.
April 11, 2008 - Friday
I wasn't sure if it was this day, or on the 17th, but nevertheless I greeted Janrae some birthday devoirs a birthday celebrant truly deserve. He turned, 20, I think. And I need not to elaborate anything about this much further. (HA. Yeah-diggidy-right) And for sure it was this day, since he confirmed it by replying to my birthday message 8 hours later. Whatever.
I swam all day, then slept after. Blah blah. Got a good tan, spared my shithole of a face from sunburn, you know, the usuals. I met this cute guy who claims that he's this environmental advocate from UP Los Banos and thus he keeps on picking up bits of garbage around our vicinity. The operative verb 'met' is probably the worst overstatement I ever used. God, I'm so conceited I did not even bother to ask the person's name or anything. Anyways, he left early, so the boredom fire still raged and cracked like hell.
I woke up at 8pm and bummed around, again. Mom suddenly texted me to join her for some 'eating time' at the nearby bar. Dressed with my school jogging pants and some jersey shirt, I..well..obliged. I was an open bar anyway, and Mom won't let me have any hard drinks. At least secretly drinking local beers didn't cause a mishap between my clothing. That would totally suck.
April 12, 2008 - Saturday
The minute I woke up, I decided to just laze around and skip swimming for this day. My body's kinda bored of defying gravity in water anyways, so I just answered some sudoku puzzles and snored and slep. I told you it was boring.
After Mom showered her ass off, we went to SBFZ (Subic Bay Freeport Zone) or as I would call it, The Zone. See, The Zone is practically my heaven. It's the most disciplined piece of land here in the country, aaand, you have the most civilized people stuck in there. Not that I'm civilized or disciplined or anything, but watching people act so nice like it's a natural trait is so so so amusing. Well, for me, that is. It's a reminiscent of Oceania, the setting of George Orwell's 1984, only much much more cleaner and a bit friendlier.
We bought chocolates(which will later on be eaten right before the night will end) for friends we left in Manila, and a handful of other stuffs you couldn't find anywhere else except in Royal Subic/Puregold Subic/Freeport Exchange. Other stuffs, except for liquor, that is. That liquor superstore right in front of Freeport Exchange is surely, surely some heaven hidden by God so as to not attract drunkards. This is the only place I know inside The Zone where you can purchase both Pepe Lopez and Jose Cuervo at affordable prices. I'll be celebrating my 18th birthday there, for sure.
And for dinner, we went to the infamous Meat Plus Cafe, just beside the liquor superstore. Their specialties cost a lot, really. I thought that an order of Roast Beef is good for two, and mom's New York Steak is also good for two. When the busboy laid out my roast beef on top of my table, my eyes grew in amazement. God, all this for 300 bucks? Obviously, it wasn't good for two people. Yet on the other hand, it was exorbitantly right for an obese teenager. The plate is as big as my two boobs combined; roast beef soaked in sauce on the right, mashed potato with a gravy saucer on top, and vegetable sidings on the left. The minute the meat entered my hungry mouth, I began salivating for more, more, MORE. Now I get it why a plate costs so freaking much. I swear to Lord God, that's the most scrumptious meal I ever had.
There's another incident that happened, but you don't really want to hear about it.
--------------------
Dear Bloggy,
I'm sorry. I'll make up for all the loss, I promise.
Love, the Owner.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Carpe Diem!
After taking your well-needed bath, you walk out of the wet shower and grab your towel. As you dry your wet hair and body using it, you think of what will happen today at school. The third chapter of your thesis is to be passed today, and the methodology of your investigatory project, too. You vividly remember that today is Tuesday, and as far as your class schedule is concerned, you have Research and Physics in the morning. 'Shit', you mutter as you throw your towel to your bed and rummage your dresser for your underwear. You blankly wear your underwear and at the same avert your eyes towards your closet in search for the second layer of your uniform, which is your pantylet and white sando. Your eyebrows intertwine as the thought of wearing all of these under your black and white checkered skirt and white minimal blouse appears. Maan, they have got be kidding all of you.
As you go out of your room wearing your complete uniform, you cannot help but to think if this will be the same way at this time next year. Your lips curve into a weary smirk as you remember that you won't be wearing this three-layered uniform anymore next year, unless you're an idiot and can't move on from high school, which is far more unlikely than you being a nun or something. You know you won't miss it, because who the hell does, right? You shake your head off as you go down the stairs.
BEEEP BEEEP.
Oh no. Is that the school bus? But you haven't put on your socks yet!
---------------------------------
This summer is going completely to nowhere. No, really. Yeah sure, we'll be going to the beach again tomorrow blah-diddy-blah-blah, but that's already boring me to death. I haven't even done anything to cut some ton or two off my body except for playing badminton before dinner time, which isn't really helpful at all especially if the dinner's quite enticing. Mom wouldn't let me have boxing classes because they're tad expensive. Damn, she wouldn't even let me go back to swimming for fear that people will actually think I'm a walking pig. How sweet of my mom to ruin my sports career. I don't even have one in the beginning, and here she comes destroying the imaginary.
As of now, I don't really know where I'm going to college. I opened my Multiply account a while ago and was astonished by the large number of people who have already scheduled their enrollments in their respective schools. Me? I'll probably end up in my room, pretending I'm Zeus and my bed is Olympus for the rest of my life.
The thought of not going to college does not scare me, even for one bit, which is scarier for a high school graduate. I mean, I'm tired of studying, for the love of God. My brain deserves a goddamn break and I know for sure that a year is the right time span for me to recover my old self. You know, that persona I had before graduation practices and graduation and eventually, summer changed. Crap. I'll give you an overview.
MY OLD SELF
(From June 2007 to February 2008)
- Irritable. Very irritable.
- Laughs insanely at her own jokes
- Longs for a drinking session with her seatmates and friends once in a while.
- Longs for a taste of cigarette before her last year ends
- Applies the numerous laws of Physics every single time
- Computes for the time it will take their car to accelerate over an inconsistent velocity caused by her mom's unpredictability in the choice of routes every morning.
- Adores her Physics teacher more than her Physics notebook. Very notable indeed.
- Unusually nonchalant about the fact that her classmates aren't cleaning the classroom. She was the EFC chair, by the way.
- Hates doing things not related to school
- And with that, she makes up problems of every sort just so she can think of something sensible.
- Does not think of college as an importance
- Does their thesis and investigatory project on her own
- Loves the internet, just like any teeny-bopper person she knows
- Always sleepy, but not that sleepy to not spend her recess and lunch breaks with her friends.
MY NEW SELF
(From March 2008 till now)
- Thesis? Physics? What the fucking hell are those?
- Apathetic. Very very very apathetic.
- Still hates doing stuffs
- Except now that she also hates doing anything related to c-o-l-l-e-g-e
- Kinda hating the information super highway because of its state of being overrated
- Wants to kill all those people who made her look stupid by cleaning the room all by herself for a year. FOR A GODDAMN YEAR.
- Longs for boxing lessons and gym workouts
- In short, she longs for a spankin' new body
- Longs for a social life. How ironic for an introvert, alright.
See the difference? God, I'm feeling such a piggy right now. Not that I'm not a pig before or anything. But I'm pigger, and good luck googling that.
As you go out of your room wearing your complete uniform, you cannot help but to think if this will be the same way at this time next year. Your lips curve into a weary smirk as you remember that you won't be wearing this three-layered uniform anymore next year, unless you're an idiot and can't move on from high school, which is far more unlikely than you being a nun or something. You know you won't miss it, because who the hell does, right? You shake your head off as you go down the stairs.
BEEEP BEEEP.
Oh no. Is that the school bus? But you haven't put on your socks yet!
---------------------------------
This summer is going completely to nowhere. No, really. Yeah sure, we'll be going to the beach again tomorrow blah-diddy-blah-blah, but that's already boring me to death. I haven't even done anything to cut some ton or two off my body except for playing badminton before dinner time, which isn't really helpful at all especially if the dinner's quite enticing. Mom wouldn't let me have boxing classes because they're tad expensive. Damn, she wouldn't even let me go back to swimming for fear that people will actually think I'm a walking pig. How sweet of my mom to ruin my sports career. I don't even have one in the beginning, and here she comes destroying the imaginary.
As of now, I don't really know where I'm going to college. I opened my Multiply account a while ago and was astonished by the large number of people who have already scheduled their enrollments in their respective schools. Me? I'll probably end up in my room, pretending I'm Zeus and my bed is Olympus for the rest of my life.
The thought of not going to college does not scare me, even for one bit, which is scarier for a high school graduate. I mean, I'm tired of studying, for the love of God. My brain deserves a goddamn break and I know for sure that a year is the right time span for me to recover my old self. You know, that persona I had before graduation practices and graduation and eventually, summer changed. Crap. I'll give you an overview.
MY OLD SELF
(From June 2007 to February 2008)
- Irritable. Very irritable.
- Laughs insanely at her own jokes
- Longs for a drinking session with her seatmates and friends once in a while.
- Longs for a taste of cigarette before her last year ends
- Applies the numerous laws of Physics every single time
- Computes for the time it will take their car to accelerate over an inconsistent velocity caused by her mom's unpredictability in the choice of routes every morning.
- Adores her Physics teacher more than her Physics notebook. Very notable indeed.
- Unusually nonchalant about the fact that her classmates aren't cleaning the classroom. She was the EFC chair, by the way.
- Hates doing things not related to school
- And with that, she makes up problems of every sort just so she can think of something sensible.
- Does not think of college as an importance
- Does their thesis and investigatory project on her own
- Loves the internet, just like any teeny-bopper person she knows
- Always sleepy, but not that sleepy to not spend her recess and lunch breaks with her friends.
MY NEW SELF
(From March 2008 till now)
- Thesis? Physics? What the fucking hell are those?
- Apathetic. Very very very apathetic.
- Still hates doing stuffs
- Except now that she also hates doing anything related to c-o-l-l-e-g-e
- Kinda hating the information super highway because of its state of being overrated
- Wants to kill all those people who made her look stupid by cleaning the room all by herself for a year. FOR A GODDAMN YEAR.
- Longs for boxing lessons and gym workouts
- In short, she longs for a spankin' new body
- Longs for a social life. How ironic for an introvert, alright.
See the difference? God, I'm feeling such a piggy right now. Not that I'm not a pig before or anything. But I'm pigger, and good luck googling that.
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