The last few weeks have been toxic, really toxic. The next ones aren't going to get any better either, maybe even worse. The semester is coming to a close, yet I don't feel a sense of relief washing over me just yet. I just really want this semester to end already but there's still so many things to write, to revise, to do- it's completely frustrating.

It's no secret that this sem is probably one of the toughest I've had so far. With majors taking up most of my Form 5, it's safe to say that I really am a Creative Writing major now, staying up late for character revisions and literary analysis. It's not always a walk in the park, especially when I reach this point of complete and total stagnation- when no words come out of me, no thoughts; just a loud, piercing kind of silence that looms over me like a dark cloud. It's a vicious cycle really: I can't write because I feel tired and I'm tired because I can't write. It has been like that for most of the semester, and it has just been really exhausting. Sometimes I'm still surprised at how I peel myself off my bed and go to school even on zombie-mode.

But if there's one thing that keeps me excited, not so much about my school work, but about still getting up at least, is getting to see the people I care for, the people I admire. It's such a hackneyed thing to say but I've only truly come to appreciate it in the last few months. Everyday what keeps me going is the interesting conversations I share with my friends, how we're worried about our future, how we want to carve our places in the Philippine literary scene, how we can't wait to become our own selves- random, daily conversations that aren't really important, but aren't stupid and shallow either.

I am also constantly in awe of my professors who are all geniuses in their own way, having already made a name for themselves in their chosen fields. All of my professors this semester are PhD holders and going to class, even just for the stories they share about their experiences, is already enough to make the few thousand bucks I paid for that class worth it. Just the other day, I saw a modern adaptation of Macbeth directed by my playwriting professor and I realized how lucky I am to be in this college, in this university; how much of a privilege it was just to be surrounded with these unbelievably artistic people. It makes me want to do better as a writer, as an individual.

It's amazing how we gather the strength we need to carry on from the most mundane of things. The other day, while enjoying the religious revelation that was Moonleaf, my boyfriend was explaining something about cars and the clutch and other parts of an automative I wouldn't really notice (nothing new really since we always have this geeky kind of talking, him of mechanics, me of literature) when I realized how grateful I am to be with such a dedicated, intelligent person. That he can talk to me about the dynamics of a car over a cup of milk tea makes me want to grab my Norton Anthology and explain my sociological analysis of The Rape of the Lock.

The way he would talk about bomb calorimeters or centrifugal force, the way our professor would tell us about bringing out the moment in each play, the way my friend elaborated her plan of taking up further studies after college- all these talks, these conversations, they all make me feel like I am in the company of such diverse but equally brilliant people.

And I realize, how can I not be motivated after that? How can I still have an excuse for feeling unenthusiastic when here I am, mingling with people who are so committed to what they do? The dedication does not take away the stress, that I am sure of. But for the most part, it makes it more valuable, more significant. Maybe it's about time I take a cue from them.

Just a couple more weeks to go, Karla. Keep it together.

The last few weeks have been toxic, really toxic. The next ones aren't going to get any better either, maybe even worse. The semester is coming to a close, yet I don't feel a sense of relief washing over me just yet. I just really want this semester to end already but there's still so many things to write, to revise, to do- it's completely frustrating.

It's no secret that this sem is probably one of the toughest I've had so far. With majors taking up most of my Form 5, it's safe to say that I really am a Creative Writing major now, staying up late for character revisions and literary analysis. It's not always a walk in the park, especially when I reach this point of complete and total stagnation- when no words come out of me, no thoughts; just a loud, piercing kind of silence that looms over me like a dark cloud. It's a vicious cycle really: I can't write because I feel tired and I'm tired because I can't write. It has been like that for most of the semester, and it has just been really exhausting. Sometimes I'm still surprised at how I peel myself off my bed and go to school even on zombie-mode.

But if there's one thing that keeps me excited, not so much about my school work, but about still getting up at least, is getting to see the people I care for, the people I admire. It's such a hackneyed thing to say but I've only truly come to appreciate it in the last few months. Everyday what keeps me going is the interesting conversations I share with my friends, how we're worried about our future, how we want to carve our places in the Philippine literary scene, how we can't wait to become our own selves- random, daily conversations that aren't really important, but aren't stupid and shallow either.

I am also constantly in awe of my professors who are all geniuses in their own way, having already made a name for themselves in their chosen fields. All of my professors this semester are PhD holders and going to class, even just for the stories they share about their experiences, is already enough to make the few thousand bucks I paid for that class worth it. Just the other day, I saw a modern adaptation of Macbeth directed by my playwriting professor and I realized how lucky I am to be in this college, in this university; how much of a privilege it was just to be surrounded with these unbelievably artistic people. It makes me want to do better as a writer, as an individual.

It's amazing how we gather the strength we need to carry on from the most mundane of things. The other day, while enjoying the religious revelation that was Moonleaf, my boyfriend was explaining something about cars and the clutch and other parts of an automative I wouldn't really notice (nothing new really since we always have this geeky kind of talking, him of mechanics, me of literature) when I realized how grateful I am to be with such a dedicated, intelligent person. That he can talk to me about the dynamics of a car over a cup of milk tea makes me want to grab my Norton Anthology and explain my sociological analysis of The Rape of the Lock.

The way he would talk about bomb calorimeters or centrifugal force, the way our professor would tell us about bringing out the moment in each play, the way my friend elaborated her plan of taking up further studies after college- all these talks, these conversations, they all make me feel like I am in the company of such diverse but equally brilliant people.

And I realize, how can I not be motivated after that? How can I still have an excuse for feeling unenthusiastic when here I am, mingling with people who are so committed to what they do? The dedication does not take away the stress, that I am sure of. But for the most part, it makes it more valuable, more significant. Maybe it's about time I take a cue from them.

Just a couple more weeks to go, Karla. Keep it together.