Hi, Inang.
This weekend, I went home to Paranaque for the first time in a while. I rarely get to go home these days-- actually, this has been going on for some time now. Ever since law school started, Paranaque has rarely been home. I haven't been able to go home weekly like I used to in college, which is sad, because I miss going home to newly-cooked food every weekend. I miss hanging out at your house on Saturdays. I miss hearing mass and eating lunch out with the family every Sunday. Even when I was dorming in undergrad, I never really felt like Katipunan was home, because every week there's our little town to go back to.
Things are different now. Last night, Papa and Mommy brought me back to my condo. Yes, on a Sunday night, and not on a Monday morning, like I always used to. Lola, I live alone now. I have my own place, and it's not as neat and tidy as I'd hope (or as you'd want) it to be. But at least I don't have to worry about my underwear being stolen-- something you always, always reminded me about. No, lola, I don't have roommates who will nakaw my panty.
It gets lonely sometimes. Okay, a lot more often than I'd care to admit. Even if I never had a sibling and was used to being independent, I'd still feel alone. Sometimes at night. But mostly in the morning. I didn't grow up to a house full of people; just me, mommy, and papa. But I was still used to having people around to say goodbye to when I left. I'd say to goodbye to Lola M, and Lola O, and Lola B. I'd say goodbye to Tita Guads when I get to your house. And of course, I'd say goodbye to you.
I miss saying goodbye to you, Inang. I miss climbing atop your bed, and laying beside you, even though there's hardly any more space left. I miss playing with the fleshy, jiggly part of your underarm, and you not minding it. I miss stroking your hair, and playfully asking for your bejeweled headband. I miss hearing you tell me that I should never tire of doing my best in school because I'm "madunong," I miss letting you say how you've always dreamt of being a lawyer.
Sometimes, Inang, I wake up in the morning and don't know why I'm still in law school. All my life, I've always thought I was sure of wanting to be a lawyer. But now that I'm here, on most mornings, I find myself asking why. Do I want this, really? Why am I still here? It's hard to find a concrete answer when it's shaky ground I'm standing on.
Then I think of you-- the goodbyes I still want to say, and the goodbyes I still want to hear. The goodbyes you would've said as I left our house for QC, for Malcolm. And while they are goodbyes that can never be, they are goodbyes worth thinking of. Because Lola, for everything that I have questioned, and for everything that has changed, I still hear your voice and your reminders and your sweet, sweet goodbyes. I hear you wishing me well; it permeates the silence of dawn creeping in, it resonates amidst the chaos of the morning commutes. And quite frankly, it's enough to get my head out of Paranaque, to get my head out of my room.
And on most days, that's enough. Just the memory of our short little goodbye ritual before I left - me kissing your forehead, you complimenting my earrings - it's enough. It's enough to make me want to leave my room and say, "Yes, today is a day to make the people at home proud."
Thank you, Lola, for always wishing me goodbye every time I left for school. With you, goodbyes were never sad. Goodbyes meant seeing you soon, goodbyes meant going out so that I can have new stories to tell. Goodbyes meant coming home. Goodbyes meant leaving the house with a promise, and returning with a purpose.
Goodbyes meant not letting people at home down. I hope I'm not letting you down, Inang. I miss you.
__
* Today marks the second death anniversary of my paternal grandmother, Inang.
Things are different now. Last night, Papa and Mommy brought me back to my condo. Yes, on a Sunday night, and not on a Monday morning, like I always used to. Lola, I live alone now. I have my own place, and it's not as neat and tidy as I'd hope (or as you'd want) it to be. But at least I don't have to worry about my underwear being stolen-- something you always, always reminded me about. No, lola, I don't have roommates who will nakaw my panty.
It gets lonely sometimes. Okay, a lot more often than I'd care to admit. Even if I never had a sibling and was used to being independent, I'd still feel alone. Sometimes at night. But mostly in the morning. I didn't grow up to a house full of people; just me, mommy, and papa. But I was still used to having people around to say goodbye to when I left. I'd say to goodbye to Lola M, and Lola O, and Lola B. I'd say goodbye to Tita Guads when I get to your house. And of course, I'd say goodbye to you.
I miss saying goodbye to you, Inang. I miss climbing atop your bed, and laying beside you, even though there's hardly any more space left. I miss playing with the fleshy, jiggly part of your underarm, and you not minding it. I miss stroking your hair, and playfully asking for your bejeweled headband. I miss hearing you tell me that I should never tire of doing my best in school because I'm "madunong," I miss letting you say how you've always dreamt of being a lawyer.
Sometimes, Inang, I wake up in the morning and don't know why I'm still in law school. All my life, I've always thought I was sure of wanting to be a lawyer. But now that I'm here, on most mornings, I find myself asking why. Do I want this, really? Why am I still here? It's hard to find a concrete answer when it's shaky ground I'm standing on.
Then I think of you-- the goodbyes I still want to say, and the goodbyes I still want to hear. The goodbyes you would've said as I left our house for QC, for Malcolm. And while they are goodbyes that can never be, they are goodbyes worth thinking of. Because Lola, for everything that I have questioned, and for everything that has changed, I still hear your voice and your reminders and your sweet, sweet goodbyes. I hear you wishing me well; it permeates the silence of dawn creeping in, it resonates amidst the chaos of the morning commutes. And quite frankly, it's enough to get my head out of Paranaque, to get my head out of my room.
And on most days, that's enough. Just the memory of our short little goodbye ritual before I left - me kissing your forehead, you complimenting my earrings - it's enough. It's enough to make me want to leave my room and say, "Yes, today is a day to make the people at home proud."
Thank you, Lola, for always wishing me goodbye every time I left for school. With you, goodbyes were never sad. Goodbyes meant seeing you soon, goodbyes meant going out so that I can have new stories to tell. Goodbyes meant coming home. Goodbyes meant leaving the house with a promise, and returning with a purpose.
Goodbyes meant not letting people at home down. I hope I'm not letting you down, Inang. I miss you.
__
* Today marks the second death anniversary of my paternal grandmother, Inang.
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To my engineer,
it feels like putting a closing parenthesis to a chapter that began a few months back, a chapter that says let's pick up where we left off, a chapter that says let's start a new sentence after we close out this one. it feels like the conclusion of something, but it can only mean it's the start. for you, for this, for everything.
how wonderful it is to finally call you by the title you so rightfully deserve.
__
Yes, folks, I am now the girlfriend of a civil engineer. *confetti*
Congratulations, love! :)
how wonderful it is to finally call you by the title you so rightfully deserve.
__
Yes, folks, I am now the girlfriend of a civil engineer. *confetti*
Congratulations, love! :)
________________________________________________________________
this is how it doesn't start, in eleven parts
1.
this is how it doesn't start.
you are sixteen, it was the first week of class, and his surname happened to start with the same letter as yours.
i want you to pair up with someone from the opposite sex, the professor said. and the three of you, convent school-bred and boy-deprived, giggled out of excitement, fear, both. the prospect of taking this class seemed like an inside joke waiting to happen, begging to be told, as an icebreaker for what would be unabashed boasting and exchanging of stories about college amongst high school friends. so what’s your PE? oh. ha, you’ll never guess what ours is. guess. nope. walking. i’m totally serious. cue laughter.
and suddenly there you all were already. no longer telling people about it; actually being there for it. the professor was explaining something about wearing white shirts and making new friends and the possibility of walking until six in the evening. god, you said to yourself, i just wanted to survive one hour.
he said hi. cue pleasantries.
2.
this is how it doesn't start.
boy culture was the name of the movie, and it had gays having sex. there wasn’t even a question. three twenty-peso bills, three tickets, three convent school girls.
this is it, we really are in UP now.
we might be late for class.
what the hell!
the trailers were starting. they were mostly of women, living in the slums and wearing immaculately white dresses by day, and dancing in a bar naked at night. the titles of the movies were either garden-variety vegetables, or the first name of a seemingly-innocent woman. somewhere in paranaque, a nun is praying a mystery of the rosary for you and your two friends’ souls.
missing class didn’t seem like a bad idea.
we can catch up? you said.
an hour into the movie, you looked down on your phone and started typing.
andyan na ba si sir? :)
wala pa. :)
3.
this is how it doesn't start.
lantern parade, and he said you went over and greeted him. you tried to remember if this happened, but all you recall now was that he was wearing orange. but wait, everyone was wearing orange.
a few weeks later you get a text. happy new year! it said. you didn’t believe it yet, at that time, but you didn’t take offense, especially when the greeting came as a surprise, and came with an invitation. come over, it said. when law school bores the hell out of you. haha.
it was around almost midnight, a little before the end of what was a very, very difficult year.
you now look at the old phone and realize you never replied.
4.
but it could've started somewhere, it could've started here.
you don’t remember much about how that class ended, other than the part where the class went to a nature park, and that you had a practical test around the oval. everything was well and good, you suppose, because you know you had good memories of that class. not the best, not the fondest, but good. okay.
you’d see him in the corridors and sometimes you wouldn’t say hi. sometimes you would.
until one day you crossed paths on the stairs, in a building that wasn’t yours. you said hello, and it was cordial and comfortable and not at all contrived, and you remember thinking, why did we stop talking again? then you recalled, and asked him how they were. apparently, that was over. (meanwhile you were happy with where you were that time.)
you said see you, like people always do when they say goodbye to acquaintances they make future plans with but never follow through. let’s have ice cream one of these days. like an empty promise. cue pleasant goodbyes.
5.
or it could've started here.
i don’t know what you told your girlfriend, but last time i checked, talking to a classmate was not equivalent to destroying a relationship.
you deleted it before you could send it.
you saw each other that week like nothing happened. even then you two were good at shrugging off the unpleasant.
6.
or maybe here.
i don’t wanna wait for our lives to be over, you and your friends sang. he looked at you, at the three of you, and started laughing. one of the boys started commenting on how you just might summon the anger of the gods. you didn’t care. you kept singing. dawson and the gang would have been proud.
a few minutes later, the gray clouds started hovering above all of you.
the class was somewhere outside the campus when it started to rain. it was ten minutes after the period was supposed to end, yet you were still well outside the vicinity of the yellow-roofed jeepneys. you were in the middle of crossing the street, when he tugged your left arm and went over to you right, perhaps, out of habit. there were no vehicles approaching.
7.
maybe this is where it did start.
happy birthday! took fifteen minutes to compose the text. sent it because what the hell.
two days later and you two were outside the shopping center, cracking jokes and exchanging stories with ice cream cones in hand. it was almost like the old times, except that it wasn’t, because for one you were no longer wearing white shirts and rubber shoes, and two, you had no plans of walking.
just staying put.
and you were fine with that.
8.
this is how it did start.
the mother had been revealed.
there’s going to be a next season, right?
she looks like a mix of robin and lily.
it surprised you how effortless it was, how easy, how simple. like it always was. then again, it was never a problem picking up where you both left off, even though you never really remembered where you two left off. how did we leave it off? but it didn’t matter. because you weren’t running out of words, and you weren’t second-guessing your colons and parentheses.
he said he was in baguio. greater than, colon, capital D, less than.
that friday, he brought you ube jam. you sat around the oval and talked for hours you barely noticed passing. a little later, two korean girls approached you. they wanted to just talk, in english, and you obliged them, in english. are you guys together? they asked. cue laughter.
9.
this is how it starts.
it was property class and you were getting bored. you couldn’t hear your professor – the block was in a room famed for bad acoustics, a room that reeked of bad criminal law memories. your head was facing the teacher’s table, but your mind was somewhere else.
then you got a text.
sure i’ll buy that book for you, it said.
10.
this is how it starts.
do you want to have breakfast tomorrow?
11.
this is how it starts, and this is how i'll tell it.
i was sixteen, it was the first week of class, and his surname happened to start with the same letter as mine.
__
this is how it doesn't start.
you are sixteen, it was the first week of class, and his surname happened to start with the same letter as yours.
i want you to pair up with someone from the opposite sex, the professor said. and the three of you, convent school-bred and boy-deprived, giggled out of excitement, fear, both. the prospect of taking this class seemed like an inside joke waiting to happen, begging to be told, as an icebreaker for what would be unabashed boasting and exchanging of stories about college amongst high school friends. so what’s your PE? oh. ha, you’ll never guess what ours is. guess. nope. walking. i’m totally serious. cue laughter.
and suddenly there you all were already. no longer telling people about it; actually being there for it. the professor was explaining something about wearing white shirts and making new friends and the possibility of walking until six in the evening. god, you said to yourself, i just wanted to survive one hour.
he said hi. cue pleasantries.
2.
this is how it doesn't start.
boy culture was the name of the movie, and it had gays having sex. there wasn’t even a question. three twenty-peso bills, three tickets, three convent school girls.
this is it, we really are in UP now.
we might be late for class.
what the hell!
the trailers were starting. they were mostly of women, living in the slums and wearing immaculately white dresses by day, and dancing in a bar naked at night. the titles of the movies were either garden-variety vegetables, or the first name of a seemingly-innocent woman. somewhere in paranaque, a nun is praying a mystery of the rosary for you and your two friends’ souls.
missing class didn’t seem like a bad idea.
we can catch up? you said.
an hour into the movie, you looked down on your phone and started typing.
andyan na ba si sir? :)
wala pa. :)
3.
this is how it doesn't start.
lantern parade, and he said you went over and greeted him. you tried to remember if this happened, but all you recall now was that he was wearing orange. but wait, everyone was wearing orange.
a few weeks later you get a text. happy new year! it said. you didn’t believe it yet, at that time, but you didn’t take offense, especially when the greeting came as a surprise, and came with an invitation. come over, it said. when law school bores the hell out of you. haha.
it was around almost midnight, a little before the end of what was a very, very difficult year.
you now look at the old phone and realize you never replied.
4.
but it could've started somewhere, it could've started here.
you don’t remember much about how that class ended, other than the part where the class went to a nature park, and that you had a practical test around the oval. everything was well and good, you suppose, because you know you had good memories of that class. not the best, not the fondest, but good. okay.
you’d see him in the corridors and sometimes you wouldn’t say hi. sometimes you would.
until one day you crossed paths on the stairs, in a building that wasn’t yours. you said hello, and it was cordial and comfortable and not at all contrived, and you remember thinking, why did we stop talking again? then you recalled, and asked him how they were. apparently, that was over. (meanwhile you were happy with where you were that time.)
you said see you, like people always do when they say goodbye to acquaintances they make future plans with but never follow through. let’s have ice cream one of these days. like an empty promise. cue pleasant goodbyes.
5.
or it could've started here.
i don’t know what you told your girlfriend, but last time i checked, talking to a classmate was not equivalent to destroying a relationship.
you deleted it before you could send it.
you saw each other that week like nothing happened. even then you two were good at shrugging off the unpleasant.
6.
or maybe here.
i don’t wanna wait for our lives to be over, you and your friends sang. he looked at you, at the three of you, and started laughing. one of the boys started commenting on how you just might summon the anger of the gods. you didn’t care. you kept singing. dawson and the gang would have been proud.
a few minutes later, the gray clouds started hovering above all of you.
the class was somewhere outside the campus when it started to rain. it was ten minutes after the period was supposed to end, yet you were still well outside the vicinity of the yellow-roofed jeepneys. you were in the middle of crossing the street, when he tugged your left arm and went over to you right, perhaps, out of habit. there were no vehicles approaching.
7.
maybe this is where it did start.
happy birthday! took fifteen minutes to compose the text. sent it because what the hell.
two days later and you two were outside the shopping center, cracking jokes and exchanging stories with ice cream cones in hand. it was almost like the old times, except that it wasn’t, because for one you were no longer wearing white shirts and rubber shoes, and two, you had no plans of walking.
just staying put.
and you were fine with that.
8.
this is how it did start.
the mother had been revealed.
there’s going to be a next season, right?
she looks like a mix of robin and lily.
it surprised you how effortless it was, how easy, how simple. like it always was. then again, it was never a problem picking up where you both left off, even though you never really remembered where you two left off. how did we leave it off? but it didn’t matter. because you weren’t running out of words, and you weren’t second-guessing your colons and parentheses.
he said he was in baguio. greater than, colon, capital D, less than.
that friday, he brought you ube jam. you sat around the oval and talked for hours you barely noticed passing. a little later, two korean girls approached you. they wanted to just talk, in english, and you obliged them, in english. are you guys together? they asked. cue laughter.
9.
this is how it starts.
it was property class and you were getting bored. you couldn’t hear your professor – the block was in a room famed for bad acoustics, a room that reeked of bad criminal law memories. your head was facing the teacher’s table, but your mind was somewhere else.
then you got a text.
sure i’ll buy that book for you, it said.
10.
this is how it starts.
do you want to have breakfast tomorrow?
11.
this is how it starts, and this is how i'll tell it.
i was sixteen, it was the first week of class, and his surname happened to start with the same letter as mine.
__
Labels: finger exercises
________________________________________________________________
at last
________________________________________________________________
Here, there, and everywhere
here, making each day of the year
changing my life with the wave of her hands
nobody can deny that there's something there
i want her everywhere
and if she's beside me i know i need never care
but to love her is to need her everywhere
One day, I will slow-dance to this song. I don't care how, when, or where — I have to be slow-danced to this, by someone who finds all versions of me the right fit for all versions of him, and it will be beautiful.
changing my life with the wave of her hands
nobody can deny that there's something there
i want her everywhere
and if she's beside me i know i need never care
but to love her is to need her everywhere
One day, I will slow-dance to this song. I don't care how, when, or where — I have to be slow-danced to this, by someone who finds all versions of me the right fit for all versions of him, and it will be beautiful.
________________________________________________________________
The sembreak that was
Because school starts tomorrow (sniff!) and I need something to remember that very quick, but still-quite-refreshing-because-it-was-badly-needed-and-because-it-was-my-birthday-week sembreak:
Pre-birthday dinner with my parents at The Fort, right after passing my Property orals
Birthday lunch with my Wowa and Dodo (plus Mom!)
Favorite apo ;)
Birthday dinner treat with my cousins, Kuya Ben and Kuya Lorenz, and Tita Guada
With Lola Cely!
Spontaneous dinner/birthday treat with my high school loves, Joa, Trixie, Tin, and Hope.
A visitor from The North!
All Saints' Day at Inang's
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22
There are a lot of things that can be said about 21.
But I'd like to believe that there is more to say about 22, even though it's only just begun.
22, I'm sure you will be full of luck, laughter, and love. I can't be more grateful that you're here. You're just the fresh start that I need. Can't wait to fill you with new memories, with new people. :)
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an epilogue to twenty-one
“the year of letting go, of understanding loss. grace. of the word ‘no’ and also being able to say ‘you are not kind’. the year of humanity/humility. when the whole world couldn’t get out of bed. everyone i’ve met this year, says the same thing: ‘you are so easy to be around, how do you do that?’ the year i broke open and dug out all the rot with own hands. the year i learnt small talk. and how to smile at strangers. the year i understood that i am my best when i reach out and ask ‘do you want to be my friend?’ the year of sugar, everywhere. softness. sweetness. honey, honey. the year of being alone, and learning how much i like it. the year of hugging people i don’t know, because i want to know them. the year i made peace and love, right here.”
— Warsan Shire
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Karla vs. Finals
October 9: Sales
October 11: Torts & Damages
October 12: Crim 1
October 14: Insurance
October 18: Criminal Procedure
October 22: Property Orals
October 26: I don't know about you, but I'm feeling twennnntyyy twooooo
I kind of need this here (a) to remind people why I'm not on Facebook, (b) to remind myself why I'm not on Facebook, (c) to push myself to just get to the friggin' end of the month;
(d) because I'm gonna earn my 22nd, and I'm gonna deserve it.
*
Labels: law school
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Hello, October.
I started my October reading "Blankets" by Craig Thompson.
It was already a beautiful graphic novel as it is, with a story so gripping and simple and honest, that it wasn't really difficult to fall in love with it.
But this panel. This scene. This song. This.
you, soft and only
you, lost and lonely
you,
just like heaven.
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The One Where I Talk About Friends
I can't believe that this show is 19 years old. Nineteen. I just realized it when I saw a post celebrating its birthday.
As much as I love How I Met Your Mother, I can still say with all honesty and with so much affection that nothing - nothing - beats Friends.
This show is where it all began for me. In many ways, I felt like I grew up with this show, because I remember catching some episodes on ABC 5 back when I was a kid. But I only really began to appreciate it in high school, when I stumbled upon my aunt's DVDs one summer at my grandparent's house. It was 2005, and I was just beginning my teenage years. The characters and the situations spoke so much to me, even though I was only 13 and knew nothing about being an adult. For some reason, even to an adolescent living halfway across the world, watching these six friends become family made sense. It was funny, it was touching, it was genuine - I didn't need to be a 30-something New Yorker to get that.
Until now, no matter what time it is, or what channel it's on, as long as I catch an episode of Friends on TV, I will drop everything I have to do and watch it. I remember, I used to write down the schedule of Friends on different channels during that summer break: on Star World, ETC, and Warner TV. And no matter how many times I've seen the episodes, I will gladly sit down and have all my attention on it. That's how much I love it.
One question I've always been asked is the inevitable "Friends or How I Met Your Mother?" Of course, the generic answer to that is, "I love them both." Like a mother denying favorites. But to be really honest about it, as a huge HIMYM fan, I will be the first one to say that the latter is a "remix" of Friends in many, many ways. So many things from HIMYM are lifted (or were "inspired by") Friends. Case in point: the nerdy-guy-who-pines-for-the-hot-chick-and-always-loses-at-love Ross/Ted character is the most undeniable one, I believe. The solid couple Monica/Chandler and Lily/Marshall. The Rachel/Joey and Robin/Barney pairing. And even little things like "Challenge accepted" and the fascination with Star Wars.
But I welcome that. A lot of shows, not just How I Met, would not even exist if it weren't for Friends. Nothing can beat this original. The writing is impeccable and the humor is just spot-on. I don't remember not laughing at any of the episodes of Friends. They promised comedy, and they delivered every single time. While HIMYM did start out as a strong contender, I still think that over-all, Friends was a better-written sitcom. It was consistent. It was always funny. (Like ^that episode. Probably one of the sharpest-written episodes of any show ever.) No wonder Friends raked in nominations and awards. And no surprise that it's still being serialized on so many channels, all over the world, any time of the day. It just makes you feel better. All. The. Time.
How I Met Your Mother, on the other hand, has turned into a completely different animal. It's no longer just a sitcom because it has boldly traversed the rom-com and dark comedy genre - which is something Friends never truly explored. HIMYM gives us feelings: actual, adult, complex feelings. And sometimes the show is not brave enough to not resolve them. It doesn't always work to its favor, but it's satisfying nonetheless. This is what makes HIMYM different from Friends - the fact that it no longer settled for being funny. It went sad, and dark, and difficult. It spoke to the sides of you that you try to escape when you want to watch a sitcom. And it was okay.
Whereas Friends hugs you, gives you a cup of coffee, and cracks a joke to make you feel better, How I Met Your Mother opens a bottle of beer for you and calls you an idiot.
And I love them both to bits, really. I have both series (complete, all seasons, with subtitles), on both my hard drive and on my laptops. I randomly select any episode when I feel like distracting myself a little (aka when I'm dying from Torts or Criminal Procedure) and all is fine in the world again. I play them when I'm eating dinner alone in my condo unit, I play them while I'm trying to stay awake at 2:30 in the morning, I play them when I'm sad and missing home. It's great company -- they're great company.
Friends aired its first episode 19 years ago, and aired its last episode 9 years ago. How I Met Your Mother just aired the first episode of their last season yesterday.
And I'm having all kinds of feels.
Both are great, terrific shows. They kept me together in my darkest days, and they stuck with me until the better ones. More than any other television program, these two shows are what truly defined how I treat people and how I handle the shit that life throws my way. And most importantly, how I learned to value the people whom I call friends.
But until HIMYM gives me the truly, completely satisfying ending that I think we (not just Ted) all deserve, Friends edges it out by a margin. The Friends finale was perfection - it tied up all the loose strings and gave each character the happy ending they deserved. Each one of them earned it. Friends gave us the right sense of closure.
It also gave us the Holiday Armadillo, Dr. Drake Ramoray, and Miss Chanandler Bong. And for that, I will forever be thankful.
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Heartbeats
12:51 am, and my iPod is playing tricks on me. I had it on shuffle and it played "Heartbeats" by Jose Gonzalez.
There is a scene in One Tree Hill that has this song for its backdrop. The Ravens win their must-coveted championship, and while the night was far from over, at that moment, with confetti raining down on the entire arena, it was perfect, and all was right in the world. They were young, they were happy - and the future held so much promise. It was a beautiful encapsulation of what it was like to be in the peak of your youth, to be on the brink of something great, something unbelievable. Of dreams unfolding before your eyes.
Then Brooke asked Lucas one question, "When all your dreams come true, who do you want standing next to you?" And he looked at Peyton.
I didn't really appreciate this scene then, because of my unabashed bias towards the other couple, Nathan/Haley. (All the other characters' moments somehow just fade away in the background, in comparison to the Naley ones. Plus, I wasn't very fond of Leyton.) I always figured it was just sweet dialogue, coupled with a great song, to set the wheels in motion finally for Lucas/Peyton. Yet for all my character-driven animosity towards this scene, I can't deny that it was one of the most poignant ones in the entirety of the show's run.
This question lingered somehow in my head, I guess. And the song. I didn't know if it was possible, if the chances of such an instance happening was realistic enough to exist outside the world of teen dramas, but I've since attached "Heartbeats" to the hopefulness of that brief occasion just coming one day. That light-bulb epiphany of realizing that it's someone. Somehow, that song no longer reminded me of the episode per se, but just the idea of that moment, and that one look -- the feeling of just knowing.
Knowing, and believing, with all certainty.
"It's you. It's you, Peyton."
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Futures
For the last couple of weeks, Clarisse (my best friend in law school) and I have been catching weddings after our class ends on Saturday evenings. We started attending anticipated Mass together, and for about how many consecutive weeks now, we've been crashing the ceremony - or at least the picture-taking after - as uninvited, but quite delighted guests. The Mass doesn't start until 6, and our class ends at around 5 or 5:30, and since the College of Law is just a street away from the UP Chapel, we always get there just in time to catch the bride and groom walking down the aisle for the first time as man and wife, with petals and confetti ushering them out.
We would always just sit at the back, watch as the guests excitedly take pictures with the newlyweds; the bride and groom's immediate families first, then the extended ones, then the high school friends, then the college friends... and the list goes on. At first, it was, for us, just a matter of critiquing the choice of gowns and motif, then it progressed to creating the couples' possible back-stories, until it went to the inevitable What-About-Us? kind of talk.
It's funny because, for people like us who are estopped from having any possible major life changes for at least the next three or four years of our lives, we were suddenly forced to really think about our futures, and what would become of us. There we were, two law students just having survived a 10 am - 5 pm marathon (straight! No breaks in between!), having no time at all for social life or any other possible life outside law school, and yet somehow, realizing what lies ahead for us outside the walls of Malcolm. "That could be us in the next five, six years or so," we quipped.
For the last five years of my life, I've never seriously thought of myself as being somebody's wife. I couldn't imagine myself getting married. I couldn't picture myself sharing anything permanently with anyone ever - and this is not the selfish, spoiled only-child in me talking. (Because I'd like to believe I'm not selfish and I don't think I was ever spoiled.) I just... I just never thought of getting married as being THE most important thing in life. It wasn't a priority, and it was never a goal. In fact, I almost always shoved the thought in a locked drawer inside my head - no, you know, actually, I think I pushed it out of my head completely. It was too early. It was too big. It wasn't something to worry about yet. When people ask me the dreaded, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" I always answer: "In law school." And that's it. That's just how far I'd allow myself to consider the future. Sure, travel and shopping using my own money is part of it too. But it was always on the context of, "After law school." Law school was the immediate future.
Law school was my excuse to not think about that. Now, here I am, already in law school.
Well, it's not like lately I've been thinking about getting married right after law school, nope. Nope. No, thank you. (That's still not a likely possibility, given the amount of books and places and shoes and clothes I have yet to pamper myself with.)
But it's just that for some reason, the weddings we've been "attending" lately have done nothing but ask the same question: "Where do you see yourself going?" More importantly: "Do you even see yourself going here?" - with the bouquets and the red carpet down the aisle practically shouting it to my face.
It's actually a question that's been popping up lately, and not just because of the weddings. The other night, while having dinner after class, my friends and I got to talking about how we've gotten tired of the notion of "dating." It seems like law school has tired us out too much already, that we couldn't possibly think of even playing mindgames anymore with anyone else. (Well, I can't say the same for all law students, considering that we have a lot of blockmates who are still very much into playing The Game, with a beer in hand, a chick on the other.) We realized that we're already at this age where we could possibly be meeting our future spouses, and it wouldn't be creepy or clingy. It actually is a realistic conjecture. Five or so years from now, we'll be 27 or 28. 29. We could be married. That's insane.
Normally, I'd be freaking out. I'd shut that door right away. There's the next two-and-a-half years of law school to worry about first, and the Bar. In fact, I don't even know if I can get through this semester's finals. And yet I find myself sitting at the back of that church every Saturday and being not-weird about thinking of what life would be like outside all this.
Is this what it means to grow up? Opening yourself up to a possible (and quite realistic) future, and accepting it? Or at the very least, considering it?
Because I saw a glimpse of what the future could look like, and who could be standing next to me, and now I can't stop looking, I can't. I don't want to.
We would always just sit at the back, watch as the guests excitedly take pictures with the newlyweds; the bride and groom's immediate families first, then the extended ones, then the high school friends, then the college friends... and the list goes on. At first, it was, for us, just a matter of critiquing the choice of gowns and motif, then it progressed to creating the couples' possible back-stories, until it went to the inevitable What-About-Us? kind of talk.
It's funny because, for people like us who are estopped from having any possible major life changes for at least the next three or four years of our lives, we were suddenly forced to really think about our futures, and what would become of us. There we were, two law students just having survived a 10 am - 5 pm marathon (straight! No breaks in between!), having no time at all for social life or any other possible life outside law school, and yet somehow, realizing what lies ahead for us outside the walls of Malcolm. "That could be us in the next five, six years or so," we quipped.
For the last five years of my life, I've never seriously thought of myself as being somebody's wife. I couldn't imagine myself getting married. I couldn't picture myself sharing anything permanently with anyone ever - and this is not the selfish, spoiled only-child in me talking. (Because I'd like to believe I'm not selfish and I don't think I was ever spoiled.) I just... I just never thought of getting married as being THE most important thing in life. It wasn't a priority, and it was never a goal. In fact, I almost always shoved the thought in a locked drawer inside my head - no, you know, actually, I think I pushed it out of my head completely. It was too early. It was too big. It wasn't something to worry about yet. When people ask me the dreaded, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" I always answer: "In law school." And that's it. That's just how far I'd allow myself to consider the future. Sure, travel and shopping using my own money is part of it too. But it was always on the context of, "After law school." Law school was the immediate future.
Law school was my excuse to not think about that. Now, here I am, already in law school.
Well, it's not like lately I've been thinking about getting married right after law school, nope. Nope. No, thank you. (That's still not a likely possibility, given the amount of books and places and shoes and clothes I have yet to pamper myself with.)
But it's just that for some reason, the weddings we've been "attending" lately have done nothing but ask the same question: "Where do you see yourself going?" More importantly: "Do you even see yourself going here?" - with the bouquets and the red carpet down the aisle practically shouting it to my face.
It's actually a question that's been popping up lately, and not just because of the weddings. The other night, while having dinner after class, my friends and I got to talking about how we've gotten tired of the notion of "dating." It seems like law school has tired us out too much already, that we couldn't possibly think of even playing mindgames anymore with anyone else. (Well, I can't say the same for all law students, considering that we have a lot of blockmates who are still very much into playing The Game, with a beer in hand, a chick on the other.) We realized that we're already at this age where we could possibly be meeting our future spouses, and it wouldn't be creepy or clingy. It actually is a realistic conjecture. Five or so years from now, we'll be 27 or 28. 29. We could be married. That's insane.
Normally, I'd be freaking out. I'd shut that door right away. There's the next two-and-a-half years of law school to worry about first, and the Bar. In fact, I don't even know if I can get through this semester's finals. And yet I find myself sitting at the back of that church every Saturday and being not-weird about thinking of what life would be like outside all this.
Is this what it means to grow up? Opening yourself up to a possible (and quite realistic) future, and accepting it? Or at the very least, considering it?
Because I saw a glimpse of what the future could look like, and who could be standing next to me, and now I can't stop looking, I can't. I don't want to.
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you, soft and only, you
show me how you do that trick,
the one that makes me scream, she said
the one that makes me laugh, she said
and threw her arms around my neck
show me how you do it
and i promise you, i promise that
i'll run away with you
i'll run away with you
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The Way We Are
Hitting two birds with one stone: dinner with high school friends for Tin's birthday and for meeting "new friends." :))
Knowing how much our barkada sucks at planning things, it's such a miracle that this finally pushed through. (Last week, Maring got in the way; on all the other occasions, our laziness and extremely busy scheds are the culprit.) It was great to just catch up, talk about former schoolmates, crack old jokes, and create new ones, enough to make us feel so at home, and for them to feel just as welcomed.
There really is nothing like a good night with these guys.
Happy birthday, Tin! ❤
Labels: friends
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Wait for it
 |
| Because you never know -- the girl with the yellow umbrella might have been waiting all these years for you too. |
If there's anything HIMYM has consistently taught me, it's that (1) what makes for a great story are the characters, and (2) nothing is too small or insignificant for a terrific storyteller.
I, for one, don't think Ted's the best storyteller. (I also don't think he's such an ideal guy - well, for me at least - but that's for a different post altogether.) But, I think that none of us are - when we tell what we think is a great story, we all have the tendency to go off track, remember random details, or forget important ones.
This is the most important story in Ted's life: meeting the love of his life. Granted, it's taken him eight (or nine) years on our watch to get there. And granted, along the way, we've seriously considered if this girl really is The One (especially after Robin). But this is not our tale to tell - it's his. And if he thinks that this is the way to build up the biggest, most meaningful event his life, then we have no choice but to let him finish. We may doubt his feelings, we may judge his choices, but we cannot fault him for telling things this way, because everything in the last eight years, in his head at least, is what got him here. In Farhampton. Where the girl with the yellow umbrella is.
A great story is not just about a hero with a happy ending. It should have a believable ending, with a hero who deserves it. Ted meeting the Mother early on in the show couldn't have possibly led to a convincing and satisfying conclusion. Because that would mean Ted The Romantic being offered The Girl of His Dreams on a silver platter. That would've been so.. easy. No, Ted had to be broken apart, beaten up, left at the altar, repeatedly denied - all of it. He had to get to a point where the mere idea of believing in love and holding out for it stopped making sense. He had to be shaken to his very core and reduced to this. Because only then can love - the magical, wonderful kind he has always held on to - be able to make a true devotee out of him.
Ted, it's been a great journey. Sure, some years (aka seasons) were better than others. But it was an enjoyable ride - one we didn't mind listening to, one we didn't mind waiting for.
Because quite frankly, despite all possible evidence to the contrary, I still believe you when you said she was worth it. So thank you for teaching us how to wait,
and to believe in the universe again, despite all odds.
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Some spoken poetry on a Tuesday evening
"Before Bed" by Zora Howard
Bobby Pin crown,
You, my throne,
We make like an empire
before this closet mirror door
a village in your eyes,
my eyes reflecting back
upon this sanctified seat
and oh,
what they will bear witness to this eve.
When wrapping my hair,
you watch me,
press your chest right up on my back
hold my hips as if they were the only mast offering balance
to this wayward sea captain
as if it were my hands sea
my hands sorcery
my hands witchcraft or
wire-weaver who spins gold
threading a nest of precious stone
but my fingers are rather betting fiddling,
finding things to fix on your face,
throw to find there isn’t much a scab to pick,
a zit to pop,
fussing with your stubborn fuzz
which you like so much to bury in the north west axis of my neck.
You’re distracting.
I got a mouthful of pins and a bedtime to respect.
Though your core is gorged with God,
your hands are full of sin,
young man.
My waist does not a meadow make for you to serpent your way in,
young man.
We’ve got to go to bed.
I is a still wet concrete
and here comes you,
a brazen unkempt boy,
carving your gang signs all up alongside me with an unassuming stick.
Where is your home training?
Why do you make the city of me so unbecoming?
Your language is hardening in this landscape of mine.
Everyone will pass here
and what will they find?
That I am your block,
I am your boulevard,
your bayou,
And baby,
I don’t mind,
I don’t mind,
I don’t mind.
When wrapping my hair,
you stare and dare not touch.
Instead, our brown goes for one long line around.
We cannot tell where you begin my end.
I start to blush.
You make to play connect my dots,
my blemishes, and beauty marks
and with your lips
inaugurate my monuments like they’ve just begun this night
last night
and this love is so fresh it squeaks and shines
and lies a little bit,
has secrets and shit to hide a little bit,
small unpoetic things like
like, Baby, you don’t know how to eat chicken
and sometimes it bothers me
like, you leave so much meat on the bone,
your leftovers could feed a small child with a big appetite
or make a nice snack for me now or later with some potato bread or butter.
And it takes everything in my power
not to clean your plate for you but, goodness,
that would be ghastly.
And also,
I pass gas.
I talk with my neck and my hands,
not only when I’m fed up
but sometimes,
when I’m trying to say a point like
It just helps me express it better.
And I got a little street in me.
Sometimes, I lose my cool and get hood.
And I never lose in Taboo but I’m so competitive
I’d make you cry and I’m mean.
Your feet make me uncomfortable.
You never have a clue but it’s more than a hint
when I suggest you and I should go get pedicures together soon.
I have 13 piercings
and two tattoos and
you still look at my body like it’s brand spanking new.
It’s not.
I’m afraid you’ll find my tarnished parts.
If you keep snooping around the way you do,
I’m afraid you’ll see there is no land left here unchartered or uncharred.
This was an empire
before they burned their fires,
stuck their flags deep in this soil.
And when the ear was barren dry,
they gave it back,
unholy act.
See, I’m no piece girl,
when I love I give the whole of me.
So when they left the lease in pieces,
they also left these holes in me.
my monuments have seen some things, baby,
civil wars, famine, and crusades, baby,
the conquer and raids of holy places.
So before we go any farther, baby,
will you listen to the kind of mess my heart’s been in?
touch the grit that’s sitting tranquil
between each whittled rib?
after all the best has been torn away,
will you want the rest of me,
the parts that poets find grotesque and plain,
the bits that boil and bubble over,
crack and callous,
break down and dust to dust;
My crown is fluff.
Bobby pinned bee hive hair,
but, when wrapping my hair just before bed, you stay.
my shoulder be your port,
your eyes revere my isle,
your hands hold my sea.
Let’s make camp here for a while
and oh,
what they will bear witness to this eve.
__
Labels: poetry
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I took the UPCAT six years ago.
I was fifteen and all kinds of scared.
Everything about it was so overwhelming - the campus, the people, the future that depended on it. For someone who went to a very conservative girls' school for twelve years, a place like UP is something to be afraid of. It was an entirely different world from the one I was used to. It was huge, it was loud, and it welcomed people of all kinds. It was home to the smart and the brave. It was the promised land - and it was the only place I wanted to go to. We all had our dream schools - this was mine.
Much of that day I still recall vividly. (Thanks no less to this entry I wrote right after it.) And much of the person I was that day I still kind of remember. She was so worried, so nervous. The rest of her life seemed to depend heavily on that test. She didn't know what would happen to her and she had no idea what would become of her. But she knew what she wanted - clearly, without doubt, with conviction.
Six years ago, she took the UPCAT.
And now here I am, a graduate of Creative Writing and a student of Law.
I can't say for sure if I am in a much better person now than that fifteen-year-old Karla who was so full of idealism and hopefulness. She was kind, and expectant, and so full of love untainted. She was whole.
UP gave me heartaches, and disappointment, and great, great loss. It made me question everything I believed in. It gave me sleepless nights and troubled mornings. It defeated what I thought was a strong sense of self. It broke me apart into tiny little pieces. It destroyed me. But it also gave me afternoons under the shade of trees along the Oval. It gave me laughter on the steps of certain buildings. It gave me walks in the rain. It gave me people, and places, and faces. It gave me love, of all kinds.
For all that and more, I couldn't be more thankful. Six years ago, fifteen-year-old Karla took the most important test of her life. I wish I can buy her ice cream and comfort her a bit after she gets out of the Chem Pav at around 6:30 pm that Sunday. I owe her. She got me into this crazy, wonderful mess.
And everything has been beautiful since.
Everything about it was so overwhelming - the campus, the people, the future that depended on it. For someone who went to a very conservative girls' school for twelve years, a place like UP is something to be afraid of. It was an entirely different world from the one I was used to. It was huge, it was loud, and it welcomed people of all kinds. It was home to the smart and the brave. It was the promised land - and it was the only place I wanted to go to. We all had our dream schools - this was mine.
Much of that day I still recall vividly. (Thanks no less to this entry I wrote right after it.) And much of the person I was that day I still kind of remember. She was so worried, so nervous. The rest of her life seemed to depend heavily on that test. She didn't know what would happen to her and she had no idea what would become of her. But she knew what she wanted - clearly, without doubt, with conviction.
Six years ago, she took the UPCAT.
And now here I am, a graduate of Creative Writing and a student of Law.
I can't say for sure if I am in a much better person now than that fifteen-year-old Karla who was so full of idealism and hopefulness. She was kind, and expectant, and so full of love untainted. She was whole.
UP gave me heartaches, and disappointment, and great, great loss. It made me question everything I believed in. It gave me sleepless nights and troubled mornings. It defeated what I thought was a strong sense of self. It broke me apart into tiny little pieces. It destroyed me. But it also gave me afternoons under the shade of trees along the Oval. It gave me laughter on the steps of certain buildings. It gave me walks in the rain. It gave me people, and places, and faces. It gave me love, of all kinds.
For all that and more, I couldn't be more thankful. Six years ago, fifteen-year-old Karla took the most important test of her life. I wish I can buy her ice cream and comfort her a bit after she gets out of the Chem Pav at around 6:30 pm that Sunday. I owe her. She got me into this crazy, wonderful mess.
And everything has been beautiful since.
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Mixtape: The Bed Is Unmade
i Open Rhye
ii Sextape Deftones
iii Pull Me Down Mikky Ekko
iv Burning Desire Lana Del Rey
v Beauty School Deftones
vi Flawless The Neighbourhood
vii Do I Wanna Know Arctic Monkeys
viii Counting Autre Ne Veut
ix Easy Now Sir Sly
x Here In My Room Incubus
xi Prehistoric Now, Now
xii Into Dust Mazzy Star
xiii Feel Real Deptford Goth
*
Now estopped from sleeping, so this mix happened.
_
Labels: mixtape
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Woman
I am rarely so moved by an album as to compel me to write about it the moment I finish listening to it for the first time.
Woman, by Canadian/Danish duo Rhye, couldn't have come to me at a more opportune time. And it's so funny that it's titled as such, because there couldn't be a better time for one's femininity to be adored than at a time when one is weakest and incapacitated by this very woman-ness. (Ha. Subtle.)
The songs are so clean and so crisp, in both an aural and conceptual sense. The beats are put together so evenly, almost like an exact science, and there is a precision in the lyrics that evoke a calculated, but slightly quivering honesty. There is a sense of quietness and of calm all throughout, but it is contrasted by the bold declarations of emotions that permeate through the entire album. And just rightly so. It was written at a time where Mike Milosh, who does the surprisingly gentle and soft vocals, was falling in love with the woman who will eventually become his wife. "Open" and "The Fall" are such great openers; and the album aptly ends with the title song "Woman" which is a litany of adoration to the beloved, and a flawless one at that. It is not entirely a love album, in that there are no grand gestures and fireworks here, and it is not entirely a sex album, because there is no overt objectification of the flesh.
Perhaps, Woman is better described as an album of intimacy. It is about the shake between the thighs, the sound of the sighs, the shape left on the sheets, the scent lingering between fingers, and the riffs that play in between. It is all of those quiet moments, and the loudness with which they ring inside our chests. There is a softness in the way affirmations leave the mouth and the skin, without so much the need to declare a permanence -- only an attachment.
And sometimes, that's enough.
Woman, by Canadian/Danish duo Rhye, couldn't have come to me at a more opportune time. And it's so funny that it's titled as such, because there couldn't be a better time for one's femininity to be adored than at a time when one is weakest and incapacitated by this very woman-ness. (Ha. Subtle.)
The songs are so clean and so crisp, in both an aural and conceptual sense. The beats are put together so evenly, almost like an exact science, and there is a precision in the lyrics that evoke a calculated, but slightly quivering honesty. There is a sense of quietness and of calm all throughout, but it is contrasted by the bold declarations of emotions that permeate through the entire album. And just rightly so. It was written at a time where Mike Milosh, who does the surprisingly gentle and soft vocals, was falling in love with the woman who will eventually become his wife. "Open" and "The Fall" are such great openers; and the album aptly ends with the title song "Woman" which is a litany of adoration to the beloved, and a flawless one at that. It is not entirely a love album, in that there are no grand gestures and fireworks here, and it is not entirely a sex album, because there is no overt objectification of the flesh.
Perhaps, Woman is better described as an album of intimacy. It is about the shake between the thighs, the sound of the sighs, the shape left on the sheets, the scent lingering between fingers, and the riffs that play in between. It is all of those quiet moments, and the loudness with which they ring inside our chests. There is a softness in the way affirmations leave the mouth and the skin, without so much the need to declare a permanence -- only an attachment.
And sometimes, that's enough.
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A few minutes into the short conversation I just had with a good friend, she finally decided to cut to the chase.
So... what? What is it, then? It's complicated?
I laughed, because it's easy to type a colon and a series of closed parentheses as a response to quips of such kind. I laughed, because what else is there to say? What else is there to better punctuate that? I laughed, not because it's funny, but because for the first time in a long time, it was no longer true.
No, actually, I said.
...it's simple.
So... what? What is it, then? It's complicated?
I laughed, because it's easy to type a colon and a series of closed parentheses as a response to quips of such kind. I laughed, because what else is there to say? What else is there to better punctuate that? I laughed, not because it's funny, but because for the first time in a long time, it was no longer true.
No, actually, I said.
...it's simple.
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On being pursued
Twice already in the last three weeks, while studying in Kenny Rogers Katipunan, I was approached by a waitress with a dessert in tow, claiming they were from a "guest" who "appreciated my beauty." This, followed by several attempts of the waitress to get my name and number (upon the request of said mystery guest), is something that has never happened to me before, especially not while in the middle of a super cram session on a Friday night.
I suppose the first natural reaction to something of this sort would be that of being flattered. Of course, to be given a compliment - and with a chocolate mousse and ice cream, at that - is always nice. To hear that someone "appreciates your beauty" is definitely something that will make any woman feel extra special. How many times do you hear a person telling you you're beautiful outright, no questions asked? For someone stressed and in the middle of a panic attack, that is not a bad thing at all.
To be honest, my next reaction was to immediately think of people who would go out of their way to surprise me like that. At least two people popped in my head. But then, knowing how much they know me, they should know that I am not exactly flattered by such gestures, especially when I am enjoying the comfort of being inside my own private bubble. I don't like being surprised like that, because I never like being put on the spotlight. Even on the context of being alone, say, in my own dorm, I don't actually appreciate people suddenly popping up and coming over with a little surprise. It's nice, and it's appreciated, sure, but it involves a certain level of arrogance that says, "I am here to surprise you and you should be flattered."
And see, this is precisely the reason why I never really entertained the idea of being "pursued."
It doesn't flatter me. It makes me feel that someone is expecting me to reciprocate just because I got a nice gesture. I don't want to be indebted to someone I didn't choose to be indebted to. I don't want to feel thankful for no other reason other than society expects me as a girl to be thankful for guys who give me that kind of attention. There is a certain expectancy for me to feel kilig and giddy because I am on the receiving end of such a "sweet" act. But then again, why should I? Is this person expecting me to come over to him and let him sweep me off my feet, just because I was "lucky enough" to be noticed by him?
Please.
On a somewhat related note, I saw this Facebook post spreading on my feed, and it really got me thinking. Someone commented on a Globe ad that featured an image of a teenage girl with the caption, Today, I will ask him out. It said:
I would like to give this person the benefit of the doubt, and think that he meant no actual, conscious and deliberate intent to put down an entire gender. I do believe he was only trying to send out what he thought was a good message.
But see, this is what bothers me about this.
There are people out there who actually think that "Women are meant to be pursued!" is an entirely good message to send out. The idea that a girl would ever entertain and consider asking out his crush is looked down on, like it's such a wrong thing to want a guy and go after him. And worse, to use God and proclaim that he "designed" women to be pursued is just downright insulting. Where is that in the Bible? I came from an all-girls Catholic school and I don't remember ever reading "Thou shalt not chase after men," ever being quoted. I don't understand why there has to be a dictation of how one gender should act, and how another gender should react to it.
This kind of thinking goes against the idea of attraction which I subscribe to. One could say that I was raised in a pretty conservative family, because both sides of the family are religious, church-going, rosary-praying, pilgrimage-site-visiting Catholics. However, I'd also like to believe that being an only child and growing up particularly close to my parents, I was raised pretty liberally as well. Whenever my parents, aunts, lolas, and I exchange stories, we never really shied away from topics such as crushes, boys, and love. My mom is considerably open with me when it comes to things like these, and I really, truly appreciated that, because I grew up exposed to these kinds of realities, and have (ideally) been given the right information to make the proper decisions when it comes to these things. My parents have always taught me that I should be responsible when it comes to dealing with my feelings. I shouldn't let one person dictate what I feel, and I shouldn't let too much emotions (or hormones!) get in the way of my judgment. They remind me that choosing to be with someone goes beyond just looks or "sparks" - because being with someone takes more than just that. It also means respect and complete appreciation of the entirety of this person.
That being said, I think they've always trusted my judgment when it comes to the kind of men I liked. And I appreciate that they never deliberately stopped me from being attracted to someone, just because he came from a certain background, or that he doesn't pass their standards, etc. They never reprimanded me for having crushes. (In fact, sometimes I think they even truly encouraged it - and encouraged it well - to the point where I was asked, "Kelan ka ba magkaka-boyfriend?" some time ago in college. Haha.) And most importantly, they never told me to just wait around.
When I tell them about how I became textmates with a boy, or how I started talking with someone on Facebook, they don't give me the "You are meant to be pursued!" talk. Nope. They give me the "I hope that guy is okay," talk (coupled with my mom's "Let me see his picture OMG HE'S SO GWAPO!" talk). But they aren't concerned so much about who texted who first. And that, to me, makes a world of difference.
Because that means I am respected for the choices I make in the kinds of guys I want. Attraction is a two-way thing - it cannot be forced on you. And no amount of chocolate mousse, or flowers will ever give that to you. When I like someone, it will be because of the way he talks and the way he listens. It will be about the way he explains how beams work, and how this particular kind of metal is too expensive for a low-rise condominium. It will be the way he replies when I ask what a conduit system is, or how certain cars work. It will be the way he treats his girl friends, and his mom. Or his sister, if he has one. It will be in the way we both laugh at the same jokes, or watch the same shows, or quote the same lines. It will be because we connect - and it will be so much more meaningful than a cup of chocolate ice cream.
And besides, would boys really want that? That a girl fell for them because they showered them with gifts? Wouldn't you want to fall in love (or "fall in like" if, you know, you're taking things slow) with a girl who appreciates you for your charm and humor, and not for your ability to whip up pick-up lines and ask waitresses to deliver desserts to pretty strangers?
I guess, for some boys, that's the game. The thrill of the chase. "Girls are meant to be pursued." Ooh, it's such a challenge. Let me win you. You will be my prize.
While the idea of being someone's reward is laudatory, I don't think I'd want that. I am not a person to be pursued, because if that is the case, then I will be left with boys who think just. like. that.
When I got those desserts, all I could think of was, "Is this what it's like to be pursued?" You're put on the spot, the waiters are expecting so much from you, and all they want is a sweet yes, or your number, or even your name - all for this "sweet" guy "thoughtful" enough to "pursue" you. You're left with almost no opportunity to say no because that would mean being called a bitch or suplada or downright ungrateful. Am I not entitled to that "no"?
I am, of course. And I did say no. I said I was uncomfortable with receiving things from strangers and giving my name. I had to pretend I had a boyfriend (which they asked, by the way) to somewhat put it to a stop. I was very cordial and told the waitress to extend my thanks, so I'd like to believe I wasn't rude. But it was kind of rude the way he kept sending the girl over just to pester me with details when it was very clear that I was in the middle of something important.
And yet, society - like this Joppet guy - expects me to be flattered by such attention because I was designed to be chased by men.
Isn't that unfair?
There is a certain level of injustice in the idea that girls have to settle with the boys who approach them, while guys can go after the girls that they really, truly want. Why should I choose only among those who texted me first? Or sent me ice cream? Don't I have the right to go after the person I like too?
And besides, what is so wrong about that?
It's fine to wait - for that text, for that call, for that random FB message - but what if I don't want to anymore? Why should anyone tell me otherwise?
Initiating the first move is not degrading of a woman's worth. If anything, I think it makes a girl more powerful. A girl who initiates the conversation is willing to go for what she wants - and that is because she already knows what she wants. And isn't that the kind of girl you want to be? Boys, isn't that the kind of girl you want to have? The kind who is in charge of herself and will not wait around for things to be served to her on a silver platter? Because things don't get served to you on a silver platter. You don't wait for the universe to send you the guy right outside your doorstep.
No, sometimes, the universe will bring you the boy, but it won't give him to you. And the best you can do is just deal with the circumstances. Perhaps, yes, a little waiting around on your part will be necessary. (In fact, maybe a lot of waiting around will come into play.) And there is nothing wrong with that. But you shouldn't have to settle for waiting around when you think it's time to strike the iron - if the universe has done its job of making it hot for you, then what the hell are you doing still holding it?
Today, I will ask him out. Or not. I don't know. It's up to me and my feelings. But don't tell me what to do or not to do when it comes to the way I deal with the people I'm attracted to. And don't go dragging God's name into it, for crying out loud. It's several paragraphs later, and nope, I still don't recall ever being told in the Scripture that I should never make the first move.
To quote from the most independent and strongest of the Disney female characters I know, Megara from Hercules, "I'm a big girl, I tie my own sandals and everything."
I'm a big girl. I'm designed to make my own decisions. Leave me alone, and let me handle my own... affairs.
I suppose the first natural reaction to something of this sort would be that of being flattered. Of course, to be given a compliment - and with a chocolate mousse and ice cream, at that - is always nice. To hear that someone "appreciates your beauty" is definitely something that will make any woman feel extra special. How many times do you hear a person telling you you're beautiful outright, no questions asked? For someone stressed and in the middle of a panic attack, that is not a bad thing at all.
To be honest, my next reaction was to immediately think of people who would go out of their way to surprise me like that. At least two people popped in my head. But then, knowing how much they know me, they should know that I am not exactly flattered by such gestures, especially when I am enjoying the comfort of being inside my own private bubble. I don't like being surprised like that, because I never like being put on the spotlight. Even on the context of being alone, say, in my own dorm, I don't actually appreciate people suddenly popping up and coming over with a little surprise. It's nice, and it's appreciated, sure, but it involves a certain level of arrogance that says, "I am here to surprise you and you should be flattered."
And see, this is precisely the reason why I never really entertained the idea of being "pursued."
It doesn't flatter me. It makes me feel that someone is expecting me to reciprocate just because I got a nice gesture. I don't want to be indebted to someone I didn't choose to be indebted to. I don't want to feel thankful for no other reason other than society expects me as a girl to be thankful for guys who give me that kind of attention. There is a certain expectancy for me to feel kilig and giddy because I am on the receiving end of such a "sweet" act. But then again, why should I? Is this person expecting me to come over to him and let him sweep me off my feet, just because I was "lucky enough" to be noticed by him?
Please.
On a somewhat related note, I saw this Facebook post spreading on my feed, and it really got me thinking. Someone commented on a Globe ad that featured an image of a teenage girl with the caption, Today, I will ask him out. It said:
Advertisement gone wrong. Women, you are meant to be pursued! If you pursue men, you will pursue them for the rest of your life. God designed you to be pursued and not the other way around. Ladies, you are worth waiting for. So wait. #worththewait #chill #value
I would like to give this person the benefit of the doubt, and think that he meant no actual, conscious and deliberate intent to put down an entire gender. I do believe he was only trying to send out what he thought was a good message.
But see, this is what bothers me about this.
There are people out there who actually think that "Women are meant to be pursued!" is an entirely good message to send out. The idea that a girl would ever entertain and consider asking out his crush is looked down on, like it's such a wrong thing to want a guy and go after him. And worse, to use God and proclaim that he "designed" women to be pursued is just downright insulting. Where is that in the Bible? I came from an all-girls Catholic school and I don't remember ever reading "Thou shalt not chase after men," ever being quoted. I don't understand why there has to be a dictation of how one gender should act, and how another gender should react to it.
This kind of thinking goes against the idea of attraction which I subscribe to. One could say that I was raised in a pretty conservative family, because both sides of the family are religious, church-going, rosary-praying, pilgrimage-site-visiting Catholics. However, I'd also like to believe that being an only child and growing up particularly close to my parents, I was raised pretty liberally as well. Whenever my parents, aunts, lolas, and I exchange stories, we never really shied away from topics such as crushes, boys, and love. My mom is considerably open with me when it comes to things like these, and I really, truly appreciated that, because I grew up exposed to these kinds of realities, and have (ideally) been given the right information to make the proper decisions when it comes to these things. My parents have always taught me that I should be responsible when it comes to dealing with my feelings. I shouldn't let one person dictate what I feel, and I shouldn't let too much emotions (or hormones!) get in the way of my judgment. They remind me that choosing to be with someone goes beyond just looks or "sparks" - because being with someone takes more than just that. It also means respect and complete appreciation of the entirety of this person.
That being said, I think they've always trusted my judgment when it comes to the kind of men I liked. And I appreciate that they never deliberately stopped me from being attracted to someone, just because he came from a certain background, or that he doesn't pass their standards, etc. They never reprimanded me for having crushes. (In fact, sometimes I think they even truly encouraged it - and encouraged it well - to the point where I was asked, "Kelan ka ba magkaka-boyfriend?" some time ago in college. Haha.) And most importantly, they never told me to just wait around.
When I tell them about how I became textmates with a boy, or how I started talking with someone on Facebook, they don't give me the "You are meant to be pursued!" talk. Nope. They give me the "I hope that guy is okay," talk (coupled with my mom's "Let me see his picture OMG HE'S SO GWAPO!" talk). But they aren't concerned so much about who texted who first. And that, to me, makes a world of difference.
Because that means I am respected for the choices I make in the kinds of guys I want. Attraction is a two-way thing - it cannot be forced on you. And no amount of chocolate mousse, or flowers will ever give that to you. When I like someone, it will be because of the way he talks and the way he listens. It will be about the way he explains how beams work, and how this particular kind of metal is too expensive for a low-rise condominium. It will be the way he replies when I ask what a conduit system is, or how certain cars work. It will be the way he treats his girl friends, and his mom. Or his sister, if he has one. It will be in the way we both laugh at the same jokes, or watch the same shows, or quote the same lines. It will be because we connect - and it will be so much more meaningful than a cup of chocolate ice cream.
And besides, would boys really want that? That a girl fell for them because they showered them with gifts? Wouldn't you want to fall in love (or "fall in like" if, you know, you're taking things slow) with a girl who appreciates you for your charm and humor, and not for your ability to whip up pick-up lines and ask waitresses to deliver desserts to pretty strangers?
I guess, for some boys, that's the game. The thrill of the chase. "Girls are meant to be pursued." Ooh, it's such a challenge. Let me win you. You will be my prize.
While the idea of being someone's reward is laudatory, I don't think I'd want that. I am not a person to be pursued, because if that is the case, then I will be left with boys who think just. like. that.
When I got those desserts, all I could think of was, "Is this what it's like to be pursued?" You're put on the spot, the waiters are expecting so much from you, and all they want is a sweet yes, or your number, or even your name - all for this "sweet" guy "thoughtful" enough to "pursue" you. You're left with almost no opportunity to say no because that would mean being called a bitch or suplada or downright ungrateful. Am I not entitled to that "no"?
I am, of course. And I did say no. I said I was uncomfortable with receiving things from strangers and giving my name. I had to pretend I had a boyfriend (which they asked, by the way) to somewhat put it to a stop. I was very cordial and told the waitress to extend my thanks, so I'd like to believe I wasn't rude. But it was kind of rude the way he kept sending the girl over just to pester me with details when it was very clear that I was in the middle of something important.
And yet, society - like this Joppet guy - expects me to be flattered by such attention because I was designed to be chased by men.
Isn't that unfair?
There is a certain level of injustice in the idea that girls have to settle with the boys who approach them, while guys can go after the girls that they really, truly want. Why should I choose only among those who texted me first? Or sent me ice cream? Don't I have the right to go after the person I like too?
And besides, what is so wrong about that?
It's fine to wait - for that text, for that call, for that random FB message - but what if I don't want to anymore? Why should anyone tell me otherwise?
Initiating the first move is not degrading of a woman's worth. If anything, I think it makes a girl more powerful. A girl who initiates the conversation is willing to go for what she wants - and that is because she already knows what she wants. And isn't that the kind of girl you want to be? Boys, isn't that the kind of girl you want to have? The kind who is in charge of herself and will not wait around for things to be served to her on a silver platter? Because things don't get served to you on a silver platter. You don't wait for the universe to send you the guy right outside your doorstep.
No, sometimes, the universe will bring you the boy, but it won't give him to you. And the best you can do is just deal with the circumstances. Perhaps, yes, a little waiting around on your part will be necessary. (In fact, maybe a lot of waiting around will come into play.) And there is nothing wrong with that. But you shouldn't have to settle for waiting around when you think it's time to strike the iron - if the universe has done its job of making it hot for you, then what the hell are you doing still holding it?
Today, I will ask him out. Or not. I don't know. It's up to me and my feelings. But don't tell me what to do or not to do when it comes to the way I deal with the people I'm attracted to. And don't go dragging God's name into it, for crying out loud. It's several paragraphs later, and nope, I still don't recall ever being told in the Scripture that I should never make the first move.
To quote from the most independent and strongest of the Disney female characters I know, Megara from Hercules, "I'm a big girl, I tie my own sandals and everything."
I'm a big girl. I'm designed to make my own decisions. Leave me alone, and let me handle my own... affairs.
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Oh universe,
and your mysterious ways.
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Psalm 63
Though many times I run from You in shame
I lift my hands and call upon Your name
For underneath the shadow of Your wings
My melody is You
- I Seek You For I Thirst
I lift my hands and call upon Your name
For underneath the shadow of Your wings
My melody is You
- I Seek You For I Thirst
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the only flaw, you are flawless
but i just can't wait for love to destroy us
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On dating law students
It's so hard. They're always stressed, they're always angry. They're tense. All they ever think about are their grades and their recits. They're not fun to be around.
But what makes it more difficult is that law students will be exposed to so many cases, so many problems, and so much of the world, that they will no longer be the same people. They will change. No one stays the same in law school. It's either they leave you behind or you leave them behind.
- our Crim professor, on being in a relationship with a law student.*
We are such emotional liabilities. Why would anyone want us, again?
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* - nonverbatim
Labels: law school
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the places you have come to fear the most
such a charming, beautiful exterior
laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
perfect posture
but you're barely scraping by
and the grave that you refuse to leave
the refuge that you've built to flee
is the place that you have come to fear the most
It's so hard to love you, Malcolm.
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Labels: law school, UP
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Ask her if she wants to stay a while
(Because yesterday's entry was too sad, and because while eating ube jam I had an epiphany of sorts...)
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Today is my first day back at the dorm after a long time, and well, I'm starting to get used to the general feeling of being alone again. Not that I haven't been always solo in this room, but well, the start of the new school year just brings me back to a different kind of loneliness, for understandable reasons.
I'm no longer the same person as I was a year ago - that I can own up to now. I've accepted my mistakes and realized where I went wrong. But coming to terms with growing up does not mean there are parts of your former self you can no longer keep. In fact, for everything else that has fallen apart, there is one thing that has remained constant.
I have always believed in the promise of seeing things one day at a time, of slowly getting to a silver lining. Surprisingly, even after everything that has been said, heard, and done, a part of me will always, always believe that it will get better. I don't know how that will happen and what it will take to get there. But it has to.
Maroon 5 said so.
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Today is my first day back at the dorm after a long time, and well, I'm starting to get used to the general feeling of being alone again. Not that I haven't been always solo in this room, but well, the start of the new school year just brings me back to a different kind of loneliness, for understandable reasons.
I'm no longer the same person as I was a year ago - that I can own up to now. I've accepted my mistakes and realized where I went wrong. But coming to terms with growing up does not mean there are parts of your former self you can no longer keep. In fact, for everything else that has fallen apart, there is one thing that has remained constant.
I have always believed in the promise of seeing things one day at a time, of slowly getting to a silver lining. Surprisingly, even after everything that has been said, heard, and done, a part of me will always, always believe that it will get better. I don't know how that will happen and what it will take to get there. But it has to.
Maroon 5 said so.
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Status Quo
So many things have happened lately that have drastically changed life in law school as I know it.
Actually, a lot of things happened to me in the last year that changed my life entirely. I don't think there were ever two months that were exactly the same in terms of how I felt, handled and dealt with things. There was always something different, and they weren't just changes at the surface. They were actual and substantial shifts in my point of view, my beliefs, and my convictions.
And after going through all that, have I finally settled into a comfortable, more stable version of myself? Sadly, no. In fact, I still think I'm at my lowest point. Even after everything that I've been through, I still have a long way to go before recovery.
It doesn't help that the environment I'm in only helps foster the demons I've long been trying to fend off. Yes, I'm talking about law school. And yes, even after a year, I'm still somehow convincing myself that I didn't make a mistake.
The thing is, so much that changed about myself and the way I look at things happened when I got here. It can even be said that they happened because I got here. I don't mean to say that I regret being here, or that I am not thankful to be part of this institution. I am. But there are so many things about it (and more particularly, the people in it) that have led me to question the things I thought I was most sure of.
It has brought out everyone's demons. And this is not just about academics. In the last year or so, I've seen how disappointing some people turn out to be after being subjected to this kind of pressure, this kind of weight. It saddens (and angers) me how even the best people can make the most terrible mistakes, just because they feel like they've been driven up the wall. Worst of all, I've seen how it affects the people outside it - the people who matter most to us, and the people who only want to see us happy.
I wish I can welcome the new school year more enthusiastically than this. And well, it's not like I have no reason not to. I have new friends, I've gained a lot of insight, and I've learned to appreciate the little things in life. I've let go of some baggage. But not others, and not completely. There are a lot of things that still need to be fixed, and I think the thought of that is what's weighing me down.
I'm all over the place right now. I wish things were different. But as it is, this is what I have on my plate right now. I just hope I have enough strength to keep wading through, even though I don't exactly know what I'm looking for.
Actually, a lot of things happened to me in the last year that changed my life entirely. I don't think there were ever two months that were exactly the same in terms of how I felt, handled and dealt with things. There was always something different, and they weren't just changes at the surface. They were actual and substantial shifts in my point of view, my beliefs, and my convictions.
And after going through all that, have I finally settled into a comfortable, more stable version of myself? Sadly, no. In fact, I still think I'm at my lowest point. Even after everything that I've been through, I still have a long way to go before recovery.
It doesn't help that the environment I'm in only helps foster the demons I've long been trying to fend off. Yes, I'm talking about law school. And yes, even after a year, I'm still somehow convincing myself that I didn't make a mistake.
The thing is, so much that changed about myself and the way I look at things happened when I got here. It can even be said that they happened because I got here. I don't mean to say that I regret being here, or that I am not thankful to be part of this institution. I am. But there are so many things about it (and more particularly, the people in it) that have led me to question the things I thought I was most sure of.
It has brought out everyone's demons. And this is not just about academics. In the last year or so, I've seen how disappointing some people turn out to be after being subjected to this kind of pressure, this kind of weight. It saddens (and angers) me how even the best people can make the most terrible mistakes, just because they feel like they've been driven up the wall. Worst of all, I've seen how it affects the people outside it - the people who matter most to us, and the people who only want to see us happy.
I wish I can welcome the new school year more enthusiastically than this. And well, it's not like I have no reason not to. I have new friends, I've gained a lot of insight, and I've learned to appreciate the little things in life. I've let go of some baggage. But not others, and not completely. There are a lot of things that still need to be fixed, and I think the thought of that is what's weighing me down.
I'm all over the place right now. I wish things were different. But as it is, this is what I have on my plate right now. I just hope I have enough strength to keep wading through, even though I don't exactly know what I'm looking for.
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i'm a lover without a lover
i am lovely and lonely
and i belong deeply to myself
Hello, says my hair.
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endings
With my last grade this semester finally released, I guess it is now time to say I am officially done with my first year of law school.
The appropriate thing to do is to jump for joy and throw my readings in the air while shaking my belly like a bowl full of jelly*. And yes, I really want to do that, because HELL YES I SURVIVED SO SOMEBODY THROW SOME CONFETTI ON ME WILL YA.
But there's so much to say, and so little words that can do it justice. The year that was has been filled with tears, laughter, love, and loss - in varying degrees and intensities. But it has also left me feeling rather.. quiet. Stripped. Bare. Like there is nothing more I could say that my silence has not already said.
So here's to silences, and the infinite meanings they bring. And here's to the words, which are yet to return.
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* a la Chandler Bing, from Season 7 Episode 10 of Friends. Yes, that's what's been taking up most of time lately. I love that show so much, okay. I can watch reruns forever.
The appropriate thing to do is to jump for joy and throw my readings in the air while shaking my belly like a bowl full of jelly*. And yes, I really want to do that, because HELL YES I SURVIVED SO SOMEBODY THROW SOME CONFETTI ON ME WILL YA.
But there's so much to say, and so little words that can do it justice. The year that was has been filled with tears, laughter, love, and loss - in varying degrees and intensities. But it has also left me feeling rather.. quiet. Stripped. Bare. Like there is nothing more I could say that my silence has not already said.
So here's to silences, and the infinite meanings they bring. And here's to the words, which are yet to return.
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* a la Chandler Bing, from Season 7 Episode 10 of Friends. Yes, that's what's been taking up most of time lately. I love that show so much, okay. I can watch reruns forever.
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there should be stars for great wars
like ours
- Sandra Cisneros
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Summer, or something like it.
While my semester is not entirely over yet (one more project to go!) I think it's safe to say that I am now officially free from the bondage of acads.
AND YES I FEEL LIKE DOBBY BEING GIVEN A SOCK. I AM A FREE ELF NOW.
(Wait let's let that sink in. Karla. Is. A. Free. Elf. Asdkfhaskl!!!)
But while this translates to freedom, I haven't exactly been lazing around all day this week (as much as I'd love that). Some of my friends and I volunteered to work at the Quezon City RTC to make an inventory of cases in an effort to decongest the court dockets. This is part of an initiative by The Asia Foundation to aid the Judiciary in the administration of cases. We've been assigned to the drug court, where we read and file cases in relation to RA 9165 from nine to five. To my surprise, despite the long hours, it's actually been quite fun. Perhaps it's because of the company, or perhaps it's because of the fact that by sorting through the files we're getting advanced lessons for Criminal Procedure (a subject for next semester). But regardless, it's genuinely nice to be immersed in the world we must now embrace as our own and not feel like it's dying to get rid of us. The staff, clerks, and even the judge whose sala we were working on were all very kind and welcoming.
In the last few days, I've come to realize a lot of things about school and the law profession in general. Some of them I already know, some of them things that just dawned on me this week - but all of them part of what would hopefully shape my way of looking at things in the next few years or so.
I wish I could write some more tonight, but I'm tired, and my body, as a way of celebrating my "provisional liberty," is eagerly trying to recover all the sleep I lost during the sem. Also, my parents and I are going to Baguio this weekend, and God knows how much I need the vacation - and a change of weather - so I'm trying to get as much rest as I can. I don't want to be all sleepy and cranky during the trip!
Well, there. I guess this is me kicking off my so-called vacation. Here's to hoping this summer is going to be every bit the break I need it to be.
AND YES I FEEL LIKE DOBBY BEING GIVEN A SOCK. I AM A FREE ELF NOW.
(Wait let's let that sink in. Karla. Is. A. Free. Elf. Asdkfhaskl!!!)
But while this translates to freedom, I haven't exactly been lazing around all day this week (as much as I'd love that). Some of my friends and I volunteered to work at the Quezon City RTC to make an inventory of cases in an effort to decongest the court dockets. This is part of an initiative by The Asia Foundation to aid the Judiciary in the administration of cases. We've been assigned to the drug court, where we read and file cases in relation to RA 9165 from nine to five. To my surprise, despite the long hours, it's actually been quite fun. Perhaps it's because of the company, or perhaps it's because of the fact that by sorting through the files we're getting advanced lessons for Criminal Procedure (a subject for next semester). But regardless, it's genuinely nice to be immersed in the world we must now embrace as our own and not feel like it's dying to get rid of us. The staff, clerks, and even the judge whose sala we were working on were all very kind and welcoming.
In the last few days, I've come to realize a lot of things about school and the law profession in general. Some of them I already know, some of them things that just dawned on me this week - but all of them part of what would hopefully shape my way of looking at things in the next few years or so.
I wish I could write some more tonight, but I'm tired, and my body, as a way of celebrating my "provisional liberty," is eagerly trying to recover all the sleep I lost during the sem. Also, my parents and I are going to Baguio this weekend, and God knows how much I need the vacation - and a change of weather - so I'm trying to get as much rest as I can. I don't want to be all sleepy and cranky during the trip!
Well, there. I guess this is me kicking off my so-called vacation. Here's to hoping this summer is going to be every bit the break I need it to be.
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Some random photos from Finals Week
From one of the readings for Legal Theory finals (..from which I got exempted! Rejoicing because it may be the first and only time I will ever be exempted in a law school exam! Seriously.) Even the strongest must sleep at times. Preach.
From an ad on the waiting shed just across Law. Does this mean that the benevolent landlord will accommodate one's beliefs, and allow his tenants to exercise them without hindrance? Justice Puno approves of this accommodation.
Justice Isagani Cruz, on substantial distinctions. Daaaamn. Rest in peace, Justice Cruz. I sure hope heaven no longer has arbitrary classifications, only valid ones. Like, I don't know... goodness? :))
Because Jollibee is holy ground, especially for Consti. I swear to God, everything we studied from 11 am to 11 pm came out in the exam. Apparently, this place is my good luck charm, especially for Consti. I don't know why I didn't embrace the idea sooner. (Looking at you, first sem. Remember that night of Dadole?) I love you, Jollibee. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that. I'm a convert now. Your sacred ground is my safe haven. P.S. I can live on your burger steak and palabok forever.
But of course. How do you take exams in the theater behind this wall? Yep. In a grand manner.
#lastpush
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Labels: law school, UP
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This, just because I don't think I was able to post them here last year, and because I (really, really) need the motivation. Seeing my grad pics always gives me a sense of affirmation; it reminds me that not too long ago I was able to finish something I started, with much devotion and dedication. I should be able to do it again.
(Suddenly realized I don't have copies of these here in my condo. Should probably get them and put them on my wall or on my desk. Lol.)
I can't believe it's already been a year. Oh, time.
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Labels: UP
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Ready for battle
I bought five bluebooks today as an early attempt to prepare myself for battle. I kind of get paranoid when it comes to things like this because, being the forgetful person that I am, I'm afraid that I might enter the room with no ballpen, no eyeglasses, or no bluebook. It's a recurring nightmare, trust me. (Second only to failing a class - but still.) So I bought five, even though I think I will only be needing three, just so I can be sure that that scenario stays in my head and never plays out in real life.
It's funny how we are made to feel like law school is such a different world, detached from the rest of the university. Even our bluebooks are special. (If you notice, they are much thicker than the regular bluebooks, and cost P10 each, as opposed to P2.50.) On most days, it's comforting, because everything inside Malcolm becomes familiar: when you see the same faces and walk the same halls, things start feeling like home. Everyone knows almost everyone - by face, by name, by affiliation. There's somehow an unspoken acknowledgement that you know each other - it's like you are all in this exclusive little world speaking a language no one understands.
But on some days, it can also feel alienating and suffocating for the exact same reason. Because our blocks don't get shuffled, we see the same faces all day, everyday. We rarely have time to go out of the building, so it's just the same food, the same library, the same environment. You can feel easily smothered just because you hardly feel like there is a life outside the marbled walls of Malcolm Hall.
A lot of days, I can't tell if I feel welcomed or stifled.
Today, however, we held our last Oblicon class - an integration/review class with another block - inside the Ambion Room, where I took my LAE more than a year ago. I remember thinking to myself that day that even if I never get to call this building my home, at least for just one Sunday, I was able to experience what it was like to take a seat on these wooden chairs and marvel at the wonderful sight of the Sunken Garden by the window.
This afternoon, while listening to our prof review the ways of extinguishing an obligation, I looked out those same windows. I miss being out there, I really do. But today, I'm glad to be inside this bubble. I just hope it's glad to have me too.
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Finals are next week, so I'm spending my entire Holy Week here at my condo unit, alone and buried in cases. This is actually the first time ever that I won't be spending this week over at my grandparents' house in Batangas because (1) they are in Singapore visiting my mom's sister, and (2) I have exams. Both my parents will also be going on their yearly pilgrimage, so I really have no one else to keep me company this week other than my books - and my fear of failing. Ha. Ha. Hahaha.
Labels: law school, UP
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Saturdays in UP
My Saturdays are almost always spent in the Malcolm Hall library, holed up in my little corner at the third floor, away from most of the world with only my readings and notebooks as company. Sometimes, I anticipate the occasional snack or dinner invitation to get me motivated for the rest of the afternoon, but on most days, I start and end it alone. Yet there is something about Saturdays in UP that doesn't make it lonely or sad - just lovely in its quietness.
This is my favorite spot in the entire campus. It also has, for me, the most beautiful, breathtaking view. The way the lush green trees arch above the Oval, framing it perfectly, is just stunning. As an undergrad, when I used to get to this spot - to this exact point right across Law, with the view of Engineering a little up ahead - and I see this before me, I felt this overwhelming wave of both terror and thrill. It's because of many things, yes - the people, the places, the physics, the prose, the provisions, the possibilities. This exact location held so much promise and meaning, I could not remember a time in the last four years that I did not stop for a few seconds to marvel at this sight, and the many feelings it gave me.
And even now, as a law student, I still feel that every time I pass by this spot. This view still gets to me. It grabs me. It takes me by the hand and stops me. How can it not? I see this and somehow I forget being sad, or defeated, or tired. Just... glad. Glad that I'm here, glad that this is mine. Everyday, and especially on Saturdays, I have this to keep me company. I have this to reassure me that things will be alright. I have this to call home.
I can only hope many others still get to call it theirs too.
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(My deepest condolences to the family and loved ones of the UP Manila freshman who committed suicide last Friday. UP loves you; it was unfortunate that the system made you feel like it didn't.)
Labels: UP
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where small tears go
i have often wondered if there was a place where small kinds of sadness come to die, where faint shades of grey dissolve back to white, where tiny sighs can be heard. i often think that days aren't exactly seamless, that they are held together by little silences that speak louder than our words. those tender moments, those glances at the clock realizing we are late, or the quiet panic as we remember we forgot something, the uneasy glimpses at our still unlit cellphone screens; they are not heavy like paperweights dangling on your chest. they are blisters on your feet when you try to walk with new shoes. they are small tears you never try to wipe, those you leave on your cheek to dry.
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Labels: An attempt at poetry, finger exercises
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Thursday night reading
He started finishing Madeleine’s sentences. As if her mind was too slow. As if he couldn’t wait for her to gather her thoughts. He riffed on the things she said, going off on strange tangents, making puns. Whenever she told him he needed to get some sleep, he got angry and didn’t call her for days. And it was during this period that Madeleine fully understood how the lover’s discourse was of an extreme solitude. The solitude was extreme because it wasn’t physical. It was extreme because you felt it while in the company of the person you loved. It was extreme because it was in your head, that most solitary of places.
The more Leonard pulled away, the more anxious Madeleine became. The more desperate she became, the more Leonard pulled away. She told herself to act cool. She went to the library to work on her marriage-plot thesis, but the sex-fantasy atmosphere—the reading-room eye contact, the beckoning stacks—made her desperate to see Leonard. And so against her will her feet began leading her back across campus through the darkness to the biology department. Up to the last moment, Madeleine had the crazy hope that this expression of weakness might in fact be strength. It was a brilliant strategy because it lacked all strategy. It involved no games, only sincerity. Seeing such sincerity, how could Leonard fail to respond? She was almost happy as she came up behind the lab table and tapped Leonard on the shoulder, and her happiness lasted until he turned around with a look not of love but of annoyance.
An excerpt from The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides.
Sigh. Just when I thought I could not love this book even more. Oh, fiction.
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Labels: books
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what she wore
you take your skirt off because it somehow felt heavy. the mint was a lovely backdrop to the pink belt, but only your mirror paid you a compliment, and it wasn't even convincing. they didn't understand what they were looking at when they see the gray bruise on your inner arm, the one that said blood had been taken away; a part of you had been taken away. your phone rings and you somehow know where this is going. your shirt is immaculate in white lace, but somehow it feels dirty, unclean, like a sorry that has been said but not meant, like an okay that hovers in the mouth but only faintly honest.
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Labels: finger exercises
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I was rushed to the hospital by my friends last night after a really, really bad case of abdominal pain. My monthly case of cramps is actually pretty regular, almost like an unwelcome visitor I've grown accustomed to. But for some reason, last night, it reached new heights, leaving me with no choice but to call for help.
After several blood tests and urine tests, I was discharged after six hours. It was dysmenorrhea, alright, but worsened by stress and fatigue, which led to that anxiety attack. Anxiety attack. At first, I couldn't fathom why or how. But then I recalled the lowest point of the night:
There I was on the floor, all curled up in pain, unable to move my numbing hands and feet, because my abdomen was hurting like it's being ripped apart. It was the worst episode of this I've had by far, and the most terrifying, because I was alone, and I only had my books and my readings with me, and the people I was trying to call weren't answering right away. I had every reason to be scared and to panic, and even though I knew I wasn't going to die, it was still frightening, especially when I was literally gasping for air. Yet in between sobs and dialing numbers, I remembered very clearly, all I could think to myself was, "Shit. I haven't finished my digests."
After several blood tests and urine tests, I was discharged after six hours. It was dysmenorrhea, alright, but worsened by stress and fatigue, which led to that anxiety attack. Anxiety attack. At first, I couldn't fathom why or how. But then I recalled the lowest point of the night:
There I was on the floor, all curled up in pain, unable to move my numbing hands and feet, because my abdomen was hurting like it's being ripped apart. It was the worst episode of this I've had by far, and the most terrifying, because I was alone, and I only had my books and my readings with me, and the people I was trying to call weren't answering right away. I had every reason to be scared and to panic, and even though I knew I wasn't going to die, it was still frightening, especially when I was literally gasping for air. Yet in between sobs and dialing numbers, I remembered very clearly, all I could think to myself was, "Shit. I haven't finished my digests."
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