They say one can be defined by the things they sleep with -- you can tell what kind of person you are simply by the things you hold dear before traipsing in slumber. Well, I guess I'd leave you the judge of that, based on the books I have stacked beside me by my bed. I'm not the type of person who can just settle reading one book, I have to read at least two novels to push me into finishing them. I don't know, I guess I get bored easily and the idea of having more than one story and numerous characters makes it all the more challenging and exciting for me. I'm weird like that.

I never get tired of reading it, sometimes going over the whole thing, other times just sifting through my favorite parts. The seminal tale of a middle-aged man falling madly in love with a 12-year-old nymphet is undeniably one of the best novels written, not only because of its riveting plot but because of its beautiful prose. The words alone are enough to seduce you and reel you inside Humbert's mind of lust, love, and longing.

The book that got the local literary scene talking by gaining international awards. I just finished reading this last week but it's still on top of my bedside table. Definitely one of the best local novels out there. Miguel Syjuco presents a seemingly simple story in a complex but intricately woven manner that makes it easy to read but quite tough to digest. One has to read between the lines to get through the humor and message, which makes it a very thought-provoking and entertaining read. Syjuco certainly did the nation proud.

Subtitled "Royal Women Who Met Bad Ends, from Cleopatra to Princess Di", it may seem like a clever book not for the modern-day woman who wants history backing up her ambitions. Sure, it's a compilation of accounts about all the feisty, strong women from the Biblical era up to the present and how their lives took a tragic turn after gaining power -- and that might get to the audience across as, "Let's kill girl power because it just killed girls!" But reading about Cleopatra (who knew she married her brother?), Anne Boleyn (poor girl) and other more obscure but equally fascinating queens just only fuels the desire to step up and do better. Fearless femme fatales, oh yeah!

It's my birthday gift from The Boy-nospace-friend, back when he was still a boy-space-friend. It was supposed to be funny, because I used to manipulate him to flattering me in Italian before, and besides, it's a book full of curses and naughty phrases, but I think it was really thoughtful of him to give me this :P And besides, it's an awesome book! Now I can curse (and flirt) in Italian! -- except that no one understands. :))

(Off-topic: Speaking of Italian, my new piece for this semester's piano recital is Italian Mariner Song by Robert Schumann. I'd also be having my first exam in Italian 12/13 on Friday. And I'm listening to my favorite Italian song Non Amarmi by Aleandro Baldi and Francesca Alotta. I italiani devono fiero di me! HAHA!)

What's on your bedside table? ;)

There are so many things I have said and will continue to say about Papa because he's just too awesome, really. But last year's Father's Day blog entry may be hard to top, and besides I know deep inside he squirms when people adulate him, most especially me.

So in the very rare occasion that he does come across this, let me keep it short and sweet:

Happy Father's Day, Papa! :) You'll always be the number one man in my life, and I'll always be your number one girl.

Oops, no wait, number two. Hey, Ma. :)

I've been saving these last words for

one last miracle but I'm not sure

I can't save you if you don't let me

It's been two years since I started living in Katipunan. I can still remember that first night: no microwave, no television, no internet. Just my bed, my clothes, my school supplies, and myself. Being the spoiled, pampered girl that I was in high school, suddenly being thrust into this place so far away from home was frightening. Of course, it was exciting too, but it was nothing compared to the fear. It was a whole new world out here -- no comfort of high school friends calling you, no assurance of a delicious home-cooked meal, no sign of parents waiting for you. Everything was just completely different. I wanted to prove myself strong and independent, but a huge part of me just really wanted to go back to Paranaque and crawl under my bed sheets. And that happened everyday, every week.

Flash forward to now. My parents just brought me back to the dorm this afternoon. I'm all alone in my room, with the television and the pouring of the rain playing in the background as I confirm friend requests. I wait for my tea to finish heating in the microwave to make me feel a little warm. I no longer feel the emptiness of my room, as I glance at my table already filled with too many readings. I still miss my real queen-sized bed, but there is comfort in this tiny little bed I am sitting on right now. This whole place, it doesn't feel alien anymore, it doesn't feel sad.

After two years, I'm no longer just a part of it, it's a part of me. I will always be a South girl, and I will always miss Paranaque, but this is also my place now. It's finally what it should be: home. Katipunan is home. UP is home.

I am home.

The Chemistry Pavillion of UP Diliman's Palma Hall was in flames early this morning after an electrical device was left plugged inside one of the rooms, igniting the fire. What's worse, the chemicals inside the building worsened the fire which made it more difficult for the firemen to extinguish it. Classes in Palma Hall and all the four pavilions were suspended for the day.

I have no connections whatsoever to the Chem Pav because (duh) I'm an English major. Sure, I go there every now and then to visit friends while they wait for their profs or to accompany them when submitting papers but other than that I have no affiliation to the dreaded C word. I never really liked Chemistry in the first place (and it never liked me), so the fact that I don't have academic reasons to visit the place is actually a relief.

But there is a reason why that Chem Pav is particularly special to me. Why? Because it was where I took the UPCAT. How was I supposed to forget that momentous day filled with jitters, fear, and a tremendous amount of brain damage? That building will (unfortunately) always be associated with nausea and anxiety, but it's nervousness well-cherished, because that is precisely the venue that decided my fate. Vivid images of the hallways, the staircase, the rooms flash before my eyes and suddenly I'm back to August 5, 2007. I can still remember standing outside, looking nervously at my permit (and my ugly-ass picture), silently observing fellow UPCAT takers, wondering about my future. The amount of pressure that weighed on my shoulders on that day was huge because the next four years of my life would depend on it.

Andee and I passed by Chem Pav a while ago to make "usyoso." It wasn't completely destroyed, but you could see how bad the damage was. The windows panes were lined with heavy black traces and the smell of burned chemicals lingered. It looked sad and deserted. It also looked like it would take a while to be restored. It was kind of depressing. That was the place where I took the UPCAT! It's got a place in my personal history! And now it's -- well, not gone, but -- really, badly ruined. But because I am completely unassociated with it, I can't help but also feel, well, a little indifferent. After all, I'm not the one who's going to suffer Chem17 makeup classes.

Being the over-thinker that I am, I can't help but wonder: Is there a metaphorical analogy behind this? Is it a premonition for something? Do I need to read between the lines? Does this mean that my UP dreams would go down in flames as well? Oh God! *exaggeration caused by too much fiction* What does this mean?

Well, I'm not sure about the whole symbolism thing. I have yet to come up with an elaborate story on that. But one thing I'm sure of right now is that classes in Palma Hall (AS) today and tomorrow are suspended. And that meant only one thing to me right now: NO ITALIAN CLASSES!

So is it so wrong to feel so relieved?

Over the span of forty eight hours I have gone from relaxed to excited to wasted, and all just after five subjects or so. I swear this is going to be my most toxic semester yet -- and yes I am already certain of that. My majors this sem are mostly English and CL courses, which means I would have tons of reading to do. It's not surprising given my course, but I guess the sheer idea of the volume of work for the remaining months dawns on me and right now, I'm kind of hyperventilating. If you only saw the readings and books! But with a bit of luck, maybe I can manage. My latest dismissal is at 4:00 pm, so hopefully I would have enough time on my hands to catch up on my reading lists.

But probably the biggest hurdle would be my Italian 12/13. It's an integrated advanced Italian class worth 6 units, meaning I have it everyday. And my God, right now my head is still reeling from the shock I got in class. My last Italian class (Italian 11) was in my second year, first semester, so I have to admit that I am kind of rusty. The year in between was obviously not spent in watching Rai Italia or watching Italian movies, so I guess I came to class with the thought that "Hey, it's the first day. What could go wrong?" Well, turns out, EVERYTHING. Our teacher came in class, with no English greetings and introductions, and just started blabbing on and on -- in Italian. I was picking up random words here and there, but everything else was all a blur. I kept asking inside my head, "Where are the fucking subtitles? I don't understand anything!" And the worst part was when I was asked a question, I had to fumble a grammatically incorrect statement and then a quick apology after. Boy, was it embarrassing. Well, my teacher seems strict but he's actually kind of funny. Kind of. Aaargh. I really have to brush up on those verbs again. And tune in to the Italian Channel and actually listen.

Then, just this afternoon, it rained so hard (with matching thunder and lightning) that taking the commute home was yet another challenge. Katipunan jeeps inside UP are actually quite extinct but always sought-after. The jeepney terminal lines meanwhile are always a mile long, and even a mile longer when it's pouring. I'm used to it, but I guess after all the negative vibes that I have accumulated so far, my commute today was really like rubbing salt on an open wound.

The only silver lining in all this would have to be my PE class. It's funny (in a sad sort of way) that my schedule is the exact opposite of my boyfriend's. All of my class times are his breaks, and vice versa. I swear, if you saw our schedules, you would laugh at the irony. We had zero chance of ever seeing or even bumping into each other on weekdays due to conflicting schedules, and on weekends because of his exams and of course, because we would be going back home. But our last hope of ever seeing each other this semester was my PE class. Thank the stars for my professor, who used to be my prof in my Walking class two years ago. He was very kind and funny about the prerog (there's a great story about that particular prerog process but maybe I'll keep that for now), and to keep the story short: my boyfriend got in the class! So hooray for that!

The first week isn't even finished yet, and here I am already ranting about the sem. I know I have to think positive and be strong and yadda, yadda, yadda. But oh, I just feel so tired. Maybe I just need to sleep this off. Or maybe I just need ice cream?

I suddenly feel McFlurries summoning.

As Andee, Jamie and I were waiting (im)patiently in line for enrollment last Wednesday, our idle minds couldn't help but talk about our future and what lies ahead the three of us in creative writing. As I have mentioned in a previous post, it has become a slow, arduous battle with words, rhyme, plots, and climaxes. It was never easy. Even for me, who admittedly still enjoys the course in general. The thought of being somewhere else, busying ourselves with other things can often be comforting. But at that very moment, while waiting for our adviser to arrive, we are still CW students. Nothing else.

But while we were stuck in the unmoving, monotonous present (that is, the line we were in), it was only natural for our thoughts to fly somewhere else - somewhere in the past, and in the future. Of course, the inevitable "Remember our freshman enrollment?" nostalgia trip was to occur. It happens every enrollment, every semester. We would reminisce how the five of us waited by the door of our adviser, warily asking what high school we came from, what PEs we had, what time our English 11 was. We would laugh at the door incident we had with a bitchy (gay) prof as we were about to enter his room. We would shake our heads in embarrassment over our dumb questions about the Toki route and library clearances. Every recollection of that day would somehow make us feel better about ourselves - oh how much we've grown, how much we've learned since then. And suddenly, all would be well again.

However this time was different. Usually, by the moment we finish laughing over the time we still had our moms with us for that enrollment, the lines would start moving and we would be abruptly pulled back to the present, leaving no time for reminiscing, but for e-prerog, post-advising, assessment and payment woes. But because this semester's adviser was known for being notoriously late, we had no choice but to sit there (im)patiently and keep on talking, complaining, and unavoidably, wondering.

Suddenly, it dawned on us. Third year. Goodness, we're halfway through! Even after all the bitching and anxiety-attacks over our course, we've finished two years. Just two more years to go, and before you know it, it's yearbook photographs and graduation tears all over again. But unlike high school, where stepping into junior year only gets you excited about the future, this time it's different. This time, there's this big scary place waiting for us after we get our diplomas - what's that called again? Oh yeah, right. REAL LIFE. (Also: Law school!)

Checking our curriculum course list and crossing out all the subjects I have already taken, it became apparent to me how near (yet far) the end is already. I only had seventeen subjects to go, excluding the ones I would be taking this first semester. That's 17 subjects in 3 semesters. That's 51 units left. Seems like a lifetime more to go, but seeing my course list almost halfway crossed out was the tangible proof that I am almost there. Almost. Almost. Almost. And I didn't know what to feel.

But that's the thing with almosts. It possesses the power of both a need and a want. It can be a stimulus or a disincentive. It may bring forth regret, or contentment. The good thing with almost though, is that it is never a plateau. Once you realize an almost, it's a plunge right down to either the greatest thing in your life, or the worst. It's the big drop on a rollercoaster, the big turning point of a story. It's where you make things happen (or not happen), right when you realize, "I'm almost there."


And what happened after my philosophical musings on our future? Well, we were to wait an hour or so more before she finally signed our Form 5A's. What's new? UP is not known for being the University of Pila for nothing. If anything, the most important lesson they want to teach us (but we stubbornly refuse) is patience. So the three of us ended up quoting the entire Mean Girls movie again. Almost.

Here's to Junior year aka The Almost Year. Let's do this!

OH FUDGE, I JUST MISSED THE DASHBOARD CONFESSIONAL CONCERT.

/wrists

It has always been a vicious love-hate cycle between the CRS and the rest of the UP Diliman students. It's much like the dream girl everyone wants to snag -- it's the embodiment of pure frustration. You get your hopes up so high, anticipating a much desired result, only to end up rejected and defeated. You try and try until you get what you deserve, only to be turned down in the end. The CRS is treacherous and cunning -- especially to (embittered) upperclassmen. But then again, it has its good moments. Much like any girl being courted, maybe it's just asking you to be more patient. And persevering. Because sometimes, if you're lucky, you get the much needed love you so rightfully deserve.

(Or maybe it's the gods way of bringing me back good karma for not cursing the CRS so much?)

This semester, I got a PE! Through pre-enlistment! I cannot even begin to explain how excited I am over this! Woooooh! Duckpin Bowling! I don't care how lame it might sound, as long as I have a PE!

Dear CRS, you deserve to be thanked in this post. I love yoooou! \:D/

Sorry wasn't able to do The Shuffle last week, but we're back in action today! So we're leaving for Singapore later today, around 9 pm, and we'd be back by Monday next week. I'm pretty excited for this trip because 1) I've been wanting to have a real, proper summer getaway because my summer this year was taken up by acads, 2) I want to go shopping again, and 3) Universal Studios Singapore! \m/ Little known fact: My tita, mom's sister, is the project manager of Universal Studios Singapore so we've all known this for a few years already, seeing her designs and all the other cool rides and now finally, I get to experience it! So yeaaaah!

So someone left me an interesting question in my question box. (Yes, I'm surprised there are still people who bother asking! Haha.)

It's just very timely, I guess because my blockmates and I have been discussing this for the last few days. We're incoming juniors, and we're almost at that make-or-break stage in our college lives already. There's practically no turning back, and yet it's inevitable to feel doubtful about the career path we're (about to be) taking, especially since it's often deemed as a unprofitable choice. Nobody really takes it seriously, I suppose. So yes, it can get frustrating.

First let me give you a background story: In 2008, the CW freshman block only had 6 students. That was me, Andee, Jamie, Rose, Cathy, and Jonika. Cathy shifted out, Rose took an LOA and is also shifting out, Jonika dropped out of school -- which leaves only the Three Musketeers aka The Plastics (see previous post) aka Karla-Andee-Jamie. It was wearisome to see the already small block slowly diminishing, but it was understandable. We made "tampo" to those who left, but we never really forced them to stay. After all, if that was what they wanted, why stop them? They have their reasons.

As for me, CW is actually my pre-law course. It's a stepping stone for my actual dream, which is to become a lawyer. But I also love to write, and read. Literature and English have always been my strengths so it wasn't such a bad idea. Anyway, I felt like I had enough passion for this course to pursue it, so I didn't find any reason to shift at all.

Most people will claim that CW is a lame and effortless course compared to, say, engineering or chemistry. But what people don't realize is that it's a course that depends more on talent and skill rather than book-smarts. You have to be really good at it to survive, and most of all you have to be passionate about it. I know that goes for all the other courses too but ours is fueled by nothing but that. Unlike math or physics that you can study with books and problem sets, you cannot actually study how to write. Sure, we are given lots of readings, and we are taught techniques, but there is no one way of doing it. You have to find your way, then let it do the working for you.

This is where it gets frustrating. Because I think none of us in the block were really writers per se, as in people who walk around seeing poetry in nature, and finding inspiration in almost anything. We like writing, and we're all undeniably bookworms, but I don't think any of us were that dedicated. We weren't really artists.

It can get discouraging to be reading about Brechtian didactics on plays or coming up with short stories and villanelles when you really don't have the innate desire for it. Creative Writing is a pretty tedious course. We have an insane amount of readings that you cannot afford to not read. We need an indefinite time to create prose and poetry. And really, we have to have passion for it. But sometimes, that passion dries up. And when that happens, we're screwed. We don't always feel like reading or writing, but we have to. Because that's what our course is about.

So to answer your question: yes, it is difficult. It's underrated. It's easy to want to give up. I dare whoever wants to belittle our course to discuss the different elements of plays and their modern/postmodernist approaches, or to defend Walter Pater's "Art for art's sake" stand. Or even just to come up with a 10-page critical analysis of an 18th century poem.

That's why I cannot blame my (remaining) blockmates for wanting to leave. I understand the pain, the frustration, the anxiety. What is the point in all of this anyway? It's not any easier but unlike the other courses, it's more difficult to see the practical purpose of this career. I honestly told them that even if it will sadden me a bit, I will support their decision 100% should they decide to shift. Because I know it's getting hard for them, and their hearts lie somewhere else.

But what about me? Despite the apparent struggles, have I ever considered shifting? No. Honestly, I doubt my writing capabilities. I don't think I am a good writer. Okay, maybe I know more words and commit lesser errors than some people, but I don't see myself as a real, actual artist. But I don't want to shift. The most obvious reason is because I'm already two years down, and only two more to go. I'm a half-baked CW student with no other subjects left to take but literature and CW majors. How am I going to shift? And where? I have nowhere to go. Sure, I may have really enjoyed philosophy class, or that sometimes I still wonder what it would be like if I pursued my mom's dream for me which was Accountancy, but it's all too late. And besides, I don't think I can handle any more debits and bank statements.

But more importantly, I think deep down in me, I know I can finish this course. I should finish this course. Not because I'm an awesome writer, or an extremely intelligent student, but because I know I like it enough to work hard on it. There was a reason why I chose this course and maybe all I have to do is keep finding that reason when I feel like giving up. I may not feel like I'm good at it, but I know I can make it through. I know it's difficult, but no matter what course I may be in, it will be difficult. Everything will be difficult. It all just boils down to how determined you are. And what your goal is. I'm going to keep myself afloat despite everything else that seems to drown me because I told myself when I started college that I'm going to finish this, so I will. Whatever it takes. Because this is what I have to do to get to what I really want, which is law school. I can't afford to mess it up. So I'm gonna have to suck it all up, work my ass off, and do my best.

I'm going to embrace being a writer, because I have to. Even if the only consistent "creative non-fiction" I do right now is blogging. Haha. :))

P.S. I just remembered I still have a final paper to submit for CL114. WHAT THE. So much for motivating myself. Tamad pa din ako T_T Hahaha. No waaait. Go fight, Bombastarrrr!

For the last few days, me and my blockmates Andy and Jamie have been quoting Mean Girls, endlessly. Yes. Endlessly. I can't remember how it started exactly but once we began we just couldn't stop. We can actually quote the entire movie from the beginning up until the end!

Last Wednesday, we they wore pink. (I didn't have any pink shirts at the dorm, so I can't sit with them. Haha.)

It's freshman orientation this week at UP. I first met Andy and Jamie the same week two years ago. It's funny how in a span of just twenty four months we've become the best of friends, finishing each other's sentences and understanding each other's fetishes. Funny, yet comforting all the same. It's nice knowing there are equally queer, eccentric and weird people as me.

If ever these guys get to read this: BOO, YOU WHORES :* I love you ;)


//


I just finished watching (500) Days of Summer again on my iPod. It always gets to me. Always. It doesn't stop hurting each time I watch it. It doesn't stop making me feel bad for Tom. It somehow always brings me back to times I wish I could forget, to times I thought I had found someone, but then ended up being completely wrong about it. I can't help rooting for Summer and Tom every time I watch the movie, because they complemented each other perfectly. And yet, somehow they didn't. It's true -- sometimes when looking back to the past, we can't help but romanticize everything, we can't help but drown ourselves in nostalgic bliss, making us regret losing what we had with that someone. But if there is anything I learned from this movie, it's that I have to stop looking through rose-colored glasses. Everything turned out the way it did because it just wasn't supposed to be. That's life.

And the good news is, there's always a new day. There's always someone better that would come along, someone who could complete us in a different way. And when that day comes, we could only be grateful that it didn't work out with the other one.


//


Summer classes end next week! I already feel so accomplished! \:D/

Watched Iron Man 2 today.

The movie made an incredible point that men all over the world should understand: It's not enough to just be cute and hot anymore. You have to be awesome at math and physics too. Because I swear, there is nothing hotter than a guy who can get his equations right. :">

Tony Stark is legendary. I think he just became my favorite superhero. Next to Batman of course. Who by the way, is also another hunky geek with awesome gadgets. I like not just boys with big toys, but boys who can actually make their big toys :))

Hmm. Maybe this is why I am unconsciously more attracted to guys who ace math. And breeze through physics. And can explain to me how car engines and refrigerators work. Yes, I think I have a fetish for engineers :))

So this week I was finally able to cross out one film from my bucket list, Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind. I have always known of its cult following and great reviews but never really got around to watching it because -- oh not surprisingly, I keep forgetting. (How ironic, eh?) Anyway, thanks to the awesome boy-no-space-friend, I finally did this week.

All I can say is, why did I not see it any sooner? By far one of the best movies of the decade. Heck, ever.

(Spoiler alert! If you haven't seen it, skip this entry. Or better yet, watch it already! Go go go, torrent!)

The first thing that struck me about the movie was the couple, really. Joel and Clem are complete opposites, presented to us with their own seemingly incompatible eccentricities, and yet in that initial moment of meeting, you just know there's a connection. I love how they both did not fit in the stereotyped perfect couple cookie mold, because they made the movie all the more enchanting to watch. I'd like believe somewhere out there, there is someone as complex (if not more) than me, and together we can complement the complicated mess that we are.

But of course, the undeniable element of this play is the idea of forgetting. Lacuna, Inc. is a company that claims to have the scientific capabilities of erasing only certain parts of your memory. By mapping which parts of your brain store these memories (through recalling and story-telling) and by surrendering all the items which will remind you of that which you want to forget, they can selectively remove them from your mind and the next day, wake up with no recollection of anything even remotely close to that event in your life. And that is precisely what the main characters did. Went to Lacuna, Inc. and got their exes removed. Not a trace of their former lover. Very ideal for past relationships don't you think?

I've had my own share of painful experiences (romantic or otherwise) that, truth be told, I would very much rather forget. If only I can erase it completely off my mind, maybe I would especially with a seemingly easy procedure. And wouldn't that be practical? No more nasty fights with your current lover about your not-so-distant past. No more missing, longing, wanting of something from the past that should be over. No more loose ties or remnants of unresolved feelings. And best of all, no regrets. Just a clean, fresh slate for everyone.

It sounds awesome, right? Forgetting sounds like the perfect escape.

The question was staring me in the eye: Given the chance, would I want to forget?

One thing about me though (and this is, sadly, non-fictional) is that I am very forgetful. Ask my mom that, and she'll probably give you an entire notebook filled with events caused by my short-term memory loss tendencies. Like that one time I left a newly bought swimsuit at MOA. Or when I forgot to pay for something. Or when I forget (present tense) my ID, wallet, cellphone and anything else essential. The list goes on and on. I don't know why, maybe I lack potassium or maybe I just hit my head really hard somewhere along the last eighteen years of my life, but I'm just really makakalimutin. And it not only annoys my mom to bits, but of course, me too. It takes a toll on my personal life. Oh imagine the horrors of forgetting something for class or for an exam! Those "I know I know this!" moments -- nghhh. Terribly frustrating. And if only I could find a cure to this, trust me, I'd poop bricks if that's what it would take. If only my forgetfulness can be selective -- only embarrassing and hurtful moments, rather than really significant ones. (Like monthsaries? Haha.)

But then I thought, erasing something as big a deal as that, say, an entire relationship will not only remove all memory of the fights and the nasty arguments, but as well as the good times -- the time you tried (and failed) to tie a cherry knot using your tongue, singing annoying tween songs that are pointless but popular nonetheless, almost dying as you drove an ATV, spoon-fights and wrestling sessions, sunsets and walks in the rain -- everything. I would have nothing to hold on to, even the beautiful memories that made me happiest, because everything would be gone.

And you know what? No thanks. Give me all the emo cheesy songs I'd have to sing, the pints of ice cream I'd have to eat, the countless seemingly endless days I'd have to go through just to get over the pain. But I would never trade the memory of a significant relationship all for the sake of a clean slate. If it means forgetting even all the pleasure that came with that pain, then no thank you. For me, there is no memory worth forgetting. Because one little fact we unfortunately tend to forget is this: no matter how hard it may seem at first, you will get over it. You will see the silver lining. You will learn. One day you'll wake up, and it wouldn't hurt so bad anymore. Then you can look back on it not with remorse but contentment. Contentment that for that much pain, you also got so much more: strength. I'd much rather look back on life with a little remorse but with a sense of redemption, rather than look back on nothing.

I wish I never have to go through forgetting huge, important parts of my life. The scientific procedure in the movie is fictional, but amnesia, dementia, and Alzheimer's disease are all real. I'm scared of one day waking up and having no recollection of the life I lived, the life I'm living. I always want to remember. Everything. Every little detail.

Yes, even that time I farted real bad inside a prospective guy's car. *dies* Hey, what do you know, said guy is now the boy-nospace-friend. Maybe it was because of my undeniable fierceness? In every sense of the word :P

Wednesday is undeniably the most boring day of the weak. I call it the "hump" day because it's right smack in the middle -- the weekend seems so far away and it always feels like there are a LOT more stuff to do. Don't you get that feeling? Wednesdays are always hard to get by. So, I decided, why not do something to look forward to every Wednesday?

Enter Shuffle Wednesdays. Because my favorite thing to do on my iPod (next to organizing my playlists) is playing Shuffle on it, why not share it with all you guys? I will come up with several random songs using the Shuffle mode and put them here for your auditory pleasure. It feels like a big deal to me actually because I've always been possessive about the songs and bands I know and love. I have an unexplained aversion towards mainstream, and so I prefer my favorite music to remain under the radar. But it's about time I grow up and learn to share them with you guys. After all, you deserve something more from this blog other than just my rantings after all these years.

On to the music. I'll give you a full batch of ten for the first one. Download them, listen to them, share them, do whatever you please. Press Play!

(As/Is Live In Cleveland, OH)

- As I have always said, John Mayer is poetry with an acoustic guitar. He never fails with his songs. Never. I just downloaded his entire discography (that's 2GB worth of album tracks and live performances) and may I just say, it was sooo worth it. So don't be surprised when he always pops up in the Shuffle. Also: Thank God his concert was moved to October 1st!

(Something To Write Home About)

- This song have always meant a lot to me, especially in my junior year of high school when I first heard it. It's a song that starts out gentle and slow, that some may consider to be bordering on emo but is still to me one of the simplest but most beautiful songs ever written. It was played in Episode 3x15 of One Tree Hill.

(A Fever You Can't Sweat Off)

- Who doesn't know of this song? It will always be my "Valentine's Day" theme song. The acoustic version is much more awesome though. Brendon Urie's bedroom voice = WHOA.

(Wish)

- One of my favorites from this band. It sings of longing and regret. Very haunting, and gives you the kind of nostalgia that is almost painful to listen to as it is to feel.

(Noon Time Show: Commercial Break Edition)

- Cheery pop rock happiness is always served best by Itchyworms. I love this version better than the original. It's every wishful/desperate admirer's song.

(You Gotta Go There To Come Back)

- This can be a good accompanying song/response to "To Wish Impossible Things" since on the other hand this sings of disbelief that his ex still cannot get over him.

(Left Side, Strong Side)

- It's such a shame that this band broke up already because I loved them a lot. I discovered them in my junior year also, and a number of their songs possess that rare quality of being catchy yet very meaningful.

(Under The Table And Dreaming)

- Dave Matthews Band. Enough saaaaid.

(Live at Merriweather Post Pavillion)

- One of the most aching and truthful songs ever written. The first time I heard this in my dorm room during freshman year of college, I cried. I swear I did. It's such a painful admission of a doomed relationship -- there's no way out, it's a dead end. If this doesn't get to you, you're made of stone.

Translation: "Don't love me because I live in the shadow / don't love me to change the world / because anyway the world won't change / and we are all mirrors / made to be looked at / and become lonely and old."

- We discussed this song in my Italian11 class, and I ended up loving the song. The speaker is telling his lover to not love him because of his imperfections and his inadequacy to give her the love she deserves. Italians are known romantics and when translated to English, this will undeniably fall under the "super cheesy" category. But I don't know, I fell in love with this song. After this, I started downloading Italian songs for my own listening pleasure and for educational purposes as well.

Enjoy the first Shuffle! Until next Wednesday ;)

I hope this earns me one thousand good daughter points :D

I lie awake, riffs floating in between my ears, colds stifled inside nostrils, thoughts smothered for later. It was lethargic how the night went on without a wink of sleep paying me a visit. How odd it felt to stare at the shadows on the ceiling, tossing and turning around in bed, adjusting the electric fan for more than two hours when you're used to dozing off to slumber just a few seconds after hitting the pillow.

For a night of sleeplessness, it was filled to the brim with questions. And never-ending songs. Indeed, a 30GB iPod is a sudden insomniac's best friend.

And suddenly, slowly, the night unfolded itself to me. It was lethargic. But it was empty. It was as if seeing swirling colors in bubbles -- you see them there and yet they don't seem to exist. I cannot explain it. All I know was that I was hearing and feeling something different from the music I have always listened to in my iPod. Words were coming to me, ideas were popping out of my head. I was confused. Was I in trance? Or was I just desperately sleepless? Why the sudden gush of words, of pictures, of questions?

I wanted to write it down. To type it. To draw it. There was something in my mind but unless it became tangible I cannot make sense of it. It was like being silently suffocated, however I didn't know by what. (Although, for some part, maybe it was due to my bad colds, which was why I found myself sniffing the Vicks inhaler for quite a lot of times that night.)

But the fear of unleashing the mother's wrath for one's unsleeping offspring stopped me. I hugged my pillow tight, hoping to make it go away, or at least reserve it for some other time -- maybe after more sleep. Yet, I couldn't fall asleep. Army Millare's lines were haunting. Still I tossed, and turned, resisting the urge to exhaust my mind into figuring out the complex at that time of dawn. I had to sleep.

Okay, so I did fall asleep. Albeit very, very late and discontinuously. I still don't know what happened to me last night. Why did it feel so empty, yet refreshing? Am I going crazy? It feels like I am. It's the weirdest shit, I know. I knowww.

And now, in a (seemingly failed) attempt to explain what happened, I'm at a loss for words. I don't know. It doesn't make sense. I tried triggering the state of daze again by plugging in Up Dharma Down's songs but nothing comes to me. What happened to me last night?

Maybe it's my mind telling me to loosen up. Relax. Get rest. Or maybe it's about time I stop listening to my iPod before I go to sleep.

My newest baby.

As the jeep passed by the Oblation, turning a left towards the waiting shed before Vargas Museum, I glanced my head outside the window hoping to see how far I still was from the AS-FC walk because I was almost late for my 9 am class. But what flashed before me was a picturesque view of tall trees shading the Academic Oval as if warmly welcoming you to another day into its arms. I see this everyday but this morning it felt new and inviting. It was 8:57 on my watch, but I just really had to stop for a second and appreciate the view before I went back to rushing to my class.

This is the first time I would be taking summer classes -- ever. My philosophy has always been to enjoy the summer break because it's the only reward you can really give yourself after an extremely stressful year. It gives you ample time to fully recharge before bracing yourself for yet another battle with the university life. But because of blockmate-pressure and the desire to make this summer more productive than usual, I enrolled for CL114 (Drama), which is a prerequisite to CW 141 (Playwriting). Our creative writing specialization classes require a specific genre of literature as a prerequisite, so this is one way of lessening my load for next semester. It's not all that bad really because I'm with two of my best friends but what sucks is that while everyone else is probably frolicking in the sand, or still curled lazily in front of the TV, I have to drag myself out of bed everyday to learn about Euripides and melodrama.

Honestly though, I'm not really complaining that much. I mean sure, I would much rather spend my time at home honing my mouse-clicking and keyboard-typing skills. But the optimist in me is looking forward to this actually. At least I'm going to immerse myself in literature, something I love enough to work hard at no matter how difficult it may seem. And if anything, there are only four weeks left anyway, so it will all be over soon.

Meanwhile, I'm spending my afternoons catching up on some of my favorite shows, Sex and The City and Ally McBeal, both of which I love because their lead characters are living the life I've always been dreaming of: that of a writer and of a lawyer. Who would've thought that I'm actually getting closer to becoming both? :)

My mom and I had a shopping date at 168 in Divisoria today. It's been quite some time since I last went shopping there. Oh, how I missed it! Nothing beats shopping at Divisoria; it is the ultimate shopping adventure -- from the relentless pursuit of the perfect item to the persistent haggling to the struggle with the crowd. The aisles never seem to end, and the stores never seem to run out of goods. The whole experience is enough to wipe anyone out to exhaustion. Ahh, it all sounds stressful. But ironically, there is a reason why it's called therapy - it's alleviating.

It's the Vistan gene. Me, my mom, and titas and lola from the mother's side are all shopaholics. We scour the streets of Divisoria, Bangkok, Singapore, and Bali for hours and hours on end with nothing but our inexorable desire to look for the best buys with us. (And yes, comfortable slippers.) Sometimes we start early (we get to 168 before 8:30) or sometimes we get there late (like in Bangkok's night markets) but whatever the time is, we're always ready to comb through all the stores with much gusto. It's a form of bonding for us. It's no wonder my lolo never complains about our shopping compulsion -- imagine, with him on a trip are five shopaholic girls. He's gotten very much used to it.

One thing about shopping is that it has a way of alleviating my neuroses. Like, after everything stressful and frustrating that has happened to me, when I get to buy something for myself that I know I worked hard for, it's rewarding. It makes me feel like I deserve something. It motivates me. I know it's wrong to be so materialistic, but for me, shopping isn't about amassing a huge amount of clothes for me to brag about. It's about giving myself something that makes me feel better. I guess it stems from the little principle my parents taught me that if you do good, then you deserve something good. If I have enough money and earned the right to reward myself, why shouldn't I shop?

But more than that, I think the satisfaction in shopping springs from the struggle. You find joy in not just buying for yourself, but in the actual pursuit for it. The search is what thrills you, like you're on a hunt for some secret treasure you have yet to discover. You enter a tiangge with no exact purchase in mind, just always with that feeling of "I know it when I see it." And you do. You find a glorious item on a stall and you just know you were meant to have it. You haggle with the saleslady, sometimes flattering them, sometimes feigning indifference, but always with the same goal in mind: to own it. And when at last you get to have it, when that plastic bag is finally in your hands, there's no greater feeling. You don't need anything else. (Or at least until the next cute item.)

Shopping is exhilarating, really.

I guess life is one big shopping adventure. We shop for the best experiences, find the greatest adventures, look for the perfect people. We never stop walking, never stop searching until we get that which we truly want. Because let's face it, settling for anything is never satisfying. We have to really comb through everything to get our heart's desires. And when we do get them, at no matter what cost, we know, we just know, that everything is going to be okay.

And why wouldn't everything be okay when you have the cutest blouse to start your summer with? :)



P.S. The best shopping buddy is always the Mom.

It's always in the most ungodly of hours that creativity sneaks in.

Ever since the beginning of my second year, my body clock has gone way off base. Before, midnight meant that distant acquaintance I just bump into ever so rarely, but now it's like a good old friend welcoming me into the deeper retreats of dawn. I blame acads for this of course. Why else would I be sleeping late if it weren't for papers and reports to finish? But okay, sometimes it's Facebook's fault too (and Plurk's.) And yes, I'm still also partly blaming the jet lag from my US trip last summer -- hey, it was fifteen long hours!

I am not an insomniac, just to clarify things. No, I am not in denial. I still can sleep at night when I will myself to sleep. I just close my eyes shut and off I go to deep slumber. But I can't believe that I actually got used to this staying up late. Me, the sleepyhead. Me, the conscious eight-hour-sleeper. Me, who hated staying up late for anything. And now look at me. I am a shadow of the night. I lie in wait for the darkness. I have become part of that elusive dimness that I used to tiptoe in hesitantly. I am an acquired, self-taught, insomniac. I don't like it but I have to.

It happens when there are pages of critical analyses waiting to be done, or stories to be written, or poems to be revised. For some reason, ideas just do not come to me in broad daylight. It's as if words escape me on purpose, tormenting me as I stare dumbly at the blinking vertical cursor on screen. It's torture especially when my whole body is aching for the bed, whose sheets are longing to wrap themselves around me and, and the pillows, which my arms so badly want to embrace. But I cannot because my mind cannot fathom sleeping without getting any work done. And so I slave myself off into the night, with inspiration dawning upon me only until the wee hours of the morning. (Maybe it's supposed to dawn at dawn? Hmm.)

But honestly, I've slowly found comfort in the night. When everyone else is asleep, no one asking, no one talking, no one to entertain, no one to listen to -- that's when I feel most at ease. I used to think that I could not survive in silence; I had to talk, I had to hear something, someone. And yet, it surprises me how I crave for the quietude that only the depths of the night can give me. It's the only time I can think to myself, talk to myself, hear myself. Reaching this level of stillness always give me some sort of high, like I can go to places or I can come up with something incredible. It's always in these ungodly hours that I feel attuned with everything but yet only aware of myself.

It's weird shit, I know.

I think it's because of these post-midnight moments that I realize how much I actually value silence and my alone time. Nowadays, I don't like being disturbed that much. I do mind when my personal bubble is invaded. Sometimes, I just really want to go home and hibernate. So what, have I been unconsciously turned into a hermit? Have I been deceiving myself, all my life thinking I was a social butterfly but deep down I'm really an introvert, a loner? Well, I do enjoy hanging out with friends and family, meeting new people, talking about anything and everything. But I guess it's just also rewarding to have these quiet moments all to myself. It soothes me. Ironically, I am able to recharge myself in my sleeplessness.

But wait. Who am I kidding? I love sleeping. I really do. I'd give anything to have a decent eight-hour slumber. Lack of sleep is bad for the health. It causes breakouts and does not allow you to get the complete rest and recharging your body needs for another day's work. It's not good at all. Why am I even justifying this? WHY?

I blame the jet lag. And maybe, sleeplessness.

I am probably the last person in the (cyber) world who still does not have a Tumblr account. I don't know why but the whole thing just does not really appeal to me. And please don't even try the "You just haven't tried it long enough to enjoy it," excuse on me because I did try it at one point but it never got to me. Sure, it looks fun reblogging and sharing pictures and quotes. Call me old-fashioned but I actually like and prefer having a blog in which I can really write on and does not need to have followers to be deemed worthy of maintaining. I don't need the pressure of having to follow people whose lives I don't give a care about and seeing them constantly re-appear on my dashboard -- I think Facebook is already doing too much of that for me.

That being said, I can't help noticing how much my Facebook homepage has been converted into a second avenue for Tumblr updates. The other day I couldn't help clicking when I saw one interesting quote -- I figured this was what Tumblr thrived on: the intrigue and curiosity by what one has posted -- and was suddenly taken into an unplanned Tumblr-hopping. This is the part where I should be saying, "Boy was I wrong to turn my back on this place! It's awesome!" But no. What I got was a sad, sad realization.


More than half of Tumblogs I stumbled upon (sTumbld? Haha) had typographies with really, really bad grammar. As in, holy [expletive] awful. The place was brimming with love or emo quotes, most of them having the most obvious but often neglected grammatical errors. And actually very cheesy too but I can let the mushiness slide. The grammar however, I cannot. I don't know if this was just the Grammar Nazi/English major in me kicking in, but whatever it was, it pained me. Really.

First thing that came to mind was "Why?" Why can't they differentiate YOUR from YOU'RE? Or THEIR from THEY'RE? Or that EVERYONE is always singular therefore it's supposed to be "Everyone 'has' or 'had'" and not "Everyone have"? Come on, we learned these in grade school. It's really all just basic grammar.

And the next thing was another big "Why?" Why aren't people reacting? These quotes are still being reblogged repeatedly with only "Love it!" and "Awww, tagos??" comments but no one actually commenting on them. I understand it may be embarrassing, but if you can't correct it, you can at least not reblog it. The more it gets re-published, the more people think it's okay. In the first place, I'm not even sure if people know they are grammatical errors or they're just letting it slide. I have to admit that it irks me, especially when the errors are glaring at me in big, bold, colorful letters [e.g. "Everyone have that one special person.."] as if doing it on purpose. It's irritating to see some angry girl having a poorly constructed bitchy statement to her ex on her page. Honey, not intimidating at all, trust me.

Now before you go on the offense let me just say: We're human, we're not perfect. I know. And I too admit to grammatical mistakes sometimes. We can't help it, especially when we're really furious or excited. Of course we're bound to miss a few letters here and there. But that shouldn't be an excuse for sloppy grammar every single time. We should at least be conscious of the rules because they wouldn't be taught to us if they weren't important.

Maybe some of you will say, "Who needs to get the English language right anyway? Most people understand it whether you get it wrong or not." Let me tell you how fallacious that statement is. The number of people "getting" that grammatically incorrect statement doesn't make it any less wrong. It still has an error; it still needs to be corrected. The English language is a system with rules and guidelines that we follow in order to use and maximize the language fully, and we cannot do that unless we actually go by them. It's like proving an equation without using the right theorems. Where's the sense in that?

It saddens me that most people don't care about grammar anymore. They deem it unimportant compared to other more pressing issues in life to worry about. Well, that may be true. But it wouldn't hurt to at least brush up and go back to the basics now, would it? If anything it can only lead to self-improvement and less embarrassment. I think there's nothing classier than a bitch who can get her prepositions right.

I hold the English language in high regard, not only because I'm a CW major but simply because it is a language that should be respected. Much like Filipino or any other lingua franca for that matter. Grammar is one of the most basic but essential things we learn in school that actually matters a lot in the real world -- the least we can do is get it right.

And while we're on this, you can check this out: 10 Words You Need To Stop Misspelling.

Today, I am a hermit.

Tomorrow is my dreaded Eng23 (Shakespeare) exam with the equally dreaded professor, and so since last night I was firm in my resolve to read through all five plays we have discussed. Yes, it was an extremely nerdy thing to do. Suffering for the Bard. Would thou thinketh me capable of doing this? Ay, I thinketh not. But since 10 pm last night, I have not seen the light of day. I haven't eaten rice too, and have not taken a shower. (Okay that was totally irrelevant, but since we're talking about sacrifice.. and besides I am all alone in my dorm room! No one will fall victim to my out-of-bed stink.)

I only have one last play left to read, King Lear, but given that it was the most recent play we discussed, I'm quite confident I still remember it well. So, there. I'm right on schedule. Hence, I give myself a much-deserved break.

From the 16th century's greatest poet, I move on to who I think is today's most talented and dashing composer/musician: John Mayer. Yes, John Mayer is my escape. My sweet, darling escape from the tyranny of academics.

It really saddens me how I may not be able to watch his concert due to the very unreasonably expensive tickets (Oh but how I would love to pay P12,000 to watch him if only I had the cash!) and also the disappointing venue (MOA again? Psshyeah.) I'm still hoping against hope that fate will turn to my favor but until then, I shall settle with filling the four walls of my dorm room with his music. Ahhh. Nothing like Room for Squares playing inside our room of.. well, there are square-shaped tiles here. So, yeah. Parallelism?

We are all too familiar with the feeling of a song seemingly written for us or by us because we can completely relate with its words. Well, that's precisely what happened just a while ago. While listening to "No Such Thing" (Google the lyrics and search for the song on YouTube if you must), I can't help but suddenly think about life -- yes, it's ironic that it's John Mayer, not William freakin' Shakespeare who put me in the mood to wax philosophical. I left high school two years ago with medals and certificates under my belt. I was made to believe that I was someone relevant, like I have already earned a place in the world. And yet, I stepped in UP and I realized I was nobody. No one cared if I was a consistent honor student, or if I was an active debater and leader. In college, no one knew who I was and all I had for myself was a blank transcript of records waiting to be filled. I had to start from scratch. Two years down the road, I hardly think I've made myself even half of who I was in high school. I'm not into any organizations, I don't even participate in school politics. I don't think it's because St. Paul lied to me and made me believe I was capable when in fact I wasn't. And it also isn't because UP does not encourage personal and social growth at all. But perhaps, I just had enough of all that in high school that I felt like I don't need to prove myself anymore here. The pressure to be competitive in high school was insane. I felt like everyone else was breathing down my neck, pushing me to do better. But now, I'm fine being where I am. I like being average and normal for once.

Sometimes when I look back at my high school life, I can't help wondering how superficial everything was compared to life now. We were all just driven by grades, student council elections, and graduating with honors. But there is more to life than just being a valedictorian, or being the most popular kid in school. When you step outside that little world you've been in for 12 years, the reality of your minuteness to the rest of the world dawns on you. It can be overwhelming, but it's also actually relieving when you realize that the spotlight's not always on you. You can be who you are, and that's fine. You don't always have to be who everyone expects you to be.

Which suddenly reminds me of this line from Antipholus of Syracuse in The Comedy of Errors:

Which then reminds me of this line from "Love Song for No One"

(Haha, does anyone get it? :P)

So what is my point? I have no idea. But this is what you get when you close me off from the world, and leave me with two writers I am completely going crazy over (one literally, the other metaphorically. Go figure.)

I'm not sure if I'm making sense. I'm just blabbing away. It's been a while since I blogged without really thinking of what I'm typing, haha. Oh well. I'm off to finish this real-life Shakespearean tragedy that is my English23 class. I shalt do well tomorrow! But not before I take a shower first..

God, it's 1:04 am and I'm still awake. Not wide awake, mind you, because it's just my guilty conscience that's forcing my mind to work, work, work on this reaction paper on stories for our Cl184 (Gay Writing) class. Yes, I love gays with all their fairy dust and frills, but come on, reading 9 short (but actually long) stories on homosexuality in just one night?

The problem is despite so many things I seem to have accomplished for the last week -- a group defense, a critical analysis on two short stories, reading up in advance -- there are still so many things left to do. I still have a play and an exam this Friday, a recital on Saturday, film viewing on Monday, Philo oral exams on Tuesday, another exam on Wednesday and finally, the dreaded Shakespeare exam next Friday.

It's ironic how I can still push myself to work hard when my bed is desperately calling out for me. My body is literally giving up on me already. I am in serious sleep deprivation. I'm hungry and craving for oreos. I feel tired and messed up.

GOD, I NEED A VACATION. RIGHT NOW.

I just really want to get this month over with already :(

They say one can be defined by the things they sleep with -- you can tell what kind of person you are simply by the things you hold dear before traipsing in slumber. Well, I guess I'd leave you the judge of that, based on the books I have stacked beside me by my bed. I'm not the type of person who can just settle reading one book, I have to read at least two novels to push me into finishing them. I don't know, I guess I get bored easily and the idea of having more than one story and numerous characters makes it all the more challenging and exciting for me. I'm weird like that.

I never get tired of reading it, sometimes going over the whole thing, other times just sifting through my favorite parts. The seminal tale of a middle-aged man falling madly in love with a 12-year-old nymphet is undeniably one of the best novels written, not only because of its riveting plot but because of its beautiful prose. The words alone are enough to seduce you and reel you inside Humbert's mind of lust, love, and longing.

The book that got the local literary scene talking by gaining international awards. I just finished reading this last week but it's still on top of my bedside table. Definitely one of the best local novels out there. Miguel Syjuco presents a seemingly simple story in a complex but intricately woven manner that makes it easy to read but quite tough to digest. One has to read between the lines to get through the humor and message, which makes it a very thought-provoking and entertaining read. Syjuco certainly did the nation proud.

Subtitled "Royal Women Who Met Bad Ends, from Cleopatra to Princess Di", it may seem like a clever book not for the modern-day woman who wants history backing up her ambitions. Sure, it's a compilation of accounts about all the feisty, strong women from the Biblical era up to the present and how their lives took a tragic turn after gaining power -- and that might get to the audience across as, "Let's kill girl power because it just killed girls!" But reading about Cleopatra (who knew she married her brother?), Anne Boleyn (poor girl) and other more obscure but equally fascinating queens just only fuels the desire to step up and do better. Fearless femme fatales, oh yeah!

It's my birthday gift from The Boy-nospace-friend, back when he was still a boy-space-friend. It was supposed to be funny, because I used to manipulate him to flattering me in Italian before, and besides, it's a book full of curses and naughty phrases, but I think it was really thoughtful of him to give me this :P And besides, it's an awesome book! Now I can curse (and flirt) in Italian! -- except that no one understands. :))

(Off-topic: Speaking of Italian, my new piece for this semester's piano recital is Italian Mariner Song by Robert Schumann. I'd also be having my first exam in Italian 12/13 on Friday. And I'm listening to my favorite Italian song Non Amarmi by Aleandro Baldi and Francesca Alotta. I italiani devono fiero di me! HAHA!)

What's on your bedside table? ;)

There are so many things I have said and will continue to say about Papa because he's just too awesome, really. But last year's Father's Day blog entry may be hard to top, and besides I know deep inside he squirms when people adulate him, most especially me.

So in the very rare occasion that he does come across this, let me keep it short and sweet:

Happy Father's Day, Papa! :) You'll always be the number one man in my life, and I'll always be your number one girl.

Oops, no wait, number two. Hey, Ma. :)

I've been saving these last words for

one last miracle but I'm not sure

I can't save you if you don't let me

It's been two years since I started living in Katipunan. I can still remember that first night: no microwave, no television, no internet. Just my bed, my clothes, my school supplies, and myself. Being the spoiled, pampered girl that I was in high school, suddenly being thrust into this place so far away from home was frightening. Of course, it was exciting too, but it was nothing compared to the fear. It was a whole new world out here -- no comfort of high school friends calling you, no assurance of a delicious home-cooked meal, no sign of parents waiting for you. Everything was just completely different. I wanted to prove myself strong and independent, but a huge part of me just really wanted to go back to Paranaque and crawl under my bed sheets. And that happened everyday, every week.

Flash forward to now. My parents just brought me back to the dorm this afternoon. I'm all alone in my room, with the television and the pouring of the rain playing in the background as I confirm friend requests. I wait for my tea to finish heating in the microwave to make me feel a little warm. I no longer feel the emptiness of my room, as I glance at my table already filled with too many readings. I still miss my real queen-sized bed, but there is comfort in this tiny little bed I am sitting on right now. This whole place, it doesn't feel alien anymore, it doesn't feel sad.

After two years, I'm no longer just a part of it, it's a part of me. I will always be a South girl, and I will always miss Paranaque, but this is also my place now. It's finally what it should be: home. Katipunan is home. UP is home.

I am home.

The Chemistry Pavillion of UP Diliman's Palma Hall was in flames early this morning after an electrical device was left plugged inside one of the rooms, igniting the fire. What's worse, the chemicals inside the building worsened the fire which made it more difficult for the firemen to extinguish it. Classes in Palma Hall and all the four pavilions were suspended for the day.

I have no connections whatsoever to the Chem Pav because (duh) I'm an English major. Sure, I go there every now and then to visit friends while they wait for their profs or to accompany them when submitting papers but other than that I have no affiliation to the dreaded C word. I never really liked Chemistry in the first place (and it never liked me), so the fact that I don't have academic reasons to visit the place is actually a relief.

But there is a reason why that Chem Pav is particularly special to me. Why? Because it was where I took the UPCAT. How was I supposed to forget that momentous day filled with jitters, fear, and a tremendous amount of brain damage? That building will (unfortunately) always be associated with nausea and anxiety, but it's nervousness well-cherished, because that is precisely the venue that decided my fate. Vivid images of the hallways, the staircase, the rooms flash before my eyes and suddenly I'm back to August 5, 2007. I can still remember standing outside, looking nervously at my permit (and my ugly-ass picture), silently observing fellow UPCAT takers, wondering about my future. The amount of pressure that weighed on my shoulders on that day was huge because the next four years of my life would depend on it.

Andee and I passed by Chem Pav a while ago to make "usyoso." It wasn't completely destroyed, but you could see how bad the damage was. The windows panes were lined with heavy black traces and the smell of burned chemicals lingered. It looked sad and deserted. It also looked like it would take a while to be restored. It was kind of depressing. That was the place where I took the UPCAT! It's got a place in my personal history! And now it's -- well, not gone, but -- really, badly ruined. But because I am completely unassociated with it, I can't help but also feel, well, a little indifferent. After all, I'm not the one who's going to suffer Chem17 makeup classes.

Being the over-thinker that I am, I can't help but wonder: Is there a metaphorical analogy behind this? Is it a premonition for something? Do I need to read between the lines? Does this mean that my UP dreams would go down in flames as well? Oh God! *exaggeration caused by too much fiction* What does this mean?

Well, I'm not sure about the whole symbolism thing. I have yet to come up with an elaborate story on that. But one thing I'm sure of right now is that classes in Palma Hall (AS) today and tomorrow are suspended. And that meant only one thing to me right now: NO ITALIAN CLASSES!

So is it so wrong to feel so relieved?

Over the span of forty eight hours I have gone from relaxed to excited to wasted, and all just after five subjects or so. I swear this is going to be my most toxic semester yet -- and yes I am already certain of that. My majors this sem are mostly English and CL courses, which means I would have tons of reading to do. It's not surprising given my course, but I guess the sheer idea of the volume of work for the remaining months dawns on me and right now, I'm kind of hyperventilating. If you only saw the readings and books! But with a bit of luck, maybe I can manage. My latest dismissal is at 4:00 pm, so hopefully I would have enough time on my hands to catch up on my reading lists.

But probably the biggest hurdle would be my Italian 12/13. It's an integrated advanced Italian class worth 6 units, meaning I have it everyday. And my God, right now my head is still reeling from the shock I got in class. My last Italian class (Italian 11) was in my second year, first semester, so I have to admit that I am kind of rusty. The year in between was obviously not spent in watching Rai Italia or watching Italian movies, so I guess I came to class with the thought that "Hey, it's the first day. What could go wrong?" Well, turns out, EVERYTHING. Our teacher came in class, with no English greetings and introductions, and just started blabbing on and on -- in Italian. I was picking up random words here and there, but everything else was all a blur. I kept asking inside my head, "Where are the fucking subtitles? I don't understand anything!" And the worst part was when I was asked a question, I had to fumble a grammatically incorrect statement and then a quick apology after. Boy, was it embarrassing. Well, my teacher seems strict but he's actually kind of funny. Kind of. Aaargh. I really have to brush up on those verbs again. And tune in to the Italian Channel and actually listen.

Then, just this afternoon, it rained so hard (with matching thunder and lightning) that taking the commute home was yet another challenge. Katipunan jeeps inside UP are actually quite extinct but always sought-after. The jeepney terminal lines meanwhile are always a mile long, and even a mile longer when it's pouring. I'm used to it, but I guess after all the negative vibes that I have accumulated so far, my commute today was really like rubbing salt on an open wound.

The only silver lining in all this would have to be my PE class. It's funny (in a sad sort of way) that my schedule is the exact opposite of my boyfriend's. All of my class times are his breaks, and vice versa. I swear, if you saw our schedules, you would laugh at the irony. We had zero chance of ever seeing or even bumping into each other on weekdays due to conflicting schedules, and on weekends because of his exams and of course, because we would be going back home. But our last hope of ever seeing each other this semester was my PE class. Thank the stars for my professor, who used to be my prof in my Walking class two years ago. He was very kind and funny about the prerog (there's a great story about that particular prerog process but maybe I'll keep that for now), and to keep the story short: my boyfriend got in the class! So hooray for that!

The first week isn't even finished yet, and here I am already ranting about the sem. I know I have to think positive and be strong and yadda, yadda, yadda. But oh, I just feel so tired. Maybe I just need to sleep this off. Or maybe I just need ice cream?

I suddenly feel McFlurries summoning.

As Andee, Jamie and I were waiting (im)patiently in line for enrollment last Wednesday, our idle minds couldn't help but talk about our future and what lies ahead the three of us in creative writing. As I have mentioned in a previous post, it has become a slow, arduous battle with words, rhyme, plots, and climaxes. It was never easy. Even for me, who admittedly still enjoys the course in general. The thought of being somewhere else, busying ourselves with other things can often be comforting. But at that very moment, while waiting for our adviser to arrive, we are still CW students. Nothing else.

But while we were stuck in the unmoving, monotonous present (that is, the line we were in), it was only natural for our thoughts to fly somewhere else - somewhere in the past, and in the future. Of course, the inevitable "Remember our freshman enrollment?" nostalgia trip was to occur. It happens every enrollment, every semester. We would reminisce how the five of us waited by the door of our adviser, warily asking what high school we came from, what PEs we had, what time our English 11 was. We would laugh at the door incident we had with a bitchy (gay) prof as we were about to enter his room. We would shake our heads in embarrassment over our dumb questions about the Toki route and library clearances. Every recollection of that day would somehow make us feel better about ourselves - oh how much we've grown, how much we've learned since then. And suddenly, all would be well again.

However this time was different. Usually, by the moment we finish laughing over the time we still had our moms with us for that enrollment, the lines would start moving and we would be abruptly pulled back to the present, leaving no time for reminiscing, but for e-prerog, post-advising, assessment and payment woes. But because this semester's adviser was known for being notoriously late, we had no choice but to sit there (im)patiently and keep on talking, complaining, and unavoidably, wondering.

Suddenly, it dawned on us. Third year. Goodness, we're halfway through! Even after all the bitching and anxiety-attacks over our course, we've finished two years. Just two more years to go, and before you know it, it's yearbook photographs and graduation tears all over again. But unlike high school, where stepping into junior year only gets you excited about the future, this time it's different. This time, there's this big scary place waiting for us after we get our diplomas - what's that called again? Oh yeah, right. REAL LIFE. (Also: Law school!)

Checking our curriculum course list and crossing out all the subjects I have already taken, it became apparent to me how near (yet far) the end is already. I only had seventeen subjects to go, excluding the ones I would be taking this first semester. That's 17 subjects in 3 semesters. That's 51 units left. Seems like a lifetime more to go, but seeing my course list almost halfway crossed out was the tangible proof that I am almost there. Almost. Almost. Almost. And I didn't know what to feel.

But that's the thing with almosts. It possesses the power of both a need and a want. It can be a stimulus or a disincentive. It may bring forth regret, or contentment. The good thing with almost though, is that it is never a plateau. Once you realize an almost, it's a plunge right down to either the greatest thing in your life, or the worst. It's the big drop on a rollercoaster, the big turning point of a story. It's where you make things happen (or not happen), right when you realize, "I'm almost there."


And what happened after my philosophical musings on our future? Well, we were to wait an hour or so more before she finally signed our Form 5A's. What's new? UP is not known for being the University of Pila for nothing. If anything, the most important lesson they want to teach us (but we stubbornly refuse) is patience. So the three of us ended up quoting the entire Mean Girls movie again. Almost.

Here's to Junior year aka The Almost Year. Let's do this!

OH FUDGE, I JUST MISSED THE DASHBOARD CONFESSIONAL CONCERT.

/wrists

It has always been a vicious love-hate cycle between the CRS and the rest of the UP Diliman students. It's much like the dream girl everyone wants to snag -- it's the embodiment of pure frustration. You get your hopes up so high, anticipating a much desired result, only to end up rejected and defeated. You try and try until you get what you deserve, only to be turned down in the end. The CRS is treacherous and cunning -- especially to (embittered) upperclassmen. But then again, it has its good moments. Much like any girl being courted, maybe it's just asking you to be more patient. And persevering. Because sometimes, if you're lucky, you get the much needed love you so rightfully deserve.

(Or maybe it's the gods way of bringing me back good karma for not cursing the CRS so much?)

This semester, I got a PE! Through pre-enlistment! I cannot even begin to explain how excited I am over this! Woooooh! Duckpin Bowling! I don't care how lame it might sound, as long as I have a PE!

Dear CRS, you deserve to be thanked in this post. I love yoooou! \:D/

Sorry wasn't able to do The Shuffle last week, but we're back in action today! So we're leaving for Singapore later today, around 9 pm, and we'd be back by Monday next week. I'm pretty excited for this trip because 1) I've been wanting to have a real, proper summer getaway because my summer this year was taken up by acads, 2) I want to go shopping again, and 3) Universal Studios Singapore! \m/ Little known fact: My tita, mom's sister, is the project manager of Universal Studios Singapore so we've all known this for a few years already, seeing her designs and all the other cool rides and now finally, I get to experience it! So yeaaaah!

So someone left me an interesting question in my question box. (Yes, I'm surprised there are still people who bother asking! Haha.)

It's just very timely, I guess because my blockmates and I have been discussing this for the last few days. We're incoming juniors, and we're almost at that make-or-break stage in our college lives already. There's practically no turning back, and yet it's inevitable to feel doubtful about the career path we're (about to be) taking, especially since it's often deemed as a unprofitable choice. Nobody really takes it seriously, I suppose. So yes, it can get frustrating.

First let me give you a background story: In 2008, the CW freshman block only had 6 students. That was me, Andee, Jamie, Rose, Cathy, and Jonika. Cathy shifted out, Rose took an LOA and is also shifting out, Jonika dropped out of school -- which leaves only the Three Musketeers aka The Plastics (see previous post) aka Karla-Andee-Jamie. It was wearisome to see the already small block slowly diminishing, but it was understandable. We made "tampo" to those who left, but we never really forced them to stay. After all, if that was what they wanted, why stop them? They have their reasons.

As for me, CW is actually my pre-law course. It's a stepping stone for my actual dream, which is to become a lawyer. But I also love to write, and read. Literature and English have always been my strengths so it wasn't such a bad idea. Anyway, I felt like I had enough passion for this course to pursue it, so I didn't find any reason to shift at all.

Most people will claim that CW is a lame and effortless course compared to, say, engineering or chemistry. But what people don't realize is that it's a course that depends more on talent and skill rather than book-smarts. You have to be really good at it to survive, and most of all you have to be passionate about it. I know that goes for all the other courses too but ours is fueled by nothing but that. Unlike math or physics that you can study with books and problem sets, you cannot actually study how to write. Sure, we are given lots of readings, and we are taught techniques, but there is no one way of doing it. You have to find your way, then let it do the working for you.

This is where it gets frustrating. Because I think none of us in the block were really writers per se, as in people who walk around seeing poetry in nature, and finding inspiration in almost anything. We like writing, and we're all undeniably bookworms, but I don't think any of us were that dedicated. We weren't really artists.

It can get discouraging to be reading about Brechtian didactics on plays or coming up with short stories and villanelles when you really don't have the innate desire for it. Creative Writing is a pretty tedious course. We have an insane amount of readings that you cannot afford to not read. We need an indefinite time to create prose and poetry. And really, we have to have passion for it. But sometimes, that passion dries up. And when that happens, we're screwed. We don't always feel like reading or writing, but we have to. Because that's what our course is about.

So to answer your question: yes, it is difficult. It's underrated. It's easy to want to give up. I dare whoever wants to belittle our course to discuss the different elements of plays and their modern/postmodernist approaches, or to defend Walter Pater's "Art for art's sake" stand. Or even just to come up with a 10-page critical analysis of an 18th century poem.

That's why I cannot blame my (remaining) blockmates for wanting to leave. I understand the pain, the frustration, the anxiety. What is the point in all of this anyway? It's not any easier but unlike the other courses, it's more difficult to see the practical purpose of this career. I honestly told them that even if it will sadden me a bit, I will support their decision 100% should they decide to shift. Because I know it's getting hard for them, and their hearts lie somewhere else.

But what about me? Despite the apparent struggles, have I ever considered shifting? No. Honestly, I doubt my writing capabilities. I don't think I am a good writer. Okay, maybe I know more words and commit lesser errors than some people, but I don't see myself as a real, actual artist. But I don't want to shift. The most obvious reason is because I'm already two years down, and only two more to go. I'm a half-baked CW student with no other subjects left to take but literature and CW majors. How am I going to shift? And where? I have nowhere to go. Sure, I may have really enjoyed philosophy class, or that sometimes I still wonder what it would be like if I pursued my mom's dream for me which was Accountancy, but it's all too late. And besides, I don't think I can handle any more debits and bank statements.

But more importantly, I think deep down in me, I know I can finish this course. I should finish this course. Not because I'm an awesome writer, or an extremely intelligent student, but because I know I like it enough to work hard on it. There was a reason why I chose this course and maybe all I have to do is keep finding that reason when I feel like giving up. I may not feel like I'm good at it, but I know I can make it through. I know it's difficult, but no matter what course I may be in, it will be difficult. Everything will be difficult. It all just boils down to how determined you are. And what your goal is. I'm going to keep myself afloat despite everything else that seems to drown me because I told myself when I started college that I'm going to finish this, so I will. Whatever it takes. Because this is what I have to do to get to what I really want, which is law school. I can't afford to mess it up. So I'm gonna have to suck it all up, work my ass off, and do my best.

I'm going to embrace being a writer, because I have to. Even if the only consistent "creative non-fiction" I do right now is blogging. Haha. :))

P.S. I just remembered I still have a final paper to submit for CL114. WHAT THE. So much for motivating myself. Tamad pa din ako T_T Hahaha. No waaait. Go fight, Bombastarrrr!

For the last few days, me and my blockmates Andy and Jamie have been quoting Mean Girls, endlessly. Yes. Endlessly. I can't remember how it started exactly but once we began we just couldn't stop. We can actually quote the entire movie from the beginning up until the end!

Last Wednesday, we they wore pink. (I didn't have any pink shirts at the dorm, so I can't sit with them. Haha.)

It's freshman orientation this week at UP. I first met Andy and Jamie the same week two years ago. It's funny how in a span of just twenty four months we've become the best of friends, finishing each other's sentences and understanding each other's fetishes. Funny, yet comforting all the same. It's nice knowing there are equally queer, eccentric and weird people as me.

If ever these guys get to read this: BOO, YOU WHORES :* I love you ;)


//


I just finished watching (500) Days of Summer again on my iPod. It always gets to me. Always. It doesn't stop hurting each time I watch it. It doesn't stop making me feel bad for Tom. It somehow always brings me back to times I wish I could forget, to times I thought I had found someone, but then ended up being completely wrong about it. I can't help rooting for Summer and Tom every time I watch the movie, because they complemented each other perfectly. And yet, somehow they didn't. It's true -- sometimes when looking back to the past, we can't help but romanticize everything, we can't help but drown ourselves in nostalgic bliss, making us regret losing what we had with that someone. But if there is anything I learned from this movie, it's that I have to stop looking through rose-colored glasses. Everything turned out the way it did because it just wasn't supposed to be. That's life.

And the good news is, there's always a new day. There's always someone better that would come along, someone who could complete us in a different way. And when that day comes, we could only be grateful that it didn't work out with the other one.


//


Summer classes end next week! I already feel so accomplished! \:D/

Watched Iron Man 2 today.

The movie made an incredible point that men all over the world should understand: It's not enough to just be cute and hot anymore. You have to be awesome at math and physics too. Because I swear, there is nothing hotter than a guy who can get his equations right. :">

Tony Stark is legendary. I think he just became my favorite superhero. Next to Batman of course. Who by the way, is also another hunky geek with awesome gadgets. I like not just boys with big toys, but boys who can actually make their big toys :))

Hmm. Maybe this is why I am unconsciously more attracted to guys who ace math. And breeze through physics. And can explain to me how car engines and refrigerators work. Yes, I think I have a fetish for engineers :))

So this week I was finally able to cross out one film from my bucket list, Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind. I have always known of its cult following and great reviews but never really got around to watching it because -- oh not surprisingly, I keep forgetting. (How ironic, eh?) Anyway, thanks to the awesome boy-no-space-friend, I finally did this week.

All I can say is, why did I not see it any sooner? By far one of the best movies of the decade. Heck, ever.

(Spoiler alert! If you haven't seen it, skip this entry. Or better yet, watch it already! Go go go, torrent!)

The first thing that struck me about the movie was the couple, really. Joel and Clem are complete opposites, presented to us with their own seemingly incompatible eccentricities, and yet in that initial moment of meeting, you just know there's a connection. I love how they both did not fit in the stereotyped perfect couple cookie mold, because they made the movie all the more enchanting to watch. I'd like believe somewhere out there, there is someone as complex (if not more) than me, and together we can complement the complicated mess that we are.

But of course, the undeniable element of this play is the idea of forgetting. Lacuna, Inc. is a company that claims to have the scientific capabilities of erasing only certain parts of your memory. By mapping which parts of your brain store these memories (through recalling and story-telling) and by surrendering all the items which will remind you of that which you want to forget, they can selectively remove them from your mind and the next day, wake up with no recollection of anything even remotely close to that event in your life. And that is precisely what the main characters did. Went to Lacuna, Inc. and got their exes removed. Not a trace of their former lover. Very ideal for past relationships don't you think?

I've had my own share of painful experiences (romantic or otherwise) that, truth be told, I would very much rather forget. If only I can erase it completely off my mind, maybe I would especially with a seemingly easy procedure. And wouldn't that be practical? No more nasty fights with your current lover about your not-so-distant past. No more missing, longing, wanting of something from the past that should be over. No more loose ties or remnants of unresolved feelings. And best of all, no regrets. Just a clean, fresh slate for everyone.

It sounds awesome, right? Forgetting sounds like the perfect escape.

The question was staring me in the eye: Given the chance, would I want to forget?

One thing about me though (and this is, sadly, non-fictional) is that I am very forgetful. Ask my mom that, and she'll probably give you an entire notebook filled with events caused by my short-term memory loss tendencies. Like that one time I left a newly bought swimsuit at MOA. Or when I forgot to pay for something. Or when I forget (present tense) my ID, wallet, cellphone and anything else essential. The list goes on and on. I don't know why, maybe I lack potassium or maybe I just hit my head really hard somewhere along the last eighteen years of my life, but I'm just really makakalimutin. And it not only annoys my mom to bits, but of course, me too. It takes a toll on my personal life. Oh imagine the horrors of forgetting something for class or for an exam! Those "I know I know this!" moments -- nghhh. Terribly frustrating. And if only I could find a cure to this, trust me, I'd poop bricks if that's what it would take. If only my forgetfulness can be selective -- only embarrassing and hurtful moments, rather than really significant ones. (Like monthsaries? Haha.)

But then I thought, erasing something as big a deal as that, say, an entire relationship will not only remove all memory of the fights and the nasty arguments, but as well as the good times -- the time you tried (and failed) to tie a cherry knot using your tongue, singing annoying tween songs that are pointless but popular nonetheless, almost dying as you drove an ATV, spoon-fights and wrestling sessions, sunsets and walks in the rain -- everything. I would have nothing to hold on to, even the beautiful memories that made me happiest, because everything would be gone.

And you know what? No thanks. Give me all the emo cheesy songs I'd have to sing, the pints of ice cream I'd have to eat, the countless seemingly endless days I'd have to go through just to get over the pain. But I would never trade the memory of a significant relationship all for the sake of a clean slate. If it means forgetting even all the pleasure that came with that pain, then no thank you. For me, there is no memory worth forgetting. Because one little fact we unfortunately tend to forget is this: no matter how hard it may seem at first, you will get over it. You will see the silver lining. You will learn. One day you'll wake up, and it wouldn't hurt so bad anymore. Then you can look back on it not with remorse but contentment. Contentment that for that much pain, you also got so much more: strength. I'd much rather look back on life with a little remorse but with a sense of redemption, rather than look back on nothing.

I wish I never have to go through forgetting huge, important parts of my life. The scientific procedure in the movie is fictional, but amnesia, dementia, and Alzheimer's disease are all real. I'm scared of one day waking up and having no recollection of the life I lived, the life I'm living. I always want to remember. Everything. Every little detail.

Yes, even that time I farted real bad inside a prospective guy's car. *dies* Hey, what do you know, said guy is now the boy-nospace-friend. Maybe it was because of my undeniable fierceness? In every sense of the word :P

Wednesday is undeniably the most boring day of the weak. I call it the "hump" day because it's right smack in the middle -- the weekend seems so far away and it always feels like there are a LOT more stuff to do. Don't you get that feeling? Wednesdays are always hard to get by. So, I decided, why not do something to look forward to every Wednesday?

Enter Shuffle Wednesdays. Because my favorite thing to do on my iPod (next to organizing my playlists) is playing Shuffle on it, why not share it with all you guys? I will come up with several random songs using the Shuffle mode and put them here for your auditory pleasure. It feels like a big deal to me actually because I've always been possessive about the songs and bands I know and love. I have an unexplained aversion towards mainstream, and so I prefer my favorite music to remain under the radar. But it's about time I grow up and learn to share them with you guys. After all, you deserve something more from this blog other than just my rantings after all these years.

On to the music. I'll give you a full batch of ten for the first one. Download them, listen to them, share them, do whatever you please. Press Play!

(As/Is Live In Cleveland, OH)

- As I have always said, John Mayer is poetry with an acoustic guitar. He never fails with his songs. Never. I just downloaded his entire discography (that's 2GB worth of album tracks and live performances) and may I just say, it was sooo worth it. So don't be surprised when he always pops up in the Shuffle. Also: Thank God his concert was moved to October 1st!

(Something To Write Home About)

- This song have always meant a lot to me, especially in my junior year of high school when I first heard it. It's a song that starts out gentle and slow, that some may consider to be bordering on emo but is still to me one of the simplest but most beautiful songs ever written. It was played in Episode 3x15 of One Tree Hill.

(A Fever You Can't Sweat Off)

- Who doesn't know of this song? It will always be my "Valentine's Day" theme song. The acoustic version is much more awesome though. Brendon Urie's bedroom voice = WHOA.

(Wish)

- One of my favorites from this band. It sings of longing and regret. Very haunting, and gives you the kind of nostalgia that is almost painful to listen to as it is to feel.

(Noon Time Show: Commercial Break Edition)

- Cheery pop rock happiness is always served best by Itchyworms. I love this version better than the original. It's every wishful/desperate admirer's song.

(You Gotta Go There To Come Back)

- This can be a good accompanying song/response to "To Wish Impossible Things" since on the other hand this sings of disbelief that his ex still cannot get over him.

(Left Side, Strong Side)

- It's such a shame that this band broke up already because I loved them a lot. I discovered them in my junior year also, and a number of their songs possess that rare quality of being catchy yet very meaningful.

(Under The Table And Dreaming)

- Dave Matthews Band. Enough saaaaid.

(Live at Merriweather Post Pavillion)

- One of the most aching and truthful songs ever written. The first time I heard this in my dorm room during freshman year of college, I cried. I swear I did. It's such a painful admission of a doomed relationship -- there's no way out, it's a dead end. If this doesn't get to you, you're made of stone.

Translation: "Don't love me because I live in the shadow / don't love me to change the world / because anyway the world won't change / and we are all mirrors / made to be looked at / and become lonely and old."

- We discussed this song in my Italian11 class, and I ended up loving the song. The speaker is telling his lover to not love him because of his imperfections and his inadequacy to give her the love she deserves. Italians are known romantics and when translated to English, this will undeniably fall under the "super cheesy" category. But I don't know, I fell in love with this song. After this, I started downloading Italian songs for my own listening pleasure and for educational purposes as well.

Enjoy the first Shuffle! Until next Wednesday ;)

I hope this earns me one thousand good daughter points :D

I lie awake, riffs floating in between my ears, colds stifled inside nostrils, thoughts smothered for later. It was lethargic how the night went on without a wink of sleep paying me a visit. How odd it felt to stare at the shadows on the ceiling, tossing and turning around in bed, adjusting the electric fan for more than two hours when you're used to dozing off to slumber just a few seconds after hitting the pillow.

For a night of sleeplessness, it was filled to the brim with questions. And never-ending songs. Indeed, a 30GB iPod is a sudden insomniac's best friend.

And suddenly, slowly, the night unfolded itself to me. It was lethargic. But it was empty. It was as if seeing swirling colors in bubbles -- you see them there and yet they don't seem to exist. I cannot explain it. All I know was that I was hearing and feeling something different from the music I have always listened to in my iPod. Words were coming to me, ideas were popping out of my head. I was confused. Was I in trance? Or was I just desperately sleepless? Why the sudden gush of words, of pictures, of questions?

I wanted to write it down. To type it. To draw it. There was something in my mind but unless it became tangible I cannot make sense of it. It was like being silently suffocated, however I didn't know by what. (Although, for some part, maybe it was due to my bad colds, which was why I found myself sniffing the Vicks inhaler for quite a lot of times that night.)

But the fear of unleashing the mother's wrath for one's unsleeping offspring stopped me. I hugged my pillow tight, hoping to make it go away, or at least reserve it for some other time -- maybe after more sleep. Yet, I couldn't fall asleep. Army Millare's lines were haunting. Still I tossed, and turned, resisting the urge to exhaust my mind into figuring out the complex at that time of dawn. I had to sleep.

Okay, so I did fall asleep. Albeit very, very late and discontinuously. I still don't know what happened to me last night. Why did it feel so empty, yet refreshing? Am I going crazy? It feels like I am. It's the weirdest shit, I know. I knowww.

And now, in a (seemingly failed) attempt to explain what happened, I'm at a loss for words. I don't know. It doesn't make sense. I tried triggering the state of daze again by plugging in Up Dharma Down's songs but nothing comes to me. What happened to me last night?

Maybe it's my mind telling me to loosen up. Relax. Get rest. Or maybe it's about time I stop listening to my iPod before I go to sleep.

My newest baby.

As the jeep passed by the Oblation, turning a left towards the waiting shed before Vargas Museum, I glanced my head outside the window hoping to see how far I still was from the AS-FC walk because I was almost late for my 9 am class. But what flashed before me was a picturesque view of tall trees shading the Academic Oval as if warmly welcoming you to another day into its arms. I see this everyday but this morning it felt new and inviting. It was 8:57 on my watch, but I just really had to stop for a second and appreciate the view before I went back to rushing to my class.

This is the first time I would be taking summer classes -- ever. My philosophy has always been to enjoy the summer break because it's the only reward you can really give yourself after an extremely stressful year. It gives you ample time to fully recharge before bracing yourself for yet another battle with the university life. But because of blockmate-pressure and the desire to make this summer more productive than usual, I enrolled for CL114 (Drama), which is a prerequisite to CW 141 (Playwriting). Our creative writing specialization classes require a specific genre of literature as a prerequisite, so this is one way of lessening my load for next semester. It's not all that bad really because I'm with two of my best friends but what sucks is that while everyone else is probably frolicking in the sand, or still curled lazily in front of the TV, I have to drag myself out of bed everyday to learn about Euripides and melodrama.

Honestly though, I'm not really complaining that much. I mean sure, I would much rather spend my time at home honing my mouse-clicking and keyboard-typing skills. But the optimist in me is looking forward to this actually. At least I'm going to immerse myself in literature, something I love enough to work hard at no matter how difficult it may seem. And if anything, there are only four weeks left anyway, so it will all be over soon.

Meanwhile, I'm spending my afternoons catching up on some of my favorite shows, Sex and The City and Ally McBeal, both of which I love because their lead characters are living the life I've always been dreaming of: that of a writer and of a lawyer. Who would've thought that I'm actually getting closer to becoming both? :)

My mom and I had a shopping date at 168 in Divisoria today. It's been quite some time since I last went shopping there. Oh, how I missed it! Nothing beats shopping at Divisoria; it is the ultimate shopping adventure -- from the relentless pursuit of the perfect item to the persistent haggling to the struggle with the crowd. The aisles never seem to end, and the stores never seem to run out of goods. The whole experience is enough to wipe anyone out to exhaustion. Ahh, it all sounds stressful. But ironically, there is a reason why it's called therapy - it's alleviating.

It's the Vistan gene. Me, my mom, and titas and lola from the mother's side are all shopaholics. We scour the streets of Divisoria, Bangkok, Singapore, and Bali for hours and hours on end with nothing but our inexorable desire to look for the best buys with us. (And yes, comfortable slippers.) Sometimes we start early (we get to 168 before 8:30) or sometimes we get there late (like in Bangkok's night markets) but whatever the time is, we're always ready to comb through all the stores with much gusto. It's a form of bonding for us. It's no wonder my lolo never complains about our shopping compulsion -- imagine, with him on a trip are five shopaholic girls. He's gotten very much used to it.

One thing about shopping is that it has a way of alleviating my neuroses. Like, after everything stressful and frustrating that has happened to me, when I get to buy something for myself that I know I worked hard for, it's rewarding. It makes me feel like I deserve something. It motivates me. I know it's wrong to be so materialistic, but for me, shopping isn't about amassing a huge amount of clothes for me to brag about. It's about giving myself something that makes me feel better. I guess it stems from the little principle my parents taught me that if you do good, then you deserve something good. If I have enough money and earned the right to reward myself, why shouldn't I shop?

But more than that, I think the satisfaction in shopping springs from the struggle. You find joy in not just buying for yourself, but in the actual pursuit for it. The search is what thrills you, like you're on a hunt for some secret treasure you have yet to discover. You enter a tiangge with no exact purchase in mind, just always with that feeling of "I know it when I see it." And you do. You find a glorious item on a stall and you just know you were meant to have it. You haggle with the saleslady, sometimes flattering them, sometimes feigning indifference, but always with the same goal in mind: to own it. And when at last you get to have it, when that plastic bag is finally in your hands, there's no greater feeling. You don't need anything else. (Or at least until the next cute item.)

Shopping is exhilarating, really.

I guess life is one big shopping adventure. We shop for the best experiences, find the greatest adventures, look for the perfect people. We never stop walking, never stop searching until we get that which we truly want. Because let's face it, settling for anything is never satisfying. We have to really comb through everything to get our heart's desires. And when we do get them, at no matter what cost, we know, we just know, that everything is going to be okay.

And why wouldn't everything be okay when you have the cutest blouse to start your summer with? :)



P.S. The best shopping buddy is always the Mom.

It's always in the most ungodly of hours that creativity sneaks in.

Ever since the beginning of my second year, my body clock has gone way off base. Before, midnight meant that distant acquaintance I just bump into ever so rarely, but now it's like a good old friend welcoming me into the deeper retreats of dawn. I blame acads for this of course. Why else would I be sleeping late if it weren't for papers and reports to finish? But okay, sometimes it's Facebook's fault too (and Plurk's.) And yes, I'm still also partly blaming the jet lag from my US trip last summer -- hey, it was fifteen long hours!

I am not an insomniac, just to clarify things. No, I am not in denial. I still can sleep at night when I will myself to sleep. I just close my eyes shut and off I go to deep slumber. But I can't believe that I actually got used to this staying up late. Me, the sleepyhead. Me, the conscious eight-hour-sleeper. Me, who hated staying up late for anything. And now look at me. I am a shadow of the night. I lie in wait for the darkness. I have become part of that elusive dimness that I used to tiptoe in hesitantly. I am an acquired, self-taught, insomniac. I don't like it but I have to.

It happens when there are pages of critical analyses waiting to be done, or stories to be written, or poems to be revised. For some reason, ideas just do not come to me in broad daylight. It's as if words escape me on purpose, tormenting me as I stare dumbly at the blinking vertical cursor on screen. It's torture especially when my whole body is aching for the bed, whose sheets are longing to wrap themselves around me and, and the pillows, which my arms so badly want to embrace. But I cannot because my mind cannot fathom sleeping without getting any work done. And so I slave myself off into the night, with inspiration dawning upon me only until the wee hours of the morning. (Maybe it's supposed to dawn at dawn? Hmm.)

But honestly, I've slowly found comfort in the night. When everyone else is asleep, no one asking, no one talking, no one to entertain, no one to listen to -- that's when I feel most at ease. I used to think that I could not survive in silence; I had to talk, I had to hear something, someone. And yet, it surprises me how I crave for the quietude that only the depths of the night can give me. It's the only time I can think to myself, talk to myself, hear myself. Reaching this level of stillness always give me some sort of high, like I can go to places or I can come up with something incredible. It's always in these ungodly hours that I feel attuned with everything but yet only aware of myself.

It's weird shit, I know.

I think it's because of these post-midnight moments that I realize how much I actually value silence and my alone time. Nowadays, I don't like being disturbed that much. I do mind when my personal bubble is invaded. Sometimes, I just really want to go home and hibernate. So what, have I been unconsciously turned into a hermit? Have I been deceiving myself, all my life thinking I was a social butterfly but deep down I'm really an introvert, a loner? Well, I do enjoy hanging out with friends and family, meeting new people, talking about anything and everything. But I guess it's just also rewarding to have these quiet moments all to myself. It soothes me. Ironically, I am able to recharge myself in my sleeplessness.

But wait. Who am I kidding? I love sleeping. I really do. I'd give anything to have a decent eight-hour slumber. Lack of sleep is bad for the health. It causes breakouts and does not allow you to get the complete rest and recharging your body needs for another day's work. It's not good at all. Why am I even justifying this? WHY?

I blame the jet lag. And maybe, sleeplessness.

I am probably the last person in the (cyber) world who still does not have a Tumblr account. I don't know why but the whole thing just does not really appeal to me. And please don't even try the "You just haven't tried it long enough to enjoy it," excuse on me because I did try it at one point but it never got to me. Sure, it looks fun reblogging and sharing pictures and quotes. Call me old-fashioned but I actually like and prefer having a blog in which I can really write on and does not need to have followers to be deemed worthy of maintaining. I don't need the pressure of having to follow people whose lives I don't give a care about and seeing them constantly re-appear on my dashboard -- I think Facebook is already doing too much of that for me.

That being said, I can't help noticing how much my Facebook homepage has been converted into a second avenue for Tumblr updates. The other day I couldn't help clicking when I saw one interesting quote -- I figured this was what Tumblr thrived on: the intrigue and curiosity by what one has posted -- and was suddenly taken into an unplanned Tumblr-hopping. This is the part where I should be saying, "Boy was I wrong to turn my back on this place! It's awesome!" But no. What I got was a sad, sad realization.


More than half of Tumblogs I stumbled upon (sTumbld? Haha) had typographies with really, really bad grammar. As in, holy [expletive] awful. The place was brimming with love or emo quotes, most of them having the most obvious but often neglected grammatical errors. And actually very cheesy too but I can let the mushiness slide. The grammar however, I cannot. I don't know if this was just the Grammar Nazi/English major in me kicking in, but whatever it was, it pained me. Really.

First thing that came to mind was "Why?" Why can't they differentiate YOUR from YOU'RE? Or THEIR from THEY'RE? Or that EVERYONE is always singular therefore it's supposed to be "Everyone 'has' or 'had'" and not "Everyone have"? Come on, we learned these in grade school. It's really all just basic grammar.

And the next thing was another big "Why?" Why aren't people reacting? These quotes are still being reblogged repeatedly with only "Love it!" and "Awww, tagos??" comments but no one actually commenting on them. I understand it may be embarrassing, but if you can't correct it, you can at least not reblog it. The more it gets re-published, the more people think it's okay. In the first place, I'm not even sure if people know they are grammatical errors or they're just letting it slide. I have to admit that it irks me, especially when the errors are glaring at me in big, bold, colorful letters [e.g. "Everyone have that one special person.."] as if doing it on purpose. It's irritating to see some angry girl having a poorly constructed bitchy statement to her ex on her page. Honey, not intimidating at all, trust me.

Now before you go on the offense let me just say: We're human, we're not perfect. I know. And I too admit to grammatical mistakes sometimes. We can't help it, especially when we're really furious or excited. Of course we're bound to miss a few letters here and there. But that shouldn't be an excuse for sloppy grammar every single time. We should at least be conscious of the rules because they wouldn't be taught to us if they weren't important.

Maybe some of you will say, "Who needs to get the English language right anyway? Most people understand it whether you get it wrong or not." Let me tell you how fallacious that statement is. The number of people "getting" that grammatically incorrect statement doesn't make it any less wrong. It still has an error; it still needs to be corrected. The English language is a system with rules and guidelines that we follow in order to use and maximize the language fully, and we cannot do that unless we actually go by them. It's like proving an equation without using the right theorems. Where's the sense in that?

It saddens me that most people don't care about grammar anymore. They deem it unimportant compared to other more pressing issues in life to worry about. Well, that may be true. But it wouldn't hurt to at least brush up and go back to the basics now, would it? If anything it can only lead to self-improvement and less embarrassment. I think there's nothing classier than a bitch who can get her prepositions right.

I hold the English language in high regard, not only because I'm a CW major but simply because it is a language that should be respected. Much like Filipino or any other lingua franca for that matter. Grammar is one of the most basic but essential things we learn in school that actually matters a lot in the real world -- the least we can do is get it right.

And while we're on this, you can check this out: 10 Words You Need To Stop Misspelling.

Today, I am a hermit.

Tomorrow is my dreaded Eng23 (Shakespeare) exam with the equally dreaded professor, and so since last night I was firm in my resolve to read through all five plays we have discussed. Yes, it was an extremely nerdy thing to do. Suffering for the Bard. Would thou thinketh me capable of doing this? Ay, I thinketh not. But since 10 pm last night, I have not seen the light of day. I haven't eaten rice too, and have not taken a shower. (Okay that was totally irrelevant, but since we're talking about sacrifice.. and besides I am all alone in my dorm room! No one will fall victim to my out-of-bed stink.)

I only have one last play left to read, King Lear, but given that it was the most recent play we discussed, I'm quite confident I still remember it well. So, there. I'm right on schedule. Hence, I give myself a much-deserved break.

From the 16th century's greatest poet, I move on to who I think is today's most talented and dashing composer/musician: John Mayer. Yes, John Mayer is my escape. My sweet, darling escape from the tyranny of academics.

It really saddens me how I may not be able to watch his concert due to the very unreasonably expensive tickets (Oh but how I would love to pay P12,000 to watch him if only I had the cash!) and also the disappointing venue (MOA again? Psshyeah.) I'm still hoping against hope that fate will turn to my favor but until then, I shall settle with filling the four walls of my dorm room with his music. Ahhh. Nothing like Room for Squares playing inside our room of.. well, there are square-shaped tiles here. So, yeah. Parallelism?

We are all too familiar with the feeling of a song seemingly written for us or by us because we can completely relate with its words. Well, that's precisely what happened just a while ago. While listening to "No Such Thing" (Google the lyrics and search for the song on YouTube if you must), I can't help but suddenly think about life -- yes, it's ironic that it's John Mayer, not William freakin' Shakespeare who put me in the mood to wax philosophical. I left high school two years ago with medals and certificates under my belt. I was made to believe that I was someone relevant, like I have already earned a place in the world. And yet, I stepped in UP and I realized I was nobody. No one cared if I was a consistent honor student, or if I was an active debater and leader. In college, no one knew who I was and all I had for myself was a blank transcript of records waiting to be filled. I had to start from scratch. Two years down the road, I hardly think I've made myself even half of who I was in high school. I'm not into any organizations, I don't even participate in school politics. I don't think it's because St. Paul lied to me and made me believe I was capable when in fact I wasn't. And it also isn't because UP does not encourage personal and social growth at all. But perhaps, I just had enough of all that in high school that I felt like I don't need to prove myself anymore here. The pressure to be competitive in high school was insane. I felt like everyone else was breathing down my neck, pushing me to do better. But now, I'm fine being where I am. I like being average and normal for once.

Sometimes when I look back at my high school life, I can't help wondering how superficial everything was compared to life now. We were all just driven by grades, student council elections, and graduating with honors. But there is more to life than just being a valedictorian, or being the most popular kid in school. When you step outside that little world you've been in for 12 years, the reality of your minuteness to the rest of the world dawns on you. It can be overwhelming, but it's also actually relieving when you realize that the spotlight's not always on you. You can be who you are, and that's fine. You don't always have to be who everyone expects you to be.

Which suddenly reminds me of this line from Antipholus of Syracuse in The Comedy of Errors:

Which then reminds me of this line from "Love Song for No One"

(Haha, does anyone get it? :P)

So what is my point? I have no idea. But this is what you get when you close me off from the world, and leave me with two writers I am completely going crazy over (one literally, the other metaphorically. Go figure.)

I'm not sure if I'm making sense. I'm just blabbing away. It's been a while since I blogged without really thinking of what I'm typing, haha. Oh well. I'm off to finish this real-life Shakespearean tragedy that is my English23 class. I shalt do well tomorrow! But not before I take a shower first..

God, it's 1:04 am and I'm still awake. Not wide awake, mind you, because it's just my guilty conscience that's forcing my mind to work, work, work on this reaction paper on stories for our Cl184 (Gay Writing) class. Yes, I love gays with all their fairy dust and frills, but come on, reading 9 short (but actually long) stories on homosexuality in just one night?

The problem is despite so many things I seem to have accomplished for the last week -- a group defense, a critical analysis on two short stories, reading up in advance -- there are still so many things left to do. I still have a play and an exam this Friday, a recital on Saturday, film viewing on Monday, Philo oral exams on Tuesday, another exam on Wednesday and finally, the dreaded Shakespeare exam next Friday.

It's ironic how I can still push myself to work hard when my bed is desperately calling out for me. My body is literally giving up on me already. I am in serious sleep deprivation. I'm hungry and craving for oreos. I feel tired and messed up.

GOD, I NEED A VACATION. RIGHT NOW.

I just really want to get this month over with already :(