I'm at the Main Library, taking advantage of the access to Project Muse and JSTOR for one of my critical papers. Our deadline was extended from Thursday to next Tuesday thus I am forced to look for more sources and work some more on the paper. Not that it's a crappy one right now, but I've finished it over the weekend already, and so the extension forces me to find more resources and edit out further. Gaaah. I am seriously running out of things to say. It doesn't help that it's about a sonnet on death. Literature is hard work, really.

How I wish I'm at my "home base" right now instead: the CAL library. It's air-conditioned, bright, and cozy. Unlike here where it's dark and the ghosts of Hell Weeks past loom over the cracks that fill up the ceiling. But hey, that's the state university for you.

On another note, today I'm wearing a dress because (1) my blockmates and I are having "theme week" where we are to wear a specific kind of outfit depending on the theme of the day. Today is Girly Day, (2) we had our Nutella Party for my Italian class a while ago, (3) I need to feel extra pretty because the stress is taking a toll on my face, (4) I just need an excuse to use these numbers-in-a-parenthesis thing. I'm getting quite fond of enumeration lately.

End random post.

I've spent countless days being alone in this room, but tonight I don't appreciate the silence, I don't like having the electric fan the only sound I can hear. I feel lonely tonight, and I hate it.

I'm used to being alone, in fact I enjoying staying inside my little bubble (to the surprise of many). I am an only child after all and I've learned to entertain myself, keeping myself busy when no one is around. Being alone doesn't usually bother me. I can handle being alone if it's something inherent. Like me being an only child, or me choosing to go home early to sleep. But being lonely as a consequence of that which should have been part of something -- it eats me up. It gets to me and it feels like I cannot do anything about it. It just won't go away.

But the reason I hate this growing loneliness is because it's like admitting my dependence on other people. Growing up alone meant I had to learn to stand up for myself. And so I never confess to letting people completely get to me, even if I let them through my bubble. I share my feelings with several close people, but that that doesn't mean they know everything. I don't let them all the way in. Or at least, I don't let them know they are inside the bubble. Because that only sets me up for trouble once they manage to burst out of it.

I don't like this loneliness. But more than that, I can't take this loneliness. I can't accept the fact that it saddens me so much that (1) I'm going to miss my roommate as she and her family leave for Canada on November, (2) I miss someone so much more often than I should, (3) I actually really miss home again and I still can't wait for Fridays, because I can't admit to clinging to something, to someone. I'm supposed to be independent. I'm supposed to stand my own ground, manage on my own, and carry on.

I say "Aww, okay," when what I really want to say is, "No, don't go." I say yes when it's really a no. I deal with the loneliness rather than admitting to not being able to handle things on my own. I put on the brave face. It's default setting.

But while stress will always be the number one reason for my restlessness, I've just had another complication to deal with: My New Bed.

A few weeks ago, they had to change my bed of more than ten years because of dust mites. (How they got there, I have no idea.) It's no surprise that my dorm bed has brought me more comfort recently than the one in my room because I spend more nights there. It's been my total refuge in times of late-night revising and cramming. It's smaller than a single and took me a long time to get used to it, but now it's a lovely companion. The old bed back at home has been more of a stranger in the last few months -- it's like we were drifting apart. And so, the decision to buy a new bed wasn't really that difficult for me to make. But of course, nothing can still replace that bed; it was My Bed. It was a beautiful double sized bed, big enough to have as much pillows and stuffed elephants as I wanted. It had been the venue of numerous sleepovers, brainstorming sessions, television show marathons and significant writing. It's the focal point of the room, and seeing it gone last weekend was just so devastating, to say the least. The room felt so empty without it.

And now that the new bed is here, it's just so different. The new one has a much better mattress (for my scoliosis) and is significantly smaller too -- it's a single to give my room more space. Besides, the main reason why I had a double was because my parents feared that I'd fall off the bed when I was seven. Now that I've been accustomed to sleeping in a smaller bed, we decided it would be more practical to get a new one in this size. And right now, at this very moment, I am lying down in my spanking new, beautiful wooden bed.

Last night was difficult. It was like meeting someone for the first time and being forced to get close to them. I was tossing and turning several times; I couldn't seem to get what I wanted with it. At one point, I started missing my old bed, softer and more gentle. To quote John Mayer, it was "so comfortable, so broken in." Several times during the night, I considered sleeping on our couch downstairs in our living room. (Which is just the best couch in the world! The Boyfriend and I even nicknamed it The Evil Couch of Sloth because there was no way you could ever get up once you've set your butt on it.)

But, I did fall asleep. Although not as quickly or as comfortable as I would have wanted, it managed to get me there, and I woke up with no aching backs or mysterious bruises. (But with some pillows on the floor.) I just couldn't help thinking to myself: It's like getting into a new relationship. There's this awkward, getting-to-know-you stage, where nothing seems to fall into their right places. I'm hopeful though, that like in most relationships, I'll get there. Sure, I will always miss My First Bed. The fond memories will always be there. But I'm certain it will only take a matter of time before I find myself lost in this bed, before I realize there isn't any strangeness anymore. One day, sleeping will be effortless again.

Until then, I am using my insomnia to finish my papers.

I am sitting on a chair, typing on my laptop, on the dining table, in our little blue house, somewhere in Paranaque. And yet where I sit does not exactly define where I am. Where are you? you ask, which roughly translates to What are you doing? to which responses could be: (1) in a corner sandwiched between two windows, (2) writing a paper on suicide, death, and liberation, (3) finding comfort in being alone, (4) coming to terms with what lies ahead, (5) really craving for Oreos, (6) riding 'em like a cowgirl, (7) in front of a glass of water, (8) suppressing desires, (9) "co-mingling my blood with yours" because that's what John Donne said, (10) submitting myself to some cosmic, patterned fate.

Between the boundaries of my apparent self and my real self lies a yearning for release. I want to drift away, to float around, to be somewhere else. I want to be on top, inside, upside down, standing up -- anywhere but here, where lines are black and white, where urges are damned, where standards stand in the way of letting my hair down. But I am neither here nor there. Just somewhere in between the lines of finding myself and never coming back.

Where am I? is not as important as Where would I rather be? The rain was falling hard last night, and the car was glistening with the glow of its aftermath.

Guess who was there, all smiles and cheers!?

How do you know your decisions are for the best? How can you be sure you're doing the most grown-up thing and making the responsible choices? How can you tell if you're being mature about something or have just been deluded (by your judgment or by other seemingly equal peers) into thinking you're mature about it? How will you know if you're doing what's right or just what's right for now?

Her head leaned on the car window. It was dark and rainy, and she was tired. He was too. It was hard not to let the physical exhaustion translate to their emotions. Words have been said and tears have been shed, but throughout it all their hands never let go of each other. It was their little thing, this secret gesture, as if feeling guilty in advance for all the things that are not to be uttered but are nonetheless put out there. At last the verbal warfare ceased, it began with her. She shut up, as she always did, but not because she had nothing else to say but because she was just tired. Tired, and because she didn't want to fight anymore.

His eyes followed the wipers as they moved from left to right. The rain was pouring hard outside and the sound from his stereo was almost drowned out by the heavy shower. But through it all, the song resonated, making its way into the chorus. He looked at her; eyes closed, lower lip bitten. He didn't like seeing her like this, holding back. He wanted her to cling to him, to need him. She always insisted on being independent, but deep down he knew she wanted to be otherwise.

She looked at the clock. The black numbers on the orange clock screen said 6:57. She must be going. She had a lot of work to do, and so did he. She wanted to hold on to him, never wanting to leave his side. But she didn't have the courage to admit that that was all she ever wanted to do. She couldn't imagine herself dragging him along with her to frustration.

She squeezed his hand. His gaze met hers. He squeezed back. And the rain was silenced by the downpour from her eyes.

In the attempt of making my life a little less chaotic and a little more efficient, I decided to list down all the things I still need to accomplish (and their deadlines) before this semester ends. At least this way, I get to see them in plain sight, and I can mentally (and emotionally, and physically) prepare myself for what's ahead -- hopefully making life less stressful.

English 21 2nd Critical Paper

English 21 Final Paper

English 42 Long Exam

English 42 2nd Short Paper

English 42 Final Exam

English 42 Final Paper

Italian 13 Midterms

Italian 13 Finals

CL 115 Report

CL 115 Essay

CL 115 Final Anthology

CW 110 Final Short Story Draft

Uhm, wasn't this supposed to alleviate me somehow? I posted this list beside my mirror, and everyday when I comb my hair or check my outfit, I think I hear evil laughter and a menacing voice: "SORRY, YOU'RE NOT THE FAIREST ONE OF ALL.* THANKS TO US! But at least you're pale and white."

Where's my fairy godmother* when I need one? All I have is this nagging voice inside my head. Not always effective.

Now if you'll excuse me, my inner Sleeping Beauty* is reckoning. I know I can't do anything unless I recharge myself. Please wake me up after one hundred years. (Or at least after this semester.) And please be a Prince Charming.*

* Use of fairy tales in hopes of attaining a happy ending.

With all the stress that acads have been throwing at me these last few weeks, I'm surprised I still find myself in one piece when I wake up in the morning. The demands of school are crazy and I'm trying my best not to let them get to me, but on some days, it's just really more difficult to get out of bed and put up a brave face when all you want to do is snuggle in between the covers or take solace in corned tuna all day long. I know this too shall pass, and sooner or later, hey it's September, then before you know it, October: hello, sem break. Or if you want to look at it long term, one day I'm going to miss the frustration that is college. This is all part of life, blah blah.

I've been thinking-- well, for the last few days, I've been honestly getting adequate sleep and enough food. I don't skip meals, and I haven't been staying up as late as usual (although still not the required eight hours, but hey, forgivable for a college junior). I'm still getting things done and so far I'm still on the right track (or so I'd like to believe). And yes, that's something to be grateful for. But the thing is, no matter how much I try to put myself together, there will be days of exhaustion. And right now, I just really feel so tired. I'm super stressed-- I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO DO and God, it's just endless. Despite me still functioning normally, I'm getting more drained as days go by. Not so much as I'm on auto-pilot, but more like, spare battery. I haven't entirely lost all enthusiasm but I'm just not as fueled as I was, and I'm afraid one of these days that's exactly what's going to happen. I sense burnout coming my way.

I'm guessing this is only probably because of The First Semester Doldrums. Or maybe just my hormones going whack and making me feel emotionally unstable. (I am the unluckiest girl when it comes to PMS.) Or maybe -- the alpha-female in me does not want to admit this but -- I'm just really missing The Boyfriend. (Seriously. It's not that I'm beginning to be co-dependent on him but I'm not going to deny that actually seeing him, as opposed to texting, keeps me sane.) Well, whatever. Something's wrong. I'm not usually this clingy/needy. But in times of great stress I find myself crumbling and just wanting to retreat. For once, I'd like to take off the independent-and-responsible mask and just let go. I'm tired. Really.

In the meantime, I find solace in great music. And hot people. Case in point: Esquire's Good Morning Megan video. Yes, the Megan Fox. Look it up -- I swear I cannot even begin to describe it. Incidentally, the background music featured in it, "Climbing The Walls" by Chris Cornell (of Audioslave) just completely encapsulates the frustration I'm feeling right now. It also doesn't hurt that it sounds like such an awesome song to a hot make-out scene. Haha.

Sigh. Here's to hoping we all get through this semester (or even just this week) alive.

As much as I enjoy buying new earrings, shoes, and clothes, still nothing comes close to that feeling of satisfaction after purchasing a brand new (or sometimes, even really old and used) book. No matter how much it costs, just leafing through its pages filled to the brim with stories and prose is enough to make every penny worth it.

You have no idea how frustrating it is to have five different Word documents open, some blank, others incomplete, all in hopes of finally coming together for one paper. I keep losing my stream of consciousness, I keep changing my mind, I keep going off track and missing the point. No matter how badly I want to get it done, it just doesn't happen. I'm sorry English 42 but I just can't seem to find the words to write about regionalism in American literature in the early 19th century right now.

You have no idea how difficult it is to suddenly be left staring at the ceiling in bed, placing yourself under the deep recesses of the night when you've been desperately forcing your tired body to sleep for the last hour or so. I know I've said insomnia has become a surprising but sometime-welcome friend, but not right now. And especially not in my bed at home. I don't know what happened exactly but every time I lay my head on my pillow and face the wall I've been staring at longingly before I slumber for the last eighteen years of my life, I just can't sleep. It's as if the bed isn't the same anymore, this isn't where my head is supposed to rest. I'm guessing it's because my bed at the dorm has become cozier than this one and that a part of me has started believing that dorm is home, not this one. The one right there is my bed, not this one. The place where I can completely relax is that small, single bed by the cluttered bedside table, not this one. I'm sorry bed but I just can't seem to sleep comfortably like I normally should in you and it angers me right now.

You have no idea how exasperating it is to be pressured unnecessarily into something you don't think about because it's something you actually fear. I'd like to believe I'm doing fine with handling all the stress of being a student of a course that's completely subjective and talent-based, an only daughter with parents and family having only the best dreams for me, and an over-all sane person, but when something unexpected gets thrown at me so suddenly, I'm afraid I just might topple. I don't worry about my grades not because it doesn't matter but because I don't want to care right now, right when everything is still happening. I don't want high school happening all over again -- this time, I want to do things my own way, without people expecting medals and certificates of me. I'm sorry people but I just can't afford to be pressured to becoming this perfect, ideal character you created of me, but who isn't really me.

You have no idea how annoying it is to realize unexpectedly that you've finished an entire blog entry, and still not an entire paper. Damn it, creative juices, can't you get your priorities straight?! I need you for academics, not ranting.

But oh God, how I needed that.

We would have been called Imaginative Writers. Which sounds so cool! But our barkada would have been called ImEng'g. Which sucks.

Today I feel like being random.

I think that may be the most productive thing I did today.

Today feels like the world has been turned one shade darker and suddenly everything is gray and pleasant. I always like this weather. I nestle in between sheets and cuddle with my pillows, and feel like things are going to be okay. Much like how life is pretty much going for me. Turbulent times have passed, and pain has done a good job of breaking me a part. But now, I feel calmer, more secure. Like the aftermath of a rainy day - things are not the same, but they are alright. Everything is cozy, everything is right.

Today I'm proofreading my English 21 critical paper on The Canterbury Tales. I'm doing a deconstruction on dominance & submission using The Wife of Bath's tale. Kinky, 14th century style. It was intriguing for me how someone from a time when women were considered second-class citizens could claim dominance on their men, and how these rich, affluent husbands allowed them to do so. It's fascinating how the need to lose control and be vulnerable is just as important as the need to be in power. We thrive on dominance, but we also desire submission and inferiority. I've always seen myself as a dominant type, but I honestly also like the feeling of being dependent, of leaning on to someone. I guess this makes me a.. versa? :)) CL184 would be so proud of me.

Today I'm craving for ice cream, McFlurry in particular, and much to me and my dormmates' surprise (and disappointment!), McDonald's Katipunan is closed! Goodness, how is that even possible? I know the power's been cut but it was restored a few hours ago and we couldn't believe we couldn't have our fill of nuggets and fries just when we needed it most. McDonald's is supposed to be this constant, permanent presence in the life of stressed-out college students -- it's not supposed to close. Nghhh.

Today is a Stars kind of day. I think the reason I hold this band so dear to me is because there is no one else out there who can sing about love and hurt so exquisitely like they do. They tell stories of life and despair, of sunny days and hurricanes, but always in such a beautiful, cohesive way. They're the perfect companion for staying in bed and refusing to get out of the sheets, or sailing through a perfectly fine day. They always, always make me feel better.

Today I feel like being random. But in all my randomness, for the first time in a long time, I feel consistency. I feel like everything finally makes sense, like everything has fallen into their right places.

Today I'm okay.

It's funny how I've been having commitment issues for the last three years of my life, when I have been in one serious relationship before in high school. I can't seem to get myself into something else anymore, no matter how great all the others are out there. I don't know, I guess the first one is just really irreplaceable.

Now before you get your eyebrows raised and tongues wagging, I'm talking about TV shows.

Friends. How I Met Your Mother. Sex And The City. Ally McBeal. Scrubs. Dirty Sexy Money. The Big Bang Theory. These are all great shows: critically acclaimed and well-loved by fans all over the world. Some of them are over, some of them have had their time, but one thing is certain, they've all taken a place in pop culture and in history. They're, as Barney Stinson puts it, legend--wait for it--ary. And I honestly all enjoy them. When I'm having a bad day, or a boring one, I just pop one of them into my player, and I feel better. But I can never finish one season completely. I can't sit through an entire day watching just one of these shows. I can't bring myself to embrace the characters, completely memorize the quotes, immerse in the music, and get myself drowned inside their world the way I only did with one particular show.

I was looking back on my previous posts, particularly in my sophomore and junior year in high school, and I was shocked at how I just had to mention an OTH or Nathan Scott-related entry in literally every post. Obsessed would be an understatement -- I sang the songs to every episode, I can recite the lines by heart, and I knew the characters as if I was there inside the show with them. The whole entire time, I saw myself inside their world. Everything that happened to me, I mirrored to the plot line, everything I did I based on the characters' reactions. Everyday was a literal, "What would Haley/Brooke/Peyton do?" and sometimes I found myself wishing I should be in their world and not stuck in Manila. Instead of going home feeling tired with homework or extra-curriculars, I could have an ending montage of scenes complete with realizations, quotes from famous writers, and an awesome background music. What could be better than that? I was crazed, really. I give you permission to call me cuckoo.

But since college began, I sadly started losing touch. I wasn't as updated as I once was because of my busy schedule but I managed to catch up every month or so. However after Lucas and Peyton left, I just completely lost interest. My favorite characters were Nathan and Haley, and I was actually a Brucas fan, but I just didn't see the point anymore. It was a different world, a different show. I guess you could say I "graduated" from the show as well. And suddenly, nothing else was the same. I can't get myself to commit to another show the same way I did: no matter how much I love Friends, or the HIMYM gang, or the SATC girls. It's just not the same. It's like missing your "high school barkada" -- your new friends are great, but there's nothing like being with the ones you knew the longest and the best.

I guess, it's childish, or it's weird probably. But I guess I just can't replace the show, no matter how hard I try to let it go. I've gone so far as letting it define who I was, or at least who I wanted to be, and it was such a huge part of my life that I can't just erase it. It's a long distant memory now, but it's still there. I miss it. I miss every heart-aching line, every unforgettable kiss, every sleep-depriving conflict. I miss having this one certain presence in my life that made me feel safe, that made me feel like nothing can go wrong in my world, as long as it's okay in theirs. I miss One Tree Hill. My One Tree Hill.

If there's something the show has left me (aside from great music), it's that the world goes on, sometimes without the people we love in it. Things will never be the same, but things can go okay again. It might be a different kind of okay, but a comforting one nonetheless.

But it also taught me that it's okay to look back, to feel nostalgic about the past, and recall times that may have left you broken but also stronger. Because it's only by doing so that you realize how grateful you should be about the present, and how much better it actually is if you just open your eyes.

I'm listening to my OTH playlist right now. I should really watch season 1-4 again.

It's a nice feeling, knowing I'm here and you're there, and yet somehow, I don't feel so alone. Like finally, I know everything is going to be okay. And I don't want this to end. I don't want us to end.

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/

I'm at the Main Library, taking advantage of the access to Project Muse and JSTOR for one of my critical papers. Our deadline was extended from Thursday to next Tuesday thus I am forced to look for more sources and work some more on the paper. Not that it's a crappy one right now, but I've finished it over the weekend already, and so the extension forces me to find more resources and edit out further. Gaaah. I am seriously running out of things to say. It doesn't help that it's about a sonnet on death. Literature is hard work, really.

How I wish I'm at my "home base" right now instead: the CAL library. It's air-conditioned, bright, and cozy. Unlike here where it's dark and the ghosts of Hell Weeks past loom over the cracks that fill up the ceiling. But hey, that's the state university for you.

On another note, today I'm wearing a dress because (1) my blockmates and I are having "theme week" where we are to wear a specific kind of outfit depending on the theme of the day. Today is Girly Day, (2) we had our Nutella Party for my Italian class a while ago, (3) I need to feel extra pretty because the stress is taking a toll on my face, (4) I just need an excuse to use these numbers-in-a-parenthesis thing. I'm getting quite fond of enumeration lately.

End random post.

I've spent countless days being alone in this room, but tonight I don't appreciate the silence, I don't like having the electric fan the only sound I can hear. I feel lonely tonight, and I hate it.

I'm used to being alone, in fact I enjoying staying inside my little bubble (to the surprise of many). I am an only child after all and I've learned to entertain myself, keeping myself busy when no one is around. Being alone doesn't usually bother me. I can handle being alone if it's something inherent. Like me being an only child, or me choosing to go home early to sleep. But being lonely as a consequence of that which should have been part of something -- it eats me up. It gets to me and it feels like I cannot do anything about it. It just won't go away.

But the reason I hate this growing loneliness is because it's like admitting my dependence on other people. Growing up alone meant I had to learn to stand up for myself. And so I never confess to letting people completely get to me, even if I let them through my bubble. I share my feelings with several close people, but that that doesn't mean they know everything. I don't let them all the way in. Or at least, I don't let them know they are inside the bubble. Because that only sets me up for trouble once they manage to burst out of it.

I don't like this loneliness. But more than that, I can't take this loneliness. I can't accept the fact that it saddens me so much that (1) I'm going to miss my roommate as she and her family leave for Canada on November, (2) I miss someone so much more often than I should, (3) I actually really miss home again and I still can't wait for Fridays, because I can't admit to clinging to something, to someone. I'm supposed to be independent. I'm supposed to stand my own ground, manage on my own, and carry on.

I say "Aww, okay," when what I really want to say is, "No, don't go." I say yes when it's really a no. I deal with the loneliness rather than admitting to not being able to handle things on my own. I put on the brave face. It's default setting.

But while stress will always be the number one reason for my restlessness, I've just had another complication to deal with: My New Bed.

A few weeks ago, they had to change my bed of more than ten years because of dust mites. (How they got there, I have no idea.) It's no surprise that my dorm bed has brought me more comfort recently than the one in my room because I spend more nights there. It's been my total refuge in times of late-night revising and cramming. It's smaller than a single and took me a long time to get used to it, but now it's a lovely companion. The old bed back at home has been more of a stranger in the last few months -- it's like we were drifting apart. And so, the decision to buy a new bed wasn't really that difficult for me to make. But of course, nothing can still replace that bed; it was My Bed. It was a beautiful double sized bed, big enough to have as much pillows and stuffed elephants as I wanted. It had been the venue of numerous sleepovers, brainstorming sessions, television show marathons and significant writing. It's the focal point of the room, and seeing it gone last weekend was just so devastating, to say the least. The room felt so empty without it.

And now that the new bed is here, it's just so different. The new one has a much better mattress (for my scoliosis) and is significantly smaller too -- it's a single to give my room more space. Besides, the main reason why I had a double was because my parents feared that I'd fall off the bed when I was seven. Now that I've been accustomed to sleeping in a smaller bed, we decided it would be more practical to get a new one in this size. And right now, at this very moment, I am lying down in my spanking new, beautiful wooden bed.

Last night was difficult. It was like meeting someone for the first time and being forced to get close to them. I was tossing and turning several times; I couldn't seem to get what I wanted with it. At one point, I started missing my old bed, softer and more gentle. To quote John Mayer, it was "so comfortable, so broken in." Several times during the night, I considered sleeping on our couch downstairs in our living room. (Which is just the best couch in the world! The Boyfriend and I even nicknamed it The Evil Couch of Sloth because there was no way you could ever get up once you've set your butt on it.)

But, I did fall asleep. Although not as quickly or as comfortable as I would have wanted, it managed to get me there, and I woke up with no aching backs or mysterious bruises. (But with some pillows on the floor.) I just couldn't help thinking to myself: It's like getting into a new relationship. There's this awkward, getting-to-know-you stage, where nothing seems to fall into their right places. I'm hopeful though, that like in most relationships, I'll get there. Sure, I will always miss My First Bed. The fond memories will always be there. But I'm certain it will only take a matter of time before I find myself lost in this bed, before I realize there isn't any strangeness anymore. One day, sleeping will be effortless again.

Until then, I am using my insomnia to finish my papers.

I am sitting on a chair, typing on my laptop, on the dining table, in our little blue house, somewhere in Paranaque. And yet where I sit does not exactly define where I am. Where are you? you ask, which roughly translates to What are you doing? to which responses could be: (1) in a corner sandwiched between two windows, (2) writing a paper on suicide, death, and liberation, (3) finding comfort in being alone, (4) coming to terms with what lies ahead, (5) really craving for Oreos, (6) riding 'em like a cowgirl, (7) in front of a glass of water, (8) suppressing desires, (9) "co-mingling my blood with yours" because that's what John Donne said, (10) submitting myself to some cosmic, patterned fate.

Between the boundaries of my apparent self and my real self lies a yearning for release. I want to drift away, to float around, to be somewhere else. I want to be on top, inside, upside down, standing up -- anywhere but here, where lines are black and white, where urges are damned, where standards stand in the way of letting my hair down. But I am neither here nor there. Just somewhere in between the lines of finding myself and never coming back.

Where am I? is not as important as Where would I rather be? The rain was falling hard last night, and the car was glistening with the glow of its aftermath.

Guess who was there, all smiles and cheers!?

How do you know your decisions are for the best? How can you be sure you're doing the most grown-up thing and making the responsible choices? How can you tell if you're being mature about something or have just been deluded (by your judgment or by other seemingly equal peers) into thinking you're mature about it? How will you know if you're doing what's right or just what's right for now?

Her head leaned on the car window. It was dark and rainy, and she was tired. He was too. It was hard not to let the physical exhaustion translate to their emotions. Words have been said and tears have been shed, but throughout it all their hands never let go of each other. It was their little thing, this secret gesture, as if feeling guilty in advance for all the things that are not to be uttered but are nonetheless put out there. At last the verbal warfare ceased, it began with her. She shut up, as she always did, but not because she had nothing else to say but because she was just tired. Tired, and because she didn't want to fight anymore.

His eyes followed the wipers as they moved from left to right. The rain was pouring hard outside and the sound from his stereo was almost drowned out by the heavy shower. But through it all, the song resonated, making its way into the chorus. He looked at her; eyes closed, lower lip bitten. He didn't like seeing her like this, holding back. He wanted her to cling to him, to need him. She always insisted on being independent, but deep down he knew she wanted to be otherwise.

She looked at the clock. The black numbers on the orange clock screen said 6:57. She must be going. She had a lot of work to do, and so did he. She wanted to hold on to him, never wanting to leave his side. But she didn't have the courage to admit that that was all she ever wanted to do. She couldn't imagine herself dragging him along with her to frustration.

She squeezed his hand. His gaze met hers. He squeezed back. And the rain was silenced by the downpour from her eyes.

In the attempt of making my life a little less chaotic and a little more efficient, I decided to list down all the things I still need to accomplish (and their deadlines) before this semester ends. At least this way, I get to see them in plain sight, and I can mentally (and emotionally, and physically) prepare myself for what's ahead -- hopefully making life less stressful.

English 21 2nd Critical Paper

English 21 Final Paper

English 42 Long Exam

English 42 2nd Short Paper

English 42 Final Exam

English 42 Final Paper

Italian 13 Midterms

Italian 13 Finals

CL 115 Report

CL 115 Essay

CL 115 Final Anthology

CW 110 Final Short Story Draft

Uhm, wasn't this supposed to alleviate me somehow? I posted this list beside my mirror, and everyday when I comb my hair or check my outfit, I think I hear evil laughter and a menacing voice: "SORRY, YOU'RE NOT THE FAIREST ONE OF ALL.* THANKS TO US! But at least you're pale and white."

Where's my fairy godmother* when I need one? All I have is this nagging voice inside my head. Not always effective.

Now if you'll excuse me, my inner Sleeping Beauty* is reckoning. I know I can't do anything unless I recharge myself. Please wake me up after one hundred years. (Or at least after this semester.) And please be a Prince Charming.*

* Use of fairy tales in hopes of attaining a happy ending.

With all the stress that acads have been throwing at me these last few weeks, I'm surprised I still find myself in one piece when I wake up in the morning. The demands of school are crazy and I'm trying my best not to let them get to me, but on some days, it's just really more difficult to get out of bed and put up a brave face when all you want to do is snuggle in between the covers or take solace in corned tuna all day long. I know this too shall pass, and sooner or later, hey it's September, then before you know it, October: hello, sem break. Or if you want to look at it long term, one day I'm going to miss the frustration that is college. This is all part of life, blah blah.

I've been thinking-- well, for the last few days, I've been honestly getting adequate sleep and enough food. I don't skip meals, and I haven't been staying up as late as usual (although still not the required eight hours, but hey, forgivable for a college junior). I'm still getting things done and so far I'm still on the right track (or so I'd like to believe). And yes, that's something to be grateful for. But the thing is, no matter how much I try to put myself together, there will be days of exhaustion. And right now, I just really feel so tired. I'm super stressed-- I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO DO and God, it's just endless. Despite me still functioning normally, I'm getting more drained as days go by. Not so much as I'm on auto-pilot, but more like, spare battery. I haven't entirely lost all enthusiasm but I'm just not as fueled as I was, and I'm afraid one of these days that's exactly what's going to happen. I sense burnout coming my way.

I'm guessing this is only probably because of The First Semester Doldrums. Or maybe just my hormones going whack and making me feel emotionally unstable. (I am the unluckiest girl when it comes to PMS.) Or maybe -- the alpha-female in me does not want to admit this but -- I'm just really missing The Boyfriend. (Seriously. It's not that I'm beginning to be co-dependent on him but I'm not going to deny that actually seeing him, as opposed to texting, keeps me sane.) Well, whatever. Something's wrong. I'm not usually this clingy/needy. But in times of great stress I find myself crumbling and just wanting to retreat. For once, I'd like to take off the independent-and-responsible mask and just let go. I'm tired. Really.

In the meantime, I find solace in great music. And hot people. Case in point: Esquire's Good Morning Megan video. Yes, the Megan Fox. Look it up -- I swear I cannot even begin to describe it. Incidentally, the background music featured in it, "Climbing The Walls" by Chris Cornell (of Audioslave) just completely encapsulates the frustration I'm feeling right now. It also doesn't hurt that it sounds like such an awesome song to a hot make-out scene. Haha.

Sigh. Here's to hoping we all get through this semester (or even just this week) alive.

As much as I enjoy buying new earrings, shoes, and clothes, still nothing comes close to that feeling of satisfaction after purchasing a brand new (or sometimes, even really old and used) book. No matter how much it costs, just leafing through its pages filled to the brim with stories and prose is enough to make every penny worth it.

You have no idea how frustrating it is to have five different Word documents open, some blank, others incomplete, all in hopes of finally coming together for one paper. I keep losing my stream of consciousness, I keep changing my mind, I keep going off track and missing the point. No matter how badly I want to get it done, it just doesn't happen. I'm sorry English 42 but I just can't seem to find the words to write about regionalism in American literature in the early 19th century right now.

You have no idea how difficult it is to suddenly be left staring at the ceiling in bed, placing yourself under the deep recesses of the night when you've been desperately forcing your tired body to sleep for the last hour or so. I know I've said insomnia has become a surprising but sometime-welcome friend, but not right now. And especially not in my bed at home. I don't know what happened exactly but every time I lay my head on my pillow and face the wall I've been staring at longingly before I slumber for the last eighteen years of my life, I just can't sleep. It's as if the bed isn't the same anymore, this isn't where my head is supposed to rest. I'm guessing it's because my bed at the dorm has become cozier than this one and that a part of me has started believing that dorm is home, not this one. The one right there is my bed, not this one. The place where I can completely relax is that small, single bed by the cluttered bedside table, not this one. I'm sorry bed but I just can't seem to sleep comfortably like I normally should in you and it angers me right now.

You have no idea how exasperating it is to be pressured unnecessarily into something you don't think about because it's something you actually fear. I'd like to believe I'm doing fine with handling all the stress of being a student of a course that's completely subjective and talent-based, an only daughter with parents and family having only the best dreams for me, and an over-all sane person, but when something unexpected gets thrown at me so suddenly, I'm afraid I just might topple. I don't worry about my grades not because it doesn't matter but because I don't want to care right now, right when everything is still happening. I don't want high school happening all over again -- this time, I want to do things my own way, without people expecting medals and certificates of me. I'm sorry people but I just can't afford to be pressured to becoming this perfect, ideal character you created of me, but who isn't really me.

You have no idea how annoying it is to realize unexpectedly that you've finished an entire blog entry, and still not an entire paper. Damn it, creative juices, can't you get your priorities straight?! I need you for academics, not ranting.

But oh God, how I needed that.

We would have been called Imaginative Writers. Which sounds so cool! But our barkada would have been called ImEng'g. Which sucks.

Today I feel like being random.

I think that may be the most productive thing I did today.

Today feels like the world has been turned one shade darker and suddenly everything is gray and pleasant. I always like this weather. I nestle in between sheets and cuddle with my pillows, and feel like things are going to be okay. Much like how life is pretty much going for me. Turbulent times have passed, and pain has done a good job of breaking me a part. But now, I feel calmer, more secure. Like the aftermath of a rainy day - things are not the same, but they are alright. Everything is cozy, everything is right.

Today I'm proofreading my English 21 critical paper on The Canterbury Tales. I'm doing a deconstruction on dominance & submission using The Wife of Bath's tale. Kinky, 14th century style. It was intriguing for me how someone from a time when women were considered second-class citizens could claim dominance on their men, and how these rich, affluent husbands allowed them to do so. It's fascinating how the need to lose control and be vulnerable is just as important as the need to be in power. We thrive on dominance, but we also desire submission and inferiority. I've always seen myself as a dominant type, but I honestly also like the feeling of being dependent, of leaning on to someone. I guess this makes me a.. versa? :)) CL184 would be so proud of me.

Today I'm craving for ice cream, McFlurry in particular, and much to me and my dormmates' surprise (and disappointment!), McDonald's Katipunan is closed! Goodness, how is that even possible? I know the power's been cut but it was restored a few hours ago and we couldn't believe we couldn't have our fill of nuggets and fries just when we needed it most. McDonald's is supposed to be this constant, permanent presence in the life of stressed-out college students -- it's not supposed to close. Nghhh.

Today is a Stars kind of day. I think the reason I hold this band so dear to me is because there is no one else out there who can sing about love and hurt so exquisitely like they do. They tell stories of life and despair, of sunny days and hurricanes, but always in such a beautiful, cohesive way. They're the perfect companion for staying in bed and refusing to get out of the sheets, or sailing through a perfectly fine day. They always, always make me feel better.

Today I feel like being random. But in all my randomness, for the first time in a long time, I feel consistency. I feel like everything finally makes sense, like everything has fallen into their right places.

Today I'm okay.

It's funny how I've been having commitment issues for the last three years of my life, when I have been in one serious relationship before in high school. I can't seem to get myself into something else anymore, no matter how great all the others are out there. I don't know, I guess the first one is just really irreplaceable.

Now before you get your eyebrows raised and tongues wagging, I'm talking about TV shows.

Friends. How I Met Your Mother. Sex And The City. Ally McBeal. Scrubs. Dirty Sexy Money. The Big Bang Theory. These are all great shows: critically acclaimed and well-loved by fans all over the world. Some of them are over, some of them have had their time, but one thing is certain, they've all taken a place in pop culture and in history. They're, as Barney Stinson puts it, legend--wait for it--ary. And I honestly all enjoy them. When I'm having a bad day, or a boring one, I just pop one of them into my player, and I feel better. But I can never finish one season completely. I can't sit through an entire day watching just one of these shows. I can't bring myself to embrace the characters, completely memorize the quotes, immerse in the music, and get myself drowned inside their world the way I only did with one particular show.

I was looking back on my previous posts, particularly in my sophomore and junior year in high school, and I was shocked at how I just had to mention an OTH or Nathan Scott-related entry in literally every post. Obsessed would be an understatement -- I sang the songs to every episode, I can recite the lines by heart, and I knew the characters as if I was there inside the show with them. The whole entire time, I saw myself inside their world. Everything that happened to me, I mirrored to the plot line, everything I did I based on the characters' reactions. Everyday was a literal, "What would Haley/Brooke/Peyton do?" and sometimes I found myself wishing I should be in their world and not stuck in Manila. Instead of going home feeling tired with homework or extra-curriculars, I could have an ending montage of scenes complete with realizations, quotes from famous writers, and an awesome background music. What could be better than that? I was crazed, really. I give you permission to call me cuckoo.

But since college began, I sadly started losing touch. I wasn't as updated as I once was because of my busy schedule but I managed to catch up every month or so. However after Lucas and Peyton left, I just completely lost interest. My favorite characters were Nathan and Haley, and I was actually a Brucas fan, but I just didn't see the point anymore. It was a different world, a different show. I guess you could say I "graduated" from the show as well. And suddenly, nothing else was the same. I can't get myself to commit to another show the same way I did: no matter how much I love Friends, or the HIMYM gang, or the SATC girls. It's just not the same. It's like missing your "high school barkada" -- your new friends are great, but there's nothing like being with the ones you knew the longest and the best.

I guess, it's childish, or it's weird probably. But I guess I just can't replace the show, no matter how hard I try to let it go. I've gone so far as letting it define who I was, or at least who I wanted to be, and it was such a huge part of my life that I can't just erase it. It's a long distant memory now, but it's still there. I miss it. I miss every heart-aching line, every unforgettable kiss, every sleep-depriving conflict. I miss having this one certain presence in my life that made me feel safe, that made me feel like nothing can go wrong in my world, as long as it's okay in theirs. I miss One Tree Hill. My One Tree Hill.

If there's something the show has left me (aside from great music), it's that the world goes on, sometimes without the people we love in it. Things will never be the same, but things can go okay again. It might be a different kind of okay, but a comforting one nonetheless.

But it also taught me that it's okay to look back, to feel nostalgic about the past, and recall times that may have left you broken but also stronger. Because it's only by doing so that you realize how grateful you should be about the present, and how much better it actually is if you just open your eyes.

I'm listening to my OTH playlist right now. I should really watch season 1-4 again.

It's a nice feeling, knowing I'm here and you're there, and yet somehow, I don't feel so alone. Like finally, I know everything is going to be okay. And I don't want this to end. I don't want us to end.

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 ;)


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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.


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