my personality, as broken down by an internet test

it started with a kiss

The pale yellow sunlight of early morning flooded the living room, entering through the glass of the wall-length sliding windows of the room wherein they, as a family, ate. It was a Saturday morning and the house was still, as usual. They were the only two people inside the house for the whole of the day, as usual.

His parents had once again taken it upon themselves to hasten up the pace of their supposed courtship, leaving the two of them alone inside the house as often as possible. It has only been seven months since her family moved in and already his life was a mess.

Still yawning, he padded to the marble dining table and took his usual seat. The weekend newspaper was already atop the smooth surface of the rounded fixture, indicating that she was already up. It somewhat came as a surprise to him that she got up earlier than he did, considering that she probably stayed up until the wee hours of the morning trying to understand her lessons. Then again, he thought, she always held many surprises.

Upon opening the broadsheet, he heard the sound of movement coming from inside the kitchen, the sound passing through the glass beads hanging on the door jamb (which his mother seemed to be so fond of) that divided the two rooms. It puzzled him that she didn’t greet him in the noisy manner that she usually does, but eventually concluded that she probably didn’t hear him come into the dining room. Good, at least she was already making breakfast without him telling her to cook it.

Actually, it was a wonder that she’s cooking at all, considering the number of things that she didn’t know how to do, the number of things she only learned when he taught her how to do them, step by frustrating step. She really could be slow in the head most of the time, explaining the below-than-average grades she’s gotten from school and the permanent scowl on his face.

There was suddenly the sound of a crash followed by her voice, in a high-pitched cry. He stood up abruptly, causing the legs of the chair he had been sitting on to scrape loudly against the wooden floor. In three long strides he had entered the kitchen and saw what caused the interruption of his morning’s peace.

The kitchen countertop was littered with various things – the a couple of knives, chopped red bell peppers, diced cheese, the can of cooking oil, the can of mushrooms, a bowl of eggs, the chopping board half-filled with white onions – and there was a pan simmering on the stove. She was standing with her back to him, the criss-cross of the fluffy blue apron on her back clearly in his line of sight, and he wasn’t sure if she had heard him walk in. Her posture was slumped, and she seemed to have her hands somewhere near her face.

Upon a closer and a longer look, he saw the white chopping board sprinkled with dots of red and concluded that she had cut herself while cutting up the onions. He was about to take a step towards her to take a look at her wound and help her when she spoke.

“No,” she said, her voice making it more apparent to him that she was in pain. “I’m fine.”

Even though it surprised him that she even knew he was in the room, it surprised him even more that she didn’t jump at the opportunity to be near him, like she usually did in circumstances like these. He hung back by the door, a few steps away from where she was standing. He watched her move clumsily to the sink to wash off the blood. By the time she started with the chopping once again, it became apparent to him that she really didn’t want his attention, making him take the seat at the stool that stood by the kitchen window and watched her go about cooking their breakfast.

She still wasn’t talking to him and none of her movements hinted that she acknowledged his presence. It irritated him, for some reason. Maybe he’s been so used to the ga-ga look in her eyes whenever she looks at him?

He wasn’t entirely sure how much time had elapsed when he was snapped out of the silence when she spoke his name.

“I know that when my father and I moved here, we caused you much stress,” her voice sounded distant, mixing with the sounds of the knife she was holding on her right hand meeting with the plastic surface of the chopping board. “And I know that we’ve cause changes that have made your life more difficult, and I’m really sorry. You must think that I had something to do with us moving here, but I didn’t plan this, believe it or not. Me having feelings for you just complicated things even more, and I am truly sorry for that.”

He stared at her back. He was perplexed at the fact that she was still chopping; usually when they talked, all of her attention was focused on him. He didn’t say anything as he was smart enough to pick up on the fact that she was only starting with this monologue. It wasn’t in his nature to interrupt people when they were speaking, after all, and he was indeed interested with where she was going with this.

“I wanted to thank you,” she began. “For everything that you’ve helped me with and for everything that you’ve taught me to do. It mustn’t have been easy for you, teaching someone who’s as slow as I am.” The sound of chopping ceased and was replaced by the sounds of cooking oil hitting the heated bottom of the pan. “Thanks, for the lessons in math, for helping me pass my qualifier’s exam, for the lessons in geography, and for the lessons in tennis. Really, I know that what you’ve taught me will stay with me forever.”

Flashes of the lessons she mentioned entered his head without his permission, and they made him smile. He remembered the first time they stayed up all night, with him trying very, very hard not to scream at her for not understanding. Her mother had been nice enough to cook them a midnight snack, and it was a treat that he was sorry he missed for almost all of his life. The look on her face when she saw that she passed her test was unforgettable, though. She looked so happy that she passed; he had almost thought that all that hard work had been worth it.

“But you don’t have to worry anymore,” she started, startling him from his walk down memory lane. The smell and sound of garlic and onions being sautéed filled his senses. “From now on, I’ll try my best not to ask for your help. I need to be independent, after all.”

He fought to suppress a snort. How many times had he heard this from her again? Ten times? Twenty?

“You might not believe me,” she said. “But I really will try my best this time to stand on my own. When I tried before, my heart wasn’t really into it, I guess. That’s why it never worked, I suppose. But now, I’ve got enough motivation to go through with it.”

Unwillingly his left eyebrow arched upwards. What was she talking about? Motivation? What had changed, exactly?

“I might not be the smartest girl in this world, in fact I might actually be one of the dumbest, but I am smart enough to know that you and Charlotte are meant for each other.” The tinkling sound of the fork hitting the sides of the ceramic bowl mixed with her voice as she beat the eggs for the omelet. “The two of you make such a sight; you’re both beautiful to look at, both extremely smart and both excel at whatever it is that you set your minds into.” She paused for a while to sprinkle some salt into the bowl. “I am sad that it is made clear to me that it would have never worked out between the two of us, but I am not blinded by my bitterness to see that you two are right for each other.”

Her words left him with a weird feeling inside his chest. How many times had he wished that she would stop following him wherever he went – to class, to tennis practice, even to the restaurant where he worked part time in – and stop making his life miserable? Now that it was here, laid out clearly in front of him, he was at a loss as to what to feel. He should be happy, he knew that much, that she was giving him up, but he can’t, for the life of him, feel any inkling of happiness.

Images of her not being with him entered his mind. He would be free, free to walk around without that annoying feeling of being stared at. He would be free to eat around anywhere he liked, without being hassled. He would even be free to eat around with anyone he liked and he wouldn’t get the emotional consequence of her mother guilt-tripping him to oblivion while he hears her cry herself to sleep in her room.

“You two are right,” she started as she poured the beaten egg into the pan. “I’ve learned to accept that now,”

Was she right? Were they that perfect? He has only considered Charlotte as his friend, and although she has made some advances towards him, she was still a friend to his eyes. He can’t really imagine the two of them becoming a couple; it would be too weird, no matter how perfect she seemed to think it was.

And what of this girl in front of him, cooking his breakfast? What did he think of her, really? She seemed to be genuine in what she was saying. Maybe she really was serious about giving him up. Could he handle that? Why was he even asking himself this? Was she really that important to her?

He found himself standing up and taking slow, careful steps towards the spot where she was diddling with what she was cooking. He was an inch from her back, and the scent of her hair wafted to his nose, mixing with the smell of their breakfast. She was a full head shorter than she was, and Charlotte was a good deal taller than her, but it was undeniable that her hair was more beautiful. He itched to touch her, for some reason, but the sound of her voice stopped his hand mid-way.

“So I guess I’ll be forgetting you now. I know that it’ll be hard, with us living under one roof and all, but we are studying in different colleges. I can make it, I swear. I’ll even talk to your mother why it’s not –”

She trailed off into silence, surprised by the fact that he had suddenly closed in the space between them and that his hands snaked around her middle. He was surprised at himself too, surprised that he was actually hugging her. He puller her closer to him, her back flat against his chest, and still her hands kept on working on their meal.

It annoyed him.

He was breathing into her neck, hard, and he grabbed her hands to still them from their actions, making her drop the wooden spoon onto the tiled countertop. Her hands were crossed onto her chest and he reached to kiss her right wrist when he felt her stiffen.

“Don’t,” she whispered. Her voice was weak, so different from the indifferent voice she used when she talked about forgetting him, and it was difficult for him to decipher if she was crying or not – her face was partially hidden by her hair. “Don’t,”

He disregarded her words and, on instinct, planted a kiss on her wrist, even licking at the spot where her pulse beat. It made him feel good that he was doing this. And it made him feel better that he was doing this to her. This felt right and he couldn’t figure out, for the life of him, why she wasn’t responding.

“If you don’t mean it, don’t do it,” she whispered again. She was still stiff in his arms. “I won’t be able to survive this when you decide to drop me,”

The thought seemed ludicrous to him. Why would he ever do that? Can’t she sense how suitable this was? With a frustrated sigh he released her and re-arranged her so that she was facing him, the small of her back digging into the counter, snugly positioned in between his hands. He crouched down to meet her eyes; her head was bowed and her hair was screening her face.

She was crying when he saw her face, and it puzzled him why she was doing it. Shouldn’t she be happy? He finally grasped the fact that he wanted her in his life, not as a friend, not as a student, not even as a house mate, but as a lover. How can he make her understand?

He met her eyes which were rimmed with red. He hated himself for making her cry like this. Why was it so hard? He knew that he’s made her cry many, many times, and even heard her do it, but she always managed to hide it from him. Now he realized that he was an ass for making her cry because she was kind and beautiful and pure. She didn’t deserve to cry.

He hated himself more when he saw the fear. She was afraid of him now. She’s never been afraid; he’s been mean to her and even shouted at her a few times, but she had never been afraid.

He lowered his face to hers so that their foreheads were touching. She was breathing hard, ragged breaths. He knew that she was hyperventilating and wanted to keep her from fainting. He kissed her face, the tears on her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, and puller her close, her head on his chest. His right hand found and laced fingers with hers, while his other hand went around her body, making soothing circles on her back. She was sobbing now and despite the fact that this has happened many times before, it felt different to him.

“Please,” his voice sounded hoarse. “Please believe me that I would never hurt you. I don’t want you to leave my life and I’m so sorry that it took me this long to realize how important you are to me.”

She was shaking in his arms, now crying openly. “Don’t hurt me, please,” she whispered, crushing his heart with her words.

“I won’t, I won’t,” he kept on repeating, a mantra that had already been tattooed on his mind. “I won’t hurt you, I won’t,”

The smell of their burning breakfast singed his nose, but he didn’t let go of her. He never wanted to let go.

-Fin-

It's actually a fanfic of that Taiwanese TV soap, 'It Started With A Kiss'. Yeah.

Ryan and Taylor

Yes, yes, as much as it embarrasses me, I have to admit that I have now been converted to one of those people who watch The O.C. Man, I used to laugh at the people who watched that particular series. It's just so…dramatic. They're all beautiful people who happen to be living in the lap of luxury and yet they manage to entangle themselves into these stupid-ass problems.

But then again, I guess that's basically the premise of about fifty more series on air out there.

The one thing that made me hate The O.C. so was Mischa Barton. I hate, hate her. It's nothing personal or anything, I just hate the way she talks. Her voice is so freakishly low that it sounds like it belongs to a man, for creep's sake. It's because of her that I didn't give the show a chance whatsoever. It's just that whenever she goes on screen, a blanket of darkness drapes over my mind that I am literally forced to switch channels.

From the glimpses that I've caught from teasers and the more-than-one accidental channel landings, I figured that the heaviest of all dramas involved her character. Okay, she's basically the face of the series, but come on. I guess I'm just one of those people who aren't affected by her charms. It really is the way she speaks, I tell you.

No matter how much I tried to watch it before, I just couldn't. And when I heard that her character's been killed off, I actually rejoiced for the series. Still no intention of watching it though.

That all changed when one groggy Sunday morning (after coming back from the Acquaintance Party) that I flopped onto the bed and flipped on the tube for some channel surfing. I caught one of those episodes from the last season, the one where Taylor pretends to be a sleep therapist.

It's so cliché. It's so cheesy, almost disgusting. But I was hooked. Boy, am I hooked.

The whole pairing was just so different from the Marissa-Ryan drama saga that I just couldn't help but like it. It's so airy, so light, so…fluffy. There's just something so right about the fact that she's a motor-mouth who pushes through even though he's got this huge barricade up.

It's too bad that it's the last season of the series though. Just when I converted too. I actually pledged to watch the series from now on. Imagine my devastation when I heard that it's been cancelled. Bleeh. I blame Mischa Barton for this. Damn her and her character. It actually seemed that the producers and directors were actually trying to get a fresh start on the whole series, because they significantly lightened up on the drama. It actually felt like it was a brand new series all over again.

To make a long story short, I am now one of the series' fans. I can't help it. I'm actually so addicted that no matter how tired I am, I actually go to Chen's house (and impose) to watch it every Thursdays. Pathetic? Not really. Just a Taylor and Ryan fan ^__^.

A forgotten post.

My classmates and I are currently on our way to school. Time check: 8:16 in the morning. There is a light drizzle outside, a light shower that continuously gives us hope of an upcoming cancellation of classes. The chances of that happening are pretty slim, but what the hey, hoping's free.

The roads are wet and slippery, and the sound of the tires screeching against the pavement sounds scary. It's always easier to imagine car wrecks in this kind of weather. There is light traffic on the road that comes and goes depending on the particular street or crossroad we are currently passing. The rain has nothing to do with it, neither does the time. Traffic is just a constant in the Philippines; a part of everyday Filipino life that can no longer be erased.

Piles of people are on the street, most with umbrellas while some have none. As with these types of weather, an empty jeepney (or cab) is always difficult to come by. Why is that?

Sociability is a Gift

Renz's twentieth birthday celebration had been on the last Saturday of July, and the Condemned Ones had been invited to said party. Yeah boy. As with all other Condemned Ones galas, this one had been a spur of the moment, of sorts, because our damned schedules just wouldn't connect with one another. Damned thesis meetings.

But once we got the ball rolling and decided to go, we were off. First, we had to drop by CCP to catch a Cinemalaya Film Festival entry, for Nicole's project. The title of the movie was Ligaw-Liham, it was an unbelievably slow movie, and that's all that you're going to get from me. It really was a budget-friendly activity, since the movie only cost fifty bucks for students.

Anyways. Don't we feel so special, being fetched by the birthday boy himself in CCP (thanks, Renz!) a little bit after the movie ended. It was a pleasant surprise to find Buen seated at the back seat; didn't think he was going to make it, with his review classes and all.

I was very much hesitant about this party, actually. Of course I wasn't delusional, I knew that Renz invited his college friends as well. Which was a bad thing, of sorts, since from experience, I never really got along with new people that well. And there were only the four of us high school people; we were bound to have been overshadowed by their group. But still, we trudged on, for the sake of Renz's birthday, for the sake of free booze and most importantly, food.

It was actually raining when we got there. Wasn't that supposed to signify good luck? Anyway as we were the first ones there, we had to endure the semi-awkward moments of introduction to his family. They were nice but it still was awkward, since they didn't know who the hell we were because we really hadn't been in touch with their birthday boy in such a long time.

Onto the good parts. The food? Scrumptious and it could've feed a whole basketball team. Oh yeah, we filled ourselves to the brim with the food, even staying downstairs just to get to the cake. The music? Who knew that the Corrs' live concert provided for a more than adequate party music. No hip-hop, no RnB, just plain Irish goodness. The venue? It was the birthday boy's house, of course. I liked it actually, it reminded me of the Weasley's the Burrow. And Renz's room was so cool. It was filled with books, literally. If I were to loot that house, I'd go for the books; it'd fetch me something near a hundred grand, probably. But then again, why sell the books?

Ah, of course, the company. When the BS Biology people arrived, it was made clear that we were to be overpowered (there were ten people in their group, AND a guidance counselor) and a little bit overdressed. What can you do, we're the Condemned Ones; we don't make appearances without the least bit of preparation. We were separated in to two groups, of course, we had the smaller table and they had the much larger one. I kind of had a feeling of foreboding, because the night wasn't starting quite nicely for us; they were throwing around private jokes and the booze hasn't even arrived yet!

After a while Renz moved the party upstairs, and while they were talking over ice cream in one of the living rooms, we stayed downstairs to attack one of the two cakes (chocolate, of course). The living room wasn't that big of an area so Renz sequestered us back to his room while the crowd downstairs thinned out. Don't we feel so special, that we got to play with Renz's book collection in the luxury of an air-conditioned room?

Some people left the party by nine-thirty or so and we all moved to the living room as we now had space. A round of awkward introductions were made. It was there, the dense awkwardness, you could actually feel it. Everybody was trying not to stare at the other group, and nobody was willing to open up a topic for fear of secluding the other group out. What choice was there left, really? All eyes went to the gay guy, Peter. The limelight shone on him for sure -- his friends were goading him to sing a particularly high song of Mariah Carrey's and we, the other group, were looking at him expectantly. His salvation came in the form of the birthday boy, who decided that it was time for booze.

Aah, booze. When we all plopped down on the floor of Renz's room once more, the awkwardness sort of wavered. We knew that something was going to happen, although we really didn't know what it would be. One bottle of Cuervo's tequila, one bottle of Bailey's Irish cream, a few bottles of beer and a deck of cards were designated as the night's activities of entertainment. I immediately immersed myself with the cards -- I decided that mingling wouldn't hurt me and I really, really haven't played Pusoy Dos and Tong-its in a long time.

The Cuervo bottle was opened; Nicole and I took turns in handing over the shots. During sessions such as these, I always took the bottle because I found it sort of fascinating to remember how the round should go, and it was even made more challenging this time as people kept moving around and exchanging seats. The room had been divided into different sections though, the people really weren't connecting - I was involved in the game of cards, taking turns to change the loser in one corner; Chenyl, Nicole, Buen and another person who was asleep were on top of the bed talking, the BS Bio majority were on the other side of the room, involved in their own conversations. But everyone was still taking the shots. Weird? Yeah, it was.

By ten-thirty I was getting sleepy, even with the card game, and I could feel that most of the people in there were getting sleepy as well. It felt odd to me, because I've never been to a drinking party where nobody was laughing. Hell, no one was noisy, period. So I went over to the bed, chatted with Nicole and decided to play a round of I've Never's. We scouted the crowd and concluded that these people weren't ready for a game of dares, even with half the bottle of tequila gone. The general rule of the game was that you get shot, pick any person from the group and state a fact about that person. If what you said was correct or true in any way, that person drinks. But if you're wrong, then you, who stated the fact, chugs the shot down.

This game tested my sociable skills. I was still the one giving out the shots, and boy, it was kinda hard to make half the bottle last. We asked each other questions and I was very much grateful to some of the people who actually got the point of the game and asked the questions to the people in our group. Really, thanks to Steph and Peter who broke the ice barrier between the two groups. Kudos for getting it!

You should know what kind of questions were asked; we were twenty-year-olds with alcohol. That game lasted up until two-thirty in the morning but only the birthday boy got hammered. Well, it was his birthday celebration, after all. We all went to sleep, cuddled up in one bed.

Because we were caught unawares of the fact that the party would turn into a sleepover, none -- NONE -- of us brought the proper materials for a sleepover. Yeah, kinda gross, but still fun. It turned out to be yet another way of rekindling old linkages to the high school people and we actually got to meet and mingle with new ones.

Happy birthday, Renz! You're party was a success!

Lessons Learned partTwo

And so, I made it safely enough to Caliraya, Batangas, after a whole night of cramming to submit on time the requirements for psych ward and additional cramming for the two subjects that needed the most memorizing.

Day one:

We got there by bus, and because we were the unlucky people decked on the last bus, there was still space enough left -- I had a whole two-seater to myself. I was a girl packed with an Ipod and a (borrowed) Gaiman book; I fended off for myself quite nicely.

As is with all other school activities I've been to, there was an inexplicable, not to mention annoying, amount of delay before all three buses got to leave the university. Thus, explaining our eight-in-the-evening time of arrival. We were all beat, icky not to mention hungry as hell, since our last meal had been the pre-lunch thing we had before taking the exams in the morning. After being yelled at by an irked and possibly very hungry Ma'am Lerma, we trudged to our assigned duplex -- right after we got our phones back, of course. They took our phones away before the exams, for fear of a leakage within the student body. Puh-leeze, people. We're not from the PRC, okay?

We were oriented to the place, and I learned the following, most of which were house rules:

1. That we had to live in duplex-es for our stay. Thank goodness for Tin, my bunkmate, who had been there before and had knowledge enough to pick the beds upstairs, an area very much near the bathroom. Bunks were assigned alphabetically, which meant that we were in the last duplex. There were seventeen of us. Seventeen girls. Need I spell out the difficulties that would arise because of this?
2. That the main hall, the one place in the area that served the food, was situated in such an area of such steepness, that I the first time I clambered above it, it thought my legs would give out. Gastrocnemius - PAIN.
3. Caliraya was a BIG place. Humongous as it was clearly made for sessions such as leadership trainings. There were many things provided for our use, a tennis court, a basketball court, two pools, a wall climbing deck, a mudslide area, a man made lake, lots of cottages and fields. There were a LOT of open fields, very conducive to running around. Indeed, the whole place was big enough that there were two jeepneys that fetch people to-and-fro.
4. It was an eat-all-you-can buffet set up, which was all well and dandy, since the hike up to the main hall was tiring enough as it was. The only catch? You snooze, you lose. They only serve the food for an hour and if you're not there, you go hungry until the next time they open.
5. We had to wear closed shoes and pants during the talks. Bye-bye slippers and shorts.

After dinner, the dreaded literature professor from last year gave the opening speech. Didn't get to listen to it that much though; I was too tired. We were given an hour's worth of free time right after the lecture, and tired as I was, I went with Mela, Trish, Chen, Fred and Gian to the pool to hang out 'til midnight. It was fun, a sound trip if ever there was one.

The whole scene actually reminded me of my high school days; the caste system carried over to the college life. The populars, as I endearingly call them, were all submerged in the pool, making the most noise. Domination was the word, and because they were in the middle, everybody caught site of their antics. The musically inclined (I was part of this group by default because of Mela, Trish and Chen; I can't carry a tune to save my life) were in one corner, contented in singing to the tune of one guitar and generally unmindful of the noise. The less-popular people (I wouldn't really call them nerds, they don't fit the category) were dispersed in small groups of two or three and you can see that they were trying very hard to go unnoticed.

I have only one thing to say: MOO you. Damned caste system, when will you die?

Anyways, we were shooed away from the pool area by the roving professors at midnight and we bid each other goodnight's.

Day two:

Because we were rudely awakened (at five in the morning..!! Can you say inhuman?!) by the roving professor's annoying ring tone (really, 'makulay ang buhay' is not an ideal tune to wake up to), we were jolted back to the tasks of the day. One of which was taking a bath. Let me reiterate that there were seventeen girls in our duplex, and only two bathrooms with two shower cubicles each. We're girls. Who hardly knew each other. It was a miracle that no catfight occurred.

Before breakfast, we were made to do the activities as an official way to kick-off the whole LTS seminar. We were asked to group ourselves into twelve, and then asked to pick a phrase out of a hat. Then we were blindfolded, so we only had our voices to find the others who had picked the same phrase from the different groups. Talk about random sampling.

I had a hard time finding my group mates because the noise of the other people swamped my own voice. I was beginning to get scared but sweet warm relief poured over me when I felt a strong steady hand grab mine. It was Buen, who had been assigned as a facilitator in the LTS; the same Buen whom I had an argument with the night before. He led me to my group mates and I am utterly thankful for it.

The moment I took off my blindfold, I was surprised to see that I was put in a group mostly composed of boys. I may not seem the type, but those who really know me can attest to the fact that I get shy around the opposite sex. I clam up, generally and I can only be coerced to talk if there I am in the presence of at least one other girl in the group. And that girl has to be someone who talks a lot, because the most I can do is laugh at the jokes she's going to make.

Anyways. The group I had been put in had fourteen members -- 4 girls (2 seniors and 2 freshmen) and 10 boys (most of whom came from the populars). Later on Frederick told me that he panicked when he saw me around my group mates, murmuring to himself, 'naku pano makikisama si Girlie dun?'. My sentiments exactly.

We were made to spend time with our group mates -- eat with them, go up to the main hall with them, brainstorm, everything -- a drag, because I couldn't hang out with my friends because they had to hang out with their group mates as well. The only time we got to spend with each other were the measly few seconds before the activities started.

As with all three-day-two-night trips, the bulk of the activities were in the middle day. And we did:

1. The Ping-Pong ball passing game, where in we had to form a circle and we had to throw the bal to the person in front of us for three straight minutes. It was a fun game, an enjoyable one, but because we failed for five times, we had to kick it up a notch. We ended up throwing the ball around for eight minutes and thirty-so seconds.
2. After breakfast we had to do this bridge activity, where we had to assist another person who was blindfolded in crossing an area filled with plastic cups and vice versa.
3. We had the activity with the dean, wherein she addressed all the concerns of the students. We seniors were waiting until she addressed the enrichment issue, but it didn't come. Hmm.
4. We listened to a very vivacious talk by Dra. Cabral, the adviser of the central student council. It was so lively and energetic that the I didn't even sleep through it, and neither did my infamous classmate who sleeps through everything *ehem*Tetet*ehem*
5. The Amazing Race. We changed into working clothes after lunch, and we were off into a glorious search for muscle pain. Let us not forget that I was amidst a group of boys. Boys who were competitive. Boys who were sporty. Boys who played basketball for goodness' sake. The activities included searching for a certain professor and making her laugh, going through an obstacle course (where we ran through tires, crawl through mud military-style and all climb in a swinging piece of log and hold a position for fifteen seconds straight; needless to say all the hugging and the holding on for dear life had been awkward), get one member to climb on the wall climbing deck, getting in the pool to search for coins, eat both wasabe and a sili after losing a memory card match, play Pinoy Henyo at the highest point of Caliraya, go through another obstacle course, touch a live frog, got an egg smashed in my pants, play volleyball with a humungous ball, build a human bridge (yet another round of awkward touching), pick up coins from a plate filled with flour using only our mouths and playing this intricate game invented by our Logics professor.
6. Most of the people enjoyed the whole mudslide experience; I didn't. Tiredness got to me and by the time my group were supposed to do it, I didn't feel like it anymore. I just marked one spot on the grass as mine and plumped down unceremoniously. My view alternated between the beautiful sight of the sunset and the people who were having fun with the mudslide.
7. Another round of baths for all of us before dinner.
8. Dinner time was a blast. I got to eat with my friends again, and even though we were tired and our muscles were aching, we still found the energy to laugh over the stupidest things; the stupidest thing being a Sprite.
9. We had to do another bridge activity, a literal one. We had to build a bridge using only materials given to us -- newspapers, straws, masking tape, yarns and the like. The catch was that we couldn't speak a word and the facilitators had to take a member of our team away every five minutes. Ours failed, since really, thirty minutes were hardly enough time to build a bridge to hold up a massive toy car, now is it?
10. There was supposed to be another talk, but the students were all freakishly tired. I couldn't even hold my eyes open anymore, and the time was only eleven-thirty. And because the student council was very flexible, they agreed to move the schedule to the morning.
11. They held a bonfire at the grounds, and the more energetic students stayed up until three in the morning, but I, for the life of me, couldn't do it. By midnight, I was already snoozing at my mattress, unmindful of the noise.

Day three:

Once again, we were awoken by that godforsaken tune, and once again there was a flurry of bodies for the bathroom. Some people had sense enough to begin with their packing; it was already our third and last day after all.

It was still activity-filled. We had lots of stuff to do:

1. Eat breakfast, of course. It was such a painful experience trudging up those steps again, and the heat of the early morning sun bearing down our necks was just delightful *wipe sarcasm off the keyboard*. Really, being that sweaty after our morning shower was icky.
2. Practice for the awarding ceremony. It was supposed to be the culminating activity the night before, but it was moved because nobody had the energy left to perform. We had to compose a three-minute long cheer and an additional five-minute long performance. But because our group really didn't meet about anything the night before, it was crunch time for us. We practiced even while the other groups were already performing.
3. The awarding. It was fun watching the performances each group had crammed. Everybody was tired, everybody had no time to give a fantabulous performance, but everybody still managed to do the most entertaining stuff. Our group opted for the easier choice; because we were mainly composed by guys, the girls let them do their stuff while singing a boy-band song. ^_^ talk about fairness.
4. Hear the mass, since it was a Sunday and we were a Catholic university. I swear, I wanted to listen to the homily very much, but because the priest wasn't really making sense (Paolo: lasing ata si Father, eh), I opted to just slump and sleep.
5. Lunch time rolled around and once again, I was in the company of my friends. Paolo even ate lunch with us, making the moment even more memorable, since he was a funny person to eat with.
6. Listen to Sir Earl give a talk. I missed that guy; he's so quirky. It was also the first time I've ever seen Frederick snooze during a lecture. Did Mela, who had been seated beside him, had any effect on this? Hmm.

After the whole deal had been sealed, we were made to rush with the packing. The schedule had been moved because of the time delay, and we only had Caliraya to ourselves until four. And then we were off, off into our own respective buses. Frederick had been my bus mate, thank God for that. Tetet was also in our bus, which meant that we had our very own gay stand-up comedian of our own. We were laughing our heads off half the time, when we all got our fill of nappy time in the bus.

My brother was kind enough to fetch me at our usual meeting point at Caltex. He even treated me to a frap in Starbucks, how cool was that? The moment I got home, I made a beeline for the TV, after I screamed and jumped around at the sight of Harry Potter 7, of course. I was dead tired from the trip that I was out by ten. Didn't even get to say hello to my folks, who had been out that time.

Anyways, the thing that most got to me, was the fact that God had been so effin' blatant on that lesson that I had to learn. Why the hell did he have to place me in a group filled with the populars? I mean, I had as much chance to be with the other groups, but I just had to pick that one lone effin' phrase. Damned it. Didn't help that I knew no one in my group. And the boys. The boys. Any other person would've been thrilled to have been in my position, but I'm not any other person, am I? Arg. During my lunch time session with Chen and Nic, they suggested the following lessons that I should have at least learned.

1. To not look down so much on the popular people. Nope, not getting that vibe. The whole experience has not disproved my annoyance at the Paris Hilton-esque personalities in school. You know the type, the ones who're so popular just because they look good, even if they're talent-less twits.
2. To be comfortable around boys. No deal. I did the stuff I did without any hint of kilig of any kind. It wasn't comfortable, if anything, it was awkward.
3. To learn how to interact more with different people. Well I guess I learned a little bit about this one. I had to act perky and cheerful and so not me for most of the time. Gah. That was tiresome. Probably half the reason why I was exhausted that much.

Actually I'm kind of scared that it might happen again, and soon. I'm such a stubborn headed freak that I feel like God would smite me with these kinds of experiences once again. I just hope that next time it wouldn't be that overwhelming.

Lessons Learned partOne

A couple of weeks back, my life was thrown into a whirlpool because my barely-there-just-on-the-verge-of-starting daily schedule had been whacked upside the head, and all hopes of it ever being established were crushed.

Yes, people, my life is that pathetic: my schedule gets thrown out of track by the mere existence of a leadership training seminar.

I may not strike most people as the leader-y type, but I actually was voted as class auditor. Although I think I was only appointed to that position just to see if I was listening to the whole voting process.

Well, I wasn't, obviously. The moment I looked up, the president and vice-president were looking at me, mouthing words that couldn't get through the blaring music of my then-brand-new Ipod. When I ripped the earphones out, the room burst in laughter and Frederick (el presidente), said, "auditor ka na".

And there you have it, my not-so-fascinating story of how I was elected into the roster of class officers.

Anyways. I wasn't really required to attend the whole Leadership Training Seminar (LTS); I was actually all hyped up about my weekend plans as I wasn't going to go. But being a class officer, in addition to being made the Chief of Staff for one of the student council projects, in addition to the fact that Frederick wanted me to come as I am one of his close friends, he put me on the list without actually consulting me first, thinking that I had nothing better to do in the weekend anyways. He was sorta-kinda wrong.

Things planned for that particular weekend:

1. Submission of working IPA for the psych ward
2. Sleeping in late, as it was the weekend after the prelims
3. Last working day in the psych ward in the afternoon
4. Yoga session with Raydon in UST
5. Night out with Nicole and Chenyl

Frederick, being the good friend that he was, informed me that I was already on the list one evening, and even recounted how the student council adviser (who knew me personally) said that I should go. Agh. It took me two whole days to decide the pro's and con's of the whole thing, but in the end, I decided to go because:

1. I've never actually been on a leadership training seminar before
2. Chen, Buen, Fred, Mela, Trish and a bunch of other people whom I knew were going too. The fear of being that 3. weirdo-over-there was greatly diminished
4. I wanted to meet new people, being the anti-social freak that I am
5. I wanted to see what Caliraya was like and where the eff it was exactly
6. Talk to a particular professor and seek for advice

BUT because I went, the things sacrificed were:

1. A whole night's sleep Thursday night because I had to finish the working IPA on Friday morning, a whole day earlier than it was supposed to be submitted
2. Time for studying for the last two exams as we were required to take them earlier than everybody else
3. Five whole hours of duty time in a special ward that I still have yet to make-up >.<
4. Sufficient time for packing because it was a spur-of-the-moment thing
5. An amount of 1,350 pesos >.<
6. The Yoga session with Raydon
7. The possible night out with Nicole
8. A whole weekend from the house

But still, I made it, all because of the understanding of the people involved -- namely, Nic, Raydon and my parents >.<

To be continued...

Welcome to the Tennis Minority

I'm not really the sporty type of person, and I really wouldn't be caught dead playing or doing anything that is even related to a sport. I guess, if anything, that explains the reason why I'm quite overweight.

I'm so inept that even if currently, I live in a country that lives, breathes and smells basketball, I still can't tell a technical foul apart from an offensive one.

But, for some unknown reason, I am into tennis. I really am. I don't play it, though, because I really think that I don't have the chops to do it. But I'm enthralled whenever I see a tennis match on T.V. You know why?

Well, two words: Rafael Nadal.

He's just way to hott for reality; a Spaniard born in Majorca one day in June (which means that every time he's in the quarterfinals or the semifinals of the Rolland Garros, he's celebrating his birthday). He's only a year older than I am (he's 21) and already he's made eleven million dollars. My God. He's the world's number two for two years now, and he's currently the only one who can rival Roger Federer, the world's number one.

This rivalry between the two of them fueled my interest in tennis a couple of years back, because it's just too interesting to watch and see them duke it out on court. Federer, being older and exponentially more experienced as he has been sitting in the number one slot for something like five years now, is a cool and unemotional shell who scores points with such deathly precision that it's scary. Federer is Swiss, a lanky tennis player who scores points with his brain rather than muscle.

On the other hand, Nadal, being, technically, a young 'un in the game, is all passion whenever he plays. The fist-pumping after a point can get tiring for some -- and I've even heard others complain about how this whole fist-pumping affair is nothing but a show how egotistic he can be -- but for me, it's just a sliver of the feeling he gets whenever he plays. Also, he's all muscle, which gave way to a stereotype about him not being a smart tennis player.

Oh, but he is.

Three years ago, he was criticized for not serving very well. Now, he can score aces just like that. Three years ago, he was criticized for not being able to play on grass (which was made all the more apparent because the Wimbledon quickly follows the French Open). For the past two Wimbledon's he's made it into the final round--against Federer himself.

If any of you saw the Wimbledon final last Sunday, you'd see that he is a very smart player on court. He'd have to be, because of the thirteen times he's met Federer on court, he's only lost five times (2 of which have been Wimbledon finals).

Simply put, it means that the world's greatest tennis player has lost to Nadal more times than he's lost to anyone else. My God. Can anybody see why I'm so interested in this rivalry?

Wimbledon. Ah, Wimbledon. My father claims that it's like the gold-standard of all tennis matches. And during this year's final game, I felt such ambivalence because I wanted the underdog to win. Problem was, I couldn't figure out who the underdog was.

On one hand, I wanted Nadal to win, just because he's Nadal. Also, logically, because he is the second seed, it must be that he' s the underdog. Also, if he won this game, he's be the second man in history to win the French Open and the Wimbledon in the same year. So that's always a plus, being written down in history.

On the other hand, though, I wanted Federer to win, because if he won this particular match, he would've equaled Bjon Borg's 5-year stint in Wimbledon back in the 70's. Also, because he is up against Nadal and not just any other player on tour, it can be said that he's the underdog because he can't win against this particular opponent -- the one man who's crushed his ego time after time, the one man who literally stands in his way to be declared as the greatest tennis player of all time.

It was one hell of a match; a true nail-biter if there ever was one. It was refreshing to see them play the way they did because the last time they met in the French Open final had been disappointing. They both played sloppily, for some unknown reason, and even then, Nadal steam-rolled Federer. I guess he was just vicious in defending his three-year run in Paris.

Personally I was kind of expecting the same thing for the Wimbledon, that they'd succumb to the pressure of the expectations of the crowd. But meeeh…in Niki's words, that game was historical -- a five-setter match that lasted for almost four hours "between the two gods of tennis".

I can't wait for the next season to start, because these two will meet again, and when that happens, I'll be watching ^__^

Hooray Federer for winning his fifth Wimbledon title! Hooray for him who cried when it sank in that the shot he made gave him the trophy! Hopefully he does it again next year, so he could become the first man ever to win it six consecutive times. Hopefully Nadal doesn't get anything serious from that right knee of his, so get your rest, Rafa! You'll be wanted in the succeeding games.

CCW

For the better parts of the months June and July me and my Related Learning Experience (RLE) group is assigned to the UST Hospital Community Center Ward (CCW), the only ward in the whole hospital that caters to the mentally ill.

We had a ton of meetings and orientations before entering the said ward so that we could be "prepared" psychologically and emotionally because the patients might pick up on the underlying tension between the students and it might trigger their aggression.

I'll never forget the first time I entered through the double doors (and by double, I mean 2 huge doors that open from end-to-end, so that you're trapped in a tube in between), both laden heavily with huge locks, and through the iron grills--yes, also with locks. It was nerve-wracking, because all of these weird images of what to expect stared popping into my head. The patients loitered around the hallway (as they should, because it IS their ward), and they seemed to be very excited to see us student nurses. One even cal all the way towards us to do the mandatory WELCOME shout.

Initially I was scared when that patient came towards us. There as just something weird with the eyes. Their eyes seem unfocused somehow, and when you look into them, you will realize that something's not right. I guess this was my first time to prove that age-old-saying "the eyes are the windows to the soul".

Then we were asked by the clinical instructor (CI) to socialize casually with them, and by the end of that meeting, I figured out that they really were fun people to hang out with. Fun because they're always interesting. Hardly are they ever aggressive, so all the fears I had about being attacked were quelled.

Each patient has a story and each story is interesting. I can only get the complete stories from the charts, because really, most of them don't even know the reason why they were confined in that particular ward, claiming "I'm not even crazy, why the hell am I even in here?"

This became interesting, because all the boring theories that we had to learn last year, we get to apply. Most of the patients there are textbook cases; almost all the reasons why their psyche broke can be found in the book. I don't really know if it's a good thing or a bad thing.

Because most of them have been there for a few weeks (at least), the medications prescribed to them have already taken some effect, so them, except for some weird delusions, show normalcy when interacted with. It's a comfortably environment to be working in. If ever I feel bored or if I've got nothing to do, I'd just go to a patient and chat. The things they say usually don't make sense but it's always fun trying to decipher what they mean.

That I'm enjoying this scares me because I think genetically speaking, my family has a history of mental illnesses and I know that if I don't learn how to cope with the problems thrown my way, I could easily end up in that ward.

Although I'm not really sure that that's a bad thing, because really, the patients in there , at their worst, have nothing to worry about. And I kind of want that for me.

Dude, talaga?

The La Mareans, whom I've not seen since school started, decided to venture out of their comfort zone in Laguna in order to visit me here in UST. This was a plan formed through a phone call with Pinky during a particular lunch break when we both were bored.

Reasons for the visit? Well, primarily it think it was to see me, because I haven't been showing up during the tambays. Secondly, because Pinky had moved to Malate, hence they're looking for a tambay place somewhere in Manila.

I thought that it was just one of those plans, you know, the ones that get, well, planned but never actually push through. But then, Lo and behold!, I got this text message that they were already on their way. Talk about gah. Just when we had set a meeting about our thesis too.

When I finally got to meet them, they decided to eat, but definitely not in the car park, as it was swarmed with ickle freshies. We made our way to P. Noval, where I heard that there were good drinking spots to go to. And it was two in the afternoon.

We entered 1611 fine but when they ordered the food, the snarky waitress told us that they didn't serve liquor until five. Ngeeeee~

While they were eating, I texted Nicole, asking her to come, because I didn't think I could do it (hanging out with them, Niki, Jigz and Pinky) for one whole afternoon by myself, without back-up. I texted Chen and Buen too, but they couldn't go because of damned academic matters.

The moment Nic (who had cute class just to come, yay her!) arrived, we went off into a cab hunt, which ended when we actually stopped a cab by barricading the whole street that we were in just so we could go to Glorietta.

A few hours in Gilligan's, things got wild, stories were told, secrets were spilled, connections were made. It was so fun to get information with Nicole, because we were so close that all unconscious cues were picked up on and everything that I wanted to find out, I found out.

Total tab: 2,567 php
Total number of red horse (stallion size): 21 or so
Total number of cocktails: 5, I think
Total number of broken glassware: one shot glass

I had a realization about Niki that night. It was my first time to be disillusioned and it doesn't feel that bad at all. He's too idealistic and I can't, for the life of me, figure out why, and I quote, " she's (Pinky) The One". WTF?

Dude, talaga?

Oh well. Sige, bahala na sila doon. It's one less ball to juggle which means more time for me.

Narcolepsy

Man, oh man, oh man, am I sleepy. I don't know what's wrong with me, but am effin' sleepy.

Every class in school is a struggle to stay awake. Once the teacher's moth opens, a wave of desire to go off to la-la land sucker-punches me in the gut.

There was even this instance during lunch, when I was still quite energetic and bouncy, I was poking my friend Argie, who was sleeping on his seat, into awake ness. You know, so we could chat and stuff.

The professor walked in the door mid-poke, and I swear to God, it's like somebody poured sand over my eyes to make them heavy as lead. It was as if some unknown entity messed up my circadian rhythm and turned the dial up to the sleeping time.

Well, you probably can guess how that particular class went for me.

You get the point, right? During lecture days, I'm sleepy as hell.

I never thought I'd say this, but thank goodness for Research. It's one of the few things (aside from break times and lunch breaks) that keep me awake for as long as an hour and a half.

Research is basically the time when my group mates and I sit down in a circle and brainstorm. It's actually quite fun, because it makes me think.

So I guess my other subjects don't make me think…? Probably. Last year had been a challenge for me because I was at least interested in what we were studying. We had cancer, diabetes mellitus, amputation, infarctions and a lot of other fun stuff.

And what about now? Well, we have…Professional Adjustment, Management, Economics, Taxation and Agrarian Reform, Asian Civilization and Bioethics. Talk about bleh. The last one would've been the slightest bit interesting if the professor assigned to us encouraged debates but alas, she's one of the nice professors who uses slides in lectures.

I'm not quite sure what the reason behind this sudden sleepy spell is. Did I just burn out from last year's trauma? Or am I just really not into this shit anymore?

Why? Because I can!

And so, the first week of school draws itself to a close. Well, technically it's already the second week of school but I don't think that last week counts since the whole three days of it were spent on orientations.

You see, I'm one of those unfortunate ones who have the pleasure of having to go to school on Saturdays. And it's not just for lecture classes too, where, you know, we get to sit all day inside air conditioned rooms. No siree, we have to be on duty where ever we're assigned. That means that we have to be standing, walking and moving around most of the time, and, if the patient's condition needs it, we can have extensions for God-knows-how-long.

So what can I say about the whole experience? Well, only one question comes to mind (mostly because the professors keep on badgering us about this): why am I here?

Well, because I can.

Sadly no other reason comes to my mind. I don't hate the course; else I'd have dropped out long ago. I don't feel ecstatic about it either, else I wouldn't be groaning and/or rolling my eyes each time a professor says, "by this time, you should have learned to appreciate and love nursing".

Bleh.

That's kind of the problem: I still haven't learned to do that trick and I don't think I ever will, too. I'm just here because I can. I haven't failed a course yet, and I do relatively well when it comes to ward duties, so I'm not about to be actually forced out. I have yet to experience failure in this course and as long as I keep on studying, put some bit of effort, I don't think I'll flunk out.

Last year, I think I had the drive to do it all, to force that amount of willpower because I saw it as a challenge, as an Everest to be conquered. Then I got more into it, not noticing that it wasn't actually the thing for me, because I was too busy. And too tired. Yeah, mostly too tired.

But now, I've had all this free time to think, to reflect, to re-evaluate, I'm lost. Suddenly all of these doors started opening in front of me and I don't know which one to pick.

I'm not really passionate about anything yet, and, unfortunately, at this point, all that I'm holding onto is my writing. And I'm not eve good at it yet.

Frustration. Frustration.

This might just be pre-graduation jitters or whatever, but I seriously don't know what to do. I'm confused and at the same time I'm sure that I want to become a writer.

Help, anyone?

Balancing Act

I was sitting at my desk this morning, waiting for my tea to cool when I noticed and re-read a piece of paper pinned on my corkboard.

3:30 - 4 - prepare + clean
4 - 5:30 - study
5:30 - 6 - dinner
6 - 6:30 - read a novel

Wednesday: leisure night @ the T.V.
Thursday: condemned ones' standing lunch date (Quad or Benchers)
Saturday: La Marea date/Home buddy day/Koreanovela day/Dorm cleaning day
Sunday: Mass/Family day

Yes, I can be somewhat obsessive-compulsive (OC), because I like to make lists and schedules of what to do. That was an example of how I (tried to) live my life from January to March of this year.

Do you see how I've freakin' juggled everything? Study time? Check. Reading time? Check. T.V. time? Check. Friends' bonding moments? Check. Family time? Check. Every aspect of my life was wrapped up in teeny tiny packages and I had time for everythign.

I even had time for my spiritual life. I went to the morning mass everyday at school, which, mind you, started at 6:15 in the morning.

And now I've got to wonder where the hell did I get the willpower to do all of those stuff?! Can I possibly muster up the so-called willpower to do it all over again? Do I even want to do it again? I don't think my mind can handle a repeat of last year.

For one thing, my writing took the back seat for the better of the past two years, especially the last school year, because the sheer amount of workload had been staggering. It had been, sadly, one of the proverbial balls that I had dropped while juggling my life.

It's sad that the whole of last year I didn't even get to write one story, not even one paragraph I think. It's a (really) good thing that Nicole and Chenyl's stay at our place during the summer jumpstarted some inspiration in my to once again do some writing.

But the question now is, if I pick up this ball, which other ball will I drop? Realistically speaking I think it's quite impossible to have a good taste of all aspects of one's life without being exhausted. So which one will it be?

Seniority

It's already Wednesday, meaning that I've suffered through both hellish days of class and duty.

Oh sure, you might say that all first days of school are hellish by definition, but I think my situation warrants some kind of recognition because, my dears, I am a senior.

Yep, this is going to be my last year as a college student. It might even be the last year as a student forever. I'm at the throes of being an adult, living out there the so-called real world and it's making me anxious as hell.

Last Thursday we had an orientation as to what would happen in our senior year, about the wards that we're going to be rotated in and what our functions would be now as we're about to be trained as 'professional beginning nurses'.

I was overwhelmed by the information, because the moment that we sat down, we were bombarded with the statement, 'at this time next year, you should already have taken the board exams'.

It just all sounds so…final.

And a year can go by so fast too. After the hell that I've gone through last year, I can say that one year is gone in a couple of winks.

I'm not scared of the workload, damn it. After last year, I'm pretty sure I can handle anything that they decide to throw my way this year. It's just that I'm actually having second thoughts about this course. Can I make this as a career? Can I actually make my way through life (just) as a nurse? After that fun-filled five day creative retreat with Nicole and Chenyl, I want to back out.

Although I know that it's quite too late for that.

Man, I'm so going to stuff my calendar with events that have absolutely nothing to do with school. That way I can deviate from the boredom of this course. I just hope it works out.

And the leash tightens...

This night at the dinner table my brother brought up the topic of him going on an overnight trip to Fontana in Subic with my cousins. They had been invited by Lance, a former classmate and a present schoolmate and friend of mine. Lance's family has the privilege of being one of the rich stockholders in Fontana, and Lance had been nice enough to invite my cousins and my brothers at the said resort for the weekend.

Blast. My father shot that idea down quickly.

I can't understand. Is this one last attempt to control their aging children? As a sign of power? To remind us that since we're still living here under their roof, we still have to do each and everything that they say to us?

I don't know.

It's one thing to not allow me to go to the mall (the mall, people, the mall!) with my friends to watch Pirates of the Caribbean a few weeks back, but to not allow a grown man to get a night out with cousins (cousins!) is another.

Man, that must have sucked for my brother. I'm twenty, an undergraduate so I can understand that the parents still do have the controlling rights over my life and everything, but my brother's already working. He must have earned the right to do it, right?

We're good children. We really, really are. I mean, if we weren't, we wouldn't have bothered with the asking of permissions. We do our chores (when we have to) and we do nice stuff for each other. Do they not trust us?

This is my father's point: nakakahiya naman sa pamilya ni Lance. Here's the background on Papa: he lived the hard life and has experienced the life of living from house to house, none of which were his. He really has heard some nasty stuff from the people he's lived with and I guess he just doesn't want us to hear them too.

It is a good point, to be fair. But Lance wouldn't have invited my brother and cousins if he really didn't want them to come, right? I guess I could say that I kind of know Lance, and he's the type who could come up with excuses if the need came up.

Man, oh man, oh man. And the night before the trip too. My cousins have been texting my brother non-stop for the past few days; I could tell from the non-stop ringing of his cell.

My brother's pissed, that much I can tell. He actually walked out of the dinner table while my father was talking. And my brother's not really the type who gets angry easily. I mean, he's lived with me for…well, for the entirety of my whole life but I have yet to feel his wrath.

Gah. I wish I could do something for him. Arg.

I can hear my mother talking to him now. I wonder how that conversation turns out.

Pagod Weekend

Warning: Long Post ahead:

Friday: Re-organization of the original four.

After that super fun (but tiring) day that me and my friends spent mall-hopping, I fell on top of my bed with a big 'ol floomph and went to la-la land until ten in the morning the next day. As usual, the house was empty save for Ate Roche and our two dogs, with my parents and brother off to work.

I doodled with photoshop until noon, only interrupted by the harsh shower rains that caused a huge puddle of mud to form on the floor of my room. Man oh man, oh man. And I thought that my parents had gotten that fixed.

Because the heat had been somewhat dissipated, my brain had gotten fuzzy and so, I was off to la-la land once again. My friends can attest that I can be a sleepy head, so much so that when I answer the phone, the immediate question to ask is 'kagigising mo lang no?'

It wasn't until two when I received a text from Jigz who asked if I wanted to go to the clubhouse with them to go swimming. And to go drinking. It was such a dilemma for me: to go or not to go? After the refreshing nap, I decided to let them pick me up, sans swimwear for me, and off to the clubhouse we went.

Agh. This would be a too complicated story to tell if one wouldn't tell the complicated back-stories behind it.

For one thing, I there's this boy that I like. Well, not like-like; just like. As in someone to like during the summer break. You know, before my world is eaten up by school. It's not really a summer fling, per se, because nothing's really happening. I just like him, because he's smart and he tickles my funny bone. But he does have all of these drama with another girl, Pinky, who, at this point, I'm finding it very difficult to remember why I liked her in the first place.

Anyhow. So we were occupying one of the pavilions there, Jigz, Eloisa, Badap, Sonny, Niki, Pinky, Dann, Rence and me. Pinky started to mix the drinks, and the noise levels went up.

I wasn't really in the mood, so to speak, mainly because (1) I had just woken up and was still sleepy and (2) I was texting Paolo and Kat about the plans for Monday. Niki kept on poking, continually saying, 'Ay, si Girlie, di na tayo pinapansin,' I swear, I wasn't trying to be difficult; it was just…well, I wasn't with them for one whole day and that one day had thrown me out of the loop. I couldn't relate to what they were saying.

Plus, the laced juice that was circulating bothered me; my parents' voices, telling me to not drink, kept on playing inside my head. Really, I don't think I should drink anymore.

But nooooo, I have the willpower equivalent to monay. I drank, but I don't think I got buzzed. And when the people started to feel the effects of what they--we were drinking, they went into the water to sweat and sober up. The only people left in the pavilion were me, Niki and L.A. (who followed due to peer pressure haha).

Jigz's phone was playing some song (forgot the title, forgot the song -_-*), LA was on her own phone so Niki and I struck up a conversation. It was a step closer to finding out his ailments in life. You see, the other night, we were texting and he was complaining about feeling weak; I asked him about it and he replied, 'Pag nagkita na tayo, I'll tell you about it; it's too long a story to tell'. And Niki's not exactly the type to shell out everything at once (the way I read his character, anyway); one would have to go through some kind of small talk first and then go to the main topic.

We were onto the small talk, when Pinky (arg her, arg her) decided to step out of the water and sit at the pavilion. She sat there quietly for a minute and then, 'Shit, nagpa-palpitate ako,'. Of course Niki ran to her side while I, the nursing student about to graduate, deliberately chose to continue sitting down. All I said was that she should lay off the alcohol, since the palpitations can be aggravated into a cardiac arrest. It can happen and I really haven't perfected the art of CPR yet.

Meh. I was so annoyed at the whole display that I pulled LA into a walk with me, where I updated her of what had happened these past few months. The topic about Pinky is like word vomit to me; I just can't seem to stop talking about her. Maybe it's the annoyance? Or maybe it's already anger? Hate? I can't figure it out myself, but I really am irked by what she's doing.

A little later Niki came over, asking us what we were talking about and why we were being all secretive. Since the topic was about him and Pinky, all we said was 'nursing stuff', and when he got bored, he walked away. Sad, I know. But I wasn't in the mood to talk to him at that point. All I kept thinking was, 'god, how could you possibly still like a girl like that, after all you've seen?'.

Right after I rudely rebuffed their (Niki, Ian, Jigz) decision to throw me into the (need I mention, murky and dirty) pool with Pinky (the only girl in the bunch, hah!), LA and I decided to walk back to Pat's house for a visit. In times like those, I miss the old days, when there were only the four of us. It was more innocent then and a lot less complicated.

We talked, watched Zsa Zsa Zaturna on DVD and generally killed time while the rest of the group took showers and ate dinner. By seven-thirty Pat, Jolo and I were about in the gardens, mobilizing for the balut trip. We ate balut, tons of chocolate and played cards until ten. Pat and I walked home, but when we passed her house, she asked me if I wanted to watch DVD's with her. I refused, because I knew that my mother would give me somewhat of an earful for staying past our curfew (ten-thirty, which the parents had decided upon bleh).

Saturday:

This was the day of the Pansol trip, part two. It's for Tita Ching's birthday celebration, and everybody-- Canoza, Cruz, Delos Santos, Dezza, Geolingo, Mercado, Repuyan and Ordinanza family -- was there. Everybody had been there before, everybody except me that is, because the first time they went, I was in Matabungkay with the BENCHERS for our summer gala.

Me and my parents woke up relatively late, while Kuya went off to work (later he revealed to me that he ditched work and went straight to Bagbaguin to bond with our cousins. We left the house after lunch and went on ahead to Pansol when we thought that everybody else had left. By the time we passed Calamba exit, Tita Ching texted, 'Let's go na. San na kayo?' Talk about sweat-drops.

The resort was owned by someone in the Mercado family. It was nice, two pools, spacious areas for bonding and there was a videoke machine. Didn't get to bond with the boys as much, as I was very much flanked by LA and Kat (whom I've missed for so long now, mind you).

Kat is such a game person to be with; I asked her if she was still pissed off at Pinky for what she did and if she wanted to get back at her. Kat said that the whole thing has been forgotten and over with, but she's okay with whatever I was thinking. I said to her that if Pinky flirted with her boy toy, then Kat could only get back at her by flirting with Niki. She did it with such fervor and with such success that Pinky was soon doing weird stuff for attention.

Yes, it might sound mean, but that's how she looks in my eyes. This is proof enough that I don't like Niki as much as one would think, because if I did, why would I ask Kat to do strike up the conversations with him? I could've done it myself, but I guess I didn't think it was worth the effort.

After dinner LA and I washed up and we were all revved up to play cards until we go home but the parents had a different idea. They wanted to go through with a family encounter activity. Since my family was the only one who went through with the Bukas Loob sa Diyos Family Encounter, we were playing the hosts and moderators. I don't know why, but I was very much embarrassed. Gah, bad Girlie, bad!

The whole thing was enjoyable, even though it lasted up until one in the morning. Papa was already sleepy so we were basically the first ones out of there.

Sunday:

After a late breakfast, my folks and I went to Bagbaguin to attend Nanang Ebang and Lolo Tino's golden wedding anniversary.

Can you imagine being with one person for fifty years? I mean, even if you cheat, that’s still a huge feat. Actually, it's more of a feat if you do cheat on your marriage and yet your partner still takes you back. Hmm.

I'm not really in tune to whole Bagbaguin area. Sure, I grew up there, but we were confined to our own little compound and the only people I knew were the ones in the vicinity--Sonny Boy, Tito Boyet and Tita Pely, Patrick and my cousins. Me and my family moved here to Laguna when I was thirteen or fourteen, so I never really got the chance to take into heart our family tree. It's a very complicated web, how we're all interconnected.

It always makes me sad, when I go back to our old house. The last time we were there was last year, November first. Way back when, we tried to go there at least once a month. But you know how work, school and other commitments get into one's life. This was the result.

It makes me gloomy, to see the house where I grew up in first filled up with the stuff of our relatives who still live in the compound, then our stuff--my stuff began to disappear because my only girl cousin needs them now. Agh. I hate it when people go through my stuff, and they just took it, without my permission. Sure, I'm not really going to be needing those things anymore but now, whenever I enter my room, it just looks…bare.

Of course, because we don't really live there anymore, any wear and tear that happens to the house don't get the attention it deserves. The result? A very dilapidated house. At this point, the house depresses me so much because the photos and the pictures on display on our living room have been replaced by the photos of my cousins. It's like we don't even own that house anymore.

I swear, when I get a job of my own, I'll be fixing that place up. I might even live there again. Who knows? It's a sad thing, to see the place you grew up in, the place you're most comfortable in get taken over by the people you thought you could trust. Gah.

Anyway, after lunch we (all three families from my mother's side) went to Lawang Bato for the golden wedding celebration. I've been there loads of times, because on my mother's side of the family, it was a custom in itself to hold celebrations for almost any and every occasion conceivable to man.

Birthdays, Weddings, Baptism? Of course. First communion, Funeral, Homecomings, Acceptance to job offers too! And, in my father's words, they all serve the same thing. For years and years now, we've eaten the same recipe of atsara, menudo, embutido, relyenong bangus and sinigang sa sampalok. It's not as sad as one would think; in fact it's quite a comfort for me personally, because it marks that some things really don't change at all. And whenever I get a bite out of that menudo I'm instantly transported back to my childhood.

But not everything stays the same, of course. Because my family moved away from that place when I was a teenager, I got pretty much left out of the barkada that my cousins had formed. At that party, there were a few faces (morphed into the adult-look-a-likes) familiar to me, and a lot of faces who weren't. My cousins, who had stayed there and studied there, knew every single one of those people. It's hard to believe that one could feel that left out in a place filled with one's relatives.

Ditse kept on saying, 'O, magmano kayo kay *insert name here*. Baka pagdating ng panahon, magkasalubong kayo sa daan eh 'di man lang kayo magkakilala' every time one of the oldies showed up.

I bonded with some of the people who, for some unknown reason, knew who I was, and the main topic of almost all conversations was alcohol. Gah. I can't seem to escape it. With cousins, even with aunts, the talk of mixed drinks--what was good, what wasn't--floated around the air. It made me think, though: was alcohol following me, or is alcohol the only thing that I can talk about these days?

At around four, my parents decided to call it quits. We all went back to the house while our cousins remained (the boys had already bought a case of beer and had already snuck it up by the terrace and I SO wanted to join their little get together just for the sake of meeting them). Mama and Papa went to visit yet another oldie near the vicinity while Kuya and I decided to hang out by the cars.

Tito Rick came and talked to us about everything--their Baguio trip, the dogs, the most recent gossip-- everything. It was so refreshing to talk to him again, and when I mentioned that I was starting to drive around the suburbs, he even gave me tips on how to park. I usually don't respond well to tips and how-to's forced on me by people, but it was different in Tito Rick's case. It felt like the old days, when he was helping me with my homework while my parents were still out working. I don't know why, but he might be the only adult who can understand me and my weird mood swings. Probably because we share the same birth date. I don't know. But I miss my old life.

Sorry for the super long post. I've no excuses, really. It's just how my mind works.

Enrollment Day

The human mind is a wonderful thing, that even with all the advancements in science and modern technology is still unexplainable. It can grasp concrete concepts; it can grasp math -- simple arithmetic up to algebra. It can even gasp and explain abstract ones, like philosophy and ethics.

But there are still some things that the mind can not fathom.

Yesterday was to be considered as the first 'reality jolt' for us vacationers, because it marked the end of our blissful, problem-free summer holidays. It was the enrollment day. For the first time in ages, I was back again to school, wearing the stuffy white uniform and walking under the stifling heat of the sun.

But it was worth it. Because I got to see my friends again. Frederick, Chenyl, Gian, Paolo, Jinggay, Kams and I all walked from corner of the university (our building) to the other (the seminary gym, a.k.a. enrollment site). Because we really haven't seen each other for a long time, we were all quite noisy. Yes, we do have contact with each other -- through text, IM-ing, but it's just not the same, you see.

Unfathomable Thought #1: How love (of a friend) works

Chenyl and I met up early, because we both feared the long lines that may come with the late hour. A few minutes later, Fred joined us. And then it was Gian, who came in second-to-the-last (no one can ever beat Paolo for being the tardy king) caught the wave of students flocking to the medicine building. Chen and I were tinkering with her IPod, when Fred shouted,

"Sino pa bang hinihintay natin?" the words came from the heat.

"Si Gian," Chen and I chorused.

"Oh, okay," Fred demured. "Sabi ko nga, eh, hintayin na natin siya,"

Unfathomable Thought #2: How we can talk about nothing and still feel fulfilled

After getting our registration forms and our ID's validated for the next school year, we all strolled around to the car park to grab a bite to eat at Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC).

The conversation shifted from what we had done in the summer, to losing weight, to cars (there were 4 boys in the table, after all), to neighbors, to music, to television shows, and to other topics that I can't remember. When Kat joined us, the noise level doubled. We were all sitting at one long table, but there were at least three conversations going on simultaneously. It was fun. ^__^

Unfathomable Thought #3: How 'No Plans' became our un-official motto

Due to the traffic, we decided just to meet Nicole in España. Gian, Pao and Lance couldn't come with us because they had other stuff to do. We were to go to TriNoMa, the new mall in the right next to SM North to check it out.

The FX ride to the mall was fun, mostly because Kat and Fred bonded with the driver. The mall was spanking new. So new, in fact, that the official grand opening is still sometime in June. There were only a handful of stores open, but the food court had already been filled. Frederick took us on a tour, showing us where the different fountains were to be placed. The structure, being an Ayala Mall, was very reminiscent of Alabang Town Center. It would be a cool hang-out place, because there were many places built for such bonding moments with friends and family.

We were all in the mood for coffee, and Starbucks usually was our place. Unfortunately, the Starbucks in TriNoMa has yet to open, so we walked over to The Block, the new extension of SM North. We walked around and around, took a break at Crazy Crepes, and found that, also, there were no Starbucks in the building.

"Ang pinkamalapit na pinakamatinong Starbucks, yung sa Morato," Kat said.

"Sige! Morato tayo!" everybody else chorused.

So we took a beaten down cab and went to Tomas Morato.

At last, we were in coffee heaven. The reasons why we wanted to go to Starbucks (in Morato) specifically are thus:

a. The atmosphere is nice (music, scent)
b. The couches are soft
c. The lighting is great for pictures
d. The barista's are cute

Unfortunately when we got there, all of the couches are filled with people with books in front of them and Ipod earphones shoved into their ears. Why the hell were these people studying? It's the summer break, for goodness' sake!

We took the chairs on the balcony, which, in retrospect, was okay, because Kat had a pack of smokes with her to vaporize. Time flies when you're having fun, it was said, and sure as hell, before we've exhausted all of our topics, it was already six o'clock in the evening.

"Nagugutom na ako," I moaned, looking at the various food establishments littered in the area.

"Parang gusto ko nga rin ng burger, eh," Kat agreed.

"Ako rin!" I said.

"Brother's Burger tayo!" she said, pointing to the burger joint across the street.

Hurriedly we went out of the coffee shop and ran inside Brother's Burger. Everybody ate, except for Fred who only lived a few minutes away anyway. I had to bring back a burger for my brother in return for all of the nice things he's done for me over the week.

At exactly seven, we all said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. I hitched a cab ride with Fred to Quezon Ave., the nearest MRT station.

Unfathomable Thought #4: How family never lets you down

You see, I live in Laguna, and if there are only three options for me to get home: the bus station in Lawton, the bus station in Buendia, and the bus station in Landmark. Since I was a few minutes away from Makati, I opted for the train ride. Besides, my parents both worked in Ayala Ave., and there was still the slight chance that I can catch them from work.

But in the middle of the train ride, my phone died. Which frustrated me to no end, because I was just about to reply to my mother's question if I wanted to go home with them. As soon as I got off the train, I searched for the nearest payphone and called her office. Nobody was answering. I called home and my brother picked up.

"Nasaan ka?" he asked.

"Sa MRT station sa Makati," I said. "Paki text naman sila Mama, o. Low batt na kasi yung phone ko, paki sabi magbu-bus na lang ako pauwi."

"Okay," he said. There was a pause, and then he was talking to my mother over his cell, telling them what happened to me. "Magbus ka na lang daw. Nasa Pasay road na sila eh. Mahirap pa magkakitaan pag wala kang phone."

"Okay," I said. "Thanks."

I walked through SM and Landmark to get to the bus station. And wouldn't you know it, as I was looking at the signs, I saw my mother, waiting for me!

Hooray!

I was saved from falling in line! Yay!

"Mahirap kumuha ng bus kapag umuulan," she said and proceeded to call my father, who was circling around the area until my mother and I met.

To tell you, it was such a relief to be in that car going home.

Unfathomable Thought #5: How parents work

I could tell from the silence in the car that my father was a little pissed off at me. He was hungry so I offered him the burger that I bought for my kuya. He took one bite and put it down.

Ouch.

It was so quiet and I was so tired that I scooted back to rest my eyes. A few seconds after my eyes closed, my mother and father talked about the whole ordeal. I didn't hear any bad stuff, and soon they switched onto other topics.

When we got home, I immediately changed my clothes, charged my phone and replied to the text messages that I got. We had dinner downstairs and as my father and I washed our hands, he let me kiss him on the cheek.

Yay, forgiveness!

And there you have it. Some of the things that the mind can not explain. At least my mind can't. It still surprised me how humans work. We could be so predictable one second and totally surprise ourselves the next.

compartmentalism

I do have issues. And it can be said that i am the type of peroson who just can not bear it to be alone. Not for large amounts of times, anyway.
I am also the type of person who likes to group thing, because it presents a much cleaner look to things and when emotions are involved, things aren't as messy.

Now that that segue was presented, let me present to you MY groups. The groups of people who surround me constantly, preventing me from ruminating and thinking up of ways to do...bad stuff.

1. The Family

Of course my family would come first, duh. I have a relatively normal family: a mother who nags (but she doesn't mean to, most of the time) but is usually cool because she knows how to rock the parenting schtick; a father who can be strict at times, but is way cool when it comes to giving me permission to go out-of-town; and an older brother who is sweet enough to teach me how to drive and to bring me home food most nights of the week.

We also have a helper, her name's Ate Roche. She's nice because she lets me in after curfew and she doesn't blab to the 'rents when I do something that can be considered as 'frown-able material'. Oh yeah, we also have two dogs, but the dogs will come in at a separate entry.

2. The BENCHERS

THE best barkada in the whole wide world. The Condemned Ones are under a subgroup, which makes this group unique. The BENCHERS have many escapades to different parts of the country, but most of the time we do the rocking at school. My old blog's still up and there're still some stories over there, if one cares to read.

3. The College Friends

When I'm in school (which usually eats up my time) I hardly get to see my family and barkada. It sucks, big time, but the tension is relieved somewhat by the people in class. My RLE group, which consists of 12 people. We're the ones who get to spend the most time in class, because we're duty-mates. As in we spend up to 36 hours in the field per week, excluding the times we have for lecture classes. And then we have RLE4, which consists of most of the high-school graduates in our class. Any USTHS graduate is always fun to talk to, and even though I've only met these people when I entered the college life, the Thomasian spirit binds!

4. Suburbian People

Ah, now that it's vacation time, these are the people who I hang out with almost everyday of the week. We've had lots of adventures and recieved harsh punsihments for said adventures, but still we hold true. We live in a subdivision, a cookie-cutter-house type of place, you see. And I think people are just too surprised to see fellow weirdos in a place like this that we immediately stuck together.

And that's it. My life in tiny, compact, neat little compartments.

See how my brain functions? ^^

introductions.

dear diary,

nah. too high school-ish.

yo! waddup mah dawg?

nah. too homie-ish.

let's just do this as naturally as possible, shall we?

i'm girlie, and this is my blog. i've had a blog before (in tabulas) but it didn't work out. schoolwork and stress got to me at the time and i ended up filling said blog with complaints and whining. *shakes head* uh-uh, it wasn't pretty.

a friend of mine (one of the closest, actually), once told me that she once enjoyed reading what i posted because i saw the world in a somewhat interesting way. i know that i still view the world in a way that it's not supposed to be viewed and i can only hope that i can convert those moments into writing.

i have issues. i really am paranoid, and hopefully the anonymity of the internet can make me divulge information that i would never, ever have shared with anyone.

ah well, the lay-out and all the technical stuff (hopefully) will follow.

cheers.