Tiring Thursday

I haven't blogged much lately, it's probably because I have a life (oh, yes, I do have a life!). A lot has happened this week, but I'm gonna start with yesterday, Thursday, because Friday hasn't been a very good day.

Our first subject, English, is just meh, but I like it because it allows me to do what I love: writing. Yes, I feel like a nerd during that class because I enjoy academic writing, contrary to my seatmate who spends English time complaining and cussing (he's hilarious, though, don't get me wrong).

We were supposed to change the structure of a given sentence, and when I volunteered the right answer, my classmates were like, "Whoa!" One of them even complimented me on how great my English is, which, of course, made me smile. I was blushing, though; I'm not used to receiving praise.

We had free time during Math, so Gab, Kevin, and I headed to Dapitan to buy Crepe Cones. It was my first time to eat one of those delicious ice cream-filled confectioneries, and I can now say that I am hooked like a druggie on crack. Dear diet, fuck off.

As always, History was great: our professor, Ernie Mabahague, is so incredibly engaging that even if my attention span is only about fifteen minutes, he can keep me listening for hours on end.

Anyway, he caught Gab and Paula laughing about Kat, and made me laugh with this observation about typical student behavior:

Pag tinanong kayo kung ano'ng nakakatawa, sasabihin niyo, "Wala." Ano yun: "Hehe." "Bakit?" "Wala."

Later, around half an hour before dismissal, rain started pouring. Like, cats-and-dogs raining. I hurried to P. Noval corner España hoping to get home as quickly as possible, but before I could hail a bus/jeep/FX, I noticed this Artlet girl who was standing helplessly without an umbrella. I offered to share my umbrella and wait for her to get on a jeep, at which point I found out her name was Lara and that she was a BES major in the next section.

(Okay, don't say ang bait mo naman. It just really weirds me out when people tell me that. For the record, I don't even like posting stuff like that, in case people think I'm making myself out to be a good person. )

When I finally got into an FX, three CFAD students were in there with me. Let me just spell this out for you: They. Were. So. Goddamn. Annoying.

They talked too loudly so that even though my headset was on full volume, I could still hear their voices clanging in my eardrums.

They fidgeted too much.

They kept singing and talking on their cellphones, which must have annoyed the other earphone-less passengers.

One girl in particular was the most annoying of the three douchebags: she apparently forgot to do something, and complained about it repeatedly in a shrill, loud voice: "Oh my god, nalimutan ko! Shit! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Oh my god! Bukas na lang siguro. Stupid!"

You're stupid, okay, I get it. Shut the fuck up.

I got home damp, cranky, and tired, and when all I wanted to do was rest, I remembered that I had a puyatan bet going on with Kevin. We stayed up 'til morning talking on the phone and texting, until I fell asleep.

When I woke up, his message was: "Talo ako."

Ahh, the sweet scent of victory.

Dorkitude

So today, I went to the National Library of the Philippines with Gab, Bru, Babes, Ressa, Jill, and Kevin. It's in Kalaw, so yay, me for knowing a new place today!


Gab said it was a historic place, but I don't think it was worth the trouble: we paid P50 for the required library card, P40 for the 1x1 pictures which was required for the required library card, and P1 for every page we had photocopied (which was a lot). Not to mention all the hassle of getting out pictures taken, lining up for the library card, abiding by the rule of taking out only two books at a time to have photocopied, enduring the non-aircon-ness of the building, putting up with the disagreeable, seemingly menopause-ing librarians, and lining up for several long minutes for the Xerox... 


Needless to say, I'm not going back there. I'm going to the UST library, where librarians are mostly young and friendly, the air conditioning is always working, and Xerox machines are available on every floor.

Now, I gotta help Peter Angelo with his research paper, which I swore to him I'd do, and type some work stuff for my mom. I am already so sleepy.

The Love of a Writer

The love of a writer runs deep as the words she puts to paper.

She scrutinizes every paragraph, every sentence, trying to make sure that it conveys the exact magnitude of emotions she holds.

She wastes hours hunched over her desk, fervently scribbling yet another love poem that he will never read.

She holds a pen in place of his hand. Endless amounts of ink flow as she continually tries to convince herself that he will fall for the words she has written about him.

The love of a writer is the simultaneous source of her pain and pleasure.

She cries herself to sleep with the agony, yet this pain fuels her art, her will to keep writing.

She feels deadened inside—empty—yet she finds inspiration in excruciation, making her feel alive.

She is a juxtaposition of contrasts.

Committing all emotion to permanence, with her pen and paper, immortalizing her affection in every line...

The love of a writer is lasting.

Girlfriend in a coma

The machine hooked to her skeletal body beeped softly. The bright green line resembled mountain peaks. Her heartbeat was erratic.

The boy closed his eyes and prepared to spend yet another night in the hospital room. It had been a year since the accident.

He could still remember the phone call from his girlfriend's mom; how he had raced to the hospital; how he saw her family's tears; how the doctor broke the news: she was never to wake again. The doctor declared her brain-dead that very night.

The boy looked around at the the plain white walls that had become so familiar to him. Harsh fluorescent lights made everything look bleak. He had become accustomed to the sounds of nurses scurrying outside the door, attending to their patients; the steady drip of the IV; the static of the TV at three in the morning.

This had been his home for twelve months. He had dropped out of school. He went home only to get more clothes. He had ignored all arguments and tears from his parents, who were begging for him to get his life back in order.

He had abandoned everything just to be with her. Just to watch over the empty shell that used to be the love of his life.

"We're taking her off life support."

The boy could not believe it. How could her family do this? She was still alive! Unable to move or speak, yes, but alive and breathing.

How was he supposed to survive without her? His life had shrunk down to the frail figure lying on the bed, connected to countless machines, wires twisting around her body like snakes.

The boy knew it was not his decision to make. Beaten down with disillusionment and grief, he stood helplessly as the plug was pulled.

The machine hooked to her skeletal body emitted a long, high-pitched tone . The green line, once crooked with the rhythm of life, became straight.

Her heartbeat was no more.

Urbandub All Over

Kath was posting pictures of her, Yhel, and Faindy, thus the title. Only Tumblr people would get the title, so, yeah.

Anyway, last Friday, UST had a welcoming event for freshmen. Several bands were set to perform: Monalisa, Orange Cartel, Mithi, Auto Kalesa, Indaybote, Panorama, Myosis, and the main attraction, Urbandub.

To be honest, I didn't expect to like the bands. To me, they were like tasteless appetizers the waiters serve for you to munch on before they serve main course. I am very happy to say that on this occasion, I was dead wrong. A lot of the bands that performed were really great.

Auto Kalesa's original composition, "Oh No Oh My", was really good. They said was a song for unrequited love, but that's not why I liked it, in case you were about to make a bitchy comment.

In Myosis, a former blockmate of ours was the guitarist, so when we saw him onstage, we were yelling his name like fangirls. 

I have to say, the vocalist of Myosis is really hot. Kinda chubby, but with a nice build. I saw Kuya Maxene at that moment, and she informed me that she was classmates with the vocalist. I asked her to set me up with him. (I was joking, okay! ...or not.)

Mithi performed second to the last.  The singer was so sexy, and she had such a smooth, sultry voice. But after their performance, everyone was getting antsy for Urbandub.

I was standing next to Aya, a fellow Urbandub fangirl, so when Gabby Alipe stepped into view, we went nuts. Seriously. People kept looking at us because we kept yelling, "Gabby Alipe, I love you!"

We also yelled a song request: "Cebuana!" 

Gab actually looked at us—yes, he looked at us with those gorgeous eyes—and said, "Cebuana?" And that was all it took me Aya and I to fall in love all over again.

Urbandub performed around six songs: Alert the Armory, First of Summer, Soul Searching, Gravity, A Call to Arms, and Guillotine. 

I had to wait several hours, but it was so worth it just to see them again. I swear to god, I am going to the Sonic Boom anniversary gig.

About orgs

Tomorrow is the general assembly for the Thomasian Debaters Council. As you may know, I was ecstatic when I found out I got in, so you may be surprised to find out that now I'm getting cold feet.

At the tryouts, the senior member who interviewed me stressed repeatedly that the TDC was going to eat up my time for family, friends, and boyfriend (as if any guy would be crazy enough to go out with me). At the time, it seemed like no big deal—so I give up a few hours of Internet, of doing nothing with my friends or my mom, of drinking, so what?—but then it started to sink in: I was going to join a very active organization. My time wouldn't be my time anymore; it would be the TDC's time. 

DJGelo, a friend I might through Tumblr (and incidentally, one who belongs to the same org) told me that the TDC has training from twelve noon to nine in the evening. I know I keep saying that I want to fill up my days with worthwhile activities, but can I handle staying in school until nine o'clock, every day?

I discussed my fears with Bru, and she told me to give it a try. If I find that I can't handle the demands, then I'll quit. The important thing is that I will give it a shot.

Now, about another org I wanna join. The Thomasian Writers Guild. Since I love writing more than I love debate, if I don't get into the TWG, I will probably lose sight of why I'm living in the first place.

Fine, that's an exaggeration, but I seriously will sink into a deep depression and binge on ice cream if I don't get in the TWG.

For the TWG, I have to write 1-2 short stories or 5-10 poems, which I really need to start working on, because the examination and submission of works is on the twenty-first.

The Loneliest

You cry at night, I hear you

stifling the sounds on your damp pillow

You cry at night, I feel

the mattress creak as your body heaves with sobs.

You cry at night, I see you

Teardrops shining on your cheeks

You cry at night, I smell

the saline on your face.

No words of comfort come to mind

as I'm listening to your silent misery

There is nothing more I want than to hold you

But I stay still, silent, afraid.

I should like to reach out my hand

and stroke your face

To touch you in your loneliness

somehow would make mine more tolerable.

Who says I'm getting tired of writing?

If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. -Lord Byron

My ex-boyfriend once said, "Nagba-blog ka nanaman? Di ka ba nagsasawa?"

How about no?

Looky here: I cannot draw, paint, sculpt, dance, make music. Writing is the only creative outlet available to me. Writing is my emotional release, my brief reprieve from the insanity of this world.

When I'm writing, my mind is clear. I can focus as I reread every word, editing carefully, making sure that every paragraph is well-written, that everything is structured and coherent, that no word is misspelled.

When I'm writing, I know exactly what to say, and how to say it. 

When I'm writing, every pent-up emotion—misery, anger, happiness—is laid out in the open, exposed, so I can examine it and find out exactly what the fuck is wrong with me.

As of this moment, I have 26 drafts in my Blogspot, and I am not going to stop until I finish them all.

The day I stop writing will be the day I stop [over]thinking, analyzing, doing, and feeling. And you can quote me on that.

Peter's Butter Ball is the highlight of my day. How dull.

Today would have been one of the most boring, mundane days of my pathetic life, if not for the fact that I spent a little time with one of my best friends (ohai there, Peter Angelo). 

I made him wait for nearly an hour at the LRT station in Katipunan, which I guess is fair since he has made me wait there countless times. When I got there, he said, "May ibibigay ako sa'yo." He gave me my very first piece of Peter's Butter Ball.

It was sort of an inside joke between us. See, my mom refers to Peter as "Butter Ball" after the candy, and I told him about it. He found it funny, which I guess led him to buy a piece of this candy just for my amusement.

The thing is, I love it when my friends remember me. When they text me out of the blue just to say that they thought of me because of something-or-other, it really makes me smile: like when Gab texts me to say that she's watching Spongebob Squarepants (the two of us are the real-life Spongebob and Patrick star), or when Mojie drops me a line on Facebook. It's actually these small things that make me appreciate my friends even more, and make me feel loved.

P.S. I kept the candy wrapper. I am a sentimental sap. :)