Goodbye, first sem! Hello, sem break!

This week I submitted one nonfiction anthology, one take home exam, one project/analysis on an American novel in the 19th century, one short story revision, and one final critical paper of a few (no, several) thousand words.

Today, I submitted the last one. And friends, I AM FREEEEEE! Goodbye first semester, you and your sucky schedule, demanding professors, incredibly heavy workload and all the unsurmountable stress you have caused me! I survived you -- no wait, I PWND YOU! Hahaha! This has been my most challenging semester, by far, and I'm very proud to say that I got myself out alive! And in one piece! Now the only thing left to do is wait for your judgment (aka Grades) but other than that, you are history! I am just so happy and relieved that I can finally bid you arrivederci! I can't wait to revel in the freedom! Woooh! What to do first, to sleep or to eat or to spend 24/7 on the Internet? Ahhhh.. the choices, the choices.. I missed being lazy and bored!

(Off-topic: It's almost my birthday and I don't even feel it!)

And now I shall go back and hone my bumming-around skills.

Keyboards.

The black and white ivory keys produce sound; the little square ones craft words. With each press, a creation. With each movement, a dynamic. How my hands move about from one side to the next, finding their ways into each other; in a mad jumble, weaving together something whole. The rising action, the crescendo, how it climaxes, then it descends, softens down, hush, hush, rest. Maybe it's not about being one or the other, it's being both. Starting, waiting, moving, stopping, they all come together in the end.

It all comes together in the end.

On battles.

First of all, like what I said in my FB account, I never meant to sensationalize this whole plagiarism thing. But then again, it is a big deal, regardless of what medium the stealing has transpired in: be it a blog, a magazine, a book, etc -- it's always just wrong. While others may find comfort in knowing that it is on some level flattering and dismiss it as just "wala lang", doing that would only make you feel better, but what about the one who did it? They get away with it. The least we can do is let them know what they're doing is wrong. It doesn't mean you're being high and mighty or that you're calling attention to yourself, it just means you're doing something to protect yourself, and to put them in their place.

I fight my battles when I have to, that doesn't make me arrogant. I'd rather stand up for myself than be a doormat.

That being said, academic battles have waged war against me this week. I have five major papers still ahead of me for the remainder of the semester, and I seriously don't know where and how to begin. I've been spending the last few days holed up in the library, either searching for books or trying to write a paper, and while I appreciate the silence and the comfort brought by air-conditioning, the thought that there are still so many things to do is stressing me out even more. I am getting used to all this, it's just the sheer volume of work that needs to be done in such a short amount of time is overwhelming me. I've been asking The Boy-nospace-friend, being the master of calm and cool that he is, to give me tips on handling this, but I guess I really can't help it that I've inherited my mom's worry-wart gene. I know I can finish them eventually, but I just have to worry and freak out first before getting anything done, and well, it's not healthy.

Another thing that's not healthy: me not getting enough sleep! I absolutely hate it that my body is wired a certain way -- it cannot work unless it's late and all the shows on free TV are showing the color bars with the haunting monotonous tone. I've tried tricking myself into sleeping until midnight and then begin working from there, but it doesn't work. I have to reach a state of extreme exhaustion before the adrenaline kicks in and gets all the words flowing. I am doomed. My creative juices are insisting on graveyard shift, and I can do nothing but give in. (I did sleep this afternoon though, and it feels wonderful!)

They say if you can't beat them, join them. Stress and Insomnia, while you're both not companions I'm looking forward to having, if it means having to get my papers done, then, let's be friends. Friends with (academic) benefits.

The aftermath.

It's an unpleasant surprise to suddenly see someone blatantly rip off something you've written based on a genuine emotion or situation. I guess some people will never see it the way I do, and will never understand why it was such a big deal, but I am glad that there are people who do understand where I'm coming from. It is only after all a blog, and you can argue that in the Internet, there are no clear lines to be drawn as to what is bizarre and simply just wrong.

But this blog, more than anything else I own or have, has been a constant, tangible presence in my life that having anyone else take something from it just really crossed the line. At 18, this is probably one of the few things I can truly be proud of, because it's something I've created, put together, and invested an immeasurable amount of time in (hello, 6 years) and so having someone just take my words away from me definitely hit me hard.

This may only be a blog, but it's a collection of so many of my thoughts, ideas, feelings -- it's got so much more of me than anything else I have. This blog isn't just about me entertaining an audience, it's about me finding an outlet for myself. It's personal. And so, I don't believe I'm overreacting on this. It went too far.

I posted an entry here and in my Facebook, I told my friends, and I sent her private messages to let her know what I feel. I didn't fight with her and passed up the opportunity to blatantly point out all her embarrassing grammatical errors in her other non-stolen posts (even if my friends were tempting me to do so, haha!) because I don't believe in stooping down to her shamelessness. Thankfully, she did delete her posts in Tumblr (I eventually found out she had Tumblr and a number of her entries were mine as well) and also her Multiply site. Hopefully, she's realized her mistake.

(Of course, I am forever grateful for my friends, both offline and online, who were there to back me up yesterday, and even today. You all know who you are, and I love you, guys.)

Plagiarism is just plain wrong, that's something we should all know and understand. It's no easy feat creating something out of nothing -- be it a novel, a song, a movie, a painting, a piece of literature. It entails putting a part of you into something and that takes hard work and effort. Being appreciated is certainly something to be grateful for. But more importantly, it's being given credit that also counts.

That being said, Niqui, I will give you credit for making me feel like my thoughts matter not only to myself but to strangers as well. Thank you for making me want to blog more, because if anything, that only means my words can mean as much to others as they do for me. But your being unoriginal? No, thanks. The blogosphere Internet world does not need sad, pathetic copycats like you.

I hope you learned your lesson.

(1) Plagiarism is never cool, and more importantly..

(2) You don't mess with the Bombastarr.

Ripped off.

I cannot believe it. For the first time in such a long time, I decided to check out my Multiply for old times' sake, when I came across this particular blog in the viewing history.

Much to my surprise, most of her entries were taken from my blogs. Her intro/welcome page is very similar to mine. You can compare that to my Multiply homepage and even to my profile page here. Then, one of her headings was also taken from Brighter Than Sunshine, much like the one in my Multiply. And to my biggest surprise (and horror), two of her blog entries were completely, one-hundred percent mine: Ignite and I'm Okay. Compare that with hers.

You can go check it out yourself. She isn't my contact and I was able to view her profile, so I'm sure you can too. I sent her a message on her guestbook and a private one to let her know, but I don't know if she even updates that thing still. But from the looks of it, the last time she checked my Multiply was just last Thursday.

It's just -- unbelievable. I write what I write because they are what I feel during that moment, and all of them are real emotions that only really come out of me as I type them down. It surprises me how it's so easy for some people to just copy/paste something very personal to me and pass them off as their own. Why would they even do that? I appreciate that there are people out there who have told me (offline or online) that they find some of my entries believable, relatable, and enjoyable even, and for that I am very grateful. But I don't feel flattered at all when they use it as it is and claim it as theirs. I feel cheated, honestly.

I know this kind of thing comes along with being a writer -- there will be people who will rip off your words and claim them. But really, people? I'm not anybody, I don't see the point of taking some unknown 18-year-old girl's blog entries. Then again, maybe that's what they think. Because I'm just some random girl, they feel no shame taking what isn't theirs.

Please tell me I'm not exaggerating and that I saw what I saw.

I don't know what to do with this girl, if she ever responds. But I hope whoever gets to read this entry (and compares our blogs) do realize how wrong this is. And I hope she does too. I may not have the power to go as far as taking this to court, but if this is how she believes being creative and original is, I feel sorry for her.

This is a story about a girl named..

I know I may be young, but I’ve got feelings too. And I need to do what I feel like doing. So let me go and just listen.

All you people look at me like I’m a little girl. Well did you ever think it'd be okay for me to step into this world? Always saying little girl don’t step into the club. Well I’m just tryin’ to find out why cause dancing’s what I love.

Say hello to the girl that I am. You're gonna have to see through my perspective. I need to make mistakes just to learn who I am. And I don't wanna be so damn protected. There must be another way. 'Cause I believe in taking chances. But who am I to say what a girl is to do?God, I need some answers. What am I to do with my life? How am I supposed to know what's right? I can't help the way I feel. But my life has been so overprotected.

Everybody's talking all this stuff about me. Why don't they just let me live? I don't need permission, make my own decisions. That's my prerogative. It's the way that I wanna live. It's my prerogative. You can’t tell me what to do.

This, my friends, is what you call Britney Spears wisdom.

Oh hello, October.

I tell everyone

I smile just because

I've got a city love

I found it in Lydia

And I can't remember life before her name

- City Love by John Mayer

October begins with rain. The sky is crying with me as my heart breaks over missing John Mayer's concert tonight at the MOA Concert Grounds. I am filling my room with his music, letting his words numb the pain of me not seeing him tonight. I almost had tickets, but things didn't turn out the way they did and now here I am, half-wishing I was there all muddy and stinky, singing along with him. (The other half of me though refuses to get wet and thanks the heavens for this "blessing.") Seriously. I really, really wanted to watch him perform live.

But then again, tonight I am comforted by the fact that for John Mayer's absence is the presence of that complicated, fleeting emotion which he sings about. Me lying in my bed right now instead of standing under the rain waiting for him doesn't make his songs ring any less true for me. His music will always be there anyway, playing in the background in the iPod inside my head, as we drive off for mojos and sip through iced teas.

is at the library.

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

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

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

End random post.

(a)lone(ly)

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

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

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

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

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

The bed is unmade.

And here I am yet again, sleepless and eyes wide awake in the middle of the night. Being the insane sleeper that I was for most of my life, I'm still having difficulty grappling with this seemingly newfound "friend" called Insomnia. Ever since college began, or perhaps more specifically, when the serious writing subjects began, I've been having more and more trouble sleeping. So yes, thank you very much for messing up my body clock, Stress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elsewhere.

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

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

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

UP FIGHT!

Not only is this my 400TH POST (Can you believe it? Four hundredth post!) but it is also a huge day for me as I celebrate and congratulate the..

UNIVERSITY OF THE PHILIPPINES PEP SQUAD!

Champions of the 2010 UAAP Cheerdance Competition!

Guess who was there, all smiles and cheers!?

Let's go, UP!

Rude awakenings.

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

Where do you draw the line between selfishness and compromise? When should you stop listening to others who only want what's best for you and start listening to yourself? How do you justify being assertive as opposed to being arrogant?

How can you be sure that what your family and friends speak of you is who you really are? What assurance can their kind words give you when you feel like the complete opposite of it? How sure are you of yourself -- are you positive this is who you actually are or just who you think you are?

How do you know about all these things?

When I was twelve, I thought being eighteen was acquiring this great sense of maturity -- you know enough about the world to handle it. Or at least know you can handle it. I always saw eighteen as this age of enlightenment, where everything will start to make sense, and you'd never have to question or doubt your decisions because you'll just know what's right. I thought with the turn of that year, you'll suddenly feel all wise and do the right thing to do when the situation calls for it.

And yet, here I am, at eighteen, with a couple of pretty decent decisions, and a truckload of really bad ones. Nothing really major, but still disappointing I-could've-done-better ones. I haven't done anything close to spectacular to prove my twelve-year-old self right and my eighteen-year-old self proud. And it frustrates me how I just can't seem to get anything right. Or that when I finally do, there's ten more mistakes coming back to haunt me. Why can't I ever do things the right, adult way? Why can't I strike the perfect balance between being a kid and being a grown-up? How come I can't tell whether I'm being selfish or just wanting to get what I deserve? Why can't I be this better version of myself that everyone expects of me? I've always been told to just always be myself and yet I can't help but equate my real self, this natural Karla state, to this irresponsible, immature, spoiled kid who can't get anything going.

I'm scared that one day, people are just going to give up on me and see that I'm not really who they all thought I was, who they all wanted me to be. I'm scared to consider the possibility that I've just been putting up a brave mask on everyday, telling myself I'm an okay person, that I'm smart, I'm all grown-up, I'm on the right track to maturity -- when in fact, I'm not brave, I'm not strong, I'm just a kid.

I try. Trust me, I try.

But will I ever really get there?

(This is what I get for reading too much into "Good Country People" by Flannery O'Connor for Eng42)

All I want.

It's been months, and all I can say is that it has been an enjoyable and comfortable ride. It was never this grand, head-over-heels kind of a thing; it was more like an effortless transition, a feeling growing on you slowly and surely. It's not undemanding, my emotions and your logic, but it's easy and natural, our understanding. I wish there were better words to encapsulate what it is we have, if only to completely justify this feeling. But then again, more often than not, it's the music that perfectly speaks what my words cannot.

Do you want to take a chance

On maybe finding some sweet romance with me baby

Well, come on

All I really really want our love to do

Is to bring out the best in me and in you too

All I really really want our love to do

Is to bring out the best in me and in you

I want to talk to you, I want to shampoo you

I want to renew you again and again

- All I Want by Joni Mitchell

//

It's raining and Joni is great snuggle-weather music. (Currently listening to her album Blue.) It's fascinating how relevant songs come to me in all the right moments. Thanks, shuffle mode. Now if only I had someone right now to snuggle with...

Ignite.

When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep.

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

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

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

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

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

And I will try to fix you.

Major major stress.

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

English 21 2nd Critical Paper

English 21 Final Paper

English 42 Long Exam

English 42 2nd Short Paper

English 42 Final Exam

English 42 Final Paper

Italian 13 Midterms

Italian 13 Finals

CL 115 Report

CL 115 Essay

CL 115 Final Anthology

CW 110 Final Short Story Draft

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

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

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

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

Climbing up the walls.

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

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

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

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

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

A checklist of sorts.

Sometimes, it takes the most random of songs to make you evaluate how life has been for you since you last heard it. Thank you for the nice little surprise, Panic! At The Disco. (And consequently, thank you Shuffle mode.)

[x] Things are shaping up to be pretty odd
[x] Little deaths in musical beds - More like, little deaths in every verse and rhyme
[x] So it seems I'm someone I've never met - !!!

[x] You will only hear these elegant crimes
Fall on your ears from criminal dimes
They spill unfound from a pretty mouth - My increasing indifference is both a boon and a bane.

[x] And everybody gets there, everybody gets there - Eventually. But when you get there you realize there's a whole new journey ahead of you.
[ ] And everybody gets their way - Not all the time.
[ ] I never said I missed her when everybody kissed her
[x] Now I'm the only one to blame - Because I don't think I want to blame some cosmic force behind life anymore. Although a part of me still resists. (As evidenced by my belief in the power of Shuffle.)

[x] I want to go where everyone goes - I want to go somewhere; some place where being who I am won't stop me from doing stuff I want to do.
[x] I want to know what everyone knows
[ ] I want to go where everyone feels the same - Not particularly.

[x] I never said I'd leave the city - I've always been a city girl, and I have no plans of leaving.
[x] I never said I'd leave this town
[x] A falling out we won't tiptoe about - It's best to talk about some things rather than let it slip away quietly.

[x] Things have changed for me, and that's okay
[x] I feel the same, I'm on my way, and I say
[x] Things have changed for me, and that's okay

Two years ago, when I first heard this song, I was lying face-up on my dorm bed, with tears falling down to my ears, wondering why college has been so harsh, so different. The transition was difficult; it was hard to make things okay again. And now, hearing it again made me think: Life's not any easier, if anything, it's much harder. But life is different now, and I've settled into this complication. Maybe it's maturity, or maybe just a matter of getting used to things -- nonetheless, I'd like to believe I've grown up. Perhaps. Possibly. A lot.

Bibliophilia.

There really is no greater elation for a bibliophile like me than buying new books. ON SALE.

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

Today I had a merienda date with my grandparents at Cafe Mary Grace in Trinoma. It's cake and pastry heaven, I swear. I think half of my mother and I's accumulated dessert-related expenses go to that shop. Anyway, it's conveniently located in front of National Bookstore and just above Fully Booked, so it's technically a piece of gustatory heaven sandwiched between bibliophilic heaven. The call of the "Up to 75% off!" signs were more than enough to lure me in.

And what did I get out of literary paradise?

The Rachel Papers by Martin Amis, The History of Tom Jones by Henry Fieldings, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, and Sexing The Cherry by Jeanette Winterson. Four books for only Php 648 (!)

They are all part of the Vintage Classics Collection, packaged in pairs depending on the theme. I've been looking for these books for more than a month now, especially The Rachel Papers, which is said to be an edgier version of Salinger's The Catcher In The Rye, albeit set in London. I've scoured National Book Store in Katipunan and MOA, and even Fully Booked and Power Books, but to no avail. So when I saw those books in the lowermost shelf of the Classics section was priceless, I literally went "Oh!" -- I think my heart skipped a beat then went out of sync for a minute. I told myself I just had to buy it, lest I end up regretting the seeming last chance of getting my hands on them.

An afternoon of delicious cakes and great books. I am a very, very happy kid.

It strikes me as fascinating that despite all the reading I've been doing for (exasperating) academic purposes, I still find reading a pleasure, a way of relieving myself from stress. Although there are days when I just want to close my eyes and never see words again, for the most part I still really do find satisfaction in just lying in bed and reading. I never get tired of it. I hope I never do.

To The Boyfriend.

<img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_umf3zh_xC59T2klSHJgQpfbxmvYw256PzUE3Fd-N8JwpHN4wDbAr_V6vPk5wehue8uAJGNUvMiSPdzalOdEkV3Nj4g-g8nwWsl2DUIZC-kVmwqLMpjs3TnrmuXpiZOsWHELSczaj8Ehc0NCVa3TevxUpIf4mn3Gw=s0-d">

You're my lobster :)

Happy birthday, and I love you.

An Ode to The Pillow Book*

Things that are lovely to touch: Satin pillowcases. Silk pajamas. Blow-dried hair. The keys of a piano. The keys of a typewriter. Bread. Touch screen pads. Stress balls. The hair on a man's legs.

Things that are sexy but classy: Lace. A woman wearing glasses who does not reveal too much skin.

Breakfast is the most whimsical meal of the day. Bacon, eggs, blueberry pancakes, cereal. Just add milk and someone to share it with.

Upsetting things: Cramps. Not being able to speak because of cramps. Not having enough loose change. Not having enough paper bills. Having no umbrella. Hearing a lie disguised as truth. No peanut butter. No shoe size. Forgetting a pen. Torn paper bags carrying heavy books. Being ignored. Being always noticed. Gutter balls. Realizing you have to part with someone you miss.

Things that excite the sense of smell: New shoes. Coffee. The scent of a newly-opened notebook. A newly-bought book. Adidas Ice Dive. An old book, with yellowing pages. Vanilla. New cars. Old wine. Baby powder. Pheromones.

Things that stop you: Stoplight. Fear. The voice inside your head.

An affirmation of togetherness is the shift in pronouns. "We like peppermint mocha," or "We'll be there in a few."

Things that are sexy but never classy: A woman in a relationship who still entertains other men. Just because she can.

Things that are better when planned: Birthdays. Lunch dates. Midterms. Baking a cake. Eight hours of sleep. Entrance exams. Finals. Movie dates. Assassination plots. Wars. Oral reports. Interventions. Outfit. What earrings to match your outfit.

My idea of attractive comes with an intellectual requirement.

Unpleasant surprises: Quizzes. Rain when you have no umbrella. Sneezing inside a crowded bus. Bright, sunny day when you brought a jacket. Blood on your underwear.

Beautiful surprises: Free cuts. A good score when you studied. A high score when you slept all night. Gifts. Strikes and spares. Togetherness in the silence. When someone takes care of you even when they don't have to.

An affirmation of constancy is the use of present tense. "You're beautiful." An affirmation of certainty is the use of future tense. "We'll be okay."

Things better unplanned: Talking with your best friend in the atrium. Sleepovers. Brainstorming. Wrestling. First draft of a short story. Putting potatoes in corned beef. Kisses. Road trips. Drinking sessions. Foot massages. Seeing someone in between classes. Good night calls. Hugs. An Ode to The Pillow Book. Sunsets and walks in the rain.


*My take on The Pillow Book by Sei Shonagon.

Poetic attempts.

For most of my Saturday, I was stuck at home reading Marlowe and Raleigh's "bickering" on love by way of the iambic tetrameter. I'm not really much of a poet -- actually, no, I'm not a poet at all, period. I cannot write poetry to save my life, even if I wanted to. In fact, I think I am the antithesis of poetry. There is nothing poetic about me, which is tragic, considering I am a CW major. I guess I have to thank the gods of Fiction and Non-fiction for saving my literary ass.

But I did do something close to poetic and that is getting myself a knitted top from Freeway's National Artist Collector's Series featuring Jose Garcia Villa. It has the poem "Farfelu" on the back and can be worn as either a top or a mini dress. I will put myself under the illusion that maybe wearing clothes with poems on them will rub off on me physically, then eventually mentally and emotionally. Ooh, I hope the gods of Poetry somehow repay me for this one day. There should be points for effort.

Since I am hardly ever poetic, I can never give anyone the satisfaction (or humiliation) of getting poems from me. Not even songs. Nope, not for Valentine's, for birthdays or other special occasions -- expect nothing. My words find other means of being coherent: they come together in sentences, not verses. I can, however, give someone the humiliation (or satisfaction) of being mentioned in this blog through perfectly adequate nonfiction: an anecdote.

The other night, I couldn't fall back asleep after having awoken at one in the morning. I can blame it on stress messing up my body clock, or my body missing my dorm bed, or my thoughts cluttering my mind but nonetheless I watched a movie in my iPod to free my head of all the weariness. Finally, I dozed off but not without the stress. I dreamed I was in the passenger seat, driving around the Oval, feeling frustrated and tired. It felt like I just had an exam or a paper to rush, and I was physically and mentally bruised. But as the rain slowly sprinkled the windshield to make up for the tears welling up in my eyes, he whose hands rested on the stirring wheel pulled over just in between Melchor and Malcolm Hall to hug me.

I woke up, feeling like it wasn't a dream. The rain, the setting, all the other elements were poetic. Even the words. But it wasn't just a dream. And I know. Though set in slumber, it was creative nonfiction at its finest.

Dear July,

What the hell is taking you so long? Please move quickly, you're stressing me out.

Writer's block.

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

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

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

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

But oh God, how I needed that.

So far, keeping it together's been enough.

"How are you, Karla?"

Default question. So easy to answer. But really, so difficult to take seriously. Do they really want to know, or are they just being polite? Cos if it's the latter, well then, Okay lang. And technically, that's not a lie because of course I'm okay. But I guess it's also a half-truth because that's not all there is to it. I'm okay, and more.

There are so many things that can be said, that can be written about how I am right now. As I've said before, I was never really the cheesy type, although I know deep within the recesses of my brain lies a repressed cheese ball. I guess I don't give in to that because based on experience, it's when I recognize the happy state that things end, or at least momentarily stop being happy. I'm afraid of these two things, primarily: of my words not translating the emotion completely, and of me jinxing it.

But when I'm in the middle of something so completely different from what I'm used to, when I'm currently riding a wave of contentment and gladness, when things are not how I expected them to be but so much better, I'm also afraid of letting things slip by without having some proof other than my fail of a memory to remind me of them. I want it written down, at the back of my notebook, in quick notes in my cellphone, in status updates, in this blog, somewhere.

As opposed to what Hollywood has been shoving down everyone's throats, this kind of love is not this perfect, grand, all-encompassing feeling, though. It's like a simple, little secret, like tumbling into bed after a long day. Having the pillow between your arms, the blankets wrapped around your legs, with your old shirt and comfy shorts -- it's not the most striking part of the day, but it's the most comfortable, the most needed. It's not when you're most beautiful, but it's when you feel most like yourself. It's warm, it's cozy.

I don't know if comparing a relationship to sleeping is a good enough metaphor or just a reflection of how sleep-deprived I am. But I suppose it answers the question: For everything else that sucks about life, there is something (and someone) I look forward to at the end of the day. So I guess that definitely makes me more than okay. I'm good. We're good.

Trivia of the Day.

I just found out that our course, Creative Writing, was originally called Imaginative Writing when it was established in 1961, until its name was changed in 1989.

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

Today.

Today I feel like being random.

Today is the day I've been waiting for after a month's worth of stress and hassle: suspension of classes. With the heavy rains and the strong winds embracing me as the morning unfolded, I finally got my much-needed rest. ELEVEN HOURS OF SLEEP. Eleven glorious, beautiful hours! I haven't felt so rested in such a long time. While I don't think that's enough to completely wipe off all the sleep debt I've accumulated since college began, I think it's sufficient to keep me going for a week or so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today I'm okay.

January 14th.

Little black shadows of rain droplets covered her legs. She hugged herself a little and felt the warmth of her new jacket. It was a new feeling, taking a ride with him. Disturbed was playing in the background, but somehow in the iPod inside her head, it was John Mayer providing the score to that moment.

She steals a glance at him. Eyes firmly planted on the road. She wanted to say something to break the silence, but decided not to. It was raining hard that afternoon, but she felt warm and fuzzy inside.

She could get used to this.

Sometimes, all you need is one.

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

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

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

One Tree Hill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crash.

Sweet like candy to my soul

Sweet you rock and sweet you roll

Lost for you, I'm so lost for you

Oh, and you come crash into me

And I come into you

- Crash Into Me by Dave Matthews Band

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

On my bedside table.

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

1. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

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

2. Noli Me Tangere by Jose Rizal (Translated by Leon Ma. Guerrero)

I just started reading it last week. I've always wanted to reread Rizal's work because discussing it in high school made it seem so tedious and uninteresting -- as do most high school classes. Hehe. Besides, it was in textbook Filipino, which made it all the more difficult. I guess reading its translation (and the most accessible one at that, or so Guerrero claims) will fulfill my desire of appreciating Rizal's novels for what it is: a cultural phenomenon, a masterpiece. I can't wait to get to El Fili!

3. Ilustrado by Miguel Syjuco

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

4. Doomed Queens by Kris Waldherr

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

5. Dirty Italian

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

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

What's on your bedside table? ;)

And the rest is rust and stardust.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.

... All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other's soul and flesh; but there we were, unable even to mate as slum children would have so easily found an opportunity to do so.

- Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

Growing pains.

Old.

It's such a depressing word. From the way the long o curls into a lingering l and suddenly halts into a harsh, concrete d, the tangibility of its gloom is undeniable. Sure, age is just a number, with age comes wisdom, age is just a state of mind -- but nonetheless, it is a reality we all deal with albeit in different ways. And maybe I'm just not at that point where I'm ready to embrace being an adult yet.

Lately, I've been sleeping with thoughts of growing old on my mind, wondering how far (or how little) I've gone from the innocent little girl that I was. I'm not usually bothered by my age, and in fact I hardly ever think about it, unless the -Ber months start knocking and I'm forced to count down the days before my birthday. (That's just how my mind is wired when it comes to that day.) But for some reason, it's as if these thoughts have been finding their way inside my mind, disrupting me in my silence and resonating even in the noise.

Have I really been growing up, or just growing old?

We'd all like to believe that as our days become years and years become history, we get better at dealing with the situations life throws at us, especially at this time in our lives where we're no longer kids and we're practically adults. We laugh at petty high school cat fights, and snicker at unnecessary crush drama. We shake our heads in disbelief over our angsty, emo pre-pubescent tween phase and deem our ignorance tragic. We're smarter and better than that. Why? We're eighteen! We're in college! We're old! We know what we're doing! We're free! We're mature! We know better!

I guess it's ironic how it's also these statements that we use as excuses for all the other times we stop being smart and just start acting like the complete opposite of what we think we are: kids. I'm eighteen, I'm old. I know what I'm doing. And yet, we don't.

Every once in a while, the mistakes of my past come flashing right before me as if purposely saying how stupid I am for thinking I did what I thought was right. Just when I start believing that I'm getting better at handling myself in situations, the past comes knocking and makes me feel otherwise. And, adding insult to the injury, they come just when things are perfectly okay. It's unfair -- it's in the past and it shouldn't have a place in the present, much less the future. And yet it will find a way to haunt you and follow you. It's unfair -- because during that time, you just thought it was the right thing to do. But it is only later that you will realize it wasn't. It's unfair -- because just when you think you're doing fine, everything shatters to pieces.

It's during these times when I can't help but wonder: Have I really been making the right decisions? Am I really capable of judging what should and shouldn't be done? How do I really know which is the grown-up thing to do?

Sometimes, I still wish I was still a kid, when all the stupid mistakes I did are excusable by innocence, and all the things I said are caused by my ignorance. I still want to have the liberty of acting immature just because I don't know any better. It's overwhelming still that right now, there is just no one else to blame for all the mistakes I've done but myself.

Maybe the only grown-up thing to do is suck it up and learn from it. Deal with it by yourself. But then again, I think the better thing to do to go get a tub of ice cream, watch Toy Story, and get a hug from someone again and again until it feels better ;)

P.S. My Enemy aka best friend Hope Velasco just started her own blog! Hmm. Grown-ups should have better avenues of expressing themselves other than FB statuses, and blogs provide just that. Haha! I love you, Enemy!

Papa's girl.

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

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

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

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

Gotten.

I've been saving these last words for

one last miracle but I'm not sure

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

You just get me like I've never been gotten before.

- Gotten by Slasher feat. Adam Levine

//

Sometimes it's when the differences are laid down the table that you realize how much they don't really matter. And how much you don't care.

Coming home.

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

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

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

I am home.

Fire at Palma Hall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So is it so wrong to feel so relieved?

Back to The Stress Factory.

UP, we have only been back together for two days and already you are stressing me out. WHYYY?

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

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

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

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

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

I suddenly feel McFlurries summoning.

UP, you really are a stress factory.

Waiting in line can make you profound.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Quote of the day.

Lokohin mo na ang lasing at ang bagong gising,
wag lang mga estudyante ng UP
na sa enrollment nanggaling!

Yes, folks: I'm now officially a college junior. @_@

Gray skies.

Your bed is a mess

When gray skies start to tremble

I fall into it

Blogger: Dashboard.

I just logged in my Blogger account when it suddenly dawned on me.

OH FUDGE, I JUST MISSED THE DASHBOARD CONFESSIONAL CONCERT.

/wrists

Thank you, CRS!

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

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

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

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

Shuffle Wednesday - 0526

It's Wednesday today and guess who's not forgetting? :) I came back from Singapore last Monday evening and boy did I have a blast! Universal Studios Singapore was just pure awesome! I had a loooot of fun. And of course, the shopping was incredible! I won't be spilling the beans on where I got most of my new stuff, but let's just say my wardrobe just got a lot cuter :) I shall definitely return to Singapore! Anyway, on to business. I wrote down the songs from the return flight to Manila. It surprised me actually because I found them quite cohesive. And aptly very relaxing. Too bad my iPod konked out in the last hour of the flight. :|

The Airplane Shuffle (Singapore - Manila Mix)

The Geek In The Pink by Jason Mraz

"I could be the one to turn you out / We could be the talk across the town / Don't judge me by the color, confuse it for another / You might regret what you let slip away / Like the geek in the pink"

- For some reason I can totally identify with this song. And yes, this also further strengthens my theory that geeks are really hot.

I Write Sins Not Tragedies (Cover) by The String Quartet

- You definitely have to download all the String Quartet covers of famous songs, most especially the rock and alternative ones! Must-hear!

Love Soon by John Mayer

"You can cross the line whenever you want to / I'm calling it love soon / Close your mind and waste some time if you have to / I'm calling it love soon / It's not about you now / it's what we are"

- The perfect song for that "More Than Friends, Less Than Lovers" stage. I'm telling you, John Mayer is a god.

All That I Want by The Weepies

"And when the cold wind's blowing / Snow drifts through the pine trees / In houses lights are glowing / Likewise in your eyes that find me here / With all that I want"

- It's a cute Christmas song to snuggle to.

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow by Amy Winehouse

"I'd like to know that your love / Is love I can be sure of / So tell me now, cause I won't ask again / Will you still love me tomorrow?"

- This song reminds me of this scene in (500) Days of Summer after Tom and Summer fight about their "status" and Summer comes over to apologize. Then Tom says, "I just need consistency. I need to know you won't wake up tomorrow and feel a different way." Aww.

More Today Than Yesterday by Spiral Starecase

"I love you more today than yesterday / But not as much as tomorrow / Oh I love you more today than yesterday / But darling not as much as tomorrow"

- Some old songs just never go out of style. Simple yet very sweet. Romantic but not overly cheesy. Also, this reminds me of Ayala Malls. Heehee.

Stacy's Mom by Fountains of Wayne

"Stacy's mom has got it going on / She's all I want and I waited for so long / Stacy can't you see / You're just not the girl for me / I know I might be wrong / But I'm in love with Stacy's mom"

- EPIC. This was one of my favorite songs in Grade 6. I loved this song and the video too! It's what every pre-pubescent boy's fantasies are made of.

Good Times Gonna Come by Aqualung

"Need to know / If you're letting go / It's alright, alright, it's alright / Didn't know / I was hurting you so / It's alright, alright, it's alright"

- Aqualung has mastered the art of writing haunting, heart-wrenching songs. It sings of pain and struggle, but also of willingness and sacrifice.

A Beautiful Lie by 30 Seconds To Mars

"It's a beautiful lie / It's the perfect denial / Such a beautiful lie to believe in / So beautiful / beautiful lie"

- Aaaah. Another 30STM classic. This is another one of those songs I would so wholeheartedly sing in the shower to let out all my frustrations and anger. Hahaha. Well, if the melody isn't enough to make you feel angry, the words will. Liessss.

Lie In The Sound by Trespassers William

"I love you more than I should / So much more than is good for me / More than is good / Oh the timing is cruel / Oh I need and don't want to need / More than I should"

- I love this song. I first heard it in OTH 2x01, during Nathan and Haley's wedding. It's the perfect encapsulation of this frustrating, needy feeling we all have when we're at the threshold of giving up but still holding on, just because.