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_sbwnCbexNJIC7ND1sAGadAwMQjNYQFaGOM5-KdYQ74a7PhWzF5XzyF-rH6QoXjN-o-Y9WyKBZfY3UQiRyGcqgk2s7klM2zC3W7-ZjCR_neIL86d2mY00z2hn-SZ5IfUpCZthj3jUsGJn-RfUsm-vYdxR7bB4CzyQ=s0-d">

You're my lobster :)

Happy birthday, and I love you.