Sigh of relief.

Finally after the loooong wait, my grades for the second semester are complete. Hooray for balancing petix and nerd time! Here's to more semesters like this~

I hope this earns me one thousand good daughter points :D

(sub)conscious

I lie awake, riffs floating in between my ears, colds stifled inside nostrils, thoughts smothered for later. It was lethargic how the night went on without a wink of sleep paying me a visit. How odd it felt to stare at the shadows on the ceiling, tossing and turning around in bed, adjusting the electric fan for more than two hours when you're used to dozing off to slumber just a few seconds after hitting the pillow.

For a night of sleeplessness, it was filled to the brim with questions. And never-ending songs. Indeed, a 30GB iPod is a sudden insomniac's best friend.

And suddenly, slowly, the night unfolded itself to me. It was lethargic. But it was empty. It was as if seeing swirling colors in bubbles -- you see them there and yet they don't seem to exist. I cannot explain it. All I know was that I was hearing and feeling something different from the music I have always listened to in my iPod. Words were coming to me, ideas were popping out of my head. I was confused. Was I in trance? Or was I just desperately sleepless? Why the sudden gush of words, of pictures, of questions?

I wanted to write it down. To type it. To draw it. There was something in my mind but unless it became tangible I cannot make sense of it. It was like being silently suffocated, however I didn't know by what. (Although, for some part, maybe it was due to my bad colds, which was why I found myself sniffing the Vicks inhaler for quite a lot of times that night.)

But the fear of unleashing the mother's wrath for one's unsleeping offspring stopped me. I hugged my pillow tight, hoping to make it go away, or at least reserve it for some other time -- maybe after more sleep. Yet, I couldn't fall asleep. Army Millare's lines were haunting. Still I tossed, and turned, resisting the urge to exhaust my mind into figuring out the complex at that time of dawn. I had to sleep.

Okay, so I did fall asleep. Albeit very, very late and discontinuously. I still don't know what happened to me last night. Why did it feel so empty, yet refreshing? Am I going crazy? It feels like I am. It's the weirdest shit, I know. I knowww.

And now, in a (seemingly failed) attempt to explain what happened, I'm at a loss for words. I don't know. It doesn't make sense. I tried triggering the state of daze again by plugging in Up Dharma Down's songs but nothing comes to me. What happened to me last night?

Maybe it's my mind telling me to loosen up. Relax. Get rest. Or maybe it's about time I stop listening to my iPod before I go to sleep.

Meet Porphyria.

My newest baby.

If that's the case, then that makes me Porphyria's lover :> Except that I will never strangle her to death.

Summer (classes)

As the jeep passed by the Oblation, turning a left towards the waiting shed before Vargas Museum, I glanced my head outside the window hoping to see how far I still was from the AS-FC walk because I was almost late for my 9 am class. But what flashed before me was a picturesque view of tall trees shading the Academic Oval as if warmly welcoming you to another day into its arms. I see this everyday but this morning it felt new and inviting. It was 8:57 on my watch, but I just really had to stop for a second and appreciate the view before I went back to rushing to my class.

It's been almost three years, but I don't think I will ever get tired of UP.

This is the first time I would be taking summer classes -- ever. My philosophy has always been to enjoy the summer break because it's the only reward you can really give yourself after an extremely stressful year. It gives you ample time to fully recharge before bracing yourself for yet another battle with the university life. But because of blockmate-pressure and the desire to make this summer more productive than usual, I enrolled for CL114 (Drama), which is a prerequisite to CW 141 (Playwriting). Our creative writing specialization classes require a specific genre of literature as a prerequisite, so this is one way of lessening my load for next semester. It's not all that bad really because I'm with two of my best friends but what sucks is that while everyone else is probably frolicking in the sand, or still curled lazily in front of the TV, I have to drag myself out of bed everyday to learn about Euripides and melodrama. What's even more torturing is the fact that it's with a (very) difficult professor again. Let's just say in this case, it's not lovelier the second time around.

Honestly though, I'm not really complaining that much. I mean sure, I would much rather spend my time at home honing my mouse-clicking and keyboard-typing skills. But the optimist in me is looking forward to this actually. At least I'm going to immerse myself in literature, something I love enough to work hard at no matter how difficult it may seem. And if anything, there are only four weeks left anyway, so it will all be over soon.

Meanwhile, I'm spending my afternoons catching up on some of my favorite shows, Sex and The City and Ally McBeal, both of which I love because their lead characters are living the life I've always been dreaming of: that of a writer and of a lawyer. Who would've thought that I'm actually getting closer to becoming both? :)

Retail therapy.

My mom and I had a shopping date at 168 in Divisoria today. It's been quite some time since I last went shopping there. Oh, how I missed it! Nothing beats shopping at Divisoria; it is the ultimate shopping adventure -- from the relentless pursuit of the perfect item to the persistent haggling to the struggle with the crowd. The aisles never seem to end, and the stores never seem to run out of goods. The whole experience is enough to wipe anyone out to exhaustion. Ahh, it all sounds stressful. But ironically, there is a reason why it's called therapy - it's alleviating.

It's the Vistan gene. Me, my mom, and titas and lola from the mother's side are all shopaholics. We scour the streets of Divisoria, Bangkok, Singapore, and Bali for hours and hours on end with nothing but our inexorable desire to look for the best buys with us. (And yes, comfortable slippers.) Sometimes we start early (we get to 168 before 8:30) or sometimes we get there late (like in Bangkok's night markets) but whatever the time is, we're always ready to comb through all the stores with much gusto. It's a form of bonding for us. It's no wonder my lolo never complains about our shopping compulsion -- imagine, with him on a trip are five shopaholic girls. He's gotten very much used to it.

One thing about shopping is that it has a way of alleviating my neuroses. Like, after everything stressful and frustrating that has happened to me, when I get to buy something for myself that I know I worked hard for, it's rewarding. It makes me feel like I deserve something. It motivates me. I know it's wrong to be so materialistic, but for me, shopping isn't about amassing a huge amount of clothes for me to brag about. It's about giving myself something that makes me feel better. I guess it stems from the little principle my parents taught me that if you do good, then you deserve something good. If I have enough money and earned the right to reward myself, why shouldn't I shop?

But more than that, I think the satisfaction in shopping springs from the struggle. You find joy in not just buying for yourself, but in the actual pursuit for it. The search is what thrills you, like you're on a hunt for some secret treasure you have yet to discover. You enter a tiangge with no exact purchase in mind, just always with that feeling of "I know it when I see it." And you do. You find a glorious item on a stall and you just know you were meant to have it. You haggle with the saleslady, sometimes flattering them, sometimes feigning indifference, but always with the same goal in mind: to own it. And when at last you get to have it, when that plastic bag is finally in your hands, there's no greater feeling. You don't need anything else. (Or at least until the next cute item.)

Shopping is exhilarating, really.

I guess life is one big shopping adventure. We shop for the best experiences, find the greatest adventures, look for the perfect people. We never stop walking, never stop searching until we get that which we truly want. Because let's face it, settling for anything is never satisfying. We have to really comb through everything to get our heart's desires. And when we do get them, at no matter what cost, we know, we just know, that everything is going to be okay.

And why wouldn't everything be okay when you have the cutest blouse to start your summer with? :)



P.S. The best shopping buddy is always the Mom.

Sleepless.

It's always in the most ungodly of hours that creativity sneaks in.

Ever since the beginning of my second year, my body clock has gone way off base. Before, midnight meant that distant acquaintance I just bump into ever so rarely, but now it's like a good old friend welcoming me into the deeper retreats of dawn. I blame acads for this of course. Why else would I be sleeping late if it weren't for papers and reports to finish? But okay, sometimes it's Facebook's fault too (and Plurk's.) And yes, I'm still also partly blaming the jet lag from my US trip last summer -- hey, it was fifteen long hours!

I am not an insomniac, just to clarify things. No, I am not in denial. I still can sleep at night when I will myself to sleep. I just close my eyes shut and off I go to deep slumber. But I can't believe that I actually got used to this staying up late. Me, the sleepyhead. Me, the conscious eight-hour-sleeper. Me, who hated staying up late for anything. And now look at me. I am a shadow of the night. I lie in wait for the darkness. I have become part of that elusive dimness that I used to tiptoe in hesitantly. I am an acquired, self-taught, insomniac. I don't like it but I have to.

It happens when there are pages of critical analyses waiting to be done, or stories to be written, or poems to be revised. For some reason, ideas just do not come to me in broad daylight. It's as if words escape me on purpose, tormenting me as I stare dumbly at the blinking vertical cursor on screen. It's torture especially when my whole body is aching for the bed, whose sheets are longing to wrap themselves around me and, and the pillows, which my arms so badly want to embrace. But I cannot because my mind cannot fathom sleeping without getting any work done. And so I slave myself off into the night, with inspiration dawning upon me only until the wee hours of the morning. (Maybe it's supposed to dawn at dawn? Hmm.)

But honestly, I've slowly found comfort in the night. When everyone else is asleep, no one asking, no one talking, no one to entertain, no one to listen to -- that's when I feel most at ease. I used to think that I could not survive in silence; I had to talk, I had to hear something, someone. And yet, it surprises me how I crave for the quietude that only the depths of the night can give me. It's the only time I can think to myself, talk to myself, hear myself. Reaching this level of stillness always give me some sort of high, like I can go to places or I can come up with something incredible. It's always in these ungodly hours that I feel attuned with everything but yet only aware of myself.

It's weird shit, I know.

I think it's because of these post-midnight moments that I realize how much I actually value silence and my alone time. Nowadays, I don't like being disturbed that much. I do mind when my personal bubble is invaded. Sometimes, I just really want to go home and hibernate. So what, have I been unconsciously turned into a hermit? Have I been deceiving myself, all my life thinking I was a social butterfly but deep down I'm really an introvert, a loner? Well, I do enjoy hanging out with friends and family, meeting new people, talking about anything and everything. But I guess it's just also rewarding to have these quiet moments all to myself. It soothes me. Ironically, I am able to recharge myself in my sleeplessness.

But wait. Who am I kidding? I love sleeping. I really do. I'd give anything to have a decent eight-hour slumber. Lack of sleep is bad for the health. It causes breakouts and does not allow you to get the complete rest and recharging your body needs for another day's work. It's not good at all. Why am I even justifying this? WHY?

I blame the jet lag. And maybe, sleeplessness.

Grammar Nazi.

I am probably the last person in the (cyber) world who still does not have a Tumblr account. I don't know why but the whole thing just does not really appeal to me. And please don't even try the "You just haven't tried it long enough to enjoy it," excuse on me because I did try it at one point but it never got to me. Sure, it looks fun reblogging and sharing pictures and quotes. Call me old-fashioned but I actually like and prefer having a blog in which I can really write on and does not need to have followers to be deemed worthy of maintaining. I don't need the pressure of having to follow people whose lives I don't give a care about and seeing them constantly re-appear on my dashboard -- I think Facebook is already doing too much of that for me.

That being said, I can't help noticing how much my Facebook homepage has been converted into a second avenue for Tumblr updates. The other day I couldn't help clicking when I saw one interesting quote -- I figured this was what Tumblr thrived on: the intrigue and curiosity by what one has posted -- and was suddenly taken into an unplanned Tumblr-hopping. This is the part where I should be saying, "Boy was I wrong to turn my back on this place! It's awesome!" But no. What I got was a sad, sad realization.


More than half of Tumblogs I stumbled upon (sTumbld? Haha) had typographies with really, really bad grammar. As in, holy [expletive] awful. The place was brimming with love or emo quotes, most of them having the most obvious but often neglected grammatical errors. And actually very cheesy too but I can let the mushiness slide. The grammar however, I cannot. I don't know if this was just the Grammar Nazi/English major in me kicking in, but whatever it was, it pained me. Really.

First thing that came to mind was "Why?" Why can't they differentiate YOUR from YOU'RE? Or THEIR from THEY'RE? Or that EVERYONE is always singular therefore it's supposed to be "Everyone 'has' or 'had'" and not "Everyone have"? Come on, we learned these in grade school. It's really all just basic grammar.

And the next thing was another big "Why?" Why aren't people reacting? These quotes are still being reblogged repeatedly with only "Love it!" and "Awww, tagos??" comments but no one actually commenting on them. I understand it may be embarrassing, but if you can't correct it, you can at least not reblog it. The more it gets re-published, the more people think it's okay. In the first place, I'm not even sure if people know they are grammatical errors or they're just letting it slide. I have to admit that it irks me, especially when the errors are glaring at me in big, bold, colorful letters [e.g. "Everyone have that one special person.."] as if doing it on purpose. It's irritating to see some angry girl having a poorly constructed bitchy statement to her ex on her page. Honey, not intimidating at all, trust me.

Now before you go on the offense let me just say: We're human, we're not perfect. I know. And I too admit to grammatical mistakes sometimes. We can't help it, especially when we're really furious or excited. Of course we're bound to miss a few letters here and there. But that shouldn't be an excuse for sloppy grammar every single time. We should at least be conscious of the rules because they wouldn't be taught to us if they weren't important.

Maybe some of you will say, "Who needs to get the English language right anyway? Most people understand it whether you get it wrong or not." Let me tell you how fallacious that statement is. The number of people "getting" that grammatically incorrect statement doesn't make it any less wrong. It still has an error; it still needs to be corrected. The English language is a system with rules and guidelines that we follow in order to use and maximize the language fully, and we cannot do that unless we actually go by them. It's like proving an equation without using the right theorems. Where's the sense in that?

It saddens me that most people don't care about grammar anymore. They deem it unimportant compared to other more pressing issues in life to worry about. Well, that may be true. But it wouldn't hurt to at least brush up and go back to the basics now, would it? If anything it can only lead to self-improvement and less embarrassment. I think there's nothing classier than a bitch who can get her prepositions right.

I hold the English language in high regard, not only because I'm a CW major but simply because it is a language that should be respected. Much like Filipino or any other lingua franca for that matter. Grammar is one of the most basic but essential things we learn in school that actually matters a lot in the real world -- the least we can do is get it right.

And while we're on this, you can check this out: 10 Words You Need To Stop Misspelling.