In My Throbbing Head

POSTED ON: Thursday, December 15, 2011 @ 7:10 PM | 0 comments

14 December 2011, Wednesday (from 7:30 to 8:40 pm)

Something’s bothering me this moment – this moment when my head feels like somebody’s cracking it open, this moment when I really want to sleep but I can’t because of the current state of my head (I apologize in advance for possible gibberish language and bad grammar that would appear in this post), and this moment when I’m freakishly wanting to cry because Cameron Mitchell’s “How Deep Is Your Love” cover is playing on repeat (amazing). I’m not sure if what’s bothering me is really bothering me – or already annoying me. You see, one of my new friends in college had called me “emo” twice. I’m quite troubled because: 1) I don’t like the word “emo” because I don’t know what it means; 2) I don’t like myself being associated with anything emo; and 3) I don’t think I’m emo at all. Maybe I was before, when I still couldn’t properly handle my emotions, when I mindlessly cry at petty frustrations and upsetting internal and external matters, when I considered suicide as a way out of the crazy maze called the crazy life (because those were the meaning of emo I knew). But I’ve changed. Duh, I’m 18. I should have changed. I need to change. And included in my life changes is eradicating my being too emotional. It annoyed me that he called me “emo”. At the first incident, I just waved it off and smiled. But the second time… ugh, it didn’t sound funny and acceptable anymore. I was so pissed off I could have punched someone or something. I’m not emo, I’m not emo.

Although I know that I need not explain myself to anyone, I can’t help but do so. I just want everyone to know that I really have no idea what the true meaning of “emo” is. I have no idea who and what elements characterize emo: eyeliners maybe? Blood? Slitting wrists? Dark colors? Sad music? Undying love? Depressing stories? Oh! Maybe it’s the hair? I have no idea. I can’t and don’t want to stereotype emo. But I just want to clarify that I’m no emo. Not at all. Maybe I’m a sad little girl most of the time, but I don’t think that’s sad enough to pass as an emo. Maybe I usually want to be alone, but that’s because I need to think over some things that not everybody understands – and also because I like reading alone. Maybe I don’t talk or socialize a lot, but that’s just my way of calculating personalities and choosing the right words to say. Alright, sometimes I’m such an introvert, but still, that’s not emo… just dead on introvert.

I would have liked it better had somebody called me “weird” or “strange” or “weirdly strange” or “strangely weird” than being called an emo. I have nothing against people who like emo music or sport emo style. I also once thought that emos are cool and unique in their own little, dark ways (and I still think they are unique). We all have our differences and own preferences that give us bizarre rapture (like me, listening still to “How Deep Is Your Love” nonstop – and it makes me happy, and not to mention, Cameron is giving me hysterically frenzied butterflies), and I respect that. Maybe our differences will just stay as differences forever… but we can all still be friends, right?

Out of the weird topic: I’m currently reading “Modelland” by Tyra Banks. It’s a crazy fiction, and it’s funny because of the over exaggerated (do you think using “over” and “exaggerated” in one sentence is a redundancy?) use of descriptions about the characters, their quirks and obsessions, and about the land for the Intoxibellas (supermodels, in the real world) called Modelland. I’m just on Chapter 3, but I know this things because I’ve read the Acknowledgments and About the Author sections first, and because I had a flicker of an idea when I saw the motion editorial for the novel in America’s Next Top Model: All Stars (which, by the way, ended controversially because of Angelea being disqualified; and sadly because of my pretty and artistic Allison-slash-AlliCat-slash-Creepy Chan not winning). I want to finish this book before I leave for holidays (I will be back in Naga City) because I won’t have time to do so come Naga-Holidays (assignments and projects, a small grade school reunion maybe, more assignments and projects, holiday preps, pigging out, holy masses, and hopefully, more pigging out).

I’m excited to go back to Naga City, and play with my nieces and my nephew again (more tickling and coloring, guys? Or are you all too old for those things?), and meet my friends again (I don’t miss them that much – ha! – but I want to see them anyway). Happy holidays everybody! I will try to blog as much as possible (without humiliating myself with roughly written posts and bad grammar) when I get down and dirty with my holiday-school work (geez, I don’t even think the term “holiday-school work” exists). Oh, guess what? Cameron Mitchell’s “How Deep Is Your Love” cover is still playing. Ah, how I love being alone and listening to a song over and over again (free of other people telling me it’s annoying and abnormal).

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Diaries of Woes & Chaos

THE FLYEST.

Already several months had passed, and I am missing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.

Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum “Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.

And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since. All is well, indeed.

And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.