November: In A Nutshell
So if October was an “easy-breezy month”, November was so demanding that sometimes I feel like I don’t want to go to school anymore. Yes, the demands
always come from school. But maybe it’s my fault – I have this manner of stressing myself over non-stressing things, and doing non-existent homework. Am I not annoying? And masochistic?
Anyway, I don’t have lots of extravagant realizations this month (except that I can’t push away the guilt of forgetting to pay my fare). We had our first Institute of Liberal Arts week and it was amazing and tiring and I might need to allot a separate post to tell you everything that had happened. My best friend and I saw the last installment of
The Twilight Saga and just the same, I would make my notoriously lame and crappy movie review some other time. And I have a good news regarding my reading (
reading – I’m such a dork), which will be elaborated in the Loony Dragonslayer section of this nutshell. And so it’s another nutshell – let’s just get over with this, shall we?
NOVEMBER ARCHIVES
Maturity
Monday, November 05, 2012
I had this inkling of writing about my brain – yes, my fat, fiction-lover brain. And with this brain, I realized how mature it had already become over the last nineteen years. Back in high school, I used to believe that popularity is more important than flying colors; that part I was awfully wrong. Good thing that Shallow Bitch I used to wear and be had gradually sunk in the abyss, and the Mature Human Being took over. “I’m still open to more mistakes and a lot of changes, and I know someday the shallow bitch will come again, but I now know how to resurface. I know how to return and resume. And when that moment comes, I will come back.” How dramatic and
Gossip Girl-ish.
Eating Skeptic Monster
Saturday, November 10, 2012
You know how each one of us have our own off-days? Days when everything seems to suck and our hair looks bad and we feel bloated? Well, off-days also happen to writing/blogging –
off-blogging, and this is one of them. I honestly have no idea how and why in the world I wrote this particular vomit-worthy post. Consider this non-existent, if you may.
Fear Landscape
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Divergent (Veronica Roth) took over my life, so badly that I wake up each morning thinking what faction I’d choose and what basin I’d trickle my blood over and what dominant color of clothes would look good with my skin. I don’t want to be factionless, as you can see. What the hell. So to get on my full-on hallucinations, I imagined myself in Dauntless Initiation Stage III: Fear Landscape. Listed in this post are the pathetic tangible things/elements/people/animal that pathetically scare the shit out of me (I’m scared of “Thriller” – what in the world?!). I know I should’ve written this last October, but tada, everyday is Halloween. So I guess, Happy Halloween? Meh.
Two Cents
Sunday, November 18, 2012
In the last weeks, the nation was rocked by a few issues that tested the people’s judgments and sense of humanity. And since I always have a say in things even though nobody cares to hear them, I took the liberty of writing down my opinions. I chose two issues that my brain can reach: the “Amalayer” and “Sotto-copy”. I hope you’d take time to read this; it’s one of my best posts. I take pride in “Two Cents” as much as I don’t with “Eating Skeptic Monster”. Thank you.
Movie Review: Breaking Dawn
In the near future
Forewarning: it’ll be composed entirely of rants and raves and how beautiful the casts are.
HALLELUIAH CATHARTIC
(formerly known as Striking Quote)
“The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.” ©
The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger
LOONY DRAGONSLAYER
(formerly known as Books Update)
So here’s the good news: I checked my Goodreads two days ago, and guess what I discovered? I have 99 reads.
99 freakin’ reads! What the hell. I was so surprised it took a moment to sink in. I thought I needed four more reads to reach a hundred, but apparently I just update and update without actually checking the number. I’m so happy. Finally, something I can say I accomplished successfully!
November reads:
I Am Number Four by Pittacus Lore (smart and good looking aliens);
The Stonehenge Gate by Jack Williamson (meh);
Divergent and
Insurgent by Veronica Roth (crazy amazing);
On the Farm by John Updike (slow and funny and touché);
The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton (both funny and heartbreaking and I cried okay);
An Abundance of Katherines by John Green (just the same: super funny, but I like PT and TFIOS better);
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger (Holden is weird and seems always mad);
To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee (I love everything about this – thank God for classics);
Malcolm by James Purdy (weird; and the ending was sad but still weird).
I had ten reads this month. Hold on tight, my brain.
Current read:
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak (this has high ratings in Goodreads, so hello another crazy amazing novel!).
FAVORITE PHOTO/GIF ©
(In this photo, from left to right: Khaye Villar, Miyann Bruan, Tintin Ordas) This was taken in the photo booth section of the recent ILA Week. It was a fun celebration even though there were lots of flaws and annoying incidents. True to the ILA Week’s theme, we have indeed
elevated.
EARGASM
(formerly known as Songs of the Month)
- They Don’t Know About Us – One Direction (I especially like the first notes with the piano.)
- Don’t Let Me Go – The Summer Set
- Back To You – Cody Simpson (Let’s make this so good for goodness’ sake / the last thing that we need’s to take a break / let me know what I have to do to get back to you)
- Forever and Always – Parachute
- Without You – AJ Rafael (I knew this song for a long time now but decided to include it in this list because I sang it with Khaye. Sang – what the hell, right?)
AND CONFETTI
(formerly known as Champagne to Pop)
Since ILA Week and
Breaking Dawn and my scholarship are off the list, let’s see… can we celebrate the release of the
City of Bones teaser trailer? Yes, we can (OMG, this sounds like Pres. Obama). Truth be told, I used to have some doubts about Jamie’s casting as Jace Wayland (‘cause of the looks and physique), but after I saw this, oh my heavens! He’s perfect. He’s really an actor, okay? I can’t wait for this movie to come out! Is it August 2013 yet?
December Activity List:
- Holidays, of course
- Rotaract Raffle Draw (7 December)
- Mother’s birthday (10 December)
- ILA Christmas party (14 December)
- Finish line to 100 reads
- School tour (tentative)
Last words from Pittacus Lore: When you have lost hope, you have lost everything. And when you think all is lost, when all is dire and bleak, there is always hope.
Two Cents
Just to let you know, I’m a very opinionated person. I always have something to say, always ready with a snide remark, always sparing my two cents. I can relate with Two-Bit Mathews of
The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton): even if nobody asks me so, I always have this nagging need to express something, to agree or contradict. Sometimes I annoy a lot of people already; sometimes I can be very sarcastic and insensitive. But I’d rather speak out than keep mum and kill myself in the process.
Anyway, there are some issues in our country right now, issues that are sometimes so petty they’re already
exasperating, that I’d like to talk about. And me being me, and my blog being my little blog, let me share to you what I think about them. (I can feel somebody’s gonna hit exit now.)
The ‘Amalayer’ Issue. So a week ago, this video of a student raising her voice to a lady guard in a train station went viral and even got in the news. I haven’t the whole and true story because when I ask people about it, the information gets all distorted and I don’t know what to believe in anymore. I didn’t even watch the whole video since I’ve seen the most of it in the national news. So this student got all hot with the authority because of an “assault” done with her. She raised her voice, loud enough for the passers-by to listen in, while talking to the guard. She was notoriously called “The Amalayer Girl” since she apparently pronounced “I’m a liar?” as “Amalayer?” People got all bothered and annoyed with her for degrading the guard’s educational attainment and social status. And then she became a big topic all over the Internet like she’d bomb another tower like Bin Laden; her video went viral like it’s “Gangnam Style”.
I don’t know the whole story. I don’t know who assaulted who, who degraded who, who first raised their voice – I didn’t give a
damn. And I don’t have to know everything because I don’t care what they really did. What bothers me the most are the
insults this helpless student gets from people she doesn’t even know. It’s annoying. She gets all this bitch-please remarks, and she can’t do anything about it because it’s like facing tons of bulls in one game;
one versus
everyone is the rule.
It’s embarrassing, really. It’s embarrassing to be a human being when your fellow human beings act all superior and clean like they’re saints and heal people from their illnesses. I know what this student did was wrong – and I believe the guard also did something wrong in some ways – but who the fuck cares?
I don’t. Do you? Do you have enough time for this big life purpose of yours? Don’t you have homework to do? Don’t you have a job? She’s just a
girl, a girl who lost control of herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. And if you think about it, each one of us has – directly or indirectly – done the same thing, and, lucky us, nobody cared to take a video of our deed. Don’t judge her because 1) you don’t know her; 2) she may be having a bad day that day, 3) you’re not the most important person in the world as far as I know; and 4) you seriously
don’t fuckin’ know her. So let’s just leave her and let her resolve this mess alone. Don’t add fuel to the fire – nobody’s gonna roast marshmallows in it. And for all I know she doesn’t care what you damn say. Insulting her doesn’t make you
better than her. You’re hurting her feelings and humiliating her and maybe ruining her chance in life, and I’m sure you don’t mean to do that, but you are. Let’s get a life, shall we?
The Sotto-copy Issue. This particular issue really gets on my nerves. I’m not really a legitimate writer (yet), but I’m passionate enough about writing to have a say about this. Truth be told, I admire Senator Vicente Sotto. He’s cool and helpful and funny and his mustache is phenomenal, but what he did lately might have affected my admiration for him for a bit. As far as I know, intellectual property issues are a hell of a mess to get one’s self into. We are talking about
brains here. What Sen. Sotto did was illegal if you check the constitution. Yes, we can borrow some lines from authors or speakers or anybody from time to time, but that’s why it’s called “borrowing” and
not “taking” – we don’t have the right to own it. It’s okay to use some portions of Sen. Kennedy’s or someone’s speech or composition. Where he got it wrong was that he didn’t give
credit to the respective writers. And what’s worse is that, in some time before this issue exploded, he somewhat
denied his plagiarism. No, Sir.
No. That was just bad.
It’s disheartening when you write something you take pride in and then somebody would copy-paste it and not give you credit. It happened to me before, and it didn’t feel good on my part. I wanted to punch this person and holler to the whole stark world that
I was the one who wrote it, but I let it passed because I was young and it was pathetic anyway. So I think Sen. Sotto should’ve credited them or added footnotes or whatever to his Reproductive Health Bill speech. He should’ve said something like, “Take what Sen. Kennedy said in his speech…” or “I agree with what the blogger, (insert name), had written…” That’s not so hard, right? And please, Sir, don’t ever say something about how a blogger is just a blogger anyway again, because you may never know, the next great explorer or the first President of the Universe may be a blogger. So please don’t “just” us; there’s scary power in words. (I’m not trying to threaten you or impose something evil or anything… but really, there
is power in words. Dr. Jose Rizal said so.)
I’m aware that some of you may disagree with my opinions, and that’s okay with me. I respect you and whatever’s inside your brain – that’s you, and people like you that way, so who am I to change what you are? I hope we – and the student in the video and Sen. Sotto – can live in peace now. Let’s have butterbeer some time, okay?
Fear Landscape
In the dystopian novel
Divergent (which I’m currently obsessed over), written by Veronica Roth, the Dauntless initiates have to surpass different stages of initiation to become a legitimate member of the said faction. One of these stages is the
Fear Landscape, wherein an individual would have to face his computer-simulated fears without quitting his guts off. “The number of fears you have in your landscape varies according to how many you have. You can get past each obstacle in one of two ways. Either you find a way to calm down enough that the simulation registers a normal, steady heartbeat, or you find a way to face your fear, which can force the simulation to move on. One way to face a fear of drowning is to swim deeper, for example.” (Chapter 23) Spoiler alert: Some of the characters have ten or so fears, but exceptional ones, like Four, have only
four fears, hence the nickname.
As I was reading it, I became curious of my own fears. Will I have ten? Twenty? A hundred?
A thousand? Or less? I never really had thought about it. Fear is one of the subjects I’d rather not think and talk about; it’s right up there with Bad Grades and Insecurities. I could’ve left it alone had I not read Kristen Stewart’s interview in the 12 November 2012 issue of
Manila Bulletin (penned by Janet Susan Nepales): “Fear isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s kind of something that, as you get older, you can get a bit more comfortable with it and realize it is a very motivating thing in your life. You shouldn’t be crippled by it. You should use it. Fear is a good thing.”
What she said was really smart (and I’m not only saying this just because I love her), and I realized that maybe, maybe I should
really know what my fears are so I can be ready when the situation boils down to it and so I won’t be such an ignorant person that I might become. And so with this post, I’ll try to enumerate all the tangible fears I’m aware of having –
physical ones only, so don’t expect to see “I’m scared of dying or getting my heart broken or something” from the list.
Evil clowns. Or any clown. When I was young, I have this friend who owns a huge clown mask. He didn’t use it to scare me (he only used the gorilla one) maybe because it was big and a hassle. But every time I visited his home, I was welcomed with this mask – and it was
traumatic. You can just feel it
staring at you as you walk. And the smile it wore was maniacal it gave me the creeps. Now when I imagine myself alone in a room with a clown – be it evil or not – I just shudder. I may cry.
Needles. I’ve come up with a theory why I’m scared of needles/syringe: when I was young, I was forced to have my first vaccine, and I remember it was so frightening and I was trashing around and my cousin was holding on to me tightly and I was bawling my eyes off and it was embarrassing and after that I was sleeping. Needles are just scary. I know they don’t actually
hurt; they just
sting, but still. When I see those pointy tips I can’t help picturing someone stabbing my neck with it.
Flying cockroaches. Confession: I don’t kill cockroaches if I can help it. When I see them prancing around our floor, I just let them go on with their business. As long as they don’t meddle with mine, we can have a mutual arrangement. If it comes down to necessarily killing them, I don’t hit them (because I can’t); I use insecticide and drown them with it. And when they start using their wings, I run into my room and hide under the covers until the coast is clear. Flying is the cockroach’s super power.
Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”. This will be a bit embarrassing, but yes, I cry at the sight of the “Thriller” music video. You can’t blame the King of Pop for giving people this hit song, so maybe you can put it on my father. He’s a big Jackson fan, and he constantly played his VCD of Jackson’s greatest hits when I was little. I hated it, and so those torture minutes where spent inside the rest room. Maybe I’m really scared of zombies. Or of Michael Jackson himself. Or of getting chased by half-dead, rotting, smelly people. Or all of the above.
Enclosed spaces. I’m not a certified claustrophobic, but I don’t need to see a psychiatrist to confirm to myself that I am. I hate enclosed spaces and getting sandwiched by strangers with their sweat and breath. Getting stuck inside an inescapable cubicle will either kill me with lack of oxygen or paranoia and hysteria. It feels like a very obese man is sitting comfortably on my chest while he reads
Us Weekly and eats fries. I’m scared of the idea of not having enough space to move around and enough air to inhale. Who doesn’t?
Centipedes. Or any animal with more than four legs. Why not?
Birds. Because they can kill with their beaks. And eagles are scary. And owls – although I’m fascinated with them and they remind me of Athena – have creepy eyes and rotating necks. And getting pursued and cornered by ostriches is like
suicide. And I agree with Will Herondale’s words: “Never trust a duck,” because they’re “bloodthirsty little beasts.”
The abyssal. I’ve never been in a ship – or in the ocean for that matter. I only see what lies beneath the biggest form of water in TV documentaries or something, and what I see
scares me. The darkness, the depth, the weird animals – I wouldn’t go near them if I can help it. I know it’s their nature to be menacing and the fishes to be predator-scary, but I’m gonna wet myself (and not because of the water) if I get myself in their kingdom. I’d rather stay in mine. Let them live in peace.
These are some of the things I fear, although I’m sure they’re not everything. I know I have more, I just haven’t experienced or encountered them yet, like I’m not sure if I’m scared of snakes because I haven’t seen one, or if heights make me sick since I haven’t been in a Ferris wheel (this is true). But nonetheless, if this list will grow as time pass, I hope I won’t be crippled by it. Although, how can I use this, Kristen? I don’t think I can. I don’t think so.
(I should’ve written this last October, shouldn’t I? Oh well, Happy Halloween! Whatever.)
Eating Skeptic Monster
Only one day left and the school’s next term will start. I can’t tell you if I’m either excited or apprehensive about that. Maybe both. I always am – or try to be – excited about fresh starts. I’m looking forward to the new semester since that means that’s another 18 or so units decreased from my loads, there are more things to learn and experience, there’s still another chance to start over. Knowledge is always good; experiences are always beneficial. What I’m scared of are my schedule and the new people (classmates and professors) I’d have to interact and work with for the next weeks. I got subjects that would probably blow my brains off and a schedule that is another way of declaring, “Lo and behold, my suicide mission!” I decided to enroll in classes that would fit in my schedule as many as possible, since practicality-wise, if I’m given the opportunity to take a semester without paying for my tuition fee, I’d take it for granted. I’m taking my scholarship for granted, which
isn’t wrong, as far as I know.
Yes, I still got my scholarship – and this one’s better.
Last semester I only had Partial Scholarship, which meant I paid only half of the school fees. This semester I managed to acquire Full Scholarship, which only means I don’t have to pay for the actual tuition and miscellaneous fees. Apparently, the general average I worked my ass off last semester is enough to put me in the school’s President’s List. And I’m grateful. Part of me wants to question the school authorities or anybody why and how I got the grades I got (since I think I procrastinated a lot from June to October), but the bigger part of me is repeatedly slapping me and making me realize that I deserve what I got because I gave everything I could for it. Right now I’m betting my cards against that smaller, dubious, self-degrading part.
It’s a constant internal battle, and for one to win, the other has to lose. It’s never a fight where it ends as a draw – there’s
always a winner. And sometimes the victorious side is the evil one. And it’s bad.
This is like high school all over again, when I was given the news that I was the Batch Valedictorian:
I doubted. After my adviser shook my hand to congratulate me, at first I
cried because the news was overwhelming, and then hugged my best friend. I was so happy that time. After an hour or so, I felt guilty. I questioned the fact; I doubted the happiness I was feeling. I knew I wasn’t the top student that time, and I have this aching feeling that said others deserved it more than I did. I said this to my best friend and he gave me a look and reprimanded me. He said I deserved it, that grades don’t lie, that sometimes I can shine brighter (not these exact words though). I tried to keep that in my mind, but until now that doubt is threatening to stir and travel across my anatomy and take over once it gained enough strength, enough hesitations. It’s crazy and scary. I always have to guard myself and stay planted inside my No To Doubts bubble.
“There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.”
© Buddha
Doubting is what I do most of the time (next to reading and ogling over celebrities). I trust and believe in other people’s strength and capabilities (although I learned not to expect a lot to lessen the frustration when proven fruitless), but when it comes to
my strength and capabilities, I compare myself to a
Squib – a magical person who cannot do magic, basically useless when it comes to spells and even handling wands. Not that I’m a person with magic blood, but I guess you get what I mean.
I see myself as a useless person: someone who can’t work efficiently and effectively, and someone who can be spared when it boils down to desperate measures.
I may be having another of my notorious self-pity sessions here, but I can’t help it. Maybe this is my way of not expecting a lot, a natural mechanism to avoid self-disappointment. You can’t blame me to think this way, especially after taking my experiences into consideration. Since I was a child, I’ve been trying so hard to please everyone, and 70% of the time, I disappoint them. I disappoint myself. Sometimes they care and I don’t; sometimes they don’t and I do.
I know I’ve said before (in a blog post like this one) that I don’t care about expectations and pleasing people anymore. I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck if I do something they don’t like and give me that sorry look because of it. Little did I know, I couldn’t stand with that choice. I cannot
not give a fuck. I can say that I don’t care, but deep inside I’m conditioned to do so. I don’t think I can remove that from me anymore; I doubt that practicing will detach me from that persona. Think of a crumpled paper bag: you can unfold and straighten its creases – heck, iron it even – but in the end it’ll still remain wrinkled and imperfect. And you can’t do anything but live with it – or discard it and get a new one.
I’m open to changes, to stripping my layers off just to get to the core of this damned behavior and rip it off clean and whole. I want to be free from it, but I guess it’ll take time and a whole lot of effort. In the meantime, I’d try to work my ass off again this semester and keep getting scholarship till I finish college. And keep reading, of course.
Maturity
I have long since matured even before dinosaurs roamed the Earth; I had grown into maturity when I was in middle school, brought about by some unfortunate incidents in the household and arrangements I had to live with – unfortunate incidents that are so
shallow anyway, shallower than a pond. But nonetheless, I believe that how I looked at life when I was ten wasn’t how a normal kid would look at life when he/she is also ten. Sometimes I take pride in this achievement – formulating perspectives with a child’s eyes but an adult’s mind – but when I think about it, growing up too fast is a sad thing. I had childhood experiences: I played outdoor games and got scabs, fought with boys over petty matters, had countless embarrassing scenes that wouldn’t fit in a slum book, got my arm broken and my ass exposed, ran away crying at the sight of evil clowns. But they weren’t
enough. When I consider other children’s experiences, I get
jealous. I envy them for reasons I can’t fathom. Dissatisfaction is utterly upsetting.
These are things I can’t go back to and reverse. Nobody can alter what has happened in the past. What happened before stays just the way we left it. I would’ve wanted a happier and no ass exposure childhood, but there’s nothing I can do but accept everything and etch in my mind that the things I did before molded me to what I am right now.
Some public figure had said before, “Girls become mature earlier than boys, but when they become adults themselves, they start to act like children.” Sex-related issues aside, this is probably true. Majority of boys stay as
boys while they’re still boys; girls act like
women while they’re still girls, but when they reach womanhood, they incline towards childishness and probably resort to throwing tantrums and whining. I am also a girl, and of course I’m all for woman power and heroines and all that, but most of the time, this situation happens. And I can’t state a living example since I don’t pry into people’s maturity level and keep their progress in perfect folders. Since this is a personal blog and a personal post, maybe I can just state me and my maturity as an example. (Bear with me.)
When I became a teenager and hormones started wrecking my life, the level of maturity I had had started decreasing, leaving its highest peak and bringing back the child brain I long since left. I started thinking irrationally and always asked for more, for something better, if not the best. I started caring about social status and money and having many friends. Becoming Popular seated next to Becoming Smart in my priority list. I
shoved my way to the front line; I didn’t want to be left behind. I became a hypocrite and a dishonest person. I hungered for admiration like how an evil scientist hungered for evil schemes. I wore a mask that not only hid the real me, but also slowly changed what was left. A shallow bitch with shallow goals and even shallower substance – that was the hormone-ridden, immature me. It was bad. It looked bad.
It made me bad.
And this is one of the moments when I thank God past remains in the past. Maybe it will hunt me as I grow older and regain that substance I lost, but I won’t let it break me. As Pittacus Lore said, “We don’t have to be defined by the things we did or didn’t do in our past.” (See:
I Am Number Four – and who said aliens don’t talk sense?)
I won’t let my mistakes push me off balance and slip my tight hold to sanity and righteousness. I would use super glue if necessary.
If you may ask me whether I already stop being that shallow bitch or not, I’m happy to tell you that I did – well, not completely (I still hunger for admiration), but I’m learning to let go and be contented with the things I have. I won’t stop hungering (“hungering” sounds like what a predator would say, no?) for things, but I have learned to strive only for what would satiate my needs and my ambitions.
I don’t give a fuck about popularity anymore (they only happen in chick flicks); I’d rather have a small number of honest and true friends than have a big number of people my heart don’t know. I’d rather work in the shadows than brag my ass out. My social status dilemma is still a dilemma, but it only reaches my social life and
not my standing in it. If before I was so obsessed with socializing that I almost became a social climber, now I’m having agoraphobia; my reading hinders me from going out and meeting people, but I like it that way – and no, don’t worry, I still know what malls are and that people don’t sit in cocktail parties most of the time. The front liner persona that I played for a long time is now dying, and I’m glad; I now only want to work as efficiently as I can
without shoving everyone off,
without ruining the solidarity that should always remain unbroken,
without hurting other’s feelings. Yes, I’m having trouble with this part, but I’m getting there – there will come a time when I’d work with everyone harmoniously and effectively. That time is ticking by slowly, but at least it’s still
ticking and not
ceasing.
I’m still open to more mistakes and a lot of changes, and I know someday the shallow bitch will come again, but I now know how to resurface. I know how to return and resume.
And when that moment comes, I will come back.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
November: In A Nutshell
So if October was an “easy-breezy month”, November was so demanding that sometimes I feel like I don’t want to go to school anymore. Yes, the demands
always come from school. But maybe it’s my fault – I have this manner of stressing myself over non-stressing things, and doing non-existent homework. Am I not annoying? And masochistic?
Anyway, I don’t have lots of extravagant realizations this month (except that I can’t push away the guilt of forgetting to pay my fare). We had our first Institute of Liberal Arts week and it was amazing and tiring and I might need to allot a separate post to tell you everything that had happened. My best friend and I saw the last installment of
The Twilight Saga and just the same, I would make my notoriously lame and crappy movie review some other time. And I have a good news regarding my reading (
reading – I’m such a dork), which will be elaborated in the Loony Dragonslayer section of this nutshell. And so it’s another nutshell – let’s just get over with this, shall we?
NOVEMBER ARCHIVES
Maturity
Monday, November 05, 2012
I had this inkling of writing about my brain – yes, my fat, fiction-lover brain. And with this brain, I realized how mature it had already become over the last nineteen years. Back in high school, I used to believe that popularity is more important than flying colors; that part I was awfully wrong. Good thing that Shallow Bitch I used to wear and be had gradually sunk in the abyss, and the Mature Human Being took over. “I’m still open to more mistakes and a lot of changes, and I know someday the shallow bitch will come again, but I now know how to resurface. I know how to return and resume. And when that moment comes, I will come back.” How dramatic and
Gossip Girl-ish.
Eating Skeptic Monster
Saturday, November 10, 2012
You know how each one of us have our own off-days? Days when everything seems to suck and our hair looks bad and we feel bloated? Well, off-days also happen to writing/blogging –
off-blogging, and this is one of them. I honestly have no idea how and why in the world I wrote this particular vomit-worthy post. Consider this non-existent, if you may.
Fear Landscape
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Divergent (Veronica Roth) took over my life, so badly that I wake up each morning thinking what faction I’d choose and what basin I’d trickle my blood over and what dominant color of clothes would look good with my skin. I don’t want to be factionless, as you can see. What the hell. So to get on my full-on hallucinations, I imagined myself in Dauntless Initiation Stage III: Fear Landscape. Listed in this post are the pathetic tangible things/elements/people/animal that pathetically scare the shit out of me (I’m scared of “Thriller” – what in the world?!). I know I should’ve written this last October, but tada, everyday is Halloween. So I guess, Happy Halloween? Meh.
Two Cents
Sunday, November 18, 2012
In the last weeks, the nation was rocked by a few issues that tested the people’s judgments and sense of humanity. And since I always have a say in things even though nobody cares to hear them, I took the liberty of writing down my opinions. I chose two issues that my brain can reach: the “Amalayer” and “Sotto-copy”. I hope you’d take time to read this; it’s one of my best posts. I take pride in “Two Cents” as much as I don’t with “Eating Skeptic Monster”. Thank you.
Movie Review: Breaking Dawn
In the near future
Forewarning: it’ll be composed entirely of rants and raves and how beautiful the casts are.
HALLELUIAH CATHARTIC
(formerly known as Striking Quote)
“The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.” ©
The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger
LOONY DRAGONSLAYER
(formerly known as Books Update)
So here’s the good news: I checked my Goodreads two days ago, and guess what I discovered? I have 99 reads.
99 freakin’ reads! What the hell. I was so surprised it took a moment to sink in. I thought I needed four more reads to reach a hundred, but apparently I just update and update without actually checking the number. I’m so happy. Finally, something I can say I accomplished successfully!
November reads:
I Am Number Four by Pittacus Lore (smart and good looking aliens);
The Stonehenge Gate by Jack Williamson (meh);
Divergent and
Insurgent by Veronica Roth (crazy amazing);
On the Farm by John Updike (slow and funny and touché);
The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton (both funny and heartbreaking and I cried okay);
An Abundance of Katherines by John Green (just the same: super funny, but I like PT and TFIOS better);
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger (Holden is weird and seems always mad);
To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee (I love everything about this – thank God for classics);
Malcolm by James Purdy (weird; and the ending was sad but still weird).
I had ten reads this month. Hold on tight, my brain.
Current read:
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak (this has high ratings in Goodreads, so hello another crazy amazing novel!).
FAVORITE PHOTO/GIF ©
(In this photo, from left to right: Khaye Villar, Miyann Bruan, Tintin Ordas) This was taken in the photo booth section of the recent ILA Week. It was a fun celebration even though there were lots of flaws and annoying incidents. True to the ILA Week’s theme, we have indeed
elevated.
EARGASM
(formerly known as Songs of the Month)
- They Don’t Know About Us – One Direction (I especially like the first notes with the piano.)
- Don’t Let Me Go – The Summer Set
- Back To You – Cody Simpson (Let’s make this so good for goodness’ sake / the last thing that we need’s to take a break / let me know what I have to do to get back to you)
- Forever and Always – Parachute
- Without You – AJ Rafael (I knew this song for a long time now but decided to include it in this list because I sang it with Khaye. Sang – what the hell, right?)
AND CONFETTI
(formerly known as Champagne to Pop)
Since ILA Week and
Breaking Dawn and my scholarship are off the list, let’s see… can we celebrate the release of the
City of Bones teaser trailer? Yes, we can (OMG, this sounds like Pres. Obama). Truth be told, I used to have some doubts about Jamie’s casting as Jace Wayland (‘cause of the looks and physique), but after I saw this, oh my heavens! He’s perfect. He’s really an actor, okay? I can’t wait for this movie to come out! Is it August 2013 yet?
December Activity List:
- Holidays, of course
- Rotaract Raffle Draw (7 December)
- Mother’s birthday (10 December)
- ILA Christmas party (14 December)
- Finish line to 100 reads
- School tour (tentative)
Last words from Pittacus Lore: When you have lost hope, you have lost everything. And when you think all is lost, when all is dire and bleak, there is always hope.
Two Cents
Just to let you know, I’m a very opinionated person. I always have something to say, always ready with a snide remark, always sparing my two cents. I can relate with Two-Bit Mathews of
The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton): even if nobody asks me so, I always have this nagging need to express something, to agree or contradict. Sometimes I annoy a lot of people already; sometimes I can be very sarcastic and insensitive. But I’d rather speak out than keep mum and kill myself in the process.
Anyway, there are some issues in our country right now, issues that are sometimes so petty they’re already
exasperating, that I’d like to talk about. And me being me, and my blog being my little blog, let me share to you what I think about them. (I can feel somebody’s gonna hit exit now.)
The ‘Amalayer’ Issue. So a week ago, this video of a student raising her voice to a lady guard in a train station went viral and even got in the news. I haven’t the whole and true story because when I ask people about it, the information gets all distorted and I don’t know what to believe in anymore. I didn’t even watch the whole video since I’ve seen the most of it in the national news. So this student got all hot with the authority because of an “assault” done with her. She raised her voice, loud enough for the passers-by to listen in, while talking to the guard. She was notoriously called “The Amalayer Girl” since she apparently pronounced “I’m a liar?” as “Amalayer?” People got all bothered and annoyed with her for degrading the guard’s educational attainment and social status. And then she became a big topic all over the Internet like she’d bomb another tower like Bin Laden; her video went viral like it’s “Gangnam Style”.
I don’t know the whole story. I don’t know who assaulted who, who degraded who, who first raised their voice – I didn’t give a
damn. And I don’t have to know everything because I don’t care what they really did. What bothers me the most are the
insults this helpless student gets from people she doesn’t even know. It’s annoying. She gets all this bitch-please remarks, and she can’t do anything about it because it’s like facing tons of bulls in one game;
one versus
everyone is the rule.
It’s embarrassing, really. It’s embarrassing to be a human being when your fellow human beings act all superior and clean like they’re saints and heal people from their illnesses. I know what this student did was wrong – and I believe the guard also did something wrong in some ways – but who the fuck cares?
I don’t. Do you? Do you have enough time for this big life purpose of yours? Don’t you have homework to do? Don’t you have a job? She’s just a
girl, a girl who lost control of herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. And if you think about it, each one of us has – directly or indirectly – done the same thing, and, lucky us, nobody cared to take a video of our deed. Don’t judge her because 1) you don’t know her; 2) she may be having a bad day that day, 3) you’re not the most important person in the world as far as I know; and 4) you seriously
don’t fuckin’ know her. So let’s just leave her and let her resolve this mess alone. Don’t add fuel to the fire – nobody’s gonna roast marshmallows in it. And for all I know she doesn’t care what you damn say. Insulting her doesn’t make you
better than her. You’re hurting her feelings and humiliating her and maybe ruining her chance in life, and I’m sure you don’t mean to do that, but you are. Let’s get a life, shall we?
The Sotto-copy Issue. This particular issue really gets on my nerves. I’m not really a legitimate writer (yet), but I’m passionate enough about writing to have a say about this. Truth be told, I admire Senator Vicente Sotto. He’s cool and helpful and funny and his mustache is phenomenal, but what he did lately might have affected my admiration for him for a bit. As far as I know, intellectual property issues are a hell of a mess to get one’s self into. We are talking about
brains here. What Sen. Sotto did was illegal if you check the constitution. Yes, we can borrow some lines from authors or speakers or anybody from time to time, but that’s why it’s called “borrowing” and
not “taking” – we don’t have the right to own it. It’s okay to use some portions of Sen. Kennedy’s or someone’s speech or composition. Where he got it wrong was that he didn’t give
credit to the respective writers. And what’s worse is that, in some time before this issue exploded, he somewhat
denied his plagiarism. No, Sir.
No. That was just bad.
It’s disheartening when you write something you take pride in and then somebody would copy-paste it and not give you credit. It happened to me before, and it didn’t feel good on my part. I wanted to punch this person and holler to the whole stark world that
I was the one who wrote it, but I let it passed because I was young and it was pathetic anyway. So I think Sen. Sotto should’ve credited them or added footnotes or whatever to his Reproductive Health Bill speech. He should’ve said something like, “Take what Sen. Kennedy said in his speech…” or “I agree with what the blogger, (insert name), had written…” That’s not so hard, right? And please, Sir, don’t ever say something about how a blogger is just a blogger anyway again, because you may never know, the next great explorer or the first President of the Universe may be a blogger. So please don’t “just” us; there’s scary power in words. (I’m not trying to threaten you or impose something evil or anything… but really, there
is power in words. Dr. Jose Rizal said so.)
I’m aware that some of you may disagree with my opinions, and that’s okay with me. I respect you and whatever’s inside your brain – that’s you, and people like you that way, so who am I to change what you are? I hope we – and the student in the video and Sen. Sotto – can live in peace now. Let’s have butterbeer some time, okay?
Fear Landscape
In the dystopian novel
Divergent (which I’m currently obsessed over), written by Veronica Roth, the Dauntless initiates have to surpass different stages of initiation to become a legitimate member of the said faction. One of these stages is the
Fear Landscape, wherein an individual would have to face his computer-simulated fears without quitting his guts off. “The number of fears you have in your landscape varies according to how many you have. You can get past each obstacle in one of two ways. Either you find a way to calm down enough that the simulation registers a normal, steady heartbeat, or you find a way to face your fear, which can force the simulation to move on. One way to face a fear of drowning is to swim deeper, for example.” (Chapter 23) Spoiler alert: Some of the characters have ten or so fears, but exceptional ones, like Four, have only
four fears, hence the nickname.
As I was reading it, I became curious of my own fears. Will I have ten? Twenty? A hundred?
A thousand? Or less? I never really had thought about it. Fear is one of the subjects I’d rather not think and talk about; it’s right up there with Bad Grades and Insecurities. I could’ve left it alone had I not read Kristen Stewart’s interview in the 12 November 2012 issue of
Manila Bulletin (penned by Janet Susan Nepales): “Fear isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s kind of something that, as you get older, you can get a bit more comfortable with it and realize it is a very motivating thing in your life. You shouldn’t be crippled by it. You should use it. Fear is a good thing.”
What she said was really smart (and I’m not only saying this just because I love her), and I realized that maybe, maybe I should
really know what my fears are so I can be ready when the situation boils down to it and so I won’t be such an ignorant person that I might become. And so with this post, I’ll try to enumerate all the tangible fears I’m aware of having –
physical ones only, so don’t expect to see “I’m scared of dying or getting my heart broken or something” from the list.
Evil clowns. Or any clown. When I was young, I have this friend who owns a huge clown mask. He didn’t use it to scare me (he only used the gorilla one) maybe because it was big and a hassle. But every time I visited his home, I was welcomed with this mask – and it was
traumatic. You can just feel it
staring at you as you walk. And the smile it wore was maniacal it gave me the creeps. Now when I imagine myself alone in a room with a clown – be it evil or not – I just shudder. I may cry.
Needles. I’ve come up with a theory why I’m scared of needles/syringe: when I was young, I was forced to have my first vaccine, and I remember it was so frightening and I was trashing around and my cousin was holding on to me tightly and I was bawling my eyes off and it was embarrassing and after that I was sleeping. Needles are just scary. I know they don’t actually
hurt; they just
sting, but still. When I see those pointy tips I can’t help picturing someone stabbing my neck with it.
Flying cockroaches. Confession: I don’t kill cockroaches if I can help it. When I see them prancing around our floor, I just let them go on with their business. As long as they don’t meddle with mine, we can have a mutual arrangement. If it comes down to necessarily killing them, I don’t hit them (because I can’t); I use insecticide and drown them with it. And when they start using their wings, I run into my room and hide under the covers until the coast is clear. Flying is the cockroach’s super power.
Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”. This will be a bit embarrassing, but yes, I cry at the sight of the “Thriller” music video. You can’t blame the King of Pop for giving people this hit song, so maybe you can put it on my father. He’s a big Jackson fan, and he constantly played his VCD of Jackson’s greatest hits when I was little. I hated it, and so those torture minutes where spent inside the rest room. Maybe I’m really scared of zombies. Or of Michael Jackson himself. Or of getting chased by half-dead, rotting, smelly people. Or all of the above.
Enclosed spaces. I’m not a certified claustrophobic, but I don’t need to see a psychiatrist to confirm to myself that I am. I hate enclosed spaces and getting sandwiched by strangers with their sweat and breath. Getting stuck inside an inescapable cubicle will either kill me with lack of oxygen or paranoia and hysteria. It feels like a very obese man is sitting comfortably on my chest while he reads
Us Weekly and eats fries. I’m scared of the idea of not having enough space to move around and enough air to inhale. Who doesn’t?
Centipedes. Or any animal with more than four legs. Why not?
Birds. Because they can kill with their beaks. And eagles are scary. And owls – although I’m fascinated with them and they remind me of Athena – have creepy eyes and rotating necks. And getting pursued and cornered by ostriches is like
suicide. And I agree with Will Herondale’s words: “Never trust a duck,” because they’re “bloodthirsty little beasts.”
The abyssal. I’ve never been in a ship – or in the ocean for that matter. I only see what lies beneath the biggest form of water in TV documentaries or something, and what I see
scares me. The darkness, the depth, the weird animals – I wouldn’t go near them if I can help it. I know it’s their nature to be menacing and the fishes to be predator-scary, but I’m gonna wet myself (and not because of the water) if I get myself in their kingdom. I’d rather stay in mine. Let them live in peace.
These are some of the things I fear, although I’m sure they’re not everything. I know I have more, I just haven’t experienced or encountered them yet, like I’m not sure if I’m scared of snakes because I haven’t seen one, or if heights make me sick since I haven’t been in a Ferris wheel (this is true). But nonetheless, if this list will grow as time pass, I hope I won’t be crippled by it. Although, how can I use this, Kristen? I don’t think I can. I don’t think so.
(I should’ve written this last October, shouldn’t I? Oh well, Happy Halloween! Whatever.)
Eating Skeptic Monster
Only one day left and the school’s next term will start. I can’t tell you if I’m either excited or apprehensive about that. Maybe both. I always am – or try to be – excited about fresh starts. I’m looking forward to the new semester since that means that’s another 18 or so units decreased from my loads, there are more things to learn and experience, there’s still another chance to start over. Knowledge is always good; experiences are always beneficial. What I’m scared of are my schedule and the new people (classmates and professors) I’d have to interact and work with for the next weeks. I got subjects that would probably blow my brains off and a schedule that is another way of declaring, “Lo and behold, my suicide mission!” I decided to enroll in classes that would fit in my schedule as many as possible, since practicality-wise, if I’m given the opportunity to take a semester without paying for my tuition fee, I’d take it for granted. I’m taking my scholarship for granted, which
isn’t wrong, as far as I know.
Yes, I still got my scholarship – and this one’s better.
Last semester I only had Partial Scholarship, which meant I paid only half of the school fees. This semester I managed to acquire Full Scholarship, which only means I don’t have to pay for the actual tuition and miscellaneous fees. Apparently, the general average I worked my ass off last semester is enough to put me in the school’s President’s List. And I’m grateful. Part of me wants to question the school authorities or anybody why and how I got the grades I got (since I think I procrastinated a lot from June to October), but the bigger part of me is repeatedly slapping me and making me realize that I deserve what I got because I gave everything I could for it. Right now I’m betting my cards against that smaller, dubious, self-degrading part.
It’s a constant internal battle, and for one to win, the other has to lose. It’s never a fight where it ends as a draw – there’s
always a winner. And sometimes the victorious side is the evil one. And it’s bad.
This is like high school all over again, when I was given the news that I was the Batch Valedictorian:
I doubted. After my adviser shook my hand to congratulate me, at first I
cried because the news was overwhelming, and then hugged my best friend. I was so happy that time. After an hour or so, I felt guilty. I questioned the fact; I doubted the happiness I was feeling. I knew I wasn’t the top student that time, and I have this aching feeling that said others deserved it more than I did. I said this to my best friend and he gave me a look and reprimanded me. He said I deserved it, that grades don’t lie, that sometimes I can shine brighter (not these exact words though). I tried to keep that in my mind, but until now that doubt is threatening to stir and travel across my anatomy and take over once it gained enough strength, enough hesitations. It’s crazy and scary. I always have to guard myself and stay planted inside my No To Doubts bubble.
“There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.”
© Buddha
Doubting is what I do most of the time (next to reading and ogling over celebrities). I trust and believe in other people’s strength and capabilities (although I learned not to expect a lot to lessen the frustration when proven fruitless), but when it comes to
my strength and capabilities, I compare myself to a
Squib – a magical person who cannot do magic, basically useless when it comes to spells and even handling wands. Not that I’m a person with magic blood, but I guess you get what I mean.
I see myself as a useless person: someone who can’t work efficiently and effectively, and someone who can be spared when it boils down to desperate measures.
I may be having another of my notorious self-pity sessions here, but I can’t help it. Maybe this is my way of not expecting a lot, a natural mechanism to avoid self-disappointment. You can’t blame me to think this way, especially after taking my experiences into consideration. Since I was a child, I’ve been trying so hard to please everyone, and 70% of the time, I disappoint them. I disappoint myself. Sometimes they care and I don’t; sometimes they don’t and I do.
I know I’ve said before (in a blog post like this one) that I don’t care about expectations and pleasing people anymore. I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck if I do something they don’t like and give me that sorry look because of it. Little did I know, I couldn’t stand with that choice. I cannot
not give a fuck. I can say that I don’t care, but deep inside I’m conditioned to do so. I don’t think I can remove that from me anymore; I doubt that practicing will detach me from that persona. Think of a crumpled paper bag: you can unfold and straighten its creases – heck, iron it even – but in the end it’ll still remain wrinkled and imperfect. And you can’t do anything but live with it – or discard it and get a new one.
I’m open to changes, to stripping my layers off just to get to the core of this damned behavior and rip it off clean and whole. I want to be free from it, but I guess it’ll take time and a whole lot of effort. In the meantime, I’d try to work my ass off again this semester and keep getting scholarship till I finish college. And keep reading, of course.
Maturity
I have long since matured even before dinosaurs roamed the Earth; I had grown into maturity when I was in middle school, brought about by some unfortunate incidents in the household and arrangements I had to live with – unfortunate incidents that are so
shallow anyway, shallower than a pond. But nonetheless, I believe that how I looked at life when I was ten wasn’t how a normal kid would look at life when he/she is also ten. Sometimes I take pride in this achievement – formulating perspectives with a child’s eyes but an adult’s mind – but when I think about it, growing up too fast is a sad thing. I had childhood experiences: I played outdoor games and got scabs, fought with boys over petty matters, had countless embarrassing scenes that wouldn’t fit in a slum book, got my arm broken and my ass exposed, ran away crying at the sight of evil clowns. But they weren’t
enough. When I consider other children’s experiences, I get
jealous. I envy them for reasons I can’t fathom. Dissatisfaction is utterly upsetting.
These are things I can’t go back to and reverse. Nobody can alter what has happened in the past. What happened before stays just the way we left it. I would’ve wanted a happier and no ass exposure childhood, but there’s nothing I can do but accept everything and etch in my mind that the things I did before molded me to what I am right now.
Some public figure had said before, “Girls become mature earlier than boys, but when they become adults themselves, they start to act like children.” Sex-related issues aside, this is probably true. Majority of boys stay as
boys while they’re still boys; girls act like
women while they’re still girls, but when they reach womanhood, they incline towards childishness and probably resort to throwing tantrums and whining. I am also a girl, and of course I’m all for woman power and heroines and all that, but most of the time, this situation happens. And I can’t state a living example since I don’t pry into people’s maturity level and keep their progress in perfect folders. Since this is a personal blog and a personal post, maybe I can just state me and my maturity as an example. (Bear with me.)
When I became a teenager and hormones started wrecking my life, the level of maturity I had had started decreasing, leaving its highest peak and bringing back the child brain I long since left. I started thinking irrationally and always asked for more, for something better, if not the best. I started caring about social status and money and having many friends. Becoming Popular seated next to Becoming Smart in my priority list. I
shoved my way to the front line; I didn’t want to be left behind. I became a hypocrite and a dishonest person. I hungered for admiration like how an evil scientist hungered for evil schemes. I wore a mask that not only hid the real me, but also slowly changed what was left. A shallow bitch with shallow goals and even shallower substance – that was the hormone-ridden, immature me. It was bad. It looked bad.
It made me bad.
And this is one of the moments when I thank God past remains in the past. Maybe it will hunt me as I grow older and regain that substance I lost, but I won’t let it break me. As Pittacus Lore said, “We don’t have to be defined by the things we did or didn’t do in our past.” (See:
I Am Number Four – and who said aliens don’t talk sense?)
I won’t let my mistakes push me off balance and slip my tight hold to sanity and righteousness. I would use super glue if necessary.
If you may ask me whether I already stop being that shallow bitch or not, I’m happy to tell you that I did – well, not completely (I still hunger for admiration), but I’m learning to let go and be contented with the things I have. I won’t stop hungering (“hungering” sounds like what a predator would say, no?) for things, but I have learned to strive only for what would satiate my needs and my ambitions.
I don’t give a fuck about popularity anymore (they only happen in chick flicks); I’d rather have a small number of honest and true friends than have a big number of people my heart don’t know. I’d rather work in the shadows than brag my ass out. My social status dilemma is still a dilemma, but it only reaches my social life and
not my standing in it. If before I was so obsessed with socializing that I almost became a social climber, now I’m having agoraphobia; my reading hinders me from going out and meeting people, but I like it that way – and no, don’t worry, I still know what malls are and that people don’t sit in cocktail parties most of the time. The front liner persona that I played for a long time is now dying, and I’m glad; I now only want to work as efficiently as I can
without shoving everyone off,
without ruining the solidarity that should always remain unbroken,
without hurting other’s feelings. Yes, I’m having trouble with this part, but I’m getting there – there will come a time when I’d work with everyone harmoniously and effectively. That time is ticking by slowly, but at least it’s still
ticking and not
ceasing.
I’m still open to more mistakes and a lot of changes, and I know someday the shallow bitch will come again, but I now know how to resurface. I know how to return and resume.
And when that moment comes, I will come back.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
