Hopes and Great Love
I have news for you: I’m gradually getting over Great Love. It’s both sad and fulfilling. I’ve written many times how I tried to move on from him and how much I failed and fell all over again. But now, maybe, I
actually am almost free from the ridiculous binds that connect me to him. I cannot say how I actually did it. Maybe I realized my love for him is not only not reciprocated but also futile, moot, a shot in the dark. Maybe I taught myself not to miss him. Maybe ceasing to stalk him online actually worked. Maybe the binds loosened a bit after many years. Maybe they got severed from too much tugging. Maybe the Fates or Cupid or Aphrodite found me pitiful and cut the binds themselves. Maybe I just stopped trying.
Yeah, I probably just stopped trying... and it led me to not caring so much anymore.
Of course I still internally celebrate with him every time he achieves his dreams. I still get this proud feeling every time he accomplishes something mind blowing. I still smile every time he tries to be witty and fails at it. I’m still a friend. But I’m not that
dedicated friend anymore; I’m not that friend with a hidden agenda anymore. I don’t try to win him over anymore. I stopped. Sometimes I don’t even know what’s happening to him. I’d be surprised that he’s in this or that place already. I don’t even check his Facebook timeline. I stopped being creepy. It’s awesome. He probably doesn’t know about it, but I’m sure it should be awesome for him, too.
I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he changes his relationship status and I wouldn’t know about it. Ha: think about it. What if he really changes his status from Single to In A Relationship? What if suddenly he’s not that Forever Alone kid anymore? What if there’s finally a girl whom he’d lay his beautiful eyes on, smile that shiny smile of his to, wrap his arms around? I’m trying to formulate what I’d feel about that. Shocked that it happened without me knowing about it? Bewildered, because how did he manage winning a girl over? Hurt, because deep down I still care about him? I’m not sure, but I hope when that time comes, I’ve gotten over him enough not to feel like it’s a
Million Dollar Baby blow to my heart.
Another news: I like someone that, for the first time, isn’t Great Love. With my meager social life, even
I am suprised that I’ve managed to meet other people. This isn’t a crush-going-full-on-infatuation yet. I smile when he says hello to me, and I pat myself on the back every time I manage to croak a hello back. Oh my gosh, I hope I’m not being too obvious! Oh my gosh, I sound like a rainbow shit! Look, I have two automatic response when someone I like is within close proximity. Either: (1) I become really animated and talk non-stop, like I’m trying to prove how funny I am; or (2) I clam up, trying to contain all my emotions and ending up looking constipated; it’s a defense mechanism. As much as I’m looking for a diversion, I’m
not exerting effort to building up this crush. I don’t want to take it seriously because it’s not even a priority; although I must say the extra giddy feeling doesn’t hurt. (Holy shit, I’m acting like a teenager; the YA novels are ruining me.)
Oh: maybe having a new crush is one of the reasons why I’m not crazy over Great Love anymore. Huh. It must do me good to flirt a bit... which I’m sure I suck
miserably at. So maybe not. There’s good news to this though: at least I don’t compare other guys to Great Love anymore. I don’t ask WWGLD (What Would Great Love Do) when I observe or meet other guys. I don’t look at them and see a flicker of Great Love beside them, calculating who’s better in what. I look at others and not see him. You have to consider that as a feat. WWGLD do in this situation? He’d applaud me and we’d make a toast. So where’s the champagne?
As you’ve noticed, I still call him Great Love. I’d probably still call him that after five or ten years. He will always be Great Love... and I hope someday it wouldn’t feel like he’s “the great love that got away and I want to kick myself for it,” but instead “the great love that got away and I have no regrets about it.” I hope when the time comes for my love for him vanishes for good, it would leave in its wake memories I’d cherish instead of cry over, a friendship I’d treasure instead of abhor, a heart that’s whole and beating instead of broken and miserable.
I should stop doing this. The cheese is drowning me.
Shit Happened
They say it doesn’t matter if you get good grades or not in school; what’s important is that you
learn something. Getting recognition for your stellar academic performance is just a consolation. I wanted to believe this, that it’s fine if I don’t ace every test and not get a star on term papers. But who are we kidding? That’s bullshit. Getting good – if not high – grades is important. It may make or break your future career. When applying for a job, first they check whether or not you came from a prestigious college. If not, they go to your transcript. If both areas are not impressive, more or less they give you that “we will give you a call” shit, a call that will probably never happen.
I don’t go to a “prestigious” school. I’m not embarrassed by it; I chose it anyway. I like my college because of the trees (yes, why). But let’s not be hypocrites here: my college is not that popular. It’s not that kind of private school with a tennis court or a soccer field and a ridiculous tuition fee; it’s not a Catholic university with flipping gorgeous buildings; it’s not a state university with, well, with opinionated student prodigies. It’s not the best there is, but it’s not the worst either. That’s why I have to put an extra amount of effort in my academics. When I apply for a job, I’m not relying on where I come from, but on what I got from where I come from. My transcript and my skills will be my leverage. Yes, this is the reason why I work my ass off every day. Not merely because I want to be superior over everyone else, but because I’m hoping that the grades will be enough for me to land a job. It’s not so hard to understand, is it?
That’s why I am so sad right now. This morning I got my grade slip and flippin’ heavens, my heart dropped to the floor you can hear it shatter like glass. I not only lost my spot in the President’s List, my general average didn’t even make it to the Dean’s List! My emotions were all over my system that it took me everything not to cry on the spot. I couldn’t believe that I was looking at the grades that weren’t much different back on my first semester in that college, back when I didn’t know anybody and I was too shy to show everyone my full knowledge-hungry self. Impressing others didn’t make me feel comfortable back then, but as another semester came, I loosened up and blew everyone’s mind. Now I’m not sure. They say the only way to go is up, my friend, but right now it looks like we can always make a detour.
It’s ridiculous. This shouldn’t make me sad because I still have one more semester as a college student (hopefully we all graduate), thus one more chance to prove that I can dust myself off from the rubble. This shouldn’t be such a big deal, but for me, it is. (Believe me, I want to bludgeon myself for thinking this way.) I could lose my scholarship and make my mother’s burden heavier. This morning, when the school people learned about the downfall of my grades, they gave me this disappointed look and asked me what happened. In my mind I was, like, “well, shit happened.” In the next weeks I will be wrapped up in this dark aura filled with failures and disappointments. When I got home, I prepared my lunch while I cried; I was still crying when I finished eating. My food was salty. It’s like a really bad break up, and it’s bullshit because I don’t even like anyone right now (not even Great Love – don’t ask).
But the worst thing that is happening is losing myself. Others may think that I’m being melodramatic and too uptight, but for such a long time, I only defined myself as that weird, booknerd student with excellent grades. I was always that smart girl; I’m a self-proclaimed Ravenclaw, for goodness’ sake! I may suck at sports; I may not be able to draw a straight line to save my life; I may not have tons of friends that understand my awkward wit, but at least I have an undying passion for knowledge (belch). Most of the time, I feel like people are making fun of me behind my back, because of my awkwardness and inability to interact with fellow earthlings. I feel like they think I’m an alien. I feel out of place all the time. I feel like a
moron, but I know in my heart that I am not. Without my glasses, it feels like people regard me as dim-witted. Maybe it’s my face. Or my posture. It pains the fuck out of me. But what makes me move on and hold back my tears is the reality that I’m brewing a nice transcript in school (and that my Goodreads account is very much active). My being smart gives me self-respect. It’s the only thing I can be proud of. It’s me. It’s my trusty adjective. Until today. A major slip and I lost my definition.
Now I don’t know who I am anymore. Now people may think I’m a moron or an alien or someone whose social life is pitiful, and I wouldn’t even feel like correcting them. Because it’s probably true. For two (not consecutive) semesters, I was number one in the school’s Honors List. I was the smartest student –
twice! Now I won’t even get a certificate for my brain. I don’t know what’s happening to me. In the last years, I didn’t win any writing award, so I lost my Essayist of the Year self (yes, I legitimately received that distinction back in high school). Today my grades hit rock bottom, so I willl probably lose that Smart Student self, too. Who am I now? The only thing I’m good at are reading, practicing the art of being a fangirl, and not socializing. Does that mean I should take pride in my reading? In my being a band freak? In my being antisocial? Pop the champagne, we’re having a pity party.
I’m not sure what to think of myself and of this unfortunate event right now. Maybe I am being melodramatic. But you have to understand: being a drama queen is the
only thing I can afford to be right now.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Hopes and Great Love
I have news for you: I’m gradually getting over Great Love. It’s both sad and fulfilling. I’ve written many times how I tried to move on from him and how much I failed and fell all over again. But now, maybe, I
actually am almost free from the ridiculous binds that connect me to him. I cannot say how I actually did it. Maybe I realized my love for him is not only not reciprocated but also futile, moot, a shot in the dark. Maybe I taught myself not to miss him. Maybe ceasing to stalk him online actually worked. Maybe the binds loosened a bit after many years. Maybe they got severed from too much tugging. Maybe the Fates or Cupid or Aphrodite found me pitiful and cut the binds themselves. Maybe I just stopped trying.
Yeah, I probably just stopped trying... and it led me to not caring so much anymore.
Of course I still internally celebrate with him every time he achieves his dreams. I still get this proud feeling every time he accomplishes something mind blowing. I still smile every time he tries to be witty and fails at it. I’m still a friend. But I’m not that
dedicated friend anymore; I’m not that friend with a hidden agenda anymore. I don’t try to win him over anymore. I stopped. Sometimes I don’t even know what’s happening to him. I’d be surprised that he’s in this or that place already. I don’t even check his Facebook timeline. I stopped being creepy. It’s awesome. He probably doesn’t know about it, but I’m sure it should be awesome for him, too.
I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he changes his relationship status and I wouldn’t know about it. Ha: think about it. What if he really changes his status from Single to In A Relationship? What if suddenly he’s not that Forever Alone kid anymore? What if there’s finally a girl whom he’d lay his beautiful eyes on, smile that shiny smile of his to, wrap his arms around? I’m trying to formulate what I’d feel about that. Shocked that it happened without me knowing about it? Bewildered, because how did he manage winning a girl over? Hurt, because deep down I still care about him? I’m not sure, but I hope when that time comes, I’ve gotten over him enough not to feel like it’s a
Million Dollar Baby blow to my heart.
Another news: I like someone that, for the first time, isn’t Great Love. With my meager social life, even
I am suprised that I’ve managed to meet other people. This isn’t a crush-going-full-on-infatuation yet. I smile when he says hello to me, and I pat myself on the back every time I manage to croak a hello back. Oh my gosh, I hope I’m not being too obvious! Oh my gosh, I sound like a rainbow shit! Look, I have two automatic response when someone I like is within close proximity. Either: (1) I become really animated and talk non-stop, like I’m trying to prove how funny I am; or (2) I clam up, trying to contain all my emotions and ending up looking constipated; it’s a defense mechanism. As much as I’m looking for a diversion, I’m
not exerting effort to building up this crush. I don’t want to take it seriously because it’s not even a priority; although I must say the extra giddy feeling doesn’t hurt. (Holy shit, I’m acting like a teenager; the YA novels are ruining me.)
Oh: maybe having a new crush is one of the reasons why I’m not crazy over Great Love anymore. Huh. It must do me good to flirt a bit... which I’m sure I suck
miserably at. So maybe not. There’s good news to this though: at least I don’t compare other guys to Great Love anymore. I don’t ask WWGLD (What Would Great Love Do) when I observe or meet other guys. I don’t look at them and see a flicker of Great Love beside them, calculating who’s better in what. I look at others and not see him. You have to consider that as a feat. WWGLD do in this situation? He’d applaud me and we’d make a toast. So where’s the champagne?
As you’ve noticed, I still call him Great Love. I’d probably still call him that after five or ten years. He will always be Great Love... and I hope someday it wouldn’t feel like he’s “the great love that got away and I want to kick myself for it,” but instead “the great love that got away and I have no regrets about it.” I hope when the time comes for my love for him vanishes for good, it would leave in its wake memories I’d cherish instead of cry over, a friendship I’d treasure instead of abhor, a heart that’s whole and beating instead of broken and miserable.
I should stop doing this. The cheese is drowning me.
Shit Happened
They say it doesn’t matter if you get good grades or not in school; what’s important is that you
learn something. Getting recognition for your stellar academic performance is just a consolation. I wanted to believe this, that it’s fine if I don’t ace every test and not get a star on term papers. But who are we kidding? That’s bullshit. Getting good – if not high – grades is important. It may make or break your future career. When applying for a job, first they check whether or not you came from a prestigious college. If not, they go to your transcript. If both areas are not impressive, more or less they give you that “we will give you a call” shit, a call that will probably never happen.
I don’t go to a “prestigious” school. I’m not embarrassed by it; I chose it anyway. I like my college because of the trees (yes, why). But let’s not be hypocrites here: my college is not that popular. It’s not that kind of private school with a tennis court or a soccer field and a ridiculous tuition fee; it’s not a Catholic university with flipping gorgeous buildings; it’s not a state university with, well, with opinionated student prodigies. It’s not the best there is, but it’s not the worst either. That’s why I have to put an extra amount of effort in my academics. When I apply for a job, I’m not relying on where I come from, but on what I got from where I come from. My transcript and my skills will be my leverage. Yes, this is the reason why I work my ass off every day. Not merely because I want to be superior over everyone else, but because I’m hoping that the grades will be enough for me to land a job. It’s not so hard to understand, is it?
That’s why I am so sad right now. This morning I got my grade slip and flippin’ heavens, my heart dropped to the floor you can hear it shatter like glass. I not only lost my spot in the President’s List, my general average didn’t even make it to the Dean’s List! My emotions were all over my system that it took me everything not to cry on the spot. I couldn’t believe that I was looking at the grades that weren’t much different back on my first semester in that college, back when I didn’t know anybody and I was too shy to show everyone my full knowledge-hungry self. Impressing others didn’t make me feel comfortable back then, but as another semester came, I loosened up and blew everyone’s mind. Now I’m not sure. They say the only way to go is up, my friend, but right now it looks like we can always make a detour.
It’s ridiculous. This shouldn’t make me sad because I still have one more semester as a college student (hopefully we all graduate), thus one more chance to prove that I can dust myself off from the rubble. This shouldn’t be such a big deal, but for me, it is. (Believe me, I want to bludgeon myself for thinking this way.) I could lose my scholarship and make my mother’s burden heavier. This morning, when the school people learned about the downfall of my grades, they gave me this disappointed look and asked me what happened. In my mind I was, like, “well, shit happened.” In the next weeks I will be wrapped up in this dark aura filled with failures and disappointments. When I got home, I prepared my lunch while I cried; I was still crying when I finished eating. My food was salty. It’s like a really bad break up, and it’s bullshit because I don’t even like anyone right now (not even Great Love – don’t ask).
But the worst thing that is happening is losing myself. Others may think that I’m being melodramatic and too uptight, but for such a long time, I only defined myself as that weird, booknerd student with excellent grades. I was always that smart girl; I’m a self-proclaimed Ravenclaw, for goodness’ sake! I may suck at sports; I may not be able to draw a straight line to save my life; I may not have tons of friends that understand my awkward wit, but at least I have an undying passion for knowledge (belch). Most of the time, I feel like people are making fun of me behind my back, because of my awkwardness and inability to interact with fellow earthlings. I feel like they think I’m an alien. I feel out of place all the time. I feel like a
moron, but I know in my heart that I am not. Without my glasses, it feels like people regard me as dim-witted. Maybe it’s my face. Or my posture. It pains the fuck out of me. But what makes me move on and hold back my tears is the reality that I’m brewing a nice transcript in school (and that my Goodreads account is very much active). My being smart gives me self-respect. It’s the only thing I can be proud of. It’s me. It’s my trusty adjective. Until today. A major slip and I lost my definition.
Now I don’t know who I am anymore. Now people may think I’m a moron or an alien or someone whose social life is pitiful, and I wouldn’t even feel like correcting them. Because it’s probably true. For two (not consecutive) semesters, I was number one in the school’s Honors List. I was the smartest student –
twice! Now I won’t even get a certificate for my brain. I don’t know what’s happening to me. In the last years, I didn’t win any writing award, so I lost my Essayist of the Year self (yes, I legitimately received that distinction back in high school). Today my grades hit rock bottom, so I willl probably lose that Smart Student self, too. Who am I now? The only thing I’m good at are reading, practicing the art of being a fangirl, and not socializing. Does that mean I should take pride in my reading? In my being a band freak? In my being antisocial? Pop the champagne, we’re having a pity party.
I’m not sure what to think of myself and of this unfortunate event right now. Maybe I am being melodramatic. But you have to understand: being a drama queen is the
only thing I can afford to be right now.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Profile
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.
Accounts
FACEBOOK
TWITTER
INSTAGRAM
GOODREADS
