One Zero Two Nine
Two months! Two months of summer, two months of blistering sun, two months of house chores, two months of endless reading. I’m not really such a fan of the summer holidays since I don’t usually spend it like how it’s supposed to be spent by a normal and capable teenager. Summer days for me are opportunities to sleep throughout the day and read more fictions. I can
definitely say that I’m a lazy human being. I rarely go to the beach and take a dip, because I get really bad sun burn, like fresh-from-the-oven sun burn. Summer days for me are also the days when I can discover a lot about things around me and about myself. It’s like the extension – an
awfully long extension – of the Holy Week.
I would have taken summer classes this year so I can make up for my lost time and academic units. But things didn’t go out so well because of some problems that are so usual I need not elaborate anymore. I am not going to study this summer, so that means:
- I could go back to Naga City and spend my remaining summer break days there;
- I would have all the time in the world to finish every e-book I downloaded and will still download;
- I should be looking for a summer job now (I’m planning to apply as a student/contributing writer to a newspaper’s lifestyle section and/or a teen magazine.);
- If I wouldn’t, I’d die the summer death fat and hideously unflattering.
So far, more than two weeks had past and lost from my free-days-from-a-hell-that-is-school. And so far, I’ve discovered ugly things about myself (zits included). Maybe I will write about it some time, maybe I won’t. But since you guys are awesome and I love you all (I hope I’m talking to somebody here), I will share some tiny bit of the “discoveries” I have with you.
My past post. Have you read my
blog entry about my dating history? If you have, why thank you! If you haven’t, don’t make an effort anymore (massive barfing session afterwards). I’ve been rereading that particular entry, and it made me realize two things: 1) I’m such superficial and shallow and hopeless romantic of a girl, so 2) I shouldn’t had posted it. Because: 1) what if either of the two subjects reads it and suddenly sets an awkwardness wall between us, which 2) will make it more awkward and cause the evaporation of our fragile and thin-as-paper friendship? I couldn’t afford that. But what the hell, I’ve already done it, and whatever the outcome of that stupid action will be, I will face it with a full face (shameful face, perhaps) and take the consequences like a grown-up woman. Or maybe
not.
Don’t get me wrong, I like them both, but I wouldn’t want either of them to be my boyfriend or anyone romantic. It’s just so…
wrong. It won’t look good and won’t feel right, because the first one is like my almost-best friend already (I tell him so many things about my life and the shits that come with it), and the other is like an almost-stranger to me (since I don’t know a lot about him – even his favorite color!). If their knowing about my feelings for them leads to awkwardness, then awkwardness it is.
I should lose weight. Enough said (if I say more, I’d just have to kill myself).
Reading is fun, until it’s not. My goodreads account says that I have 60 read books, 30% of it (rough calculation) I read this year. Currently, I’m halfway through
Pretties, the sequel to Scott Westerfeld’s
Uglies. I like its plot and the strangeness it gives the readers. It shows how some people are so obsessed with being perfectly flawless and pretty that they overlook what truly is beautiful. The series has four books, and I’m seriously dying to finish each bit of it because I want to start
Flipped (Wendelin Van Draanen) already. I’m seriously fangirling (I really think “fangirl” or “fangirling” should be included in Webster’s Dictionary) over Callan McAuliffe right now after I saw “I am Number Four” again. He was apparently in the movie adaptation [of
Fipped], but I didn’t care to watch it when we still had the soft copy in our computer. Slap on the forehead!
Confession time: I sometimes feel like I don’t want to read anymore. Maybe it’s because of the constant headache I’m getting (screw summer heat and irritating nasal problems). I hope the problem isn’t the story line that I’m reading. I would want to believe that I have good taste in literature and that the fictions I read are so out-of-this-world that I could share them with my friends and they’d go crazy trying to read, too. But then I’m not sure about this. I lend my best friend my battered and molten and dusty copy of
The Twilight Zone Stories Collection (Rod Serling) last year. I discovered this book during my “I’m going to be a hermit” depression days, and fixed it (since it’s a wreck) and read it (since I have nothing to do). And
tada, I loved it (since it’s so strange and scary and a mindfucker). My best friend found it not so interesting (which was weird but was okay – Jesus heavens, I couldn’t
force him to praise it like I do), but he loved the other book I lend him,
Anthem (Ayn Rand), which I think should be a required read to every Literature class in every university. This made me realize two things: 1) I can’t make people love what I love and hate what I hate, but 2) I still believe I have good taste in fictions. Ha!
I’m so freakin’ nervous with my grades. If it isn’t so bad, I’m going to post and share it with you – I’m
so looking forward to this moment. I don’t want to be proud or boastful or anything, but it’s better to brag something good than brag nothing at all.
Oh well, happy summer everyone! Oh, God, is this the way to end 1,029 word count post?
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
One Zero Two Nine
Two months! Two months of summer, two months of blistering sun, two months of house chores, two months of endless reading. I’m not really such a fan of the summer holidays since I don’t usually spend it like how it’s supposed to be spent by a normal and capable teenager. Summer days for me are opportunities to sleep throughout the day and read more fictions. I can
definitely say that I’m a lazy human being. I rarely go to the beach and take a dip, because I get really bad sun burn, like fresh-from-the-oven sun burn. Summer days for me are also the days when I can discover a lot about things around me and about myself. It’s like the extension – an
awfully long extension – of the Holy Week.
I would have taken summer classes this year so I can make up for my lost time and academic units. But things didn’t go out so well because of some problems that are so usual I need not elaborate anymore. I am not going to study this summer, so that means:
- I could go back to Naga City and spend my remaining summer break days there;
- I would have all the time in the world to finish every e-book I downloaded and will still download;
- I should be looking for a summer job now (I’m planning to apply as a student/contributing writer to a newspaper’s lifestyle section and/or a teen magazine.);
- If I wouldn’t, I’d die the summer death fat and hideously unflattering.
So far, more than two weeks had past and lost from my free-days-from-a-hell-that-is-school. And so far, I’ve discovered ugly things about myself (zits included). Maybe I will write about it some time, maybe I won’t. But since you guys are awesome and I love you all (I hope I’m talking to somebody here), I will share some tiny bit of the “discoveries” I have with you.
My past post. Have you read my
blog entry about my dating history? If you have, why thank you! If you haven’t, don’t make an effort anymore (massive barfing session afterwards). I’ve been rereading that particular entry, and it made me realize two things: 1) I’m such superficial and shallow and hopeless romantic of a girl, so 2) I shouldn’t had posted it. Because: 1) what if either of the two subjects reads it and suddenly sets an awkwardness wall between us, which 2) will make it more awkward and cause the evaporation of our fragile and thin-as-paper friendship? I couldn’t afford that. But what the hell, I’ve already done it, and whatever the outcome of that stupid action will be, I will face it with a full face (shameful face, perhaps) and take the consequences like a grown-up woman. Or maybe
not.
Don’t get me wrong, I like them both, but I wouldn’t want either of them to be my boyfriend or anyone romantic. It’s just so…
wrong. It won’t look good and won’t feel right, because the first one is like my almost-best friend already (I tell him so many things about my life and the shits that come with it), and the other is like an almost-stranger to me (since I don’t know a lot about him – even his favorite color!). If their knowing about my feelings for them leads to awkwardness, then awkwardness it is.
I should lose weight. Enough said (if I say more, I’d just have to kill myself).
Reading is fun, until it’s not. My goodreads account says that I have 60 read books, 30% of it (rough calculation) I read this year. Currently, I’m halfway through
Pretties, the sequel to Scott Westerfeld’s
Uglies. I like its plot and the strangeness it gives the readers. It shows how some people are so obsessed with being perfectly flawless and pretty that they overlook what truly is beautiful. The series has four books, and I’m seriously dying to finish each bit of it because I want to start
Flipped (Wendelin Van Draanen) already. I’m seriously fangirling (I really think “fangirl” or “fangirling” should be included in Webster’s Dictionary) over Callan McAuliffe right now after I saw “I am Number Four” again. He was apparently in the movie adaptation [of
Fipped], but I didn’t care to watch it when we still had the soft copy in our computer. Slap on the forehead!
Confession time: I sometimes feel like I don’t want to read anymore. Maybe it’s because of the constant headache I’m getting (screw summer heat and irritating nasal problems). I hope the problem isn’t the story line that I’m reading. I would want to believe that I have good taste in literature and that the fictions I read are so out-of-this-world that I could share them with my friends and they’d go crazy trying to read, too. But then I’m not sure about this. I lend my best friend my battered and molten and dusty copy of
The Twilight Zone Stories Collection (Rod Serling) last year. I discovered this book during my “I’m going to be a hermit” depression days, and fixed it (since it’s a wreck) and read it (since I have nothing to do). And
tada, I loved it (since it’s so strange and scary and a mindfucker). My best friend found it not so interesting (which was weird but was okay – Jesus heavens, I couldn’t
force him to praise it like I do), but he loved the other book I lend him,
Anthem (Ayn Rand), which I think should be a required read to every Literature class in every university. This made me realize two things: 1) I can’t make people love what I love and hate what I hate, but 2) I still believe I have good taste in fictions. Ha!
I’m so freakin’ nervous with my grades. If it isn’t so bad, I’m going to post and share it with you – I’m
so looking forward to this moment. I don’t want to be proud or boastful or anything, but it’s better to brag something good than brag nothing at all.
Oh well, happy summer everyone! Oh, God, is this the way to end 1,029 word count post?
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
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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.
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