Truisms
"I heard type
daw niya dati yung brother
ng classmate
niya," Kev remarked, as we trudged along Estrada, towards, it seemed, the setting sun. It was five, and he was running late.
"Yeah, I know," I said absentmindedly. My heart had skipped a beat. Was I supposed to feel that?
Gabriela, pink, floppy eared and all, was no longer in the large bag I've brought to Taft as we made our own way home. The words "You're sweet and special!" had stayed with her, with the three flowers I've tucked along the silver bracelet adorned with the symbolic lock. She blushed as I gave them to her, Kev would insist. I could've said she was only being diplomatic about things, but I relented, because, well, I believed him. She would later tell me that I was sweet, and she liked the roses - yeeeess!!
As the train swerved, and writhed its way, six stations to Doroteo Jose, our hands pressed against the cabin door, sardined among a hundred men, over, I recall, a conversation on a particularly toxic shellfish and Sherlock Holmes just minutes later, I realized that the other thought had far from eluded me.
"
Hindi pwede 'tong nararamdaman ko."
Eventually, it becomes imperative; when something clicks, you'll find yourself in square one. We may, as stubborn as we are, deny a simple truth, but for all we know, it shall, of course, remain as one, until, perhaps, that funny feeling truly begins to fade away. Until then, you'll still waver when she smiles, and blush when she looks right back.
Me? I'm on cloud nine.
Pig brains and Vietnamese noodles
My life leaves a lot of things to be desired, and thus, I look for other, better things. It's really been a while since I've - what was that dratted phrase? - gotten my head in the game, and done, I believe, what I had to do. And so while I really intended to verge far away from going simply yet again into having to make the excuse of shifting priorities and all that, I realize that it is, after all, inevitable.
Blame it on my selfishness; I've always wanted to work elsewhere, Hongkong maybe, or China or Malaysia, where the culture's diverse, and the food selection's something more than the average Chickenjoy or French fries. I am a foodie, you know, and I eat to live and live to eat. I want to know what's on the other side of the fence, and - I'm sounding like some politicians already - meet other people. Sadly, for others, I'm afraid, getting rich is an inescapable part of that agenda.
Call me materialistic, if that floats your raft, and if that is now equated to the belief - my belief, to be more specific - that adult life is more than just clockwork; that it's more than waking up everyday, working your ass out, paying more taxes and not getting your due. Very stereotypical that, how society brands rich people as evil, evil hogs. Most of the time, it's simply a poor rationalization that people who eventually get tired of complaining how they got stuck in a rut in the first place make. Besides, wanting to get rich and not having values are not even on the same field. While it is undeniable that the former may lead to the other, it doesn't always happen.
Make no mistake about it; getting rich is my means, and
not my end, and so I believe as long as I remember to focus on that, obviously unlike how I've gotten so much off topic this time, it seems, I'd be fine.
I guess all I'm saying, is that I'm really reassessing where I went wrong, because somehow, I believe I had a pretty good run for the first quarter of this term, until that downward spiral in mechanics a summative before midterms, and on midterms itself. I realize I have to finally focus, and sadly, make sacrifices.
Blogging, and I've thought really hard about it, isn't one of those sacrifices I have to make, so Zette, you could breathe a sigh of relief now. :P
Fission Mailed
It was unthinkable, that Nadal, world number two, would be utterly obliterated by a bolt out of the blue in the guise of an unseeded Jo Tsonga, and neither was, of course, tennis top salt Roger Federer succumbing to Djokovic, who was third from the top in his own right, in three straight sets, even. It was, without a doubt, an amazing feat, because they chose not to falter when the monster under the bed came running after them. Grabbed the bull by its horns, they say.
And so I finally begin to understand why it's better not to brood, for one tends to rationalize why this is impossible, or why that is unlikely, or why we have so little time for so much, or why she won't like me because I look like crap or whatever. Time gets lost weighing chances, less work gets done, player loses. Unlike me, they didn't.
It was, I'm afraid, too little too late for redemption, one point five the highest GPA I could ever hope to achieve this term, barring, of course, the not-so-uncharacteristic boo-boo's, the lapses, the reservations, and the things in between. For someone who had resolved in completely doing otherwise, I've actually simply fallen back to the line, the dreaded line, of mediocrity. I have only myself to blame, for, well, bickering too much, getting bitter over things, losing tempers and what-not.
It goes without saying that I'm only resolving to shut the hell up and start working, but I'm saying it anyway. So there; goodbye.
The Solitary Candle
Two years ago, he had always stood there, beside the wooden doors, a little to the right of the aisle leading to the altar, as he was standing there now, smiling wanly, his figure casting very little but a hazy shadow upon the marble floor. He used to come here often, he remembered, but ill-founded priorities have shifted his directions somewhat. And so he had forgotten how it felt to have this little corner, away and apart from everything and everyone else. He had forgotten, more importantly, that within these walls, he found his sanctuary.
It was, as it had always been since then, another brutal week; his desk at home rendered almost invisible under the mountain of books, the floor strewn with paper, his drawers filled with drafts and photocopied materials. Everyone expected a lot from him - his mom, his dad, his classmates - everyone; and he didn't want to let them down.
And it was a sad thought; for his life now, he felt at times, was one led almost by sheer puppetry, of home and school, and home and school, and church on Sundays, and then the cycle began anew. He was always busy, always lost behind those piles of books. He got up every morning, his face etched and set as though it was made of stone, his eyes burning with so much concentration, towering, looming, over everyone else. It was his poor semblance of power; but it was for the greater good, he would think sometimes. Eventually, it gets tiring; and he was tired now, if not, he felt, broken.
So he was thankful somewhat, as they had urgently left for elsewhere far from home, leaving him alone. This time, he wasn't flanked by the dozen million people, who were always around, but never really cared how he felt. He wasn't asked how the report was coming along; he wasn't engaged into yet another mindless banter about proving his answer on that test two weeks ago for the thirty-fourth time; he wasn't bombarded with questions like how to solve problem number three in assignment number four. He was still pretty much alone, he thought, but at least, he could get rid of all those pretensions and be, for the lack of a better word, himself.
Thus he could come, when classes were dismissed, and thus his eyes could wander around, with a sense, he thought, as though he was being reacquainted with an old friend. The angels holding the holy water stood on either side of the door, as though they were on guard. To his right, he found the confession booths - always a daunting sight, he thought, as he smiled even more wryly, as he had never quite had the courage to enter them since fifth grade, although he had resolved on doing otherwise, as he again did now. And then there were the pews, always neatly arranged, despite having been badly weathered through the years. As the sun managed to poke its head over the shifting clouds, the light threw blotches of red and yellow and green out of the stained glass windows. It's been a while, he thought, but the mosaics were still beautiful.
But his eyes finally rested upon the solitary candle, its flame a tiny pinprick in the distance, dancing playfully, burning fervently across the hall. He broke into a grin - the first one he truly had in months - for at that moment, he knew, he was no longer alone.
"Thank You," he whispered, as he began to walk across to rest.
Caution to the winds
Blank.
The papers have been sitting in the study for quite some time, idly waiting for an even idler me to write something down - anything down. But I give - I just can't focus.
I realize some people - and some things - are trying to light a fire under me, but I regress, for the lack of a better word. It is not so much as having nothing better to do right now. It is, rather, the truth of having much, much more to do that I inevitably seek the excuse to procrastinate. Pangs of habit, I guess.
Truss analysis was supposed to be the law of the day, coupled with, of course, the inescapable Fourier transform homework that we have somehow managed to put off until now. Meeting either one has somehow proven to be futile; the papers are still blank, and my mind, even blanker. Aggravating all that is, of course, the fact that we start our midterms next week, and we are supposed to submit the final report for the ECE colloquim the week after that, and I haven't started anything. AT ALL.
Classes were canceled today in UST, but I seriously doubt that it was to recover from any brain hemorrhages we might have developed last week (those unpleasant results classes come to mind). In fact, that has simply worsened to an ill-afforded cerebral edema with the allowance of another highly unwelcomed last minute cramming for the usual last minute projects and the even "usual-er" last minute exams. Seriously, aren't we ever given a day off to
have a day off?
Somehow, watching the North Hampshire primaries today has just seemed to make that much more sense to me than setting up equations or thinking up of whacked-up designs for the PCB - but, hey, I've done my share of that, too. Thus, of course, the sudden endorsement for Hillary Clinton up front - and yes, she won, with McCain - although, honestly, I'm not really rooting for anyone. The sad part is missing too much of those debates to establish any workable knowledge of the candidates; the sadder part is not establishing any knowledge slash reviewing for tomorrow's test.
Let's just hope she saves me tomorrow.
Selective Frequency Distortion
"Don't worry," you said, "
hindi na ako maiilang tulad ng dati." But you dropped the line before, and somehow my mind always shifted back. You tried to reassure me, but somehow I wasn't.
But you were right; things didn't change after all. I thought we'd fall apart again, but somehow we remained just as close as we were before that, if not, I feel, grow even closer.
So I didn't have to agree, did I? But somehow, I was too bothered. I wanted to be "us", but I didn't want to get in your way.
"Let's just forget about it." I paused. "I've been thinking about it, and I think you're right," I blurted out, not knowing what to say next.
We laughed.
"Don't worry," you repeated from the last.
"I won't," I chuckled. "I just wanted to secure that invitation. At least invited
na ule ako for sure."
We both laughed harder.
"
Pero alam mo..." you began, not wanting to continue.
"What?" I prodded, after three minutes.
"
... masasabi ko na mas matino ka compared sa iba."
I stopped, somehow disbelieving.
"
Malay mo......" you trailed off.
We both fell silent.
"
Pero anyways, let's forget about it
na nga," you recovered first. As usual, you had me disarmed from the get-go.
We can no longer return after all, and things between us
have changed. We were more than friends, but we were less than "that", so where were we?
"I hate you," I said jokingly. "You could've told me sooner."
But somehow, I guess, you were just as clueless as I was.
I arrived - three more years - and you agreed. "Friends 'til then."
I doubt we'd ever forget about it. But we can do that, can't we? You forgetting me saying that and me forgetting you saying the same thing. You always joked you had a short memory, after all. Let's just forget I needed closure, and you needed time.
The Other Side
We shared one, and only one thing; and that was the desire - the passion, if you may - to succeed. Other than that, similarities fall apart, and we were, well, as worlds away as one may even want to imagine.
When the chips were finally down - like now, for example - we find ourselves in hostile, but otherwise, silent, dialogue. He usually won out.
So, all the while, I had one foot in that proverbial grave, as much as I thought everyone else's was. We never really seemed to make much way after all, malls and Baguio and all that. It became my job to yap and brood and nag and yap some more, Jo becoming the usual confidant and almost everyone else becoming the receiving end of my complaints. No one was online - either they were elsewhere, in a mall, or a party, or both - effectively neglecting their end of the bargain - or they were home, online but invisible - not wanting to admit they have absolutely forgotten doing what they had to do.
It was a progressive system after all - failing to submit the tentative proposal this Saturday meant surely taking summer classes, and that was a very unattractive prospect. Flunking a course, specially a major, never became part of my agenda, nor probably in anyone's for that matter. I wanted things to get done, and I wanted in.
But people do step up when you least expect them; and he was right all along. Maika chipped in, while James refined the equalizer schematics she sent; I've done the PSU since last week, and tomorrow's judgment day prematurely. There was still a lot to do for Saturday - the designs needed to be refined, more values needed to be plugged in, and ever more computations needed to be carried out - but we
have made some headway, at least, and we now have some ground to work with. It still is highly questionable what the others did - there were eleven of us in the group, by the way - but at least, I think we'll survive until the 25th, where I start to yap all over again.
"It's all about trust," he says.
But trust has never been one of my stronger suits. All along, it has always been his. He believed that things will fall into their places eventually, patiently while I was this impulsive, impatient mojo. He trusted; I yakked. He was the nice guy; I was the not-so-nice guy. Me and him? Two sides of the same coin. Get the picture?
And, yes; he WAS me, he IS me - the other, better side, who has long since been suppressed by the evil that has surely manifested itself as people now recognized me to be. Partially, of course. It would be more than futile to deny that he will always exist, as much as I would, no matter what. We were, after all, counterweights to each other. He is me, and I am him. It IS time, though, to tilt the scales the other way.
And no, I have my eccentricities - and this may very well be one of them - but I don't suffer from anything psychological, thank you very much.
Still, why do I get the feeling as though I'm falsely reassured?
There I go again.
