Three Questions

When I was younger, each night my parents tucked me into bed and I'd ask them three questions:

1) Will the sun come up tomorrow?
2) When will the world end?
3) *I forgot but no doubt it was something apocalyptic*

My parents would tell me: 1)Yes; 2) Not anytime soon; and, 3) ----. As a child, I began thinking that the world would end "tomorrow" because I read an article saying that the sun would die someday, and then it'd create a black hole that would swallow the planet, extinguishing all life on Earth. Until now, I have to admit I still have fears of the world coming to an end (and this is why I'm not fond of end-of-the-world movies like 2012) but I'm not as paranoid as mini me to pester my parents nightly for answers - as if I could.

I came across a very interesting article at the National Geographic website today. I'm not sure what the writers wanted their readers to feel, publishing something like that. To me though, discovering all those failed doomsday warnings felt oddly relieving. I suddenly began to see today's doomsayers as "wet blankets" - warning us out of concern, probably, but not making life on Earth better for anyone.

Bah. I can't describe the feeling. But this line from Peanuts sums my thoughts up:
"Don't worry about the world coming to an end today...
It's already tomorrow in Australia."

birds of a feather...

I keep posting these days. Maybe it's because I need an outlet, and I'm too tamad to write by hand in my diary. I can't talk to other people either, because most people, I think, think of me as someone who listens, not someone who wants to be listened to. Also, most of the time, whenever I do talk about what I really think, I regret my words later on.

So I'd rather not talk. I'd rather blog.

The latest thing that's happened is that the Jumpel, Sunshine, Trisha and moi gathered at LB earlier to talk about our Christmas party-slash-Nina despedida on the 17th. It's a lucky coincidence that I haven't got any big exams on the 18th; the French dialogue I don't consider acadwork because I enjoy the subject immensely.

So anyway, hanging out with the friends I haven't seen in the longest time - aka a month - I felt somewhat... unsure. Somehow, I didn't think the connection between us (or at least some of us) was right. It was awkward.

For the first time, I'm hoping it's just me.

Guests

In my Global Studies class earlier (for the record, it's not a compulsory thing, it's a FREE elective) we played hosts to the 11 visiting students from Yokohama National University. Now, I know I may seem very outgoing, if not noisy, but actually, there are times when I prefer NOT to talk. Such as this afternoon.

CIS Classroom C was an overwhelming sight. Students were milling about, mostly Filipino students who wanted to interact with the Japanese guests - and most of them were from TomoKai and Arirang. Originally, I sat at the back of the classroom, but then the professor-organizer saw me and asked me - no, she sort of gave me no choice, actually - to sit beside one of our guests. And because I didn't want to sit there without knowing her, the girl to my right, I introduced myself.

She said her name was Akiko.

Over the 1.5 hours we spent together, I observed a lot of things about Akiko. I know it's not right to judge based on first impressions - take that further and you could say it's wrong to judge at all - but I thought Akiko was a very driven young woman whose facade gave one the opposite impression. She looks very timid and shy but she had the confidence to speak to a weird looking girl aka me, and she looked very smart. I also loved her outfit - black and white large checkered shirt dress with really thin, dark jeans and Roxy slippers - and yes, they were Roxy.

What bothered me most, however, is that she looked... I dunno. Confident but unconfident. She seems sure of what she can do, but somehow she seems unsure of herself. I can't explain it. But it shows. And I think it's such a shame because Akiko seems like the type of person I would like to be - elegant, smart, sophisticated and friendly. But she doesn't believe in herself.

Sad. I wanted to be friends with her. But our 1.5 hours of acquaintance just wasn't enough for us to reach that level.

juvenile delinquent

So I skipped PolSci 160 and ended up going to ICTUS' 28th birthday party - where we sang for the 5pm mass celebrating the Immaculate Concepcion. To top that, after stretching our vocal muscles, we proceeded to the tambayan and laughed our hearts out as Trevor, Migs, Monsee and Julian hid behind the life-sized 3D letters Jako and the (WOOHOO) seccom came up with for the exhibit. And did I mention that we were eating lugaw and pandesal from Pan de Manila because today is Sacrifish? In fact, I've been eating lugaw all day - I daresay I'm the ICTUS mem who's eaten the most servings of lugaw. But ssh, that's a secret.

For this sem, this is the first time I've skipped class. I'm actually a bit worried because we haven't met Ma'am Jamon for the longest time in PolSci 160, and I just ditched?!?! But anyway, what's done is done and DONE.

Right now, I feel like commemorating every bit of kagaguhan I've ever in class. I was a good student in grade school and high school - if not a bit pretentious - so I don't have any memories of being a hard-headed delinquent from when I was 16 and younger, but the moment I entered UP... Totally different story.

Math17, freshman yr. Our teacher, Sir Montes, was a liberated young man almost-fresh from college himself, handling a class of Chemical Engineering students and a handful of non-eng'g kids. I was one of the non-eng'g kids; I was the only Econ student there, which had its perks in a way. Back then, I would turn up late for class - mainly because I hated Math, partly because it was a 1PM class and I loved to wake up late. And when I did turn up early, that meant I was in a good mood, so RS and I would sing random songs from our seats at the back of the classroom. I'm pretty sure our voices rang loud and clear, but Prof. Montes never complained. Hm. He was too nice. Hope he's happy in Germany.

Econ131, junior yr. Yet another numbers class; I hated attending it because I always answered the recitation questions incorrectly, and I hated the disappointed expression on Ma'am Navarro's face. So one day, when I wasn't feeling high and perky as usual, I convinced myself I was sick with sore throat, and I trooped over to the infirmary to get a "check up". Of course, the doctor didn't find anything obviously wrong with me, but I really didn't feel well enough to combat two hours of derivatives so I just spent the morning in bed. And then I returned to class the next meeting bearing an official excuse slip.

Erm yeah, I realized I don't have a lot of wanna-ditch-class moments. In fact, for most of my classes, I loved attending the lessons. I'm pretty sure I have near-perfect attendance for majority of the classes I've ever enrolled in, but there's this one class that stands out easily above the rest:

English12, freshman yr. It helped that I had some sort of crush on the teacher. He was an amazing lecturer, seriously. He never told us to think in any particular way, and I remember that one time he even told us,

"If you get out of this classroom thinking what I think,
then I will have failed you as a teacher."

But before you start thinking I attended that 7AM class without fail because I had a thing for the prof, think again. I loved it because of the lessons; the interesting professor was just a bonus. World literature, the subject's called, and we discussed The Iliad, The Decameron, Inferno, Sinbad, and etc, all under the careful supervision of our teacher. My classmates were pretty amazing, too. Although I never got to befriend them past the point of mere acquaintance, I appreciated their insights, and their ways of thinking, and it was a class where I felt free to talk about what I really wanted to talk about. Where sounding stupid didn't matter because all views were accepted.

Which makes me wonder, again, why I signed up to study Econ.

kittens

There's a kitten screaming for help through my dormitory window. Sometimes, I think it's not a kitten - sometimes it sounds like a mother cat giving birth. Sometimes it shuts up, and so I think it's died and has gone to kitty heaven. Just as I start thanking the heavens for that though, it renews its racket, and I bury my face in my pillow.

It's hard being alone in the dorm during weekends. Normally, I wouldn't mind, because I like the silence. But sometimes, I have sleepless nights, and I toss and turn, and my bed creaks as wooden stairs do in horror movies. If you add something as crazy as a cat yowling away within your hearing range, it's nearly impossible to fall asleep, even after reviewing half your class notes.

Last night I heard someone knocking. At first I thought it was that weird insert ad they have in Yes! Fm, but then, I heard it twice - the sound of someone knocking from the other side of my window, but knocking on wood and not knocking for me. What was freaked me out above all was the fact that the whole knocking sequence happened just a little past 2 in the morning, a while before the usual roof-banging and furniture rearranging noise-making happened.

The loneliness I like in Kamia comes with a price, it seems.

And for the record, I realized of all the early morning noises Kamia can provide, the one I despise the most is the sound of a kitten meowing unceasingly. It reminds me of its helplessness, and my own helplessness as well.

i have direction

As a matter of fact, i don't. For the nth time, I've just been reminded that as of now, my life ain't going anywhere. Emo, noh?

When I feel sad, I buy a good DVD and drown myself in movies. It's not that I want to escape reality or anything - scratch that, maybe I do. I want to go on an adventure, and be an explorateur, and belong to a world where the things that matter aren't talent or money or brains or PR skills. Although it pains to admit it, I really don't think I have any redeeming quality except for the fact that I'm nice.

Nice. There's a running joke that if someone asks you whether someone else's girlfriend/ boyfriend is a looker and you don't think so, you should say "S/he's nice." And doesn't it originally mean foolish or something? Not exactly the best adjective I'd like to attach next to my name.

So anyway, I just came here to rant. I'm ranting because, after several years of trying to figure out exactly what I want to do with my life - and I had to rush my rumination, you know, because I am supposed to be a graduating student next year - I figured out what I wanted to do, only to have that dream shattered by a single statement by an innocent friend.

Walking past the Parish of the Holy Sacrifice this afternoon, Phillter suddenly said that what he really wanted to be was someone in the Philippine diplomatic corps. Out loud, I just sort of teased him because he had also mentioned something about wanting to be a magazine editor, but at the back of my mind, I thought, "Hmm, same dream." And then, perfect follow-up, he said that he wanted that job all right, but lost hope when KLou told him that out of 5,000 applicants, only 2 are accepted in the DFA as part of the diplomatic corps.

It didn't hit me then, the weight of that simple statement. But now, after FBing, and seeing works of a certain young friend of mine - I used to want to be a writer but I gave up without progressing even one notch up the ladder of talent - I realized how pathetic I was. If I ever become part of that 5,000 and even just one out of half the people I know would be applying for the same position as I am, then I'd lose my chance without ever being given one.

No, seriously. What I am I gonna do with my life?