Voluntary House Arrest

When I don’t have to go out, I don’t. I stay in the tiny room I’m boarding – a six-mat, two thousand per month space that I share with four other girls, two talkative cockroaches, and a noisy mouse. N often laments my lack of shelf space, but after more than two months of staying here I’ve actually gotten used to the clutter. And some aspects of it remind me of home.

Like how it’s so hot in the afternoons, so at times when I take my siesta, I wake up sticky and smelling of sweat. Like how I don’t have a proper study desk, and therefore, have to make do with working on top of whatever surface is available. Like how I can hear what’s going on next door. At home, the walls were so close I could keep up with whatever the G’s were watching on TV. And here, the mistress of the house next door has a voice so loud, a temper so inclined to scolding her children, that I can’t shut my ears against the daily reprimand, “Anak, di ba sabi ko sa ‘yo (insert unfulfilled task for the day here)?!”

The last bit, the constant barrage of warnings my parents have never used on me, bothers me considerably. I know it’s not my place to question what’s going on in the house next door – never mind that I’ve pinned down the TV viewing habits of a certain Darwin, who watches foreign movies on full blast even past midnight – but sometimes it gets me thinking. Earlier, for example, the mother scolded her daughter while the daughter was watching TV. And though her words came from the familiar vocabulary she often uses on her children, her tone was harsh enough to make the kid cry. Worse, when the little girl started crying, Mama got even angrier. [I think, if I had experienced such when I was younger, I’d grow up to be even more awkward than I currently am.]

My case is easy though, because Mama seems to genuinely love her children, never mind her tone. In any case, her reprimands are mutations of affectionate reminders, so I’ve never once thought of reporting her to Bantay Bata. But see, how do you know when to butt into your next-door neighbor’s business? What if the husband physically abuses the wife? What if, as in the case of Disturbia, you have reason to believe your neighbor is actually a serial killer? Moreover, on a worldwide scale, how do countries know when to interfere with other countries’ business? What if Country A is going through a civil war, and Country B knows it has enough military capability to prevent bloodshed if it chooses to? Messy consequences, whichever way.

Househunting

I couldn't sleep tonight. And no, not because I had a dream two nights ago - dawns, to be specific - involving an older me in a devilish white dress staring back at myself, knowing full well dreaming me was watching. Sounds complicated, but it's simple, actually. I had a nightmare where I saw my doppelganger. But again, no, despite the frightful nature of that dream, it is not the reason I'm awake now, two nights - dawns - later.

I'm looking for a house. [Online, yes.] More accurately, a place to stay in. I'll be graduating a couple of days from now, and as I intend to stay in MManila, I need somewhere. I've ruled out staying in a univ dorm, as I doubt overstaying for a second degree makes me an actual dependent of the UP system. I'll have to admit though, that the clincher was the kitchen. I really want a kitchen. I've already been imagining all the dishes I'd burn, all the wine I'd stock, if I had my own kitchen. God, please send me a house with enough space for a kalan at least? And maybe, a mini Coleman?

And haha, don't even ask for my budget. Truth is I've actually enough money for one of those one-bedroom flats that are ubiquitous in the student world, but again - the kitchen, it calls. Good thing my friend Ate I wants a place with a kitchen, too. We can split the bill, and share the happy moments that I'm praying, honest to goodness, we'll have. Because I'll be staying in MManila for what seems like yeeeears. And she has her MS - and likely, PhD - to finish.

Housey, housey, housey.

Heree come, housey.

Happy Stress

So I haven't written for a coupla weeks now - it's school, darnit, school. Admittedly, I had plenty of time to drop a line or two, but I didn't really have anything remotely interesting to share then. I guess I still don't have anything remarkable to relay... But anyway, I miss blogging. So please pardon this half-brained exercise of ranting random thoughts. It's a habit I haven't been relishing lately....

Some reminders for myself now that I'm a senior, supposedly mature and street-smart:

1. Get off at the right stop. Since June 1, you've gotten lost TWICE because you didn't get off where you were supposed to. The first time, you rode a jeep in Philcoa, which wound its way through Cubao, before it passed by Philcoa again and you finally realized you were back where you started. The second time, you rode a Katipunan jeep, fully intending to get off at Balara, only to realize you missed your chance to say para, thus, leaving you no choice spare getting off in front of Petron. Again. Presence of mind, dear. This ain't a reflex contest, but it's not playtime in tellytubby land either.

2. Jog around the acad oval to boost your stamina. If you don't, you'll feel faint in Women's Basketball again; do you want Coach Juliano to force you to lie down? That aside, energy is a prereq for this game. Just imagine how many calories you and your classmates burn each time you scream whenever the ball's within a three-meter radius!

3. Don't go to the tambayan if you want to study. If you go there, you'll think of nothing but playing Mismo, exchanging playful barbs with Ging, or attempting to answer crossword puzzles with Simoun. Don't. Even. Think. About. It. The girls might even force you to teach them Nobody if the Desabelles aren't around.

4. Watch a movie more than once if you really like it. Chances are, you'll shed that tear you've been keeping in check the first time around. Say, Toy Story 3, which you watched with Mary the first time - the cinema being so jampacked you had to sit apart - and with PC the second time. The first time, the Andy-Woody drama made you sniff; the second time, a tear actually rolled out of your tearducts. So rewatch movies if you like them. Just not on a Nodame-marathon level, okay? You don't have time.

By the way, time can't be gold. Gold can be exchanged, it can be a commodity, or an alternative to money. But time? Can't be exchanged. If it flits by, it's flitted by. There's no catching it back.