On Ordinariness

A few months ago, my roommate L and I had a memorable conversation about someone she knew. This acquaintance apparently referred to herself as someone very ordinary, someone very normal, and L simply couldn’t understand how someone with potential enough to earn a spot in the country’s top university could ever be so unambitious. At the time, I agreed with my roommate fully. What was, after all, the point of working hard, studying hard, if our only goal was to be? There had been, back then, only obvious goal for me: becoming extraordinary, immortal.

As I was wrapping the new books I bought earlier though, I came to accept something I had always known, something I’d perhaps always considered for a very long time. All the books I had bought, all the books I had read as of late, were chick lit. The kind of reading the me of four years ago would scoff at for being so unabashedly cliché and mainstream. These were the books I was willing to go hungry for, the stories on which my sanity depended on. The semi-adult in me conceded: I was just an ordinary person. There was not much that singled me out from the average single young woman on the street – except maybe, I had messier hair.

The thought doesn’t even bother me that much anymore.

Food for Thought

I find that several of the most lucid, lingering pieces of contemporary literature and film have some form of food attached to them. Take Eat Pray Love. Like Water for Chocolate. Kitchen. All three feature life and the human experience as a main dish to a major selling point of each book, which is food. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. The worst things in this world are being alone, and being hungry. Perhaps it’s because of the need to feed ourselves that we’re so intoxicated over the idea of eating well. Or maybe I only think this way because I love to eat?

True to my resolution to reach out to people more, I haphazardly hailed an old acquaintance that I had bumped into at a local UP haunt today. I go to Mashitta often because it serves interesting food, and she said she was craving for Ramyun, that’s why she was there. About two years older than me, four months into her present job, she might have found me imprudent for compelling her to share my table. But I was determined to become more extroverted, and she happened to be the first friend I had shared a 1 meter radius with, the day after I had decided on that.

We talked about Nickolodeon’s Avatar, her friends from college, her Makati job, and the pretty girl in the booth next to ours. I had always known, through the short conversations we had when she was still in our org, that we shared the same interests, the same dislikes. We both don’t understand why our peers like 500 Days of Summer and One More Chance so much. We both think Zuko’s great. We both watched Sherlock Holmes, and found Season1’s ending irritating. But tonight, though it had been undeniably fun, I felt I had not really gotten to know her better. Why is it that I keep talking about what I think, when I only want to get to know someone more?

She said someone from her office has offered to share copies of Game of Thrones. I told her it was a heavy series, and she said yes, she saw the first two episodes on HBO last summer. I’m not sure if we’ll ever get past the point in our relationship where we can only talk about entertainment and mutual friends. But if that will ever happen, it would be nice. It might have been great, watching Inception for the first time with her somewhere along the line.

Dull Sparkles

Today I lost an earring. Half of the pair my parents had given me on my eighteenth birthday, it had been almost as crisp as a diamond, and rimmed with a band of gold. I had been on my way to work as per usual, seated on the edge of the front seat just the way I enjoyed it, when I accidentally brushed my hand against my ear. I think I even felt the hook unclasp. Minutes of twisting and searching later, however, I had to conclude that it had fallen onto the road. It can’t have fallen into the hole on my blouse, or slipped through the crack on the seat I was on. I guess I’m just not very good at holding precious things for long. I always, always end up losing things that matter to me, but strangely this particular loss stung more than most.

A couple of nights ago, I had thought it had gone missing as well. I had scoured the whole boarding house, retracing my steps on the year-stained stairs in the middle of a school night, when I finally found it hiding in the crook of my bra. How it had gotten there I have no idea, and I don’t even understand how I never managed to feel it pricking my skin. But I remember, quite distinctly, the feeling that had swallowed me, inexplicably, when I thought I’d have to tell my mother I had lost her gift. Had I found the earring pretty, or did I feel guilty that I had not cared for such a treasured present properly enough to have deserved wearing it? It was as if I had broken up with a boyfriend, as though I had witnessed a cat die, and the pain, the sting, or whatever that taste of heartbreak had been was real enough to unsettle me. I don’t usually pine over things I’ve lost because I know I’ll be able to buy them again. Twenty years on and I am still unacquainted with loss. It confuses me.

The impression rubbed deeper this afternoon, the last for this year’s September. I had been sneaking into Facebook during work, reading something wonderful an old friend had written, when I realized how so much, too much had changed. I never even sensed the shifting, and that was what bothered me above all. He had become a better person, just as most of the people I keep close to me now have, after going through the rituals of love, loss, and confusion all within five short years. Walking among the crowds of Makati, ditching the office early on a Friday, I felt strangely hollow. I felt I had been deprived of so much because I had been saved from pain. And it took me five years to realize it. Five years to realize that too many days had gone by without me noticing, and a part of me had stopped by without bothering to say hello. I felt like I had been denied from meeting an old friend I had wanted to see for so long.

And when I thought about it really, or maybe Banana Yoshimoto had more lingering imprints in me than I dare acknowledge, the root of my life being seemingly unlived is my inability to connect with people. Because people, though they amuse me and interest me the same way fiction and politics do, are complicated to understand. And because I know I’ll never understand them, and I know they’ll never try to understand me, I don’t bother. I guess that’s what the problem is – my lack of a desire to socialize. I have never really needed people, and I know I never will. That’s precisely why I want to need someone, anyone, though the connection may be fleeting and short. I want to know I have truly lived, even if the only way is to live through the lives of others. Or to have at least a peek of the lives of others, glimpsed through the cracks on people’s walls, hammered and hewn by years.
__

Today I lost an earring. And I woke up from a five-year dream.

today's regrets

There are many things I wish I had done today.

I wish I had gotten up early, to bid my cousins a proper farewell as they flew back to CDO... I wish I had attended the Univ Grad, nevermind my lack of a laude, just so I could hear a Philippine president speak at my graduation, helicopters roaring overhead... I wish I had kept myself posted on reviews about the latest Detective Conan movie - the 16th, Quarter of Silence. [But maybe that's not such a good idea, given I hate spoilers.]

At the least, I wish I had packed all my stuff, because my dorm's kicking the alumna me out tomorrow. But I didn't do any of these.

My sole accomplishment today is half-tinkering with my blog - so now it has color. My 'tinkering' isn't done yet though. Apologies for the half-assed web designing exercise.

Good night, world. I graduated - figuratively - today.

Mysterium

Given I'm supposedly one of the 166 graduating students of UPSE this semester - never mind that our thesis adviser told my TP and me that our first draft was pangit - I tried to support the Grad Comm by finding their booth in the UP Fair. K had told me they were hosting a tarot card reading, palm reading, occult-ish booth, so the night of Loverage5 I dragged R to a likely-looking table lit by a single candle.

R had her future read first - 3 questions, 50 pesos. Cute questions, actually, although I doubt I'm allowed to share them here - heads up though, one was about marriage. I had my 3 questions read next, but unfortunately, it turns out Mr. Raider Waite reader was too tired to predict my future properly, so Miss Gnome took over. And my three questions:

Q: Sinong makakatuluyan ko?

A: You're thinking of someone, but that person is not The One. If you push your luck with him, you will end up being vain and bitter [ano 'to, Desiderata???] because he will always make you feel like you're never good enough for him.

Q: Makakatulong ba ako sa Pilipinas someday?

A: No. You have to fix yourself first, because you don't know who you are. For some reason, you're trying to hide your bubbly-happy self, hiding behind a straight-laced, by-the-book persona. So to help your country, you have to let go first.

Q: Anong magandang i-second degree?

A: Do not take something just to spite anyone. Take something you really want.

And my analysis:

I'm not thinking of any guy in particular!!! [Although, yes, like any boyfriend-less person, I do have an image of my ideal guy - go ahead, guffaw.] I get the reading though, about not letting Imaginary Guy take over reality - 'cause if I keep trying to find someone just like him, I'll... never find anyone, haha.

The second answer was a let-down. Miss Gnome said something about learning to be vain because I was too selfless, which is completely off. [I'm completely selfish, only I don't tell people because I roll that way.] It's cool though, how she knew I'm reserved and strict compared with most people my age - or maybe it's in my face?

And re: the last question. Uh. Sorry. Doesn't help at all. Didn't you just say I don't know myself well enough? And now you're telling me I should stick with what I want to do???

[But please, visit their home site: mysteriumphilippines.org. It's actually kind of cool, knowing we have an occult academy in the Philippines.]

My Future is Like Koko Krunch

And I doubt I even spelled my future right. 0.o

Afternoon. I rushed to the tambayan because Julian had scheduled another round of Harana Express promo | pakapalan-ng-mukha-for-a-cause, this time by the Chem Pav. I got to FC first, but when I texted him, he said he was still at the Job Fair. And I didn't mind the 'gig' being cancelled - just trudged back to the tambs.

I got there before he and Ands returned from the Job Fair, bearing company freebie pens and stories about how they got rejected-at-first-sight because they had apparently graduated from the wrong course. And as Luka, and then Mer, joined the conversation, I just sat across the table from them, trying to focus on Volume 1 of True Philippine Ghost Stories, trying to ignore the fact that I haven't even considered sending my resume to any companies.

Truth is, I don't want to weave the corporate circuit. I love the power dressing, and the power lunches, and the power tripping - so much drama, like Gossip Girl for adults - but it's not the type of world I see myself carving my name into. Truth is, I've only considered two career tracks in my life: teaching, or becoming a glorified bureaucrat.

Scratch the first option, obviously. Although I love teaching, seriously, there is nothing I'm good enough at that I can share to other people - because who'd pay 3K to listen to someone rant about how twisted the Onii-chan no Koto series is? And, well, even if I knew how to teach, to quote the lovable [albeit fictional, sadly] Lucas Pineda, "the salary is (sic) the pits." Unless, of course, you teach in the Ateneo, or somewhere else just as considerate.

So joining the government is my goal now. I really really want to work for the Philippines. Never mind the slow promotions, and our infamous brand of corruption - I've seen my parents at their jobs for as long as I can remember, and they seem to be having kick-ass fun making people's lives better. As for the money... well, it's not as if I'm planning to get married anyway. So no kids' tuition, no car installment, and on weekends off I can actually plant vegetables in my imaginary backyard to sell for extra income.

... The point is ...

How do you tell people you think you're about to graduate from the wrong course? I don't think it's a case of me not studying enough, and being a lazy bum - I'm just one of those lax personalities who don't put effort into anything they don't find particularly appealing. And believe me, I've tried to find Econ appealing. I've tried fooling my inner child, I've tried reading Freakonomics. But my inner child's too whacked to think pragmatically, and Jenny never gave my copy of Freakonomics back. Basically, Econ is not my future.

And the million dollar question: What is?

peer pressure

UPSE 2010 produces 2 Summa Cum Laude, 24 Magna Cum Laude, and 55 Cum Laude among 155 graduates. And who knows how many Dean's Medalists there are?

I've never really cared about my grades in the past, because in the small, sheltered world of Kong Hua, which produced our Senior Batch of 109 students, surviving came easily. I never studied, and was more immersed in extra-curriculars and "getting the most out of life". Somehow, even with my rather pathetic grades, I got into the UP School of Economics - I think all that praying helped. And now, for the first time in my life, I'm worried about not finishing on the top half of my batch - which I've never had to worry about before.

There's a very slim chance of me graduating with honors. In fact, there's barely any chance of me qualifying for the Dean's Medal, which is like "honorable mention" of our School. I'm not particularly worried about the future, or getting a job, so in that sense my grades don't really matter to me. But I do care about not getting left behind, and when more than half your batch graduates with honors and YOU don't... That sucks. Seriously.

In the School of Econ, they take "competition" to a whole new level. Except in this case, you can only win or lose to yourself.

PS Allyanna Anglim was my classmate last semester, in Econ 141: International Economics. How she could have maintained her godlike GWA despite going through that class, I have no idea. That girl's a genius!