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?