Tracy, who Mirielle described as their block's Jaja Samaniego, had her own milestone today, alongside what essentially was our college's anniversary: her first taste of cotton candy.
I knew it. Free food was the only thing that could let those people out of their classrooms and into what they are all supposed to do. There were a lot of talks today, but no concert, because, as Agnes pointed out, it was Lent already and they weren't allowed - but the lines at both the Marian Quadrangle and the Miguel Walk were so long, I got tired just looking at them.
Being a Student Council member myself, I basically stood there doing "are you from the CLA?" duties, weeding out those sneaky (or otherwise) COE students who wanted free cotton candy as well. I know, though, that for the first time, our new trend of prioritizing money for studies led to the long lines for what apparently was actually free lunch. I ate (and bought my own) lunch earlier, thinking that the free food giveaway was like last year's, when all we had was for our fingers to pop. I had my own free dessert, though, and only after standing and walking around for the next hour or so, seeing EJ replace Nadia and Sarah replace EJ, and COE students sneak in and out, and me feeling so good with the shirt we all had to buy.
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I'm looking at somebody else. It's not supposed to make a huge impact, but nevertheless it's somebody else. Well, maybe one person too many, but since that
feeling decided to fade away, at least temporarily, it seems a lot weirder.
Or I'm not used to it. This is the first time I realized something like, you're actually trying to get into somebody else just to get over someone.
I know that's not exactly good, since the rationale isn't quite sturdy. Maybe I'm just trying to fill up those nobody-really-cares sentiments to people that, well, doesn't really care. Or maybe irritated.
I am aware we're all busy, but I'm like a kleptomaniac. Despite me knowing what's actually there I still think people are annoyed at me for some possible reason; that people actually move away from me because I can't seem to grow up. Well, I was stuck in a certain mindset for the past six months, not talking about anything else, obviously excited about something that doesn't really mean anything more than a pretty face to look at and, eventually, get scared of. Biologically I might have learned to rely on talking to myself whenever something of that sort happens, but not really now.
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For a few moments I got one confused with the other, although basically Kimmi and Piyar are one and the same
. After waiting almost two hours, in between touring malls, getting apprehended and sitting alone in tables, that ever-bubbly girl with a sparkle in her eyes finally got welcomed into what is considered legal, although she's been in that position for so long. And I sat there, half-uncomfortable because of what I decided to wear.
But when I finally got to personally greet the debutante, one thing was on the agenda: my outfit. And yes, I did remember that Piyar and I talked about my usual what-should-I-wear dilemma, especially when she initially described the affair as something patterned after some music award ceremony. And I failed to look like someone significant, for that matter, until I realized Piolo Pascual had the same look, only with a longer-sleeved shirt under.
I think I've learned to desensitize myself after debuts. Four of them, and only one had me as a last-minute replacement for some significant event. I don't take it against anyone, but it always glows as a sign of my increasing irrelevance in this world - tantamount to why I miss out on everything from happiness opportunities to understood inside jokes. Maybe it did make me feel so well that Ella
, who also came, asked me about why I wasn't uploading Fifth Year Holler
lately, and only because apparently she was waiting for more Cuyeg
paparazzi photos. And if it helps more, I finally became brutally frank at Jason
, but then again, who gives a damn about what I think anyway?
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I just realized before statistics class that I actually have a soft spot for Psychology students. And even I don't know why. It's not because of some external event, or some life-changing situation, or my mere condition as a wretched soul which makes me say this. I don't know - it just occurred to me.
Yesterday, I received one of those randomly sent text messages inviting me to become a test subject for some Psychology students' experiment. And I didn't come, but only because I had a portfolio to tend to. (But I won't consider coming anyway. What if I knew someone there? Talk about the Hawthorne effect.) But I loved psychology class, or at least how it worked out with me despite the class having such a reputation. It opened my eyes to stuff - not to mention my brain, and how it works.
But now all those lessons remain forgotten. All I have are memories of sleep, of random invitations, and of a handful of friends who are taking up Psychology, one variation or another. And think about it - being the course with the most students, followed by my own course, they basically dominate. Never is my day complete without seeing one of them walking along SJ Walk, from rock bassists to distracting cuties to the occasional headturner, whatever that means.
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As if destiny had a way of getting back at me after all of the random thoughts I decided to throw on an unsuspecting world, I am still terribly unsure.
Midterms week. Just today I did a million things and yet I fail to get a million more done. I think I'm coming down with another sickness again. Nevertheless I think I did well on my homework, and more importantly, got my PSA done in five takes. We're now off to drama, and I'm trying to make a shallow story, at the most, out of using loose change.
I haven't had the time to get distracted lately. True enough, though, distractions are coming by - even the old ones (so old, only Issa
knows about it). Or maybe I'm getting too tired even if I've been sleeping earlier, probably because I've been worrying about the smallest things, from interviews to portfolios to layouts and everything in between. Confusingly, though, I've never been in one of those "mind commutes" - a term I coined when Steph
was looking for a magazine title - even if I've been terribly distracted lately.
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Eight hours later, I sit in front of the computer without any idea as to what to write.
I remember a year ago, when I was talking to Eena. I just posted my mushiest entry yet
, despite me trying not to write something mushy. She knew I didn't want an entry like that, so she was surprised when I finally told her what my entry was about, two days after posting it. Today, we met again - this time, I was lugging a camera with the telephoto lens plugged in, and she was watching pairs sing to cheesy songs on Lovestruck. And so it irritates me, all this Valentine's Day crap, because it's the day when men get enough courage to give roses to the women of their dreams, and the day when the Pops Orchestra goes around the campus singing love songs to whoever one points them to, and the day when all that romantic crap surface from below.
And what makes it even worse is that it fell on U-Break - possibly the best opportunity for a couple to shout out something, like "this girl loves this guy" and "this guy loves this girl more", although it didn't happen, thankfully. I spent my free time in the dark room, trying to enlarge black and white photos while thinking of how to do that depth of field photo shoot during the busiest time of the week, complete with all the aforementioned signs that serve to irritate people like me.
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I somehow knew it would eventually come to this. And I somehow expected it. But again, as Ale
put it almost a year back, it will blow
out of proportion the moment you think it's over.
What amazes me is how things seem to be designed to lead up to that moment. I was delaying taking photos when I decided to chat with Katia
, who was in Sydney enduring a crappy connection. That moment I decided to reread old testimonials and old entries, and somehow I started reminiscing about, well, old things, and how complicated they eventually get with time. What I've previously written as a simple, innocent sense of happiness would almost always turn out to be much more than that, and even more the moment I step out of the picture. So I sat in front of the PC, looking back, and realizing that in our own little ways, we make things very complicated.
Eight hours later, I was hitting myself. Sure,
I thought, I probably still have the right to feel shocked and not surprised at the same time. But why am I acting as if things were almost that good?
It took a surprisingly short time for things to sink in, partly because I told myself in the bus that everything I head was mostly speculation. There I was, making things very complicated, and I guess that's the problem with knowing far too much.
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I'm not willing to risk a "friendship" but I'm not willing to lose my "dignity" either. What should I do then?
On a day where everything almost seemed so wrong, I can't quite get a grip of myself. True enough, I still feel as if mistakes of the past are haunting me. There's also this fact, though, that I happen to think too much, and particularly because I somehow know too much. I even joked to Kim
about this yesterday: I know too many things, I can actually start a gossip column and basically give myself a license to stab people's backs. Of course, I'm half-serious, or I'm channeling my fury elsewhere.
The few sets of happiness bursts that happened today, though, were quite extraordinary. I was satisfied with the photos I took today, although I still have to finish a roll of film and see them go from unexposed negative to out-of-focus enlargements. In another occasion, Sir Bascara even called me "a loss to the History department", which seemed like an unexpected ego boost, merely because I was paying attention. (It helps that I have seatmates who are actually history majors.) Eventually, however, I'd fall asleep in the bus and try to assess, for another time, what actually happened to me today. And so, for another time, I felt obsessively rejected, got an unwanted reality check, found myself running away from things again - of course, the journalistic self has dwelt on the negative again.
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has a new phone. And my self-esteem has been dragged down along with the flip of the clamshell.
It really hasn't got anything to do with it. Or maybe I got hopelessly nostalgic remembering my old mobile, when everybody was jealous and wanted it for themselves. Now, although it isn't really the case, Malia's got a similarly-featured phone. Like it matters, really, but that's where I'm going to start.
For four months, quite honestly, I got attached with my phone. It's not because it's sleek, but because it's what practically kept me through - uselessly random photos, damn useful phone calls, you get it. For quite a while I was actually basking on the very thing I was complaining of previously: being just the errand boy. At least, I thought, I was getting the affirmation I sorely needed. So, the moment it got stolen, it was some reality check: people won't exactly hate me, I figured, but I realized that I was so attached to it - quite literally with the headphones, though.
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I yelled at my computer, taking care not to let anybody hear it.
I yelled an expletive at my computer, for suddenly my Multiply
message board is sending me reminders that I never wanted in the first place. Imagine a snap here - of course, get nothing for days and then get something from out of nowhere and you'll probably also react like me. Maybe, something like those families getting those house reconstructions
, as long as it's anything that exaggerated.
Right now I can only hope that we're all busy. I think that our classes are a godsend; for some reason, despite actually stressing us with all the concepts, script revisions and exposed film developers, it's become quite an escape from all that has made my life as needlessly complicated as it is already.
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