Countless people fight for freedom of expression, ironically, in places where you don't have that. Go raise that placard, young man, and I'll pray for your life. Maybe that's why satire takes on the craziest of forms, but we're not to belittle anybody's intelligence. Just that, well, I'm in a mood to complain about people who can't speak up about the pettiest of feelings. You know, people like me.
Bono wrote the song Sweetest Thing
(which actually was The Sweetest Thing
until it was officially released) as an apology to his wife for forgetting her birthday while U2
was recording The Joshua Tree
. It played before I started writing - I was hesitant on writing - until it started that thought bubble about coffee. I wouldn't want to recall about coffee workers protesting over labor conditions. Probably the only stories that I'm aware of is how some Filipinos are packaging our coffee as classy, thanks to the mindset that having it in Starbucks
Before we realized that our cultural studies finals were called off - and everyone was given a 4.0 - this was what we were discussing. Lau, Kat
, Michelle, Sara and I - coffee, Adam Levine
, Johnny Depp, deterritorialization, and the fact that time is running out. I was reusing the example on why having conversations over Starbucks lattes is different from having conversations over instant coffee in sachets. It never hit us that hard. We were all saying, "right, right" while most remain very much distracted over what was being said outside the lessons.
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Not that I don't want one but, well, it felt that way to some extent.
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I can't get myself to write anything.
It hasn't occurred lately. The rains are undecided, and so is my initiative. I just finished a drama script and it looks weird on virtual paper, probably much more when it finally makes the screen. I can't start on my final philosophy paper, because despite reading the assigned article twice I can't get anything. Surprisingly, so has my dedication.
I noticed that two pimples have cropped up on my face. It annoys me. Maybe I've been thinking the same thoughts, or dirty thoughts. Maybe this is a punishment for not remembering to wash my face every hour or so, a punishment for being hyperactive, for allowing my sweat glands to work often. I gave seven or so names to Mae last Friday, a bit forcibly maybe, but I actually trust her with my secrets as much as some people wonder whether her three moles are just drawn in with a felt pen.
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Good afternoon, Rozette
It never occurred to me, until yesterday, that we're almost at the end of the line. We're already thinking up of concepts and defending it, or maybe rehearsing for the real thing, in front of a panel. We're bracing ourselves with what to say and how to impress. We're trying to make our proposals airtight, without any loopholes, without anything to keep it from bursting upon its own weight.
We also had four students who were already working on their thesis. They're the appreciative bunch, really, maybe in hindsight after going through what we already are. Bocx was clapping enthusiastically over Ariane
, Kaymee and Jackie
's presentation (my apologies to Jackie for the terribly one-sided phrasing) about one's fascination with death and his eventual success as owner of a funeral parlor. The enthusiasm was probably partly because of the skit that preceded the presentation, with Ariane donning a Gryffindor jacket she got in Harry Potter
class, and a sickle made of illustration board in another, "killing" Kaymee until she reemerges as a beautifully made-up Jackie. You'll lose the pun unless you've seen in, but it won't work anymore.
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and I were on our way to check YouTube
for something we actually needed for that project proposal we decided to get over with. She'd just pointed out that, for some extraordinary reason, I was a little bit too obnoxious at the conservatory, after I got too philosophical, and even more stressed trying to beat non-existent deadlines. I just laughed out loud along SJ Walk. And then I realized that I was.
I was taught in high school to never ever
use my having ADHD as an excuse for my actions. But, sad as it may seem, my inattentiveness rendered me unaware that I was talking a bit loudly at what is supposedly a study area. I actually whispered loud enough to be heard by three people who happened to share Karla's desk when she was left alone at the place, when all that was with her had classes.
"Tara, alis na tayo para hindi mo na makasama ang mga batang yan."
Epitome of meanness.
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I rarely get to watch NFL
games on television, but somehow I have managed to understand how the game is played. Since halfway through high school the yards and the lines of scrimmage have made sense to me, to the point that when I started to watch AFL
games (when it was still broadcast here some summers ago) I actually enjoyed it. But one thing that I can't seem to remember is the reason why coaches in the bigger games - I'm talking about the NFL again, just in case you need guidance - wear those fancy headsets, as if they're isolated to their own world despite obviously not being such. I think it has something to do with communications. At least I remember that every time I see them walk around one side of the field, their headsets always come from Motorola
It must take someone a lot of effort to get up there and be a football coach, and the same obviously goes to other sports coaches, from the great Red Auerbach to our very own Franz Pumaren. Everyone starts somewhere, surely. Before you can lead something you have to start from the very bottom and pick up lessons as you go. Only then can you get your future subordinates' trust, and you can become, at the least, respectable in whatever you're doing.
I think I've gained a reputation as one who gives, well, surprisingly good advice to people. Off the head I'll cite Clarence
a couple of years back: "he'll be right there when I'm feeling left out." Well, probably that wasn't a very close example, but I certainly remember the weeks we've spent in the early parts of our college lives texting each other about whoever and whatever. (Or why I was her "boyfriend" before she eventually had one and didn't feel any more left out. But that's another blog entry in itself.) And I think you're no stranger to my constant wondering about how, despite not having any previous experience whatsoever, I manage to give surprisingly good advice to people, and they still somehow flock to me, much like when the coach calls a time out and the players come to him. So much respect, it seems, for the man on the sidelines.
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Nobody's probably supposed to be feeling one thing or the other at this point. They've watched the news and heard that there are expectations of stronger rains as the Thursday gives way to Friday. Nobody likes it, but nobody hates it either.
The weather's acting weird lately, but for once I believe in the power of prayer. Well, it's inching close to urban legend, the story of the Catholic Church praying this prayer to ask for rain in what we called a dry spell. Two days after that, I think, it started raining, and terribly at that. Now three typhoons have visited us in the past two weeks alone. Classes have been suspended for four days, and you know what my usual complaints are. Now, the news that the government has officially declared the dry spell over is drowned out (no pun intended) by news of floods in Pampanga. By the way, their governor is a priest. How many prayers were uttered?
At least I got to shoot my part
for our final movie. I don't know about Steph
and Karl because nobody's been answering me again, but if things go well tomorrow - read: classes push through - we'll be shooting the very last scenes and I can start editing. Already I have useless editing schedules, two delayed exams and lost time for working on our project proposal, not to mention a botched "film festival". But I'm finally not alone in my sentiments.
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What's it with guys trying so hard to hide what they feel towards girls? Sure, there are some who just happen to mention it outright, or just demonstrate it without implying anything, but for the millions around the world who can relate to my everyday predicament, what it with guys trying extraordinarily hard?
Hasn't anyone heard of that cliché actions speak louder than words
I sometimes think I'm very unreceptive. I wouldn't figure out something is happening by mere senses alone. I always have to see something in concrete - typewritten words, smudges, wounds, the like - before I could say that something quite significant, or otherwise, is happening. Thus, my tendency to never admit anything until I finally decide to write something about it. I think it's because of the finding that I have this very high aptitude for words, to the point that I can get extremely affected by it, or the other way around.
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Well sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water...
woke me up thirty minutes ago and already I was sufficiently reminded to get back to work. Sure, she collapsed, apparently out exhaustion, and is canceling some of her gigs
, but nevertheless she woke me up with subtle reminders that, probably, me defragmenting the PC's hard drives might lead to the problem of terribly-staggered song introductions to disappear. Well, it hasn't.
And the news that got to me might seem positive to some extent. I just learned that our mock thesis defense has been moved to the twenty-fifth, and justifiably so, because two class cancellations meant nobody could submit a draft of the final project proposal. I just got Karla
's contributions but I cannot make sense of it, thanks to my state of mind. I'm already silently flustered by the fact that my saved passwords have disappeared from the PC, and I've drudgingly gone through the process of reintroducing the two. Nevertheless I earlier sent both Steph
and Karl a text message regarding our final video, and as expected (and annoyingly so) I got no reply from both. In a time when my mother is hating me for maxing out my postpaid plan, even if none of the phone calls I make are fluff, it doesn't make any sense. Just when I thought the world has started cooperating, it hasn't.
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It was really nice of you to ask the world whether our happiness depends on other people. Of course, my simplest answer would be, how the heck would I know?
Maybe I could have given a less defensive answer, but there are actually many ways of answering this. For one, you could say that humans are sociable by nature, thus the evolution of communities to countries, and the politics that go along with it. If you could get very clichéd about it, the over-quoted no man is an island
makes the most of your answer, but that doesn't really cut it, don't you think?
Forgive me, but I'm an inevitable example. I may be a loner at times but conversations with other people sustain me in the long run. You can only have so many thoughts stored in the tangled-up tube that's known to most as the brain. Those who have encountered psychology in an academic setting (and paid any attention to it) might know too well that this needs releasing, else we drive ourselves into madness. I love writing, but there are some things that the phrases I weave cannot possibly justify, and takes something similar to a free stream of consciousness to let out. Thus, I think, the need for conversation.
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Today was another excuse to remain on the bed and sleep. Face it, you must be really stupid if you don't know that it was raining hard early this morning, and at the very last minute, classes were suspended. And, inevitably, along with it came my schedule for the entire week, for the second time in two weeks.
Just to push that point through, tomorrow's classes are suspended as well. Has anybody noticed that the second day without classes always seems pointless, because by then the rains have stopped and the weather seems better than ever? Although nobody can really say what "better" weather means, the moment I heard the worst news I can hear, the rains stopped falling, and they didn't return. And then I got the same Student Council
announcement from seven different people.
But let's face it - I don't have anything to say right now. If anything remotely significant happened today, it's the fact that I spent my (cold) morning either sleeping or rediscovering my love for medium wave radio. It feels uncomfortable, though, because deep down inside you feel the gap generated by unintentional laziness. You actually feel sticky because you get, err, stuck in bed, sleeping every twenty minutes or so.
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Should we consider the rain as a pleasant surprise? I mean, sure, we're supposedly in a drought, and after a million calls for water conservation, and the Catholic Church (sort of) systematically praying for rains, I came home through a flooded main artery, which didn't really affect me because I was inside a bus. Still, I didn't bring a jacket, and the rains were just stronger than I expected.
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If you can't contribute anything significant to the conversation, you're better off shutting your mouth and getting your feet off the floor.
I learned that thing the hard way today, in what otherwise could've been another one of those silently insignificant trips, an innocent attempt to glance at otherwise irrelevant things. Or maybe it's my tendencies to make a panic attack out of everything that's started out as, well, innocently nice. But in the middle of boyfriends defending girlfriends and friends agreeing with friends, it's getting harder to get yourself heard - more so if the world you exist in, which probably is the same world as mine, is known for dismissing one over the other without merit.
It's simple to claim you're the best, actually. There are only four basic words you need to learn to put together before you can be able to assert your faux pas supremacy: I am the best.
From that point you can plug in a few other words to suit your needs. You can use it momentarily, when you need to boost your otherwise sagging self-esteem, or you can brandish it as part and parcel of your soul. Most importantly, you have to learn to find a way out of every loophole anybody who's asserting similarly throws at you. Well, that's the downside of being the best - being foolproof.
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"Hi," she started off. "I'm Fran. I'm Niko's friend..."
"Sort of," I retorted, as I held the camera as steadily as I can.
"...sort of," she resignedly said, and laughed slightly.
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