A drop of consciousness splatters on me.  Abruptly, I sit up like my back was suddenly on fire.  It’s hazy and I’m disoriented.  A film of fog clogs my vision momentarily, and I try to blink it away.  I try to remember where I am exactly.  At home? In Seattle? In Sta.Mesa? Soon, my head reorients itself — I could almost hear the gears aligning.  They’re rusted, alright.

I lift up the blinds just above my bed.  Judging by the color of the sky, it was barely 5:30 in the afternoon.  It was much too early for dinner or the nightly prayers, and there was nothing else to do, really.   And the drop of consciousness seeps through me almost instantly.  Everything is blank again.

—

Sweat trickling down, everywhere.  In places I’d never imagine.  Damn this heat. The sun finally decides to show itself — grinning like a madman.  Grinning like the maniac it is, knowing fully well that it’s messing up the seasons and all.  Also, what a day it chose!  Today, of all days when I felt myself to be brooding and down.  What irony.

—

A chuckle, harsh whispers.  My mind is having a hard time pulling away from such wonderful dreams.  Cars, Cars? My mind is frantic, reaching for the voice.  Cars?  Aba!  Nakakainggit nga naman ito matulog! My mind drifts.  It refuses to acknowledge the end of a dream.  My eyes are rebellious though, as they take a peek.  What a mistake.  The moment my great grandmother notices that sudden movement, she goes on and on.. and on and on, about stuff.  Stuff.  I can’t really remember exactly.  My mind was still starting up, still starting to function.  I can see her mouth going at 120 mph.  There’s no stopping her.  I kept on nodding noncommitantly, almost absently, at the right moments. Or rather, what I hoped were the right moments.

—

I have my headphones on, the volume of my iPod at its maximum — the way I always have it when I am alone.  Two and a half more hours before my next class and I’ve already exhausted all my “prepared” options.  I’m alienating myself the way I know I do.  I’m consciously submitting myself to this feeling of sadness.  Maybe it’s not just happiness I want.  Maybe I want jealousy.  Maybe I want heart broken.  Maybe I want depression, sadness or tragedy.  I guess this is sort of my “sadistic philosophy” in life.  Like, for my life to be complete I have to constantly give myself to a whole dimension of emotions.

*Random things I wrote during the week.

Just outside my window, I can see the LRT pass by. Flickering lights, heavy souls. The sound of metal and rock colliding, the sound of metal swiftly swooshing past me. A flashback.

How could I describe my first day back? I’m a sophomore now. It can mean a whole lot of things. It can mean nothing at all.

I’m grumpy and grey, just how the sky is. I’ve never been a morning person. I have a seven AM class, in the farthest possible building. I’m late. As usual. The prof randomly calls a person. I drone out her voice, but it turns out it was me she was calling. I don’t know anything, Ma’am. I just arrived. And I want to sleep so, fuck off. But that’s not what I said. Sorry Ma’am. Everything seems more exciting in my mind. Everything is dynamic, and I’m constantly falling into… I don’t know. Into what? The class finally ends. There’s no bell, though. Just the professor’s right to everything.

Shower. And rain is all around, puddles are forming. My footsteps are numbed by the squish of water. And I’m trying to get to my destination, but to no avail. Of all days to forget my umbrella, I choose this day. I shell out my money, but all I have are large bills. I haven’t paid my tuition, yet. I hurriedly return to the building. C2 Apple, only so I can ride the jeepney. Of all days to forget my umbrella.

Each prof chooses his own index card. Yellow 3×5, white 4×6, any colored 5×7. Another set of 1×1 pictures to be given away, which sometimes never really even serve their purpose. I wonder, where are all the lost 1×1 pictures? Probably discarded, are faces thrown into a bin without a care in the world. Pause. Why do I care anyway?

Freshmen, freshmeat. Lost, senseless. Hurried footsteps, noisy reunions. A rally. Recruitment. Someone trying persuade me to join the fight against Gloria. Everytime. Tuition fee increase. Lunch time, no bells ring here. You can only hear the growl of your own stomach. Weird profs, cool profs, profs trying hard to be funny (but failing so badly), profs that are no fun at all.

Then it’s a day. And I wonder how the rest of my year will go.

Here it is, the moment I’ve been dreading since the start of summer.

The last day of it. Moreover, the last night of it.

I’ve moved back to Seattle (where I stay during schooldays).  I’m hovering about my room, trying to reorient myself.  My great grandmother has a knack for rearranging furniture. She apparently believes in Feng Shui and shit like that, although she’s quite the devout Catholic. I think this is sort of a stress reliever for her, an anti-depressant. That’s why, even though this rearranging thing frustrates me to no end, I let her be.

It has been awhile since I’ve last been here.  Well, not really.  It has just been probably a couple of weeks — but it seems considerably longer.  Most of my bags are left open, half unpacked.  I’m a pretty lazy person.  And I’m pretty easily distracted.  And I realized I’ve packed so much. I guess I’m quite afraid of being left with nothing to do. I brought with me my whole boredom killer package — a couple of books (Kafka On the Shore, Atonement), my iPod, my laptop, speakers, two headphones, my “drawing journal,” my multicolored pens.  My laptop is loaded with movies, although I forgot to install new games.  I’m ready to face my seemingly endless chants of  I-have-nothing-to-do’s.

Out of nowhere, I tried to check the networks for a connection.  Who would’ve known I’d actually get one?  Well: I looove you neighbor!  I wish you: are an insomniac (or nocturnal is the more correct term) like me, and that you’ll never password protect your SmartBro.  I’m willing to be you friend, in exchange.  I’m willing to bake for you, cook for you. Whatever. Though how that will be, escapes me, when I barely know which neighbor I’m getting this from.

Anyway, I’m stalling sleep and I’m stalling tomorrow. I hope everything goes well. This is me, tomorrow: BS Math, sophomore.

I just started reading Catcher in the Rye, again. It’s an unusually bright sunny day. I’m dying to read something sort of intellectual, to just keep my brain working. And all. I can’t seem to stop the flurry of goddamn’s or ‘and all’s‘ that want to spill out of my hands. That’s what you get for indulging in Salinger. God damn’s and ‘and all’s’. And you sort of start thinking in this Holden Caulfield sort of way.

Yesterday, I woke up to a string of messages. Classes postponed, classes postponed, a random quote on love and life that I don’t really care about, messages from another day. Messages from yesterday. I’m not big on texting, or the usage of mobiles. Most messages are left unread. It’s not that I don’t care, really. It’s more of I’m too lazy, and it’s just not my thing. Unless of course, I’m bored to death. But of course, you couldn’t leave a message on the possible postponement of classes unread. I was both ecstatic and relieved. A week more to go.  A week more to enroll. In the duration of the 3 days (2 1/2, actually) enrollment, I was only able to accomplish 9 units. 8 more to go. And where the fuck am I going to get 8 units? Well goodluck to me, and goodbye to the perfect schedule (which to me means classes at 10 and dismissal at 1).

I’m still quite conflicted with this shifting business.  I’m sure as hell that BS Mathematics (as fun as it sounds) is just not for me, but I have no idea where I’m supposed to be heading to.  They say a little uncertainty in life is adventure, but I’m sure that whatever this is that I’m doing is just a waste of time.  And money.  I’ve always thought that Architecture is for me.  Everytime I see beautiful buildings, my heart skips a beat and I’m wishing that I drew that.  When I enter malls or offices, I scrutinize the usage of space and the placement of stuff.  And sometimes, I randomly blurt out a random architect of whichever building (not that I know many, but the point is — I know some).  But, in more ways than one, I’m hindered from shifting there right away.  I’m not taking this as a sign, I’m just taking it as it is.  And anyway, I’m still considering other options like BA Industrial Design, or BS Interior Design.  I’m even considering BS Business Administration.  I’m not sure.  I don’t know.  The default reply to this would be to follow my heart.  But even my heart doesn’t know what it wants.  I’m just indecisive as hell.  And this is the way it is with most of my life.

The trees howl along Roxas Boulevard. Drops of rain slap down the windshield. I’m on the road again, with a mission. It’s always about school of course. We take a turn, and we’re on EDSA. Everything is crazy. Jeepneys, buses, private vehicles, taxis all merging. All merging. My life has been vanquished into nothing but school and home. I’m longing for something more. I turn out the radio. Nothing but static. Static. Then suddenly, a downpour of the saddest songs… fitting. It’s vicious really, how the rain comes by — in sudden (un)expected spurts that would last for a few minutes, die down, then start again. It’s a sick joke on enrollment day. Although, I must say I prefer rain trickling down my forehead rather than sweat. I’d take a rainy day over a sunny day. Always.

So far, the most important thing I’ve accomplished during the enrollment was applying for a non major. It was relieving — yet frightening. It was an ultimatum carved on recycled paper with cheap pen ink. It was this, or a low GWA (and probably more frightening nights). Being a non major means no math for me. There’s a great part of me that’s relieved and happy — appeased, that I’m finally doing something visible to shift. But there’s still a part of me that’s disappointed and nervous. Disappointed for wasting so much time; and nervous for leaving math. As much as I’ve ranted about my sudden loathing for math, I know I’ll miss it. It has always been something I’ve loved, something I’ve always been certain about. I’m taking this leap of faith, or fate or whatever. If I haven’t shifted after a year, I’ll be dismissed from Math. This or that. Now or never.

That was pretty much all I’ve done during the two-day enrollment.

And I can’t write when I have unfinished business. I’ll probably bloghop in a day or two.

The lights are out, and the day has been consumed.  I am not alone to cherish the night.  The household is still very much awake with my mom still doing her chores and my dad still doing whatever.  And people wonder why I have impeccable sleeping patterns.

I’ve been continuously shovelling food and liquids down my mouth in some sort of spastic fury for the past week.  I’m stressed, and nervous and worried of where I’m at. It’s a horrendous phase of munching on Cracklings (my latest addiction) and going to and from the kitchen to get water.   I promised myself (and my mother, mostly) that I’d swear off blogging and/or excessively going online now that it’s exam week.  I just finished my last long exam (out of five) two days ago, and I came home with no hope at all.  As in, no hope.  Zilch.  I’m not exaggerating.  The thing about high school is that I didn’t really fail much. Now that I’m informing the parents and anyone else who could listen that I am about to, they just shrug it off and tell me “Hindi ‘yan. (You won’t.)”  It’s frustrating and I feel the pressure.  I’ve never felt such a level of exasperation with myself (and what has been happening).   And even more so the fact that no one can comfort me honestly.  Or teach me calc.  Math always came easy for me.  It used to.  And now it’s a stupid asmptote that I can never really touch.  Maybe this is my limit and I am approaching negative infinity.

My finals for Math are on Friday and I can’t seem to bring myself to open up my Calculus books.  I’ve gone on the last stretch of whatever patience I’ve had.  I’m so uninspired. This is frustrating. I’m totally looking forward to vacation — or rather the week that’s left of it. And I’m praying to God that I’ll pass Math. Please, please.

Anyway, as I’m quited excited about getting over the summer semester, I’ve been consciously and unconsciously planning what to do with what’s left of my vacation.

1. Make at least one silk screen for The Comet Scene project.
2. Design the Starbucks Tumbler one of my best(est) friends gave me.
3. Go to Divisoria!
4. Enroll for next semester.
5. Be available enough to go to Silang (family vacation).
6. Finish the stupid yearbook.
7. Find another copy of Adobe Photoshop and make a layout for Rewind (which houses my past blog’s archives).
8. Read more (and buy more) books.  OH.  A huge thanks for those who’ve funded my book collection:  Charm (The Time Traveler’s Wife), Kevin (To Kill A Mocking Bird), Chabs (Para Kay B).  Greatly appreciated since I’m rather broke.  And to say I love all the books is an understatement!  A review to follow, perhaps?
9. Catch up with the HS loves.

There will be no internet where I’ll be at for the next three days. So bye, for now. No, I won’t be in some beach. I’ll be in Seattle (CUBAO) studying my butt off.

THEOREM 1: Even when things start out bad, there is still a probability for things to look up. Even when it seems most unlikely.

PROOF? Life. Everyday.

---

The distinct smell of seafood is nauseating me — it would be heavenly if it were a different time. Right now, I’m trying hard to concentrate on Math. I’m on the brink of disaster, really. My mind can’t focus though. It keeps on drifting back to better days and seafood. Damn, the seafood.

I still can’t believe I’m 18. Even more so, I can’t feel eighteen. After all, what is there to feel? But I guess everything was sealed, like candle wax on an old letter.  A signature on a contract.

It was with much resistance that I finally conceded into having a party.  Frankly, I never quite saw the point in holding one when I couldn’t see anything so terribly special about 18.  Yes, I could buy liquor legally.  But it doesn’t even matter.  Yes, I can be jailed.  I don’t care, I don’t plan on doing anything as conscpicuous.  So what’s the fuss?

Nonetheless, I’m glad I did have a party.  It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.  It wasn’t bad at all.  I’m contradicting myself, and I’m being repetitive — only because I try not to stop and think twice of what I write.  While the memory’s still quite fresh, I’m trying to ink it down.  So, I’m sorry if the entry’s long.  This is more for my sake than yours, because this is a day I don’t want time to erase.

I remember painstaking days of walking through malls trying to find inspiration.  I remember my brother suggesting a casino theme.  I was unsure then, but it came to be.  After all, it followed my red-black-white theme.I remember weaving in and out of people traffic through Baclaran.  My mom and I were looking for decorations.  We ended up with 10 dice, before finally calling it a day.  I remember days before my birthday, my Dad decided we’d all have a can of San Mig.  It was such a spur of the moment thing because my Dad doesn’t drink.  He never drinks.    I remember the day just before the party, I had my Math exam and my mind was swimming with numbers and things I really don’t want to think about.  I remember getting all messy, painting.

Then I remember the culmination of it all.

It was May 2nd. It was a day of stress, seriously.  I didn’t have the sort of party where the debutante sits pretty all day long.  I had the party where the debutante is the host, the welcoming committee, the painter, blah.  You get the point.  I didn’t sit pretty at all.  It started out so badly.  With things not going my way (shet, spoiled much).  The mobile started blasting songs from the 1800s and I was panicking. Then, the painting I painstakingly made the night before got displaced by a humongous tarpaulin of myself (and my first request from my Mom was to Please, please don’t think of putting up a hideous tarpaulin of myself).  I got over it, eventually — and I even came to the point where I really loved and appreciated the gesture.  Good thing I wasn’t hideous in the picture.  Or else I would have thrown a bitch fit, seriously.

What surprised me most was the program.  I did not (I repeat: did not!!) expect that there would be one.  It started out with my mom’s prayer that turned out to be a speech.  Then, after a flurry of food and food, there were 18 speeches!  I really can’t believe that there are 18 people in this world with much to say about me.  I was awestruck and touched.  Sorry guys, but I didn’t cry.  Then the 18 dances/roses.  I wanted to LOL at that point.  WTF! ME? DANCE? Where were their minds?  Good thing the guys didn’t know much about dancing as I did.  Or is that a bad thing?  Thanks.  To all those people who got dragged to dance.  Thank you and I’m sorry.  And not to mention the roses, with thorns. After that was the blowing of my Holy Tower of Profiteroles and the Sans Rival that my Dad made.  The audience just cheered: blow, blow, blow! Okay, I don’t know anything about that.  Weirdos.  And maybe all that happened in a different order.  I don’t remember.  The important thing is, that it happened.

The rest of the night was a blur of lights and sounds; real friends and a great family  Of dancing and laughing and drinking the night way.

And I guess this is what’s so special about 18.

—

Thanks Chabs for the picture/s!
Thanks to Mommy Oyie for my lovely gown!  (Need a party planner?  Contact me, to get to her.)
Thanks to my family for loving me and making this all possible!
Thanks to my friends who came and made the night extra special!
Thanks to my Mom who was head of designs (she was trying to fulfill her David Tuterra dreams) and for the heavenly food. (Need a caterer? Contact me.)
Thanks to my Dad who made the desserts, and who, to my surprise, gave a speech. (Need dessert? Contact me.)
Thanks to those who slept over and didn’t give me a chance to study Math! I failed. LOLOLOL.

This is me, in a whole new perspective.  Or maybe it’s the same old.  Regardless of whatever self-epiphanies I’ve had, WELCOME.  A huge, huge, huge thank you to Ayiene for the domain and hosting! She’s the guh-reatest.  In case you just stumbled here randomly, I used to be hosted by Anna.

I guess I’m not used to having my own domain anymore. Last time I had one was two years ago (http://pulsar-panic.net). And I think I’m kind of rough around the edges when it comes to design. I already forgot about all of these things because I relied on following certain templates. But here I am, with a new slate. Fresh start. Maybe this is symbolic, maybe not. I hope it is.

I decided not to upload my old archives here. I guess I’m trying to free myself from the binds of whatever is there in the past. Haha. Drama, much. Anyway, I’ll probably upload it in a subdomain. Or something.

This is it for now, Math is awaiting.

First phrase.