nothings

Random Thoughts

*Disclaimer. If I attributed quotations to the wrong people, forgive me. I didn't look at any references.*

"What are Saturdays for?"

Saturday. In a humble temple of the sciences called CMSHS.
There are some things you just can't leave behind.
As I mentioned a million times before, I am a graduate of CMSHS. That makes me an alumnus. Yay! That also means I had no business of being there. Spending Saturday in my old school is completely unnecessary. And yet, I went there. I didn't exactly know what we were supposed to do. Element of surprise? What the hey.

What are Saturdays for, anyway?

Journalism training classes are being held there, and for once it was nice to talk to people who are not rushing. Not running off to classes or worrying about their midterms. Not biding their time until they can get the next ride out. People who can sit down and simply share their ideas. IDEAS. I missed that so much. Sure, we discuss ideas in class. I have Social Science 2, Political Science 11 and English 12, after all. But this is different. Because they were ideas that I can relate to as a person. Never mind Adam Smith's "invisible hand" or Herder's "volksgeist..." the discussions I like the most are about religion and society; crime and passion, literature, and most importantly, writing itself. It was fun because I was with my friends. (Yes, the other editors were there too.) And we had a chance to talk to the freshmen. To me, that was one of the nicest things about it.

Saturdays are for conversations.

And what a conversation it was... Because Kimberly (EIC 08-09) and Mico (Managing Editor 08-09) were there... My two friends who were expats for a while. Kidding. Did I say expats? I meant exchange students. (They're my super debate partners.) Them, along with, of course, Rowane (EIC 07-08), Kat (News 07-08) and Chito (Sports 07-08). We all had a lot to say, perhaps because we were stuck in worlds where we can't really say much. Maybe because there isn't enough time. Or maybe because there isn't anybody who would listen. Kim and I talked mostly to the freshies. I didn't actually catch their names much, but what stuck with me was their interest. They were wide readers. And they were smart. Like, writer smart. There's a difference between the classroom-smart people and writer-smart people. They do however coincide sometimes. Anyway. They had a lot to say, which was good.
Good start, I should say.
Long way to go.
There's always a long way to go.
Always.

Saturdays are for reflections.

Today I realized just how much I've changed. From who I was during first year, to who I am today. Four years ago, I was afraid to say out loud that I didn't believe in religion. That I believed in agnostic principles. Because everybody else was Catholic. Because I came from a Dominican school. Because what I was taught was different.Eventually, I learned to say it out loud. I learned that it didn't matter what others' opinion of me might be after I tell them who I am. Who I am is not going to affect their lives anyway.The ability to express oneself, without fear of resentment or trepidation for rejection, is the only way to know if what you believe is worth the trouble. If what you believe is truly coming from your heart, not just your mind. I learned that it's okay to doubt what people say. Even if they have authority. Because no one is infallible.

"If you would be a real seeker after the truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things."- Rene Descartes

I figured that I am more susceptible to self-deprecation now. I guess I was more optimistic when I was younger. That wasn't so long ago, but it certainly feels longer than four years. It comes with the territory, I suppose. OCness can take its toll too. Like planning every single thing... And when they don't go as planned, I usually cry (in solitude) or find someway to distract myself (until I'm alone enough to cry.) Slight segue. You know why certain people don't like being seen while crying? It's because that suggests a level of intimacy. If you cry with someone, that has to mean something. It means you trust someone well enough to let them see that vulnerable side.

"Unless you have been very very lucky, you know that a good, long session of weeping can often make you feel better, even if your circumstances have not changed one bit." - Lemony Snicket, The Bad Beginning

I also figured out what independence is. I mean, I know how to define it. But I am a believer in the Empirical Method...
"The only real education is education by experience. "
I think independence means responsibility. It is the ability to take care of yourself, not the freedom to do whatever you want to.
Eventually my musings gave way to thinking about the biggest change of all:Who I want to be.When it comes to profession, I used to want to be a lawyer. Because most of my relatives are lawyers, and it seems like a very lucrative job.But then I saw just how the world of politics and power and law works. I still want to work in that field, but not as a lawyer. I want to be an ambassador instead.When it comes to who I want to be as a person, I just want to live this life without regret. I want to live not for the sake of earning money or getting praise. It's crazy that everyone's goal seems to be "to become as rich as possible." Life is so much more than money and material things. I don't want to end up like Ebenezer Scrooge. Nobody wants to end up like Ebenezer Scrooge. However, everyone does want to end up like Bill Gates. (There are only twelve nations in the world richer than him, by the way.) But that's not the point. He got that rich because he did what he liked doing. It just so happened that the world needed computers.

"The greatest purpose of life is to spend it for something that will outlast it."

Despite the changes, I am still deathly afraid of the future. Despite all my careful planning, something might go wrong somewhere along the way. This quote kind of quells that fear.

"What lie behind us and what lie before us are tiny matters... Compared to what lie within us."- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Saturdays are for excursions.

When they said let's go to the mall, I thought "No, I have an Archaeology paper to do." But "no" turned to "maybe" then "okay." I just survived my French, Social Science and Political Science midterms, so maybe I could use a break. (The French Midterm was like hell, by the way. 120 items with 50 items conjugation of verbs. I feel like I'm going to get a low grade. Right now, I'm aiming for a three. Because I can't eat chocolate if I don't pass. Yes, it's one of those crazy motivation things.)

So. I was with Kim, Mico, Rowane, Anne, Kuya Nikko, Chito and Anne's "little" sister Chippy.
I won't go into details anymore. =)

When I got home at around four p.m., I fell asleep. Now, for some reason, when I woke up, I freaked out. I don't even know why. Like there was something wrong and I didn't know what. Attack of Self-deprecation.

Again.

So, to distract myself, I wrote this. It worked. I am officially distracted. That makes my day complete. Plus, I have an extremely long entry to post now. I haven't done it in a while.

So what are Saturdays for?

Saturdays are for everything.

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Random Thoughts

"My August, So Far"

---Friday evening.
Five minutes ago, I was sprawled on the floor with my nose against the wood. I don't know if I was trying to make the ground swallow me up or something. I just felt like lying face-down and not moving. Suffice it to say that my day didn't go so well. Then I heard this strange, strange sound. Like someone well accustomed to howling was being strangled over a microphone. Strangled. Over. A. Microphone. The noise got inexplicably louder, and I was forced to pry myself off of the floor and look out the window. Alas, it was not the Hounds of the Baskervilles visiting my street. It was my next door neighbor who, apparently, decided to throw a party. They rented one of those machines where one slips a token in and gets to howl like a strangled dog over a microphone. Did I say howl? In normal circumstances, one gets to "sing." However, in this most disturbing case, he was HOWLING. I am not kidding. There was not a single word decipherable in the song, if that was what it was. For all I now it might have been an old and forgotten Gaelic ritual. Yeah. I'm sure they had beer back then too. Drunkass.I was actually glad he wasn't near a cemetery. Stop searching for the Book of the Dead, all you need is my neighbor. When will this cacophony of disastrous noises end???
Well, it did do one good thing. Because I got mad at them, I stopped being mad at myself. At least for now.

My August, so far?
Here are my snatches of life.

---------- Tuesday afternoon. Jeepney from UP to MRT.
So there was this guy. Quite overweight with two chins and everything. (Gloves off, claws out today. Mwahaha.) He was with this other guy who was rather thin. Have you ever seen the logo of the processed foods brand "Fat and Thin?" I swear they looked like that. Minus the coats and tophats. Anyway. They would have been completely unobtrusive if Fat guy wasn't singing this weird song (which he wrote himself.) How do I know he wrote it himself? Because the title was, get this, Sako Bag. I figured it was because Thin had one of those drawstring bags. It would have been okay, if his voice wasn't so loud and he didn't keep on repeating "sako bag, sako bag, sako bag" the whole entire time. I swear. His voice was the most exasperating trying-hard-to-be-a-rocker type it was so effing disturbing. I realized everybody had their ipods and MP3s and whatevers on. Alas, I forgot mine. The one time I didn't bring any aural distraction and it had to be there, with sako bag guy. He was like, "Sako bag remix, sako bag disco mix, sako bag acoustic, sako bag rock version, sako bag overture, etcetera." Then he'd sing it again, in the most annoying, most irritating voice ever. I actually gave him a look that said "Shut the eff up," but to no avail. I don't know if that guy was from the College of Music, but for the sake of Philippine entertainment I hope to God he's not. By the tenth minute or so of this Sako Bag torture (UP to MRT is like fifteen minutes) I wanted to scream... *French mode, so swearing can sound nice..."Nom de dieu de bordel de merde!!! Ta gueule, connard!!! Connard!!! D'everminage enfer, fils une chienne!!! Va baiser un mammouth!!! Tu es merde!!!" (The english version is incredibly mean so I won't write it down. Just imagine all the things you'd want to say to the most annoying person on earth. Ah, the things I learn in French class.) By the time we got to the Quezon Avenue station sako bag was already embedded in my brain. So was the desire to strangle Fat guy. I swear, if I ever hear that atrocity on the radio I'm going to stab myself.

---------- Summer. Jeepney from MRT to UP.
So there was this other guy. I remembered him because of the aforementioned. Less vexing than sako bag by a mile, by the way. At least he stopped. Anyway. My friends and I were on our way to UPD to submit those things they want you to submit. In the jeepney, there was this really tall, really masculine-looking person. He had his earphones on, and he was singing in a loud, high-pitched voice his own rendition of "Tattoo" by Jordin Sparks. It was all I could do to prevent myself from bursting into fits of rude laughter. Not because he sounded really bad or anything. It was just the way he was singing it-- passionately, "girly-ishly" and very loudly. Tattoo became the soundtrack of the rest of our summer.

---------- Sometime last week. Palma Hall (or AS)
I wasn't there when this happened but they kept retelling it and I thought it was really funny. We have this blockmate (who will remain unnamed) who wants to become a lawyer. He's really goofy and stuff and he said that someday in court he'll "breakdown" and say "Bitch ka" to the judge. Apparently, breakdown meant breakdance, and his speech was accompanied by a demonstration of "breaking down."

---------- Sometime last weekend. House.
This is like a more serious note. I was complaining to my dad about "Filipino Time."He was like "No, hindi totoo 'yan. Filipino time is early. Tingnan mo yung mga magsasaka at mga trabahador sa palengke. They wake up before dawn pa nga. It's "Spanish Time" that's late, not the Filipino Time."Makes sense, I think.

---------- Thursday last week. PH 207.
Do you guys know about the PAGASA video of the Philippine National Anthem?It's in this CD that aims to promote awareness about Nationalism and stuff.I just mention it because it was quite nice. The version of the anthem there was slow and rather intimate. *They're suggesting the change of the anthem from the march to this one.The video looked like this: The setting was like sunset, in a (probably) provincial area. There was a young Filipino boy who was playing kick-a-stone. Then the stone hits a small Philippine Flag, lying in obscurity in the dirt. He picks it up and dusts it off. Then the camera pans out to this flagpole. The young boy, carrying the flag, climbs up the flagpole and doesn't stop til he reaches the top. There, he waves the flag, a grin of hope and pride on his face.Looks like they're waving the nationalism flag to the tune of the youth is the hope of the country. I hope they're right. Anyway, it's a really nice video. It just had me thinking about why PAGASA is doing the campaigning for this. I mean, Philippine Astronomical Geophysical something or the other. I can never remember this. Hahaha. =)