One Day

I was writing down the date, i noticed it was 27.02.07. Ha? Ok fine, it's not impressive, I know. :-|

I mean, this whole countdown to whatever thing is depressing. It only matters when there's something monumental after you say, "Zero," like "Houston, we have liftoff." So the lack of any punctuation mark on this highly anticipated day is a resounding affirmation of my general life experiences - a grand entrance with a silent retreat. Kuya Koko would not be proud. He always said that it did not matter whether people applaud you when you enter, what mattered was whether they would miss you when you leave. I was never a good authority on making graceful exits. I always start out strong with roaring cheers and soaring expectations. And then somehow, in some way, I screw up. So goes the saying, "That's something only Maron can do," in reference to having everything in place but ending up with egg on the face. T_T

So what can we expect for Zero Hour? I guess zero as the name suggests.

But rest assured that I will not end the day without a fight. Tomorrow will be a great day. I can feel it. It will be an exit worth counting down for. It will be just as I make it sound like. (No not boring, smartass.) Tomorrow we will have our story, our closure. Tomorrow it all ends.

And new things will begin. B-)

Two Days

So it comes down to this. :-|

I try to drown out this stupid voice in me recently. It's been me giving ideas, stupid ones, crazy ones, ones that would get me in a heap of trouble. Someone said before, "Nothing is going to change in one night."

Part of me would like to scream out in protest, "No lives change even in split seconds, how much more one whole night?" But I resigned and subscribed to the idea that perhaps even if I did, nothing will change. I cannot cup the ocean in my hands. >_<

Haha. For a second I got you all going. :-P

Ok, the whole point is that this whole countdown thing is happening so anticlimactically for me. I mean, some ended theirs last Friday, while I continue as if something extraordinary should happen on February 28. And just so anyone wouldn't get their hopes up, nothing will happen. There. Happy?

But then again who knows. My little voice in the head is telling me crazy stuff. Like recently, it told me to buy coffee, go to her condo and surprise her. That would have been something. But before I could ruin my life for me (or for her, at least for that night), fate intervened with the funniest, cruellest, and most God-please-tell-me-it-isn't-so thing in the whole universe. And that I cannot divulge freely for fear of the truth that might haunt me for the rest of my life.

But in *fairness* :-*, something will happen on February 28. My deadline for comics and design class.

Seven Days - and Still at It

Continuing...

I stayed in school today, my mind filled with intense questions. Questions like: "How do I tell her?" or "Why should I tell her?" or even "How is the weather?" swirls in my mind like pieces of turd right before you press the flush. It was horribly hot, muy caliente, and that may have affected my thoughts for the better part of the day. :-S

I contemplated if I had enough testicles to go through with this. Countdown, shmountdown, I had to at least have a concrete plan. But I do feel that somehow, mababading ako. In that split second between fight or flight, I'll be thinking about the repercussions versus the lifetime of what-ifs. What should it be? :-?

Nah, I'm just screwing with you all. I hope someone out there could relate just so he/she'll be in spite. :-P

To be continued...

Eight Days

I'm bothered to find myself without an immediate task at hand. Frankly, what I've heard to be "Senioritis" has struck me bad. b-( It has struck me to the point that I write papers during class time itself. Woot. I'm so damn cool and senior. B-)

Anyway, I've seen my oh-so-gay creative pic in the Blue Roast CD. >_< style="font-style: italic;"> pa lang, sablay na... :-(

And so we have eight days left. It's strange. The closer I get to that day, the more I want to write as if each moment counted. I never bothered writing this often during January. No, not at all. I was busy reeling from holiday hangover (yes, all four weeks of Jan). So maybe I'm just extra sentimental now because I know what I write here after these eight days will no longer hold the same meaning. I would no longer be a student, roaming around campus, trying hard not to try hard and be like the rest of the sellouts. I will miss all this. T_T

Yet ironically, I'm happy to be rid of all this. I don't know. Maybe its better to reserve the rest for later. I'll just let it percolate and who knows how it will progress. @_@

Ten Days

I'll tell you why this isn't like all the other "oh, I'm graduating *senti-senti* reflection." T_T Why? Because there are ten days left. The way you look at it is either, ten days pa or ten days na lang. I'm more inclined on the former.

I won't rant on how all the stuff is due soon and that *blahblah* requirements *blah*. I'll rant however, on the fact that I want to end this ASAP. >_<>_<

Stories don't end when you close the book. ^_^

Valentines Schmalentines

First things first, we only have 15 days to go. Shocking, I know. :-O

Ok, here's something more shocking, only recently was I aware of men's Valentines powers. Over lunch I was listening to Tria, Vivs and Veeg talk about their expectations for tomorrow. I had no idea Valentines was such a big deal to women. Well, I mean, if flowers mean so much to them on that SPECIFIC date (as compared to other dates, I mean why not January 10, huh?) just so they wouldn't feel loveless, then a few picked gumamelas here and there should suffice. Haha. No really, I feel good that I wouldn't have to hassle over going to Dangwa or spending a veritable fortune on Holland Tulips, but then again, I'm just being defensively single. No, not really. I swear I going to punch the first schmuck I hear giving a cheesy line tomorrow. >_<

Like this one we've picked up on Philo class today:

Um, keyboard ka ba?

Kasi type kita. :-D

It was funny at first of course, but if I ever hear that line tomorrow, may God have mercy on us all. Just kidding, I'm happy that everyone else is happy. I'm really glad to see couples walking down the catwalk, holding hands, making like they're the sweetest thing in the world. Oh nothing makes my day than those people on the make-out bench. Oddly enough, I don't feel like barfing.

Just kidding, damn it all. Happy Valentines schmucks. >_<

Cross-Post

It has occurred to me that the new Blogger is not cross-posting well, as marked by the absence of text following large blue-colored titles, and which I feel borders on stupid. The fact that when I last checked people actually looked to see if it is anything of interest could be found under the empty entries makes it more so. >_<

So I'm writing in Multiply to see if the malfunction goes vice-versa. If this appears in The Morningperson, then it should be ok. I'll write here instead.

What the heck, I'll throw in a recent realization while I'm at it. :-|

Life, as I've noticed, is kind of like bingo, not because laro ka lang ng laro kahit parating talo. >_< It's the pattern following the usual bingo game that makes it so much like life. Oftentimes you end up with not a single mark on your card for what seems like an eternity. Everyone is quiet and you secretly give up on what seems to be a lost cause. You reject yourself. Then, as if by magic, you see your card filling up and catching up on the rest. You feel oddly invigorated as if you actually had a chance. You wait for new numbers and they arrive. You mark them and anxiously count what remains. You are so damn close now. ^_^ All you need now is that last number and *bam*, it's all yours. The letter is called. It's your letter. You can feel it now. This is it! The announcers hold their breath as everyone else shouts their desired number. Hah, the little fags, they don't know I'm just ONE number short. After the longest 2 seconds of the night, the number flashes on the board.

Then from somewhere in the crowd, somewhere everyone least expects, someone shouts, "Bingo!" You snap out of your dream. "Whaaat?!" :-O you ask, "How could this be? I was THIS close?" You secretly curse the winner who's now smiling smugly, shaking his fist in the air, waving to his friends, feeling like he's on top of the world. Goddammit. The shmuck. Nakaisa si gago. >_<

The game continues and every time, it's the same. The night ends and you are left thinking, "When the hell do I get my turn?" Ah, just like life. @_@

Sailing Belly Up Through the Clouds

It is perhaps the greatest question a man should ask himself: What do I have to offer? :-? At a point where I can count the days with less effort than I would counting chickens' and pigs' legs where there are 30 heads and 80 feet, I begin to wonder what I have to offer. I mean, I have finally reached that age in a man's life where he supposedly feels so sure of himself that he is allowed inside casinos to bet money he didn't earn on games we know houses are supposed to win lest they be out of business. @_@ I fall short of my own expectations. I cannot offer anything. I can't even offer my parent's wealth because there is less for me now, especially now. >_<

When I was younger, I felt that the world owed me everything. I had a great time winning over trivial pursuits, garnering hollow brass mimics and bizarre plastic standees. There were times I felt like I owned the world that I know: my small-town school in a city priding itself on its neighbors; Southmall whose net cafes we gathered to weekly; the hobbies store where I bought Magic cards and D&D charts. I lived in a world where math is a contest and scientific knowledge made you king. Magic cards were currency, girls were sweet, and playing D&D was cool. I made it cool. ^_^

Growing up I learned that life never owes you anything. I learned to struggle and change and at times own myself. I learned that I can only do so much and trying hard on other things would be just that: "trying hard." So I learned to stop when it is still graceful. The process was long, difficult and never as smooth as I make it sound. There are times I admit I'd rather change but when it comes down to it, what's the point? Past is past and that is truer than death and taxes combined. There is wisdom in honoring it and learning from it, but constant obsession in wanting to absolve or rewrite what has been dangles on lunacy, so we won't get into that. @_@

However, I must also admit that life, in its relentless push forward, breaking us and then remaking us, leaves us to ask, "Now what?" Now what? :-?

After 8 years spent in a branded school with a Jesuit background and market of rich kids, I see myself going out into the world with a red balloon filled with ideals, asking the world not to shoot it down, which they will eventually do, and then I'll go to hell. >_< No not really. I feel that if everyone felt the same way (not the going-to-hell bit, but the going out into the world with ideals and ideas bit), then we would be a force of change, a wave of renewing energy in a society weak with its own decaying morals. It is so sweet to believe such lofty goals even if at the back of my mind I know that generations before us held the same and never succeeded. @_@ We'd be the generation who believed. If I learned one thing in Sandman, it would be the power of dreams. If we could get enough people dreaming of the same world where we no longer fear to live, then reality follows suit.

So here's to being 21. ^_^ Life has been great and bad. Suffering will always be useless and insignificant. Girls will almost always freak out and boys will always be boys. Levinas would smile. Einstein would turn in his grave. Nietzsche will play cards with God and I will close doors and walk through that grassy aisle to wait for my turn. For 5 measly seconds I will take a blank rolled-up paper, shake hands with a person I barely know, turn to a sea of equally anxious people and whisper, "Pst. GG bro." ^_^ It's been good despite my whining and claims to the contrary. It would have rocked if I had the guts and grace to court her but the only thing I need now is closure so I can start looking forward and leave this with the rest of what has been. Past is past. I am thankful for that 21 years. Friends, yes you who has read this up to here, I love you and may everyone be happy in the end. :-)

Post Mortem Post

Remember, I was/am a complete, outright sellout. @_@ I also had this: Blah.

I took the liberty of unearthing my past writings so I can laugh at them. Drama this, drama that. But in memory of all that is good (even if it was for the time), I shall re-write something from 3 years back, written at 02/02/04. I was particularly smitten then. Probably even now. Blame it on the nostalgia and the futile attempts at rekindling lost passions, but here it is and I'll shove it up your nose if I had to. >_<

Illusionary Affection and the Comedy of Fate

[Author’s Comments: The characters stated here are totally fictional and based on a systematic and selective interpretation of what I think is beautiful. Any similarities to actual persons either living or dead are purely coincidental. If any of my characters really do exist, then please don’t hesitate to introduce me to them, hehe.]

Behold my princess.

I stare at her with the same amazement of a child that stares behind the window of a toy store, coveting whatever is inside. I can’t help but drown in her eyes, small as they are. I can’t help but stand still, her golden dress flowing through her curves like water over a fall. Yet the gold of the dress pales in comparison to her morena complexion that reflects the moon’s silver light as we walk together on this blissful night. She really is pretty even if her mouth is flapping all the time. She’s always telling me something that I should or should not do. Damn it, she’s like my mother. But I liked her nonetheless.

Fate must be a comedian. He knows that she and I are from totally different worlds. She is all that I am not and do not wish to be and I’m sure she feels the same way about me. I’ve never hesitated to ask for help from others and this, she thinks, is a sign of weakness, while I think of it as a sign of a true human. She’s too prideful to ask for help. Sure, don’t ask for my help, I wouldn’t give it to you anyway. Fate must really be joking when he brought us together. He knows that she’s the person who likes to bend things to her will, and I’m the person who bends easily. What is wrong with Fate? He laughs while I get pushed around. He smiles when I fall.

I bet he’s smiling a lot now.

In physics, we were taught that north does not attract north. North attracts south. It is a given fact that opposites attract. So this could probably be the reason why I’m stumbling after this lady who has been the incarnation of who I am not. I’m not sure but whenever I’m with her, I feel complete – a complete idiot. In chem, we were taught that polar compounds do not mix with nonpolar compounds. Oil and water separate into two distinct layers because they hate each other’s guts. Water tells oil that she is weak because she is not THE universal solvent. Oil tells water that he is pitiful because he doesn’t have a large market value. Water rebuts oil by saying that she can’t quench people’s thirst. Oil finally says, “I am ABOVE you.” Then Fate, the comedian, pitches in a bit of soap…

I don’t know what I feel for her. At times when she pauses – oh and a long pause it would be – I feel that she is saying something like, “I’m sorry but it’s just not possible.” But then she turns her head away and her unbound hair, heavenly in the moonlit night, scatters their scent, intoxicating me to the bones until I am too weak to stand. And at this moment, all animosities I have towards her are expunged. Any hate I had for her is taken away, along with my breath. Sigh.

I wish for us to be together, even in silence for it is in silence that we hear our hearts, beating in unison. I could stay forever with her in moments of unspoken tenderness, reassuring each other that this crazy world still has people that it can’t break. Together we were a team. Together we were complete.

But Fate must be a comedian. She’s Chinese. I’m not.

* * *

Dammit. Half of the words I used there I barely know now. Expunged? Animosities? Whatever, bro. Happy Valentines! ^_^