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November 21, 2013 / Jam

Summer Memoirs

May 22, 2013, 3:50 PM

I have decided to make a journal of my everyday blunders, from the tiny ones to the humongous ones that spell L-O-S-E-R in angry, glittering letters. Two Mondays ago I was supposed to meet with Miss Kitty and submit my, hopefully, final draft. And then start my data collection the day after. I could have finished everything that week then, then scheduled for my defense the next week. And now be rolling in the couch, free from any stress. But I chose to be the lazy, stupid, irresponsible monster that I have been the past six years, instead of the reborn, rejuvenated, hopeful girl I thought I had somehow become during and right after that meeting with Miss Kitty.

So where do all of this lead me now?

Another sem, most likely. There’s only a week left before the submission of grades. I have not done significant progress in my thesis. I did not, at all, do any draping done. Once again, I have proven to myself just how much of a failure my whole life is.

Yes, I realize my mistake. I realized it all along. And yes, I know what must be done. And yet here I am, watching Yu Yu Hakusho. Nevermind that it’s the third or fourth time I’m watching this on Youtube. Nevermind that my thesis lay open in one of the tabs, waiting for even just one sentence to be added to its measly content. Nevermind that I know, right this moment, that Ma’am Kitty has once again lost her trust in me, that my parents are fervently hoping that I have at last learned my lesson and will not disappoint them anymore, that Ma’am Moca has probably grown tired of constantly being in my defense, and that Miss Alice is probably thinking that she was right to never have high hopes in me all along.

It pains to know all these things. And what’s more painful is the knowledge that after I close this entry, I will go back to my anime. I never want to face my reality, ever. It is a must. I need to do it to move on, to finally be able to step forward and do the things that I want to do, like go to law school, enroll in an MA program, and get a degree in Archaeology in Cambridge.

I am hopeless. Everytime I think about the academic stuff that I have to do (which is all the time), I think of death. I think of getting a blade or a knife from the kitchen, and then slashing my wrist. I think of the pain. I dislike pain. No, I absolutely loathe pain. It is the thing I fear most. When I think of how it would feel to cut your skin, to slash your wrist again, and again, and again, severing the veins, watching as the blood flow continuously, when I think of how it must truly hurt, I somehow feel relieved. That is the punishment I deserve. If one could die multiple times, then I would have killed myself many times already. But one death is not enough. To die once is to escape forever. There would be no more pain afterwards. And with how I’ve handled my present predicament, with the innumerable times I’ve let down my parents, my teachers, my friends, and myself, feeling pain once – no matter how intense and brutal that pain is – is not enough. I have to be constantly in tears. I have to be constantly writhing in pain. I have to be scared, to be angry at myself, to be bleeding all the time. Only then can I somehow, somehow, be forgiven.


May 23, 2013, 4:37 am

I wonder, where exactly did everything start to go wrong?

I always thought I was raised fine. I grew up simple. I grew up loving books and writing. I grew up with my fictional characters, with Harry Potter and his friends. I grew up shedding tears with their every heartache, and with every tragic, irredeemable mistake in their pasts. I grew up laughing with them. I grew up loving them. I thought that, somehow, that way of living tamed me. Yes, tamed, for I’ve always understood that I have the heart of a wanderer. I would always be curious. Somehow, books gave me the chance to wander, to travel to places and play roles.

I grew up simple. I never asked for anything much except new books. I wasn’t too fond of dressing up and preferred having decent pants and shirts to wear over the dresses and boots my mother always prepared for me then. I grew up obedient, to my parents, my teachers, to classmates. I was the type to never say ‘no’. I disliked making enemies. I disliked it when people were upset over my actions, so I tried to always be on their good side. All in all, I’ve always known myself to be the goody-good girl. And goody-good girls don’t end up with this kind of life I am currently having.

I guess being that type of goody-good girl was exactly the reason why I am like this now.

I never studied. Looking back now, it’s shameful to admit that, after grade school, I’ve never actually studied for my lessons. True, I scanned my books night before exams, but I never developed that habit of reading past lessons way before exams; of doing homeworks long before they’re due. I always crammed everything. I would rather stay late at night reading books than trying to memorize two equations in math. I would rather be emo and write away in my journals than sleep early, so I can be early for school the next day. All along, I was irresponsible. But I had my parents with me then, so despite the irresponsibility, I survived. I always assumed it was my great mind that somehow kept me afloat and drifted me to shore. Another mistake. I do not have a great mind. It was my parents all along. They were the ones who kept on saving my ass, time, and time, and time again.

It’s embarrassing to think that the reason why I minimized contact with them the past year or two was because I wanted to show them that I can do it on my own. I cannot do it, not alone. I would always be dependent on them. I’ve never really grown up. I was right to refer to myself as a 16-year-old all the time. Age is truly but a number. Deep inside, I am still the 16-year-old I used to be: immature, lazy, idealistic, and a fool.

Once again I think of death. Of escape. Another proof of my immaturity. Only teenagers think of suicide when confronted with school problems.

Perhaps someday I will learn to fall in love with myself once more. The way I had fallen in love with myself years before, when I still believed I was worthy of my affections. I’ve been told often to stop being too negative, to stop being too hard on myself. I’ve always thought I was a cheerful, optimistic person. And that despite my struggles, I’ve always shown a facade of strength and determination. Wrong. Even in my brightest smile, my doubt showed.

Which brings me to another mistake in my life. I’ve lost passion in living. I’ve loved my books and my writing far too much that I’ve given up loving the real world. I can’t remember when the last time was that I was actually happy. Laughter is different. I’m the type to laugh easily. I’ve laughed countless times. Smiles are different, too. It’s joy that I long for, that type of elation that signifies contentment. I guess it goes partly with being a wanderer. There can never be contentment for someone like me. Thus, never will I truly be happy.

April 28, 2013 / Jam

Sunflower Paradise: Hope, Promises, and the Mystery of the Infinitely Many Second Chances


Bury me instead in a field of sunflowers
Where all the heroes lay
Bathe me in the warmth of golden sunshine
Let this beauty guide my way

If someone is to ask me right now, right this very moment, what I want, I’ll ask for a field of sunflowers. A field so full of sunflowers that you won’t even see the ground. Shades of yellow and brown and gold will fill your vision, and if you happen to stumble, you’ll simply disappear in a mass of comforting and blissful yellow.

But the real truth of the moment is that, right now, no one has any patience and desire left to ask me what I want. Nor do I have any amount of courage left to boldly state my desire for a field of sunflowers. I do not see yellow. I see grey, I see black, but there’s no yellow. And to wish for a field of sunflowers without being able to visualize the yellow is just pointless. It would just be another grey landscape. Dull. Disappointing.

Of course, there are far more pathetic scenarios than not seeing yellow – like naming a blog post ‘Sunflower Paradise: Hope, Promises, and the Mystery of the Infinitely Many Second Chances’ – but right now I feel so wretched that I can’t even bring myself to feel happy about the simple, everyday things that generally make me happy. Like the fact that I’m alive and well; that for breakfast I’ll be able to eat something home-made; that I somehow managed to get a home-based part-time job that pays a dollar for every 200-word article I produce (still kinda low, but enough to pay the rent if I’ll work conscientiously); or that still, despite the many times I’ve failed, still there are those who never stop believing in my potential.

I have grown tired of counting the number of times I SHOULD have claimed that yellow as my own and declared victory. My heart has grown numbed with all the questions and assumptions that everyone makes when they hear of my current plight. I have become disgusted with all the excuses spouted by friends to justify my past unredeemable actions and placate my doubts and fears regarding my ‘potential’ and ‘strengths’. In short, I have grown sick of just about everything that it’s a wonder how I can even get out of bed and dare to make plans for the rest of the day.

Because every time I wake up, despite the hopelessness and helplessness and the nagging feeling that I’m doing – still doing- everything wrong, I still get out of bed and plan my day ahead. And even though none of my plans ever reach completion most of the time, even though I end up lying down again and escaping all responsibilities by playing worthless games and watching worthless videos of idols, I still can’t give up. Though I know that in the morning, I’ll be facing the same routine – the same routine of pretending to have a future only to sink back mere moments later to the reality where I am a hopeless case and nothing would ever amount of me –  I still go to sleep confident that, somehow, tomorrow would be different.

It is a mystery, yes, how parents, siblings, friends, and even mentors can go on believing without really seeing. How they can pick you up and dust you off while pinching your ear at the same time. It gives me a painful kind of joy, one that rips my heart apart every time I so as make the mistake of smiling and thinking that everything is going to be okay.

Nay, Tay, I love you two most in the world. If it must come to a point that I would never be able to fully be one with the Yellow, then allow me another chance. One last chance to ponder about my life and pursue my real dream, whatever that is.

“And we climb, and climb
And at the top we’ll fly
Let the world go on before us
We are lost in time
And I don’t know really what it means
All I know is that you love me… in my dreams…”

Photo Credit:

April 21, 2013 / Jam

Laziness, Diplomas, and Everything Else Nice

A month and half, a month and a half, and then I’m free. At long, long, last. I can’t wait to have a ‘life’ again, as ‘life’ is defined in my dictionary. That is, non-stop anime and japanese dramas, afternoons spent writing stories beside the pool (for some weird reason, the mere sight of an empty swimming pool relaxes and inspires me), book sale hopping, helping out with the household chores (really now?), shopping at ukay-ukays – you know, stuff that a normal, promising but lazy youth enjoys doing. And, in a little more than a month, this simple dream of mine would be realized.

You’d think that, after 6 years of being a lazy college student, I’d have enough of those lethargic afternoons and late night anime marathons, since it has been practically my lifestyle the past years. But being lazy amidst all the academic stuff you have to do is a whole lot different from being lazy knowing that no deadline awaits you. Bullshitting aside, what I’m really after is a life free from stress, prejudices, and disappointments. Fear of my own college department has taken up permanent residence in, err, in that beating thing between my lungs (more accurately, that beating thing on top of my left lung). I don’t recall – ever – going to class without feeling nervous and jittery, like there’s homework that I somehow forgot about (well, that happens A LOT), and it’s to be submitted that day. I have nightmares of my teachers, for pete’s sake! That’s how traumatized I’ve been. And the unfortunate thing is, at my age, people expect you to be able to move on easily. Okay, so you flunk a subject – SNAP! Go retake it and graduate. So everyone in your class bears you grudges – SNAP! Don’t mind them and focus on graduating. So you’ve been labelled many things by your teachers – SNAP! It doesn’t matter as long as they pass you, so you can finally graduate. Just what is it about diplomas that make them more important than my feelings? Am I not allowed to mope around for a bit? Can’t I heal this broken beating thing on top of my left lung first before I plunge in once more to the cruelty of university life?

Okay. According to my Creative Writing: Comic-Script-Writing professor, everything you write must have a moral (or, at the very least, a point). The point of this post is that, yes, despite my rants, I do agree with society that I’m too old to be acting like a baby. How can I even think of stopping now when I’m so close to my finish line? Stop being sensitive for a while, swallow my pride and keep it in for a month and a half, walk on my knees if necessary… nothing is impossible for someone as desperate as I am. I guess it’s goodbye to my anime and dramas and fanfictions too. I’ll be seeing you last week of May, when I have officially become a tambay. No more school, no work yet. An official Tambay.

(Dear parents, if you happen to read this, know that if I had been aware I would turn out like this, I would have stayed in Nanay’s womb for all eternity).

September 22, 2011 / Jam

Secret Base

There was a time when the sky was unbelievably brighter and bluer. It was right around the time when there still was GMRC and vampirism wasn’t the fad in YA novels yet; when EDSA and the Oblation were just names in Kasaysayan books, and Kasaysayn was still Sibika. When Facebook didn’t exist to torment the body with sleepless nights and only a handful of people in a school of six hundred knew of Harry Potter. When words such as singko and delayed meant no real harm (except when using the latter on biologically related phenomenon), and it was alright, encouraged even, to dream.

Nowadays it seems like even the simple act of closing your eyes and momentarily reliving the good old days is prohibited. There is no time for dreaming; dreams are for those who never skipped class, never failed to submit requirements, never had to beg for a 3.0. For the others, for those losers who taunted time and made the biggest mistake of making the best out of their youths, there can only be action. Not one step at a time – the time for crawling and walking about hesitantly like a baby had long since passed – but long, confident strides to be able to keep up with the world, never mind that the confidence is only on the outside, and deep within the soul longs to just stop, to just lie in the corner and rest.

When was it that things started going downhill? Ah, yes. On that afternoon years and years ago, on the floor of that barely illuminated room where I sat, clutching my admittance letters and other papers, encircling words that ended with laude; when I was still stupid enough to assume that the world is conquerable and that my average intelligence could get me anywhere I wanted to go. Growing up has this painful way of telling everyone that it cannot be thwarted; sooner or later it will catch up on you and will destroy the pillars of salt and sand (and whatever grainy substance) that make up your castle. Just like that and the world as you know it crumbles. Suddenly graduating laude is out of the question, graduating on time a thing of the past. Suddenly all the friends you’ve made are gone, and you’re stuck with unfamiliar faces of youngsters who, in all likelihood, will leave this hellhole before you do.

There was a time when the sky was brighter. And hard as it is to believe, it’s true. Now I barely see the sky anymore. There is no reason to look up and be amazed if the promise of a brighter future displayed among the clouds is really just that, a vision that is so impossible to reach.

It sounds silly, but I wish I could go back. Could live in that world again, where the only tears I shed were over Cedric’s death and the tragic demise of Marauders’ Loony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs; where I could once more imagine myself sitting with Harry, Ron and Hermione on the banks of the Great Lake, heating our hands with a magically created fire. Five years into college and I already forgot what that fire was called, or if the lake at Hogwarts is really called the Great Lake. But no matter. There wouldn’t be any going back anyway. I don’t belong in the league of winners and so there is no looking back for me. I can only move forward. Fast.