The Internet Actually

I have a repressed childhood. I was exposed to bullies, freeloaders, drug users, smokers, and all the scary sorts of people a fragile child should had not condemned just yet. I actually thought the world was a scary place. I was never comfortable with my peers, who were either harvesting boyfriends at the age of 10 or were already putting make-up on at the age of 11. Being a kid then felt like being a victim of a menacing tribe. Jaded by such environment, I opted most of the time to go through our dark Grade School halls alone. Books were somehow able to lug in entertainment to the drama of my life. Music wielded itself as amusement, but jaded, confused, and traumatized I was still.

Until the Internet took place.

I first experimented with the Internet when I checked out the website of my erstwhile best-loved band, The Moffatts. I had no idea what to expect from the website, but its message board was indeed able to lift my dampened spirit, for I was “meeting” with the band’s fans—my fellow aficionados—from all over the world. We gather merrily in the site as we discussed not only about the band but of our lives as well. Through the online friendships I have formed, I finally felt for the first time that my life was being acknowledged. I realized there are people like me as well, and there are lots of them; and it only took a timely discovery of the Internet for me to see that wonderful truth.

And as they say, one event in your life can change the rest. Yet in my case, I believe the Internet has done more than change. It started my life. Online experiences nourished my real-time relationships. From then on, I was eager to make friends, and the trauma my childhood experiences had brought me gradually wore off in time. The Internet has also allowed me to take into account a person’s soul, may it be through his or her writings or posted artworks. And as I, too, involve myself in the Net, I finally am in the same way bringing my innermost self into the open—a habit actually thought impossible when I was a kid.

Late Thank You's

I told my mom days before my birthday, “I’m excited. I’m turning 19”. Surprised, she asked, “Even more excited than you were on your 18th birthday?” I rolled my eyes and exclaimed the answer as if I were some know-it-all, “Of course! Why? Because it’s my last teen birthday!” She gave this puzzling look, put down the newspaper she was reading, and retorted straight to my face, “Sometimes, I don’t get you.”

I wanted her to understand, but I just smirked back at her. Words, no matter how vast Mom, can still fail to describe the exact play of reason.

But this time, let me try:

I’m excited for 19 because it’s the last year before I turn twenty 20, which will then mark two lived decades of my life.

It’s the last year before my last year in Ateneo. Time would surely run in a flash by then, and I have to prepare for the nearing reality that I am going to EARN A LIVING FOR MYSELF. SOON.

But if you come to think about it, these lasts are not really excitement-worthy. Actually, what I’m really thrilled about are the firsts:

It’s my first year to be single, technically (after what, 6 years with a few months being single in between?). I’m making up for all the lost time I have supposedly given myself when I was crying and pining over ex-boyfriend 1 & 2, when I spent daydreaming of crushes^100, and when I was pointlessly musing on who could be the next man I can possibly spend my present life with (yuck ang hopeless romantic ah! hehe).

Now, for the first time, I’m content to be spending it with myself, with all my lovely friends and family meshing in the background.

It’s the first year I am excited for Christmas once again. It used to be hard spending Christmases when I know I have been “bad” during the year. At least now, I’m sure Santa Clause, Rudolph and his gang are giving me the best Yuletide present ever: peace of mind.

It’s the first year I am going to spend more time praying, reflecting, reading, writing, painting, designing, learning, discovering, traveling, going out with friends, playing the keyboard, eating not too much nor too few, sleeping just the right amount of hours, jogging every before sunrise, buying treats for my siblings, watching dvds, plays, and movies, saying I LOVE YOU to those people who have mattered, and making a difference too, even just for a day in a person’s life.

This is the first week of my last teen year. Before I know it, I’m already saying goodbye to 19. Being a teen is indeed an intoxicating, jouncing experience… and I am glad you have been part of the ride:

Besh, Shen, Mich, Tin, Jo, Spice, Myx, Agnes, Mon, Rhea, Stacy, Nikki, Annie, Kuya Jed, Meow, Bea, Eric, Madz, Bebe, Shanz, Ate Ne, Don, Kuya Titard, Ate Merryl, Kayla, Bea, Abby, Tita Ni, Tita Mims, Tita Babes, Tito Rowil, Tito Ping, Tita Beth, Tito John, Papa Bong, Tita Belen, Papa Boy, Tita Hally, Tito Mangks, Tita Arlene, Tita Nenette, Tita Belle, Vince, Michelle, Katha, Dahlia, JC & Wilbert (HAHA! Yes even ex-bfs count), my attached friends’s bf/gfs (for loving them), my friends’s ex-bf/gfs (I just have to thank these people because they brought about marvelous lessons to my friends, whom I can say are very much stronger now :p), Bedans ’04 (especially the Medsci troupe), Ateneo blockmates, professors, orgmates (!!! *haha* !!!), The Moffatts (I was their obsessive fangirl hehe), Dr. House, Dr. Mcdreamy, Dr. Burke, Adam Brody, Alanis Morissette, John Mayer, Jack Johnson, another Adam (you’re so gwapo in 19 East hahaha), crushes, Paulo Coelho, A. Smith, Murakami, and all the other authors I adore, the inventor of the Internet, Photoshop, Limewire, Bittorrent, YM!, Friendster, Multiply, Livejournal, cameras, and cellular phones, Ate Cel, Kuya, Ina, Papa, and Mama…

THANK YOU.

And those whom I forgot (you know how frail my memory is), but are sure of having contributed to my crazy being, thank you also. :)

This Didn't Work

I stumbled upon this poem I made last April. Thank God it can now only make me laugh, to think that I was crying my eyes all out when I was writing this. For some of its flaws, now you know... Depression-induced kasi, haha. And why did I write this? Oh you('ll) know why.


A BOY AND A ROSE 04202006


Once a boy was attracted
To a rose being sold in the market.
Its big petals were flushing
Above a stem long and slender,
With leaves green and dewy.
Thrilled, he reached for his pockets
Got some coins
And immediately bought it.
On the way home,
He did nothing
But gazed at the rose's beauty.
He jumped from
One sidewalk to the next
With the rose in his hands
That delicately held it.
Alongside was a road
Full of traffic jam and smoke,
Cars honking, people bustling.
But the boy couldn't have noticed
For the rose was enough
To delight him,
To keep him prancing,
even dancing,
Until he reaches home…
Even if it seemed far away ahead.
After hours that just felt like minutes,
He's finally at his doorstep
And hurriedly opened the hatch
So to welcome the rose in its new home.
The room quite appeared to be messy,
Some papers scattered here and there,
Some toppled furniture on the floor.
But as the boy placed the rose
In a vase on the window sill,
As if by magic, finally,
The room seemed to have shone its beauty.
The attractive sight of the rose
Drove him
To gather all the laying muddle,
To throw all the papers to the bin,
And to put back all the furniture where it belonged.
Day by day, he made sure
That enough sunlight reaches the rose,
And enough water was fed to it.
He made sure its petals remain flushing,
Its stem still long and slender
With leaves green and dewy.
However, other errands have to be attended to
And there were times that he missed
To look after his beloved rose,
Waiting by the window sill.
Eventually, he just noticed
The rose's beauty fading…
Its petals slowly turning into black,
Its stem becoming weak
With some of its leaves already flaking.
Now every time he sees it,
Disappointment fills his eyes
And every time he walks towards it,
A heavy heart causes him to sigh.
Staring at it closely,
He would often ask himself:
What could I have done wrong
For my rose to wither?
What else could I haven't done
For my rose not to stay all flourished?
He would then hold it so tightly,
His fists clenched all around its stem
Its sharp thorns already piercing his hands
As its petals are also falling.
Not knowing how to stop the bleeding
And the stinging pain the thorns bring,
The boy all exasperated
Took the rusty scissors close by…
One by one he cut it off;
One by one he loathed it all.
He then took the vase with the thornless rose in it
Out to the patio so he couldn't see it
Anymore as he enters the house,
For it has no use
But to inject scorn
To the boy who did everything to make it live.
Assuming without its thorns
The rose would just die,
The boy left it there
Out in the patio
Under the pale blue sky.
He went back inside
To get a bandage for his wounds
So that blood would stop from pouring
And probably tears would also stop from falling.
Never did the boy tried
To peek out the window
And check on the rose
That's why he didn't see
Nature's beauty having transpired.
With enough sunlight
Reaching unto it easily,
With enough rainwater
Sprinkling from time to time,
And with the cool gentle breeze
Caressing its frail body,
The rose, once again,
Have stretched longer into a beauty.
It seemed to be more dynamic
As sometimes, it even dances with the wind.
Some people would even pass by
And get astounded by what they see,
But the rose only waited
For the boy
Because for sure,
When he sees the rose,
Now longer and with its petals bigger,
He'd be in glee.
At one point the rose became still
And became tired of the usual faces
And the usual compliments it hears.
Where is the boy?, it wondered
Only he can make me spring.
Only he knows the right words to say,
Only he knows the right stroke my body wants to feel,
Only he knows the right way to kiss my tender petals when I'm asleep.
Inside his house it was hard to live,
But out here in the patio,
I have the wind.
But the wind is nothing
If his breath is gone;
The wind is nothing
If our memories have flown with it.
I hear him weeping from time to time,
Maybe he still blames himself
For what had happened to me.
But if he could just try to come and see,
I'll sway and welcome him gladly.
And if he can't believe what he sees,
I'll ask my friend, the wind, to softly blow these in his ears:

Without my thorns, I can live,
But without you, there is no meaning to it.



--------


haha, yeah right.

What's your greatest achievement?

My last day during the first semester was the most unbelievable day of my life. I was awake for 26 hours straight! Mich and I had to finish cram our final quantitative research paper which will actually reflect 25% of our final grade. I know cramming isn't an impressive habit, and neither do I take pride being labeled as a procrastinator; but if cramming does work for you, why give it up? Our last qualitative research paper got an A, even if it was just 15 pages long (another group even has 34). We were even worried ours would be incomplete, but thank heavens, Sir favors brevity! I really hope our quanti paper would acquire the same fate, in expense of us going to Tagaytay unbathed. You see, we had to submit our paper on a Monday, and on that Monday itself was our Tagaytay trip with PEERS. We worked non-stop on our paper, thus no time to take a bath. When we were done, we were already running late for Tagaytay, because it was already 3pm and we were still buying Flaming Hot buffalo wings in Katipunan. One must understand that we needed to appease our growling stomachs after that deadly cramming session. So we arrived in Tagaytay 2 hours later, with bulging eyes and dead hair cells protesting for a bath. When we were introducing ourselves and were asked to say something unusual about us, I courageously replied: "We have been up since 9 pm and we haven't taken a bath yet...". As expected all of them gasped, and I swear I saw from their faces that they wouldn't want to come near us just yet. So of course they drove us to take a bath. When we finally did, we were so high to even think that we haven't had any sleep at all. We went through the activities with our spirits in full energy mode, and when it was time to sleep, Mich and I even had time to chat for awhile. Then we fell asleep at around 11, which concludes our restless but functional 26 hours.

And because of this, I, the very known hypersomniac (my own term for un-insomniacs), has finally made history. I HAD BEEN AWAKE FOR 26 HOURS. For a person who used to fall asleep a lot, I have every right to be proud! *grin*