Takas Tayo

 

Batong-bato ka, mas lalo na ako

Kanina pa ako nakatengga sa kwarto

Nagbibilang ng mga alikabok

Ina-identify species ng mga lamok

 

Ang mga duming nagkalat

Electric fan, beer at laptop

Mga damit at gamit na wala sa ayos

Nililimitahan ang aking pagkilos

 

Sa lahat ng problema natin sa mundo

Isa lang ang solusyon dito

Tatakas ako

Takas tayo

 

Rinding-rindi na tenga ko

Sa paulit-ulit na tugtog ng XpressMusic ko

Masyadong mabagal ang Tattoo

Puro virus naman internet shop sa kanto

 

Sarado ang Jollibee, South Star, at Mercury

Kanina pa ako hindi mapakali

Ano kaya kung ako ay mag-yosi?

Umpness, wala akong pansindi

 

At honga pala may exams pala ako

At nag-uumapaw na mga proyekto

 

Sa lahat ng suliraning ito

Alam ko na gagawin ko

Tatakas ako

Takas tayo

 

Pero teka tinatamad yata ako

At siyempre magpoprocrastinate na naman ako

Saka na lang tayo tumakas

Hindi pa ako naghihimagas*

 

Tulungan mo na lang ako

Mag-organize tayo ng mga gamit ko

Labhan mo lahat ng damit ko

Habang ako’y nanonood ng Naruto

 

Sunugin natin mga baul ng pera ko

Para mag-free up ng space sa kwarto

At siyempre pagkatapos ng lahat ng ‘to

Inuman tayo magdamag, libre mo

 

Hindi na pala natin kailangang lumayo

Solusyon sa mga problema’y naririto

Tulugan natin ang lahat ng ito

Paggising nati’y wala nang mga ‘to

 

 

*himagas = dessert

Stalker

You can spit me in the eye

But I will just lick it dry

You can try to call the Student Tribunal

But you’ll always get a bad signal

You can report me to the police

But not until you give me a kiss

You can’t forever hide in your shadow

Cause in the night we’ll be sharing your pillow

You can seek refuge in your circle of friends

But whose gonna stand by you when daylight ends?

I will

I will help you count sheep

I will watch you smile in your sleep

 

You can throw any sharp object at me

You can put poison in my red iced tea

You can stun me with a taser gun

Or run me over with a bus, I don’t care, have fun

 

I know just where you’re going next

Your house, I know its coordinates

Cause I attached a homing device in your Islets

of Langerhans And it won’t come off easily, I promise

(Although it automatically snoozes when it detects

When nothing is covering your epidermis)

 

I also use Google Earth

To confirm your (x,y) wherever you are on the planet

I devised an algorithm

Which enables me to know your whims

I would know when you feel like splurging

Or what color is the undergarment you’re (not) wearing

 

You can burn the ground I’m treading

Or dilapidate my face when I’m hibernating

Or take away all the oxygen in the air

And put more free radicals in the ozone layer

 

You can vacuum out all my hemoglobin

And send me off to fight with Green Goblin

You can force me to do the Macarena

And blast me off to the nearest supernova

 

You can spoil the plot of an adrenaline-pumping movie

Or annihilate the phosphors in the CRT of the TV

You can draw ill-conceived stick figures of me

But a few arcsecs more and you won’t let go of me

 

I sprayed pheromones all over your room

And left a message with subliminal hums

 

You can plot the ultimate scheme to assassinate me

But when it’s all said and done you’ll be stalking me

 

 

Stalk me. Please?

Mga Nangyari nung Nov. 19

Dinner at Ineng’s, Petron Katipunan

Chapter 3 na ng World of Goo (nag-stop pala ako nung August Chapter 2 Blustery Day, ewan ko kung bakit, tas nang bumalik ako Chapter 1 Regurgitation Pumping Station, di ako makaalis-alis. Haha Tnx Arolf.)

Na-miss ang first quiz sa Rate Processes (pero umepal sa calculation ng mass fraction)

Nasabi ko na rin na busted ang ilaw sa aking desk (5 months na). Nareinforce ang fact na wala akong kaalam-alam sa kung sino-sinong souls ang nakapalibot sa akin (mga ka-corridors ko sa mezz). Apparently, kilala ako at ang room na aking inooccupy nung isang dormmate nang sinundan niya ako. Naisip na pwede namang tinanong na niya ako right then and there, at icommit na lang sa memory ang mga sinasabi ko. Kaso mas gusto niya ata na sa record book.

Humingi kay Mom

Napapirma na rin si Sir Umali. Di ko na alam kung ano ang gagawin since bukas na ang last day. 6pm-9pm class niya, past 6 dumating. Ewan ko, parang pababa na ako, tas bigla dumating siya. Laking tuwa. Nagpagupit siya. Waha. At nasa desk niya yung note na ni-slip ko sa door niya.

Nakausap si Nadygne.

Napaniginipan si Nadygne.

Gumawa independently ng homework

Violation sa dorm, dumating ng 10:30pm

Nilibre ni Elisa ng ice cream (plus Bisoto at popcorn)

Nakapanood ng TV (GMA7) kasama mga Tita ni Rachel. Sino dyan fans ni Carla Something, mediocre daw ang pagiging thespian niya sabi ni Jessa.  

Na-witness ang pag-shriek ni Chinkee dahil naipit siya ng taxi door pagsara ni Arolf (birthday gift ni Arolf). Naconfuse kung ano ang nangyayari kaya natagalan bago ko to napagbuksan.

Nakita si Yvette sa 7-11

Walang pumili bilang groupmate sa Mat E 103. Groupname Topaz, kagaguhan lang. Di pala gemstone ang corundum.

Nilibre ni Anpy ng sinampalukang baka.

Nakipag-usap for a second sa seatmate. Naks naman si Kuya Miggy. Kaklase din si Kuya B.A.

Nakatulog 1pm-2:30pm. At yun nga, nanaginip.

Hindi napagod sa paghang-out with friends

Nilakad from Pook Palaris to Molave

Ni-unwrap na si Book

Nasabihang non-participative. Haha I will try to progress next time.

Nagcrave ng yosi. Tsk2.

 

Mga gagawin ko mamaya:

Uber-late submission ng Homework sa Mat E 12, at isa pang late submission (gagawin ko bukas)

Processing ng Change Mat Form (Dept, Admin, Cashier, OUR)

Matulog 12:30am.

Elevator and Smoking

Last sem I had several classes in Melchor Hall 3rd Floor, so I always made it a point to use the elevator, saving me time (no, not time, since every time I reach the elevator the door would (mysteriously) automatically close when I was about a nanometer inside the chamber) and effort and sweat and panting and nebulizers. Yes, it didn’t exactly change my tardiness profile, but at least it kept me fresh and bouncy.

At the start of this school year however, the lift seemed destroyed, so I had to make do with the classical stairs, which had never felt more extended, exaggerated, stairs-ful, and downright redundant. Even if it promises to reduce my ballooning waistline and manhandle my Body Mass Index to the appropriate metric, I couldn’t care less. I want the elevator’s ambient temperature that’s fit for optimum metabolism. I love watching how my perspiration and tiredness gets usurped by the elevator’s air particles. I love overhearing people’s amusing rants and ramblings. I enjoy smiling to a million acquaintances and exuding warmth and enthusiasm to strangers. I want random talks with random people. I love breaking the speed-of-sound as I rush to the closing door, and getting satisfaction from the rare instances of successfully barging in, all the while simultaneously unreceptive and paranoid about the admiration from the awed folks (“Wow! How did he do that?”) and frown from the irate people (“What a waste of time.”). I am grateful for people pushing the <|> (instead of the >|< ) button for me and blissful having the opportunity to press that button for other people.  I want the elevator, with all its efficiency, kindness-generation, and (false) connotations of bacchanalianism and couch-potatoism. 

However, going to-and-fro my classes in Eng’g, I learned to accept that some good things come to an end (though I’m not quite sure if it’s  to make room for better things). P&G Room, where my exam in Mat E 101 was held, could have been better travelled with a quick elevator ride, but I totally forgot that the elevator had already resurfaced, so I had to utilize my bipedality.

Needless to say, I was breathing like a horse when I reached the room on the fifth floor, and all calories from the pH-metered-jelly-infused hors de oeuvre from Yakal Open House quickly evanesced. (It didn’t help that I was also dehydrated since there was not a single unused drinking glass at the Engineering cafe. Screw you, Gloria’s Eatery (or whatever you are called), both of you.)

The exam went on for three hours. (It’s a good thing the Cannes Film Festival hakot-awards Iberian flick, The Orphanage (El Orfanatu?), didn’t exactly leave a scar on my heart. Otherwise I would be thinking about the thickness of its plot and its social and moral underpinnings, instead of surface tension of water-acid solution, Ellingham diagrams, and Newton-Raphson iterations.)

Now comes the best part. All the other students seemed to take the stairs. A small number flocked towards the elevator, and yes, I was part of that group. It was done unconsciously, maybe it’s because I usually take the elevator for my ES 11 class a year ago which was on P&G Room, which in turn was only a yard or two from the elevator. There’s Rendel (a classmate in Math 53 or Math 54, ah yeah, it’s Math 53), Jessa 2 (who’s on her way to Cavite, I overheard), Marie (who’s a heroine, as I shall reveal later why), some groupmate in Mat E 10 whose name I keep forgetting, some classmate in Mat E 131 who’s always happy, four or five other unnamed course-mates, and of course, Jessa 1, the second person I have known to have that name (there was a singer named Jessa right?).

Everyone was inside (I was second to the last person to enter the chamber) when that ominous sound rang. It occupied the room in no time, an ear-slitting siren. The message was quick and simple: SOMEONE HAS TO GO. For a second, no one reacted. They probably watched an award-winning movie and were now trying to delve into the socio-political implications, I don’t know. Then, everyone let out an unearthly laughter. Then, when everyone got tired of laughing, reality sunk in.

SOMEONE HAS TO GO.

Everyone looked down, afraid that if they made eye contact with anyone, it would be interpreted as a confirmation of being ready to go. I didn’t move. I grabbed the railing as though someone would grab me and push me out of the elevator.

Near the LCD panel is a more important spec of the elevator: capacity. It claims support  of up to 1000 kg load or 13 people. We’re only 10 or 11 out there, and each of us is (ehem) far from overweight. And of course we’re not talking about Americans here, who are perhaps the sorts that the 13-people capacity pertains to.

Why would the elevator roar out? To scare us, intimidate us? Force us to lose weight when there’s isn’t an extra layer of adipose tissues to shed? Lower our self-esteem by eroding our self-image and consciousness? Nice try elevator, but we know ourselves better than anyone (or anything) else. We are not fatsos and we definitely don’t collectively weigh a ton.

Just when I was about to volunteer (myself or others), two persons had the most scientific (and craziest) idea. They got out of the elevator and sneakily went back in. Their movement was so careful and with utter precision that the decibel count was at its minimum. No one breathed. We knew (or plainly just believed or fervently hoped) that it would work.

Just when the two was back in their respective places, the sound came attacking our cochlea again. This almost reduced us to tears. (Yeah, like we didn’t expect that to happen.)

We looked at each other, asking for comfort. We laughed again. And again. And again. SOMEONE HAS TO GO.

“Yung nakasapatos,” I joked. Everyone laughed. At least half of us were wearing shoes. I wasn’t. I left my Chuck’s at Marikina. And I normally do not wear shoes on exams. Heck, I didn’t even wear them on my first job.

We laughed without end, pausing only to catch our breath. Then someone went out.

She was the single bravest soul in all of Mega Manila. Marie (or is it Mariz?) touched our hearts the very instant she moved and strided towards the door. I noticed her face, it was full of intent, of gladness that she was able to help. It was actually glowing and it would probably help her fend off ghosts as she takes the stairs.

Someday, I also would like to touch others’ hearts and set an example by following Marie’s. And that would mean another experience of (pseudo-)overload and weight realization.

Any problem only poses threats for you if you see them as such. The elevator would nullify your waistline-reduction schemes if you see it as a burgeoning antithesis to health and personality enhancement, instead of an efficient way to get from point A to point B, where you could get random conversations, instantaneous learning, stimulation, and acts of kindness as bonuses.

I would never quit using the elevator.

“I think smoking is bad for my health. Therefore I quit thinking.”

                                                                     -Dexter Brylle Matos

Harry Potter and A Lesson in/on Communication

Guy 1: Anong Harry Potter yan pare? Chamber of Secrets?

Guy 2: Uh, Prisoner of Azkaban ata. Tama, Prisoner of Azkaban.

At this point, you might be gaping at how details-devoid this conversation is. Alright, a little background. I was on my way home, on a cost-effective bus, a day late of schedule because I had to tend to my procrastinating nature (which would be the last of it). Guy 1 was on seat no. 38, near the window, lighting up his 38th stick. My eyes were glued to the video-on-board, and my ears were slapped with about 40 potential LSSs. Every part of my olfactory organs was adjusting to minute changes in light, both ambient and from the tele.

It was quite hard, my eyes were squinting because the subs were too distant I needed more magnifying power. And the songs, although on shuffle, well, I’ve heard them for at least a thousand times. It didn’t help that the movie was the only HP flick I’ve watched in a silver screen. To paraphrase, I was able to extract every possible utility out of HP 3, and now that it’s on a tiny CRT, what marginal benefit can I possibly get? Granted, that was quite a few years ago. But it would certainly be much, much nicer had it been any other HP movie, specially the Half-Blood Prince. At first, I thought it was actually the 6th, but then the cast was so younger-looking, there was Boggart and Buckbeak, and yes, Sirius Black and a werewolf professor, at this point I had an almost enlightening moment. But instead of Eureka! it was “teka, napanood ko na to ah!” I was so outraged, defeated. I needed to light up.

Guy 2 happens to be me. I’m on seat no. 40. Okay, so that’s enough setting of the milieu.

In some normal auspices of the universe, I would have responded by: “Sorry, di ko alam eh.” This would entail no more conversations would follow. I would be safe with my own self, my own mind, my own quirks, my own self-destructive thoughts, my own LSSs. But then, I don’t know, I just said the truth. Of course, this effected irrational thoughts and psychoneurotic perceptions, but these were so minute I never got to notice them.

Guy 1: Ah. Pang-ilan na to? Pangalawa?

Guy 2: Pangatlo. Akala ko nga yung bago eh.

Guy 1: Akala ko din nga.

Save for Harry Potter movies 1-5 and Naruto Shippuuden episodes 8-56, I never attempt to brush through with anything (anime, TV series, movie, book, even some music, websites, etc.) mainstream. Hence, I have only the vaguest idea about Twilight, UAAP, and local bands. I have no idea about philosophy, world history, communication, economics, society, politics, current events. I don’t know anything about gourmet, foreign language and culture, driving a car, literature, sports.

I don’t know what I’ve been doing with my life. All I know is where to eat food, open my mouth so food can enter, watch Nicktoons, sleep as much as possible, procrastinate, eat food, procrastinate. None of which bodes well for positive human interaction.

So what do I know?

Guy 1: Ang boring ng mga trip na ganito. Ayos sana kung may kausap. Kaso yun nga, pag nag-initiate ako ng conversation, hindi naman substantial ang sagot.

Guy 2: ???

By the way, prior to that, I devoured Sumo strawberry (which reminds me of Starbucks) wafer sticks with the finesse of a pig, shamelessly rocked out along with my MP3s like I was the only passenger in the bus, and voided my middle ears of waxy stuff, yes, yes, I did it in the bus, because I’d no time for it in the dorm, and no one would recognize me anyway.

Guy 1: Yosi?

Guy 2 looked at the package. Marlboro. My kind of yosi.

I didn’t even hesitate (well, maybe I hesitated for a picosecond). I took a stick, and inserted it in between my lips. As soon as I made the first puff (after lighting it up first, doh), the familiar sensations enveloped me.

I was a crying kid, and he gave me a piece of candy.

And that candy completely blurred the lines between my egotistic personal bubble and his.

We talked about school. We talked about mummification, cave formation, Marijuana, Mike Cosa, psychology, fraternity, Machiavellian government.

After bashing Yael Yuzon, he asked me what my favorite local band is. Well, I’m quite partial to Spongecola, but since he made it clear that he dislikes it, to avoid conflicts, I didn’t answer at all.

He tried to ask me what my stand is on President Obama. I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what or how to answer.

Whenever the talk is about stuff where I have only the slightest ideas, I become mute. Maybe it’s defense mechanism. Maybe it’s to avoid forming impressions and prejudices. Maybe it’s the possibility of stupid and shallow perceptions on things. Maybe it’s for diplomacy.

But really, the main reason is apathy/total lack of interest whatsoever. Also, with courses in Speech Communication, Basic College English, and English for the Professions, I am still struggling to express myself, which, needless to say, is worsened if you don’t know anything about the topic. And, somehow, in social interactions, my amygdala seems to be my cerebral cortex. Plus, I also get bored/tired easily.

But I have the choice whether to accept the things as they are, or as they could be.

And now, I’m going to choose the latter. Nothing is ever too late. The world is a dynamic paradigm, continuously evolving and metamorphosing, with little regard on time.

Indeed it is a fact that no one is an island, that the world is an ecosphere of interconnected living things. It is your choice if you get smashed by its turbulence or be a positive contributor towards making this world a happier and nicer place. I will carve a niche, yes I will, and stop existing for myself, and start living for the biosphere. Naks.

I will start appreciating all the many members of the ecosystem (those I sing Videoke with, play Airhockey with, eat Tofu with, go to the same classroom with, take a picture with, share the same LCD projector with) and try to overwhelm them with enthusiasm. If I have to invest on being both booksmart and streetsmart, and overdose on nicotine and Stresstabs…

On that trip I made a very valuable lesson. Although I’m not quite sure what it was.

Ugly

I didn’t know how to react. My l’esprit de l’escalier, apathy and perhaps shock prevented me from coming up with a really good comeback.

Instead, I’m quoting this conversation from The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams.

And here’s a clip of one of my most favorite Spongebob episodes.

I’ll parody Patrick and Spongebob’s conversations:

Eytz: Mike?

Me: (turns around) Go. Run away like all the others. No one would want a friend as ugly as I am. (sobs)

Eytz: Sure they would! It makes them feel better about the way they look!

Eytz: Maybe a story will cheer you up. (picks me up and seats me) It’s called “The Ugly Iskolar ng Bayan”. Once there was an ugly UP student taking up BS Materials Engineering. He was so ugly that everyone at Triple M died. The end.

Me: That didn’t help at all. (starts crying)

Eytz: What is wrong with you people?! Afraid to look ugliness in the face?! (picks me up and waves me around) Well, HERE! LOOK AT IT!!

Eytz: IT’S UGLY, ISN’T IT?! LOOK AT IT, LOOK AT IT, LOOK AT IT!! I WANT ALL OF YOU TO LOOK AT IT!!

Arolf: AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Too Old for College

You know you’re too old for college when…

1) Someone asks you your year level (or when filling out the year level field in your Form 5) and you don’t know what to answer. You utter out the first two digits of your student number instead.

2) Only you notice the haunting similarity between Meteor Garden and Boys Over Flowers. You ditch the latter for being so hackneyed and unoriginal. Nobody in class got a clue about the former.

3) On the first day of classes, you mistook the teacher for a classmate. All your classmates mistook you for the teacher.

4) You take Facebook app LivingSocial, and you get something like this:

5) You’ve been in a UP Fair at least three times. Your classmates never heard about Champ Lui Pio or Raymund Marasigan.

6) The guard at Melchor Hall wouldn’t let you enter without an ID. Looking at your yellowing ID, he asks you “Ikaw to?” every so often. Others can enter without scrutiny.

7) Your classmates love GEs. You don’t give a damn about ‘em (you’re done with them).

8. You’re the instant leader in a group. Your groupmates don’t show up in any meeting.

9) You find your classmates too immature.

10) You’ve had a Friendster account since pre-Cambrian.

11) Your High School batchmates are done doing creative shots for the College Yearbook. You still can’t get over with the fact that your High School yearbook photo shoots didn’t turn out quite well.

Now the million dollar question is: Am I too old for college?

And my billion dollar answer would be: Hinde ah.

And your quadrillion dollar reaction would be: Wushu?

(Wushu? = Weh? = Hinde nga?)

Top 10 Reasons Why Volunteer

In no particular order:

1) It’s the right thing to do.

Got an uno in Values Education? Now’s your chance to prove you deserve it. Seriously though, we’ve been taught since forever that helping others is a good thing. And just listen to that small voice absconding out of your inner self’s mouth.

2) Everyone benefits from it.

We are all interweaved. So basically even a weenie bit of help, in whatever way, could send ripples. The ones who receive help? They could finally eat or drink. You? You burn those unnecessary calories. The politicians? Ay ambot.

Utilitarianism. Everyone gets something out of it. Yeah, even that creature who now owns my HBW pen. 

3) It makes you happy.

Self-gratification. Yay, now finally you get to debunk that misconception about you being so slothful. And the smile painted on children’s faces, it melts your heart.

Egoism. No one can help others without benefitting the self. And that benefit comes in the form of self-gratification.

4) You get to make new friends.

Or, at the very least, someone might recognize you.

An alumnus of my heavily endeared Pisay Bicol high school (and now a UPD freshie) recognized me . I was like, wow, you know me? You’re so cool. And Kenneth was there too.

Anyone recognizes this guy (wearing the brown shirt)?

5) All other people seem to do it.

6) A new experience.

It’s not like everyday you get to hop in on a truck, pat in the back by a GMA7 person, talk to a tattoo artist, listen to a driver’s rants, ride in an MRT going in the wrong direction, splurge on a Coke Float hoping it would quench your dehydration, or count the total number of Jollibee branches along Quezon Avenue.

7) Free travel.

And it doesn’t matter that you’re wrapped in shrouds of UVA and UVB radiation, the trip from UPD to Times St. to P. Tuason to Industrial Village was wicked fun! The billboards were amazing, the houses were so-so, you were getting adrenaline rushes every so often, and you didn’t get afflicted with motion sickness. How cool is that?

The downside? Your ventricles wanted to bob out and your chances of being recognized in the dark are nullified.

8) You get to be part of, um, something.

I actually hated that every two meters or so, someone would proclaim that we are UP students and are members of ******** PARTY LIST. This might sound overidealistic, pero come on, if someone really is genuine in helping, he would just go out there nameless and faceless, not caring at all whether he is being appreciated, much less being recognized. And since when was I a member of a party list?!?!

Anyway, what’s great about this is that you get to be part of something (a group, a program, etc.) that helps. In my case, it was apparently a brainchild of a partylist? It doesn’t matter.

The area has never been covered by the media and apparently, help from the government was far from sight, as lamented by a man that certainly was nagpaparinig: “Puro na lang (Barangay X) at (Barangay Y), parte din naman kami ng (City) ah.”

9) You learn.

If you offered a hand and turned down, do not be disheartened. It means there are a lot of people out there sharing the same ideals as you (but it just happened that they were there earlier). It also shows efficiency is of prime importance, equating to easier reliefs packaging and distribution and faster rate of smiles creation and propagation. And that’s what you wanted all along, right?

Upon wading through murky (and Leptos pyrosis-inducing) water, I can’t help but be sad. It’s probably because the people need bigger help, and we can only do so much. I really hope they get the help that they need.

Everyone seems to obtain happiness from noble deeds. For me, it’s non-sequitur that you get happiness by helping. I believe the core of helping out is self-sacrifice, and when you lose your self, you let go of all the other emotions/attributes, including happiness. But at the end of the day, it’s not important if you’re happy or not. Just. Do. It.  

10) Just because.

 

P.S.:

To that creature who now owns my HBW pen, I’m in Molave. Please return my pen. You might get a reward.

Non-wetting

I got a message from an unknown number. It was Philip’s sister, asking me if I met Philip today.

Kahapon ko pa po sya last nakita 9am s net cafe.

Hindi po b sya umuwi kagabi?

I exchanged text messages with D’rin and Roman regarding the net, Krus na Ligas’ brownout and baha, yearbook, and SmartBro. Jessa was complaining about the brownout and boredom; her roommate Kate wasn’t there to talk to. I tried calling Philip, but a system-generated voice enounced: The subscriber cannot be rich reached.

Her sister texted me, telling me Philip went home last night but went to school today, and he couldn’t be contacted since. I tried to reassure her by telling her maybe Philip was in the library, waiting for the rain to turn to drizzle or stop altogether. Philip isn’t exactly into the habit of constantly bringing an umbrella with him, and even the smallest of umbrellas wouldn’t fit in his bag. So what would? A pen and a folded bluebook? A calculator maybe? No, definitely not a notebook. “Notebooks are for elementary,” he once said. 

I got a message from the same number, this time it was Philip. He had to walk from Philcoa to Pantranco and beyond. Wow.

At least alam mo n how much your sister loves you.

I sent and received text messages from Riska and Kumi, my lab partners in Mat E 3. We had two formal reports to write, the experiment of one of which I was not able to perform, and in the other, I was only barely present. The tasks and parts were delegated to each of us, less than two days before the submission. And hey, since the weather was so cold, I have an excuse to not do my part. Nah, I’ll end it tomorrow.

I heard news about some kids in the University of Sto. Tomas not being able to go home due to the flood. Someone was being interviewed on the radio. He said he was trying to contact the mayor of Marikina for help. Marides C. Fernando. I know her, I’ve lived in Marikina ever since I decided I’m way too cool for a boarding house. 

There was a news about kids clamoring for Jollibee Philcoa to open so they could eat. And a follow-up news on the kids in UST, informing that the kids are in the 2nd Floor of Engineering Bldg.

The kids here in Diliman were hurdling through hunger (and were most probably with a parent/guardian), while there in Espana, they only have their teachers (and were most probably not caring at all about Jolly spaghetti or Yum! burger).

My yaya (she told me I used to call her mommy) when I was a toddler texted me and asked if I’m okay.

Okay lang ako.

I forgot to thank her. She was the first in the family to text me. It’s not like a contest or something. But I believe in especially rainy days anyone could make use of a nice hello or even a forwarded message from a family member. I normally would flood the room with lachrymal secretions pondering this, but so many good things have happened that I didn’t fell any pang.

I decided to text mom. I, for the first time, texted her a message that isn’t a forwarded or a default one. It wasn’t about a joke that involves a chemist, a biologist, and a physicist. It wasn’t about asking for a raise in allowance either.

ahhh. Baha sa labas.

Uncle Sam called and asked if I was in Marikina. He probably wanted to know if the water seeped through his office. I told him I’m in the dormitory. Then he asked me if I’m alright. I said yes and told him about the baha. I didn’t ask him why he called. He called to know I’m okay. Let’s keep it that way. =) 

Mom replied and asked if I’m okay.

I checked my load and my balance was a meager 50 cents. What could anyone do with 50 cents?

D’rin texted me and asked if I’m okay DilNet is back to normal.

My brother texted me and asked if I’m okay. He hasn’t been texting me since I asked him to give me back my half-grand since I was utterly broke a few days ago.

At least alam mo n how much your brother loves you.

Perfect Wetting

Is this a humorous take on a get-rich-easily-and-yes-of-course-it’s-illegal game? No. How about the hydrophobicity of a material in contact with a liquid medium, as manifested  by the contact angle between the solid-liquid interface and the vapor-liquid surface meet-up? Sadly no. Does this have something to do with the rain? Yes.

I woke up twice before waking up for good. First, I woke up to pee and found out I forgot to hibernate my PC na nakatulugan ko. Then, I woke up again to read text messages. Then I really, really woke up. And you know what made me really, really woke up? Why of course, my stomach was grumbling, and I was ready to chomp off any carbon-containing matter within reach, including my lone pillow, humerus and my stomach itself.

I reached for my PC and booted it up. I stopped using Plurk two weeks ago (and @Arolf noticed), but today, I felt like flooding it with my ramblings.

hoy_mccoy can’t go out. the rain would ruin my high-end umbrella

hoy_mccoy is starving

hoy_mccoy asks when will the rain stop?

hoy_mccoy says sarap matulog =)

And whatnot.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your POV), DilNet was <insert_nasty_adjective_here> again, so I decided to heed my hunger center’s advice: My son, go out and get some food.

I prepped my Beverly Hills Polo Club (BHPC) high-end umbrella, which was like my 1,234th umbrella, and headed straight to Lutong Bahay. I remember my conversation with the saleslady at SM Marikina. She was actually endorsing another brand (Hydro-something) that offered 10% cut on its tag price (which was already a dollar less than BHPC), but my heart was already captured by BHPC. But still, I had to know for sure which was a better buy.

Me: So, ate, ano advantages ng umbrellang eto (referring to BHPC) over that (pointing to the shelf of Hydros)?

Ate (the saleslady): Ah yun (Hydro) kasi may warranty, eto (BHPC) wala.

Oh, so basically the main difference between the two (but certainly not the advantage of BHPC) is that Hydro has warranty to boot. I wondered what made that difference.

Me: Bakit ganun?

Ate: Kasi direct-sales eto (BHPC). Samantalang yun (Hydro) ay ibang kompanya.

That’s it. This is just a hunch, but I think this is why she na nakatoka sa BHPC and therefore must persevere in upselling BHPC umbrellas, was trying to upsell the products of Hydro instead. Maybe she was trying to help the Hydro saleslady reach quota, while not having a regard on her own umbrellas, because either she already reached quota (and I think that would be easily achieved due to the sheer number of products), or no quota is required for direct mall sales.

I however already set my eyes on BHPC, although I was still having second thoughts on whether I could take the responsibility of making sure my umbrella doesn’t get lost.

I watched as the saleslady demo’ed how “windproof” the umbrella was by simulating a really chaotic whirlwind. The umbrella’s framework was “fiber-plastic” I was told. That’s why it offers better rust protection than one with a metal framework, she said. You know, pure sales talk. I hope it was really entirely made of “fiber-plastic” (that is, devoid of any metal/alloy) so the umbrella wouldn’t rust at all.

It was my first time to hear the word. Fiberplastic is hauntingly similar to Fiberglass. And fiberglass is quite confusing, as it could mean the fiber glass-reinforced plastic or plastic fiber-reinforced glass, or the glass fibers themselves. I reported on carbon fiber-reinforced polymers/plastics in Mat E 10, and these composites can be called carbon fiber for short, although the reinforcing agents are also called, of course, carbon fiber.  Thus, “fiberplastic” may refer to a composite having plastic as matrix and/or plastic fibers as reinforcing agent, or it may refer to only the plastic fibers. Anyway.

The umbrella was noticeably lightweight thanks to that “fiberplastic”.

Now, a week later, I was using it (for the 3rd time so) to protect me from the torrents. This umbrella better not be destroyed. I traversed the path to the Post Office, so far so good. But when I reached  Area 2, I almost wanted to run back to my room. The water was so deep it was neck-level (well, in a puppy’s vantage point). I scanned the topology, and searched for a part of the road where the murky water would not reach the wound on my left foot (which was induced by a leather shoe). Alas, there was none. So I gathered all my courage (and antibodies) as I inched towards LB.

The shakes-and-more (pandan jelly, mais con hielo, etc. ) girls were at the forefront of the establishment, and I hung the umbrella on the umbrella rack/nail. I still have worries on its safety (and I think it’s quite normal, given that the umbrella was less than a week old) but the valets inside just wouldn’t let anyone bring his umbrella.

I ordered for a decent meal (decent = 2 viands) and not go for extravagant as a punishment to myself for not waking up early for breakfast and forgetting Herb’s cafe would be serving lunch.

I watched how Marielle Rodriguez poked fun at a contestant (a nanny) in WoWoWee for not properly pronouncing JC, the name of the yaya’s alaga. The yaya had a regional accent and pronounced JC as /Jey-Sey/.

“Hinatid pa ako ng amo ko,” the nanny said. “Hindi ka na nun susunduin,” Pokwang blurted out. “Lalakarin ko na lang pauwi,” the yaya replied. “Magsiswimming ka na pauwi,” Marielle taunted.

“Magsiswimming ka na pauwi.”

“Magsiswimming ka na pauwi.”

“Magsiswimming ka na pauwi.”

I grabbed my umbrella and fled.

Writer’s Block

I can’t write today.  And I won’t even try.

It’s past six in the morning yet it horribly feels like the sun is just starting to come down. I can’t feel any twinge of drowse and there is absolutely no hint that Mr. Sandman is going to drop a silica particle on my eyes.

It all started when I had two major exams two weeks ago. My procrastination forced me to delay studying until I had my daily (over)dose of internet crap. I started studying at 3am, and thanks to my totally crappy notes, negligible memory, fleeting attention span, and that fluttering (and overwhelming) voice in my mind that constantly reminds me that this exam will be yet another shot at proving that I don’t deserve to be a DOST scholar, I finished at 6am. This includes the time for devouring all the organic matter within the nearest 1 meter that seems to be digestible.

Three hours. Three long and lingering hours of battling and negotiating with Mr. Sandman. Three depressing hours that attest to how suckish I am at figuring out the kinetics of auto-catalyzed and externally catalyzed condensation polymerization. Three indignifying hours of mental affliction due to both perceived and known difficulty in deciphering my catscratch notes. I read through them with such pain and couldn’t remember writing them, as though I had never been present to any of Mat E 131’s lecture.

And so I had 6am to 8:30am to sleep, and I slept like I never slept before, and woke up and went to Eng’g theatre just a blink away from being late.

The exam was, well, let’s just talk about something else, okay? And by something else, I mean my other Mat E major exam.

After three grueling hours of my Polymer exam, I was back in my bed, and slept. When I woke up, I find myself longing for my daily (over)dose of internet crap. I realized it was 3am again, so I had to go through the same mental torture, this time for Mat E 11.

Lucky me, because Ma’am Ayla decided to do a most wonderful thing that day by giving us a free day on my Thermody class (8:30 – 10), sparing me ample time to catch a few extra winks.

Unfortunately, that few extra winks turned out to be a few extra hours. As it turned out, a drastic circadian rhythm change has been effected by my procrastination. I missed the long exam in Mat E 11. (T-T)

And now, two weeks after that not-so-propitious sleep-wake cycle disturbance, here I am, wide-awake, not having the slightest idea when I will sleep again, not knowing what and how to write about it.

*Yawn*

Grumpiness

Okay, so you probably associate me with schizophrenia, but it really, really surprises me that in the past few days, I’ve ventured into my dark, grumpy side and it appears that I have no way of getting back to the other disjointed phases of my entirety.

In the last few hours I’ve been uttering all sorts of words, offensive and bordering on unethical. At first I thought it was normal, a revelation of a new, weirder side of me that will eventually fuse with all the other aspects of my personality. But then I began to realize it was hauntingly similar to that facet of me that’s responsible for all the mayhem I’ve concocted, which I have laboriously subjugated but failed. That side of me that’s noted for its pervasiveness and unwillingness to compromise. That side that often brought me trouble that’s more than I can handle. That part of me that’s always the first to suggest that something is wrong with the plan I have carefully schemed and thought over for at least a million times, and yet won’t offer any alternative.

That’s it. It is the phase of my personality that’s taking hold of me now. However, that phase seemed to be more powerful than before, more dominant. It’s like it’s bent on controlling my entirety, and it won’t stop until I cave in.

My grumpiness has been logistically increasing, with the following underlying causes:

1) I skipped breakfast and lunch (for the nth time these past weeks)

2) Lutong Bahay was closed at 3pm (the next best thing, Lutong Kapitbahay was apparently open, but one Ate barred me from getting any closer and told me the store was closed (yeah right, and what are all those people doing there? Food inspection?!))

3) The S key of my keyboard just went bazonked (last time I checked, S is the thickest part of any dictionary) so I had to make use of the virtual keyboard

4) I was typing my Mat E 3 formal lab report when MS Word suddenly stopped responding. Potek. When I opened that app again, it reported that the autorecovered copy of the file that I failed to save, well, cannot be recovered. Hardcore potek.

5) DilNet was anathematized not okay again so I failed to discuss with Jessa some pertinent matters regarding our Liquid Crystalline Polymers paper.

6) I can’t seem to consume all of that bread again and I’m afraid it will end up in a landfill, fungus-laden.

7) Sawang-sawa na ako sa Kraft Eden Cheese. Last month pa ata to di pa rin nauubos!

8) Teff grossly misinterpreted my statement about the inedibility of eggplant stalks

9) My neck, spinal cord and upper extremities are in pain

10) Di ko gets ang Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (plot, essence, moral fabric, neosurrealism, neurological basis, lahat-lahat!)

 

Those are the top ten reasons why I feel so shitty. If only in my sleep, all the vestiges of these fragments of reality can be deleted (yehes, Eternal Sunshine), it would be handy. But there’s a catch, I can’t sleep. And of course, if I’d be able to survive all of these unscathed, I’d be stronger, right?

Right.

So I should stop dragging my feet and making all sorts of faces, because tomorrow would be the best day ever, and that part of me that shares and cares? Tomorrow it will engulf me one hundred percent.

d=)

_________

Newsflash: I was able to provide a quick fix for the failing S key. Woot!

——————

And another newsflash: The S-key failure strikes back! (T-T)

——————

And yet another newsflash: And it’s fixed again! Hooray!

Plants vs. Zombies

True to the advocacy that this site upholds, I would unleash my fanboyism on one of the hottest games to have grabbed the UP populace by the neck or wrist – Plants versus Zombies. Sure, all levels of these opioid game have been breezed over by most Iskolar ng Bayans in the same period of time it takes for light to travel from Proxima centauri to your PC (I happened to accomplish this in a quarter of a lunar cycle), and I am predisposed to thinking that World of Goo (which hopefully I would blurb about in another post) kicks PVZ’s butt, but before I completely wash this game off my hippocampus, I’m gonna leave a space for this game, which, for a brief seven days, has been part of my indulgent, drugged life.

So what forced me to enter the magical (and scary) world of botanical species and monstrous humanoids? Easy. I was fed up.

I first heard about it on my Thermody class, with Wilfred (whose name I didn’t even know back then) furiously talking about just how munificent the game was (you see I’m a fan of mental wandering due to stimulating conversations (read: eavesdropping) too) and just how plants are the greatest species on Earth. Next, in the Mat E 3 lab, the same frenetic conversations saturated the area, differing only in the speaker. This time, it was Peter, Paul, and some other pupil who laboriously passed their admirations to eager listeners, which was basically half of the class.

Okay, so there, my interest has been piqued enough for me to visit Plants vs. Zombies’ official website, and I just realized I was suddenly on the download page. I had to choose whether to try the game or to purchase it, and for a split-second, I didn’t know what do. Trial games (or at least apps) have often bugged me, they are stripped of features and will often remind you to purchase a license or upgrade every time you end a session, and I don’t got a clue on purchasing online stuff either, so I decided it wasn’t time yet for me to go at it. (Plus, you know, I’m on Dilnet. d=)

After a few days, PvZ was up and running on my PC.

The time it took for the game to start-up (i.e., loading to the welcome screen) was noticeable, but not lengthy enough for me to lose my cool. This was actually a good admonition – it indicated that my Via-powered PC is up for the challenge.

Look at those zombies – aren’t they flat-out creepy? Don’t you just wish you could spacerocket peas or spikes or lawnmowers at them?

Check out my Silver Sunflower trophy. I know, I’m so great. Ooopsie, there’s a raindrop on my Zen Garden sprinkler. My cultivated plants need me. Let’s go see my Zen Garden.

Sure enough, all my three marigolds are thirsty, so I’m going to drown them with my love, but watering them works too. Plus, they’ll give off coins of varying face value, with that inefficient but helpful snail picking them for me.

What now? The marigolds are begging for luxuries – music (what sane plant would want to hear music?!) and some strange essentials. Look, the smallest marigold has transpired a silver coin! Come on snail, you can do it (in 10 years, I suppose).

Plenty of essentials and vanity products can be purchased at Crazy Dave’s Twiddy Dinkies. Here you can shop for extra level of protection, fertilizer, and Roque’s favorite, Gattling pea.

The suburban almanac (which you will be acquiring early on in the adventure mode) contains totally indispensible facts about obtained plants and encountered zombies. Here you can see the strengths of the plants and weaknesses of the zombies, enabling you to totally hatch a plan to destroy those morbid zombies.

There are four modes in PvZ – adventure, survival, mini-games, puzzle, and survival. There isn’t exactly a striking difference between the latter two – they’re both lame-o’s and won’t provide you any adrenaline pump whatsoever (although, I must admit, the BeGhouled mini-game rocks! Oh, and what about the totally exciting Chain Reaction, Hokey Pokey, and I, Zombie puzzles?)

The survival mode is the best mode of all (with the exception, of course, of the adventure mode) simply because it’s the most (relatively) challenging.

More puzzles, mini-games, and survival games are unlocked as you complete certain puzzles, mini-games, and survival games, respectively.

And of course, the mode that’s for real gamers – the adventure mode. If it’s your first time to play, you only get to choose from a skimpy set of plants. You get another plant every time you complete a level. I already completed all the five levels, and even if I start again all the way to the beginning, all the plants are carried over (though, as of yet, I have no plans of going through the same experience again).

The main idea is to plant as many sunflowers early on. Sunflowers give off sun particles (photons? LOL) with 25 sun power points each. These points can be used in exchange for the cost of a plant. Also, you have to take note of each plant’s recharge rate. Peashooters are the primary zombie-destruction machines, but as you advance in the game, you’ll acquire more powerful plants, like the melon-pult which can fatalize a regular garden zombie in a single melon cannonball.

Some of the effaced zombies give off coins, so you better keep your eyes open.

That’s pretty much it. Pop-cap basically put so much intellect and power into this game it appeals to college students. The plethora of possibilities of pulverizing that monstrosity is limited to your wit and imagination.This game depicts the check-and-balance interaction among the organisms in the biosphere – one species gets pwned by another, which in turn gets preyed over. But in the end, it’s you who decide which wins.

This is absolutely a must-play.

On being a zombie

4:25 am. As non-BPO-affiliated human beings on this side of Earth snort their heart out, dreaming of nice and twisted things, here I am, wide awake, savoring each and every Becquerel of radiation coming from my computer’s cantankerous LCD panel.

4:25 am. I really don’t know what to write right now. I’m getting tired of this whole thing (see previous post), and I am caving in exponentially to this unfortunate take-over. I am going to be a zombie, there is no doubt about it. Right now, I can still organize my thoughts and convert brain impulses to words, but tomorrow and the next days, I’ll be totally manhandled.

I hope this post would be soooooooooo boring. I hope it would be so monotonous my brain would just suspend and hibernate. I hope I’d grow tired of writing at this very moment, at 4:25 am, and suddenly drop unconscious.

I have done everything I can to curb this virulent tour-de-force. I slept a grand total of only six hours today (err, yesterday), missing my Mat E 11 and Thermodynamics classes yet again. (Those days where I could cycle into hundreds of REM-non-REM sleep without interruptions are just a faded vestige of history.) I imbibed a million microliters of yogurt (which is absolutely delicious). I didn’t touch a granule of coffee. I pictured myself having a disturbingly great sleep. Heck, I didn’t even take a single Facebook app today. And yet my being a zombie is still imminent.

Why can’t I sleep? Could I be doing anything not so right? Maybe I’m not doing my best yet. Maybe, more effort should be done on my part to avoid this. To avoid being hurled into the undead world.

I’m guessing I should totally delete my Plurk and my accounts from other social networking sites altogether. And unsubscribe to all my RSS/Atom feeds, which all give me a mountain of totally useless information. And instead make friends in the real world, chat with them (so I could get sleepy easily), read the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince over and over and over (yawn!), and watch totally enthralling videos of people snoring on YouTube. Oh, and I should also profusely count sheep, the variance of species notwithstanding, even if all one hundred of them could not exactly fit inside my mind, zombie-usurped or not.

Now I know exactly what do. I would follow all the ruminations at the previous paragraph (or at least tweak them), so my next sleep would be the best sleeping experience in town.

As of yet, I’m going to put up a fight against this hostile coup (though I’m not quite sure how to do that) for the next eight hours so I’d be awake for my Polymer Materials class and never miss the opportunity to interact with my brilliant classmates including Jessa, Jerome, and Rigor.

I ain’t turning into a zombie.

Mr. Insomnia

Hi. How are you? Hope you are fine. (Because I’m not.)

I hope I can borrow some of your precious precious time. (Because you have stolen most of mine.) I have a string of questions addressed specifically to you, Mr. Insomnia of 5th Dread Street, Hate Avenue, Melancholy Boulevard, City of Despair, Malevolent County, State of Wanton. You have to answer them sweet and nicely (even if I know you’re not used to it), and you have to answer them now.

I would state my questions in the simplest possible terms, since I know if I add just even a tiny wee bit of metaphorical language, you will not be able to comprehend everything. Your non-existent brain does not have the minutest of convolutions, and the breadth of your myelin sheaths are of the yoctometer range.

Here goes. First, why is it that you occur when you are the last thing on Earth that I would want? When I have an exam, you suddenly spring to my system, inhibiting the secretion of serotonin, and commanding my brain to stay alert, only to shutdown in the morning. If only you did not exist, I could have at least faced all my exams with a wide-awake mentality, my brain on its acumen.

Second, why does it seem like you get pleasure out of my despair? Due to your existence, I would often wake up way too late, skipping all my morning classes, and yet still sleepy for my afternoon class. And because of you, I rarely see Jessa, Jerome, and Rigor.

Third, don’t you know that I value my health too? There’s an imbalance of melatonin in my system, and my circadian rhythm has been grossly distorted. I blame you for all this.

Fourth, look at my face, don’t you see any gouge marks? You leave a trace every time you afflict me, and it shall take time before I get to erase them. And with you always pestering me, it might take forever.

That’s basically it. No more questions, ‘cause I’m afraid you’ll go berserk if I throw another question at you.

If you happen to read and understand this (both have infinitely small probability, with the latter being a tad less possible), please drop a comment. Or, better yet, eat your shit and never show your phugly face at me ever again.

I love you, Goodbye

It’s just the way things work. One time you’re so madly into a thing, the next thing you know you are so not into it, and you can’t even (and you swear you don’t want to) remember what’s with that thing that made you fall into it in the first place.

You know where this is leading. I am going to rant about just how much I have fallen into something, and suddenly realized there is neither logic nor quintessence into it at all, and so I abandon it.

My Mat E 180 is – or rather, used to be – the only course that I consider my favorite. I get to solve economic problems ranging from deciding if it is high time to change method (by calculating the differential revenues and costs) to knowing which is a better salary deal.

I would often find myself getting amused by the sheer greatness of the applications of this vast economic knowledge, which involves calculating the future worth of President Arroyo’s assets (that skyrocketed from Php 7 M prior to her being seated in Malacanang to over P100 M  now, after such issues as the infamous Jose Pidal accounts, the overpriced Diosdado Macapagal boulevard, fertilizer fund scam, etc. It’s a good thing the NBN-ZTE deal didn’t materialize, no?). And just how much moolah I could get 232 years from now if I would deposit 25 cents per day (hope it’s possible) after an initial minimum deposit at, say, LBC Bank.

Now I’m basically enamored with tools that I could use to propose an algorithm that would ultimately put an end to hunger and thirst (or, at least my hunger and thirst). And it’s all thanks to Mat E 180.

*END*

 

No wait, aren’t you forgetting something?

Huh,what is it?

The second part of this post, the negative thing you’re supposed to blurt out? The one that made you un-like Mat E 180?

Uh, about that. Hmm… I’m not sure… Well, you see, there’s this thing that happened a while ago. I headed straight to the room, sat in a vacant seat, tried to doze off and not snort. But then I realized my professor was already there so I basically couldn’t just sleep. (Not that it’s forbidden.) And then I saw the stack of yellow paper – the results of the problem set – being distributed discordantly around the room. So I waited for my classmates to get all their paper leaving me with a few heaps so I could sort for my paper easily. But few heaps of paper isn’t exactly grammatically tight since I still have to carefully pull out my paper from a hundred sheets of processed cellulose.

As usual I was at the utmost of my indifferent self, thinking that the results won’t be that surprising. I was so wrong! There, in the upper right hand corner of the cataclysmically colored paper, just between the second and fifth gradation/index, lay two digits that were written like catscratch, two digits of malevolent force, two digits that laid out their terror hands that reached for my throat and suffocated me.

1 and 0. These are the digits that attempted to asphyxiate me. 1 and 0. The only digits that appear in a binary code. 1 and 0. The digits that spewed grime to my favorite subject ever.

How could you two bring malice to a relationship that’s fueled by a desire to quench the thirst for knowledge and self-discovery? How could you negate the fact that all of this is ultimately for serving the society and promoting the values of equity and parity?

10.

10 over 20.

Times 100%.

Equals 50%.

0.5

5/10

1/2

My love for this course, a reflection of which is how much I value learning from this subject, has been reduced to half. The mutuality between me and Mat E 180, which I hold so dearly, has been rid of 50% its value.

And it’s all because I failed to nimble things that should not be ever ever overlooked. Things that hold 40% of the stakes in any engineering economics problem. Things that, apparently, ultimately judge my love for this course – the cash flow diagrams.

The cash flow diagram makes up 2/5 of any problem. Thus, even if you absolutely know how to skin the cat, and skinned the cat alright, you still only get 60% of it right, if you didn’t include that bloody diagram. Now isn’t it a little enigmatic? Does it awaken any buried teenage angst? Does it make your gastric juices overflow?

Yep. Sure it is/it does. Especially since that diagram is only a minor overhaul of the given in verbatim. There is only a minute effort that needs to be done in order to switch the given in tabular form to a diagrammatic one. It doesn’t require any critical thinking. In fact, it doesn’t involve any thinking at all. You just have to draw a line for each year where there is cash flow and that’s it, you solved 40% of the problem. And if you try to shun it, thinking it is not that necessary, and instead focus on dealing with the problem, providing the solution step-by-step and answering what is being asked, you don’t get any trickle of love from that 40%.

Silly. So so silly. And cruel. And so purely devoid of love.

It’s so silly and cruel I can’t even (and I don’t want to) remember what I liked about Mat E 180.

Thank you Mat E 180 for making me realize early on that this relationship isn’t a healthy one. It’s never symbiotic, it’s a mono-faceted “relationship” where all I care about is you and you simply just won’t give a damn.

I will forget about you. One day I’ll wake up and realize that I no longer long for your hug.

Sure it isn’t easy, but it’s for the best of me.

Eff you. You don’t deserve me.

(T-T) (LOL)

2nd post

Oh sure, that’s the most picturesque title ever, but I really need to write something tonight (or today, depending on where you are in the planet and how you look upon it) to be concerned with such hurdle. Which is not to say that writing a title is a problem. But just let me continue okay?

So what brings me into writing today, at 3am in the morning? Is it my memorable dining experience at that vegetarian store? A screeching no. And please, who told me it was memorable?

What about my uhm, having to walk for a mile because the jeepney has to stop at the entrance of the school since it is no longer allowed to go any further for security purposes? No, because that isn’t exactly new.

So what then?

Keep guessing.

I know, is it because a friend shared an idea about high frequency waves being able to stimulate certain parts of the brain (which he dubbed brainsync) and I must absolutely dig this because I have a reputation of being a geek and I must comply with society’s norms? Not a chance.

I give up. I am a total flapjack, it’s like I don’t even know me at all.

Oh come on. How could you give up that easily?

Anyway, for the benefit of me (self) and every one cool enough to read this, I blogged because..

 

..because..

 

..because I want to say one thing:

 

Goodnight!*

 

 

 

 

 

or, Good morning!

Hello World!

Here we go. My very first post. I had test-published a post with the barest of content, just hello after that computer-generated foremost post. But this is the first time I’m gonna write something substantial, worthy of being read (or skimmed, scanned, or tab-closed).

Don’t get me wrong. Every thing on one’s mind is deserving of being push-pinned anywhere, but that mere hello, which is basically canned and not thought or felt about for a split second, just doesn’t cut it.

So what exactly is a blog post? Is it about ranting about just how bad that dessert was? Or telling the world that the president of your country just need to step down? Or sharing that sleep paralysis is just like being awake in your dream?

How about writing how you’re amazed by the fact that barium titanate gives off electric currents under mechanical stress? Or how your laptop gives you carpal tunnel syndrome (which, by the way, is caused by a glitch in the median nerve and not on the adjacent pronator nerve) because it’s 88% – 92% keyboard size is way too cramped for your Neaderthalic metacarpals.

It’s basically all of those things. Plus more. Say, you want to persuade readers to give you bucks so you can review that new ice cream flavor. Just go on and persuade them (how they could hand you the dough is your problem anymore). You can do it metaphorically, wrapping your desperateness in shrouds of prose. Or you can just outrightly write a comment with the title “I need cash” and nothing follows. Of course, this is the most laconic it can get, and it’s pretty much the most un-bloglike.

A blog is so much more than just updating your lifestream status, sharing a link, or posting a shout-out. It excavates that tavern of ideas that lurks in your mind. It brings out the Shakespeare in you, sans the unintelligible utterances. It establishes your position in a topic that matters to you and the people around, beside, and beyond you.

Now that explains why I don’t consider posting hello (or “I need cash”) a post. But this, this is one heck of a blogpost. (J/K)

Hello

World