Of Shouting, Saving Kids, and Searching for Ghosts
A cocktail dress – it’s funny to think how such a flimsy article of clothing can contribute to the wreckage of my morning. But help wreck my morning it did. In search for that completely useless garment I got into a fight with the entire household, spare my ate who doesn’t even talk to me – I guess she doesn’t really count then. I spent my first waking hour in a towering temper, my horrible mood culminating in a noisy crying session in the confines of the bathroom, heard but hidden from the rest of the house.
When I got to school I vowed to myself not to let that incident ruin my day. I was intent on having the time of my life, a feeble attempt to reverse reality as it was. Most of the day went great actually: I finally got the marching part of duty right, I sincerely loved our Physics lesson, I actually in Analytic Geometry board work, and aside from unearthing an unnerving little secret my day was fantastic. I even managed to turn a kid’s frown upside down, which is something to be proud of, in my opinion!
Then the late afternoon came and things started becoming a bit hectic. I had to run around like a maniac, acting like one, but at the same time, marveling at the fact that I was at the hub of the wheel, the center of all activity. I even managed to bond with friends while feeding myself with hot pancit canton. Then here comes the horrible part, the defining moment of my whole day which will undoubtedly be etched in my mind forever as one of my worst – so far it is the worst - experiences ever: we went back to school, I went ghost hunting, shouted at thin air a bit, and got shouted at by no other than the authority of the school. And after that – I mean, after crying like hell because of that and the rest of the events that have recently occurred in my so-called life – I am now back to my towering temper, my horrible mood, the phase I swore I would not be in for the next 24 hours since six this morning.
Why is it that when I’m sad and I try to be happy something comes up and makes me lonelier? Why is it that when I try to make bad things better my efforts result to the worst? Why is it always that way?
To give you a more colorful idea of what I’m yakking about here, I offer you these two paragraphs to ponder on – two little slices of my brain to rattle yours. I never did finish this essay and I can’t exactly remember why, but I suppose it was because I didn’t feel so bad anymore. Here goes nothing:
There are times when, no matter how hard I try to be happy, I still end up being sullen and morose. No matter how many times I try to think of raindrops and roses and whiskers on kittens, the reality that exists in this Fate-forsaken world still turns up to shake me from my idyllic imaginations.
Perhaps the culprit behind this lack of zest for existence is puberty – although I’d hate to attribute such an emotional incapability to a scientific phenomenon. You see, there is nothing else to blame: I have okay grades, I have a great family, I have wonderful friends…
Sigh.
Poof!
