beingbeaple

I tried to listen to the love songs my subconscious downloaded from Limewire but I failed dismally to do so. While watching music videos do you sometimes feel the sudden urge to shed tears of Christian Bautista’s cheesy lyrics and Erik Santos’ dramatics? Do you feel like you have to be inside the video to hug Rachel Ann when she’s sobbing her heart out? Highly embarrassing though it might be I will have to confess that I do feel over-emotional during the worst possible moments. There are even times when, left alone with nothing but Windows Media Player and an overactive, estrogen-high imagination to entertain me, I end up cutting Avril halfway through Why for fear of bursting into tears for no apparent reason at all. There are even some songs I absolutely refuse to listen to, like Just Don’t Love You No More, because just the thought of listening to them slices my heart and my ribs into quarters.

As far as my memory cares to remind me, we’ve only got one assignment for tomorrow and that’s for Sir Laga’s class in the afternoon. If I’m lucky, I could even end up sitting in the Miting de Avance so I might not even have to make the assignment anymore – yippee! I mustn’t get my hopes that high up though so I probably should start writing soon.

That’s totally beside the point though.

What I was trying to get across is that I had nothing to do earlier this evening. (Of course, I’m supposed to be recopying my Accounting notes but who would want to write something that doesn’t even require thinking when you could let the words flow out from the top of your head as some sort of mental exercise?) I tried looking into my folders to search for some interesting synopses and character sheets that I might have written some time ago for some story or other. I found quite a few so I did a little tweaking on all of them, ending with a couple of one-line paragraphs for Land of Paperbags . (I won’t say what I did though and what I worked on because I’m saving it for my site on Freewebs, which I will release to you people the moment I graduate from high school.) After I had consumed all the writing inspiration available on hand, I ran out of things to do. Thankfully, Leo, who called in earlier to chat up a bit about the usual stuff that coexist in both our lives, made me remember the intermission number for our prom this Saturday.

I was thinking of the song One in a Million by Bosson and it somehow propelled me over to the dining table, where I clicked My Music and started listening to my song collection. Unfortunately my compilation is diligently arranged according to genre and I have this weird habit of listening to music in a certain order. So I listen to Anime OSTs first before I move on to the Christian hymns and then the Christmas songs until I finally reach the Drama section. I was just sitting there in a trance, listening to All 4 One’s I Can Love You Like That when I heard the lines…

They read you Cinderella, you hoped it would come true

Then one day your prince charming would come and rescue you

You like romantic movies and you never will forget

The way you felt when Romeo kissed Juliet

And all this time you’ve been waiting

You won’t have to wait no more

And it goes on with that sort of vibe. If you think about it seriously, it’s quite ironic that the most hopeless romantics hide under the disguise of tough girls who scoff at all thoughts of love and romance. It’s also a proven fact that intelligent people have a certain inability to carry out a normal social and love life (read: DISASTROUS). And every girl, no matter how platonic and opinionless she may be (a good friend of mine calls herself opinionless because she doesn’t say the thoughts gathering dust and grime in her head and another one calls herself platonic just because she thinks no one’s ever had a crush on her), is waiting for that elusive Prince Charming to come into the picture of her life in a silver-haired horse or a gleaming black Porsche or a top-of-the-line helicopter or whatever it is he owns. Seriously. No matter how hard we girls try to deny it, in the end, one of our main purposes in this earth is to ‘go forth and multiply’. Maybe we could even get the chance to fall in love in between that impossible mission..?

A quick glance at the wall clock propped against the thermos on the kitchen table tells me it’s nearly ten in the evening. Perhaps that’s why my mind’s getting all fuzzy and I’m starting to get all mixed up and I’m starting to write incoherently. But sleepy or awake you can’t deny that there’s substance in what I’m trying to say here…

Poof!

My greatest frustration in life is my inability to dance.

Honestly and humbly speaking, I do know how to dance. I know the steps; I know when to turn; I have been recently complimented because, apparently, I can ‘feel the beat’. What I lack is the grace needed to transform a simple swing routine into a work of art, the style that leads dancers and choreographers to earth-bound bliss.

Together with the rest of the girls in my class I’ve been trying to master the steps to this dance we have to present to Ma’am Fabriga for our MAPEH practicum. I’ve been studying it since Friday, even going to the Chang’s on Sunday just to fully grasp the thing, and constantly singing the background song Last Dance everywhere I go. Still, even though I’ve been doing my best to dance the song to the best of my limited capacity and ability my partner and I were told ‘tarunga inyong pagsayaw beh’.

As in wham! That hurt my already-wounded pride. Like shattered it to smitheerens of something.

I swear I don’t like teaching people who normally do the teaching. As Jeanne said, "It’s like teaching Ma’am Artazo Physics…"

Brrr…. Shiver, shiver.

Poof!

That’s where I am now. My mother is having her monthly ritual of having her hair dyed at a salon somewhere near here and I am worried of Jeanne’s reaction when she realizes I’ll never make it on time to MPSC for Chin-Chin Gutierrez’s talk, which most of the governance members were invited to listen to. I am tired, somewhat fulfilled and somehow dissatisfied (what an oxymoron that is) because all afternoon most of the RT1 members had a taping session for our Physics project in the Limbonhai Residence. It was fun acting and creating our very own music video but I do wish all of us were present - Mary had to fix the souvenir issue for the JS Prom next week, Yambsy had a headache, and the varsity champs left halfway through the shooting for God knows what reasons - because it would have been more fun with all of us around.

Ooof, and I’ve just realized it’s very difficult to put a short movie together. That’s right, no matter how short it is.

This morning, as I went with my mother to SM to buy one of those video cam tapes for our film session I got hungry so we bought a large PhP 55 Popperoo bucket of cheese popcorn. In less than an hour I had wiped out the whole thing while walking around SM at 9 in the morning with gooey orange stuff at the edges of my lips - I hadn’t even realized my mouth was so dirty! And by the end of my little pigging-out session, I wasn’t even that full. Bummer.

Oooh and I’ve been reading this book by Lucia S. Smith entitled What Every High School Student Doesn’t Know… Yet: A College Survival Guide. Something along those lines. The writer has a way of sounding very casual while imparting sublime pieces of advice regarding ‘the art of fine dorm living’. I wish the book could have been less American though. I can’t blame her, I guess. But I really do wish it had more Filipino realities in it.

I should write something like that for the Filipino youth someday. Hmmm…

To all those friends and fellow bloggers of mine, I cannot access your blogs as of this moment so please do not feel bad if I haven’t left a comment for you. I promise I will the moment I get the chance to do so.

Poof!

Ah, the life of a Senior is a mixture of joy and suffering. I remember complaining about life halfway through the school year, saying that I wanted nothing more than for the SY to end itself soon. But now, I feel sad that I’m leaving KHS, that I’m parting with one chapter of my life to make way for another to come along. It’s just so chastising to think that I spent most of my Senior year running away from the friends I thought couldn’t understand me, hiding in bathrooms over some guy who admits he’s as polygamous as any other guy in the world, and worrying about things that - upon reflection - don’t really seem to matter much.

College life is interesting, I know, but nothing will ever be able to replace high school. My parents once told me this would be the best stage in my life and you know what? They’re right. So so right. How ironic that I just scoffed at their words the first time they spoke about that to me.

And now I am leaving the city to venture into a place long famed for its high-standard curriculum and activist students. I feel as I’ve always felt before… lost, confused and somewhat unsure of where to go. Will the future really hold more promises than the present?

Before I dip more into nostalgia I must end this brief soliloquy now. I came to The Green Door not to weep but to celebrate life through the wonders of the Internet. And that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.

Poof!