My cab gets here in exactly six hours, and my plane leaves in exactly nine. I have not packed yet. I'm getting to it, but it's taking forever. I wanted to put my room in order before I leave, but that's proving to be the impossible task. To think that I have only been here for six months! I am so bad at organizing. I try really hard to do it right, but I fail miserably every single time. It's annoying me a lot right now (I'm always annoyed when I'm cleaning up after myself - and don't get me started on the the cheese-crusted bowl that my sink is proudly displaying), and that's why I'm blogging. I wish my super-efficient friends were still here to give me a hand (or two hands each), but they all left last Saturday. Oh, one is still here, but she's probably sleeping right now. Darn.
Speaking of leaving, last Saturday night, I was chatting with a friend from home who goes to BC Law. He said that his plane was leaving in twelve hours, which means he's probably been home for a good how many hours now. I was so jealous of him at that time. I had nothing more to do, and I really wanted to be in Manila already. But now that I think about it, it's a good thing that my flight wasn't scheduled any sooner. I hibernated for the whole of last weekend, and it felt really good. I'd sleep a little more than half the day, hunt for food with my civilized dollars, then go back home to my music and Snood. Today was the only day I got semi-busy. I got up after noon (after sleeping at midnight), rode the trolley to the mainland to take care of stuff, and then waited for a few minutes for the bus to downtown South Bend.
It was freezing outside, so I hopped on the first bus that came along. The idiot that I am got on the wrong bus. I was spacing out big-time (yes, yes, I know; don't do this or you will get yourself killed), so I didn't even realize my mistake until we got to the last stop, where everyone was hopping out, and I thought to myself, "this doesn't look like the mall." I asked the driver what was going on, and he pointed me to the right bus. I got on that one, rode back to where I boarded, and, after five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, found myself at the mall, where I spent a good how many hours hunting for winter boots.
I got home at past eight, rested for an hour, and then headed over to the Center to take care of my laundry. I was craving for chocolate, so I got two Kit-Kat bars and promptly spilled crumbs all over my coat. I tried to pick them off but ended up smearing them. Classic. Later on, I tapped the white dryer screen on the edge of the trash can to get rid of the lint (and therefore ready the dryer for human usage), but, apparently, I tapped it the wrong way, so the lint flew joyfully to my coat to join the chocolate. That's not it yet. I wanted to get a drink, so I put two dollar coins in the vendo (the stupid machine wouldn't accept my pennies; what am I to do with those copper toys?), and claimed my Diet Coke. When I opened the bottle, the Coke frizzed down my hands and onto the table. The paper towel machine was empty, so the brilliant me tried mopping the mess up with my used Downy sheets and then with paper strips. Needless to say, neither method was effective. I never knew paper could be so liquid-resistant. But anyway, I found a really simple way to clean the mess up. I'm not writing it here cause you'll think I'm stupid.
When I got back to my apartment, the door wouldn't open. The lock was either stuck or being evil. I hemmed and hawed and hoped that some chivalrous prince would rescue me, but none did (their loss). I got tired of waiting, so I jabbed the doorbell of my priest-neighbour (who is going to my professor next sem) and after wrestling with the door for a few minutes, he got it open, and I was saved from a painful death from frostbite.
And then I took a shower, called people here to either say good-bye when they answered or hang up when their voice mail did (haha, sorry, friends; wasn't in the mood for a mini-soliloquy), and started cleaning my room. I am still here, doing that. I should get back to it, I know. Time's running out, and the bags won't pack up by themselves. I'll end this with a wish: I wish for decent (decent-sized and decent-mannered) plane seatmates so I can get some sleep on that thirteen-hour flight from Detroit to Nagoya.
12/20/2005
12/14/2005
Recharging
I'm giving myself a few more minutes to recharge. I feel drained but not unpleasantly so. I just need a few more minutes, and then I can start working again. I'm more inspired to work now because the end is so near. Just two more days, and I'll be free. Oh, the plans I have for this winter break. I know I'm not going to be able to do half the things I want to do, but the thought that I'll be able to do at least some of them is gratifying enough. Yes, I know; I've become absurdly easy to please since I started law school. Then again, it's never taken much to make me happy.
I think it's funny how I sometimes segment my life - grade school, high school, university, bumhood, the brief AE stint, then law school. The segments are so artificial, so constructed. Who am I kidding? Life is one fluid whole. But sometimes, it doesn't seem to be that way, and so it isn't. The things that society can do to man. But then again, what is man without society? Man is born into a context. And from the very first day, he becomes socialized, so that there isn't a person-ality apart from his society. To be human is to be contextualized. That's just how it is. And to try to escape one context is to voluntarily insert oneself into another context, either one that already exists or one that he recreates.
I can hear my friend asking me "what are you trying to say?" I'm not trying to say anything. I'm not saying anything. I'm just typing and typing and smiling by myself because of my illegally happy thoughts. Two more songs, and then it's Contracts' turn to die.
I think it's funny how I sometimes segment my life - grade school, high school, university, bumhood, the brief AE stint, then law school. The segments are so artificial, so constructed. Who am I kidding? Life is one fluid whole. But sometimes, it doesn't seem to be that way, and so it isn't. The things that society can do to man. But then again, what is man without society? Man is born into a context. And from the very first day, he becomes socialized, so that there isn't a person-ality apart from his society. To be human is to be contextualized. That's just how it is. And to try to escape one context is to voluntarily insert oneself into another context, either one that already exists or one that he recreates.
I can hear my friend asking me "what are you trying to say?" I'm not trying to say anything. I'm not saying anything. I'm just typing and typing and smiling by myself because of my illegally happy thoughts. Two more songs, and then it's Contracts' turn to die.
12/12/2005
Break
I need a break. I need a massage. I need someone to clean my room. Okay, enough with the wish list. Santa doesn't like it when I publish our correspondence. I'm running on adrenaline and junk, and I feel good. I've been pumping coke (the diet kind) into my system, along with regular infusions of frosted strawberry pop tarts and granola bars. When I gross myself out with the prepackaged crumbs, I give Dom a call, and he rushes to give me a pizza. He comes when I tell him to, so I've got no problem there. The only thing is that he actually has me pay for the pie. The nerve of that guy. He should pay me for the honor of allowing him to serve me food. Ah, well, the things I have to put up with to survive.
Today, I tried to be healthy, so I had blueberry-flavored oatmeal (the instant kind) for brunch. It tasted fine, except that there were bluberry pellets in there, so I didn't finish it all. And then I didn't feel like washing the bowl, so I stuck it in the fridge, spoon included. It's purple paste now. Yuck. Time to get another bowl and spoon. The oatmeal didn't even fill me up. During the test a while ago (two down and two more to go!), my stomach was growling so loudly that it sounded like a bear. I wanted to laugh, because I found the sounds funny, but the Crim test kept me somber.
I'm sure I'll be really somber tomorrow, come to that. What a nasty thought. I don't feel like writing anymore. Break's over.
Today, I tried to be healthy, so I had blueberry-flavored oatmeal (the instant kind) for brunch. It tasted fine, except that there were bluberry pellets in there, so I didn't finish it all. And then I didn't feel like washing the bowl, so I stuck it in the fridge, spoon included. It's purple paste now. Yuck. Time to get another bowl and spoon. The oatmeal didn't even fill me up. During the test a while ago (two down and two more to go!), my stomach was growling so loudly that it sounded like a bear. I wanted to laugh, because I found the sounds funny, but the Crim test kept me somber.
I'm sure I'll be really somber tomorrow, come to that. What a nasty thought. I don't feel like writing anymore. Break's over.
12/09/2005
Snow
So I'm posting again. No more justifications or excuses - I feel like posting, and I will, and that's that. I've been violating the principle of legality, I realized - it's not a crime to blog and if the judge that is me says that it is, then I'm wrong and I should be estopped. Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense. I am nonsense personified (just like you, if you believe me). I miss those long stream-of-consciousness posts that I used to do before, but those just take too much time.
So let's talk about snow, really quickly now.
Newsflash: they do not plow the sidewalks. My goodness. Today, to get to the main street from my apartment, I had to either wade or stomp through snow that reached mid-calf. I don't have boots yet, so my feet were slipping all over the place. The pure and innocent-looking snow was trying to make me fall. As if I need any help in that area. I fall by myself all the time. I even have a scar on my right palm that I got about a hundred Mondays back, when I somehow dove to the ground while I was hobbling to my first class, which starts at the absolutely insane hour of eight o'clock. (How I suffer from the sins of men. Eight o'clock in the morning? Now that's harsh.) I didn't fall this morning, but I almost did, twice. And of course, the snow got its fair share of punyeta's and shit. And when I thought it couldn't get worse, the wind whipped snow in my face. I cursed the wind too, and I know it's going to get back at me sometime soon, so I'm bracing myself for that. But I'm safe and warm here, so I'm good, while the snow is outside, getting brown and gross, so it's not good, and that's good. What am I saying? Figure it out. I'm sure there's some profound wisdom behind that convoluted statement.
Okay, that's all. One test down, three more to go. And then the good times will roll.
Cokelover - Check your mail sometime this weekend.
So let's talk about snow, really quickly now.
Newsflash: they do not plow the sidewalks. My goodness. Today, to get to the main street from my apartment, I had to either wade or stomp through snow that reached mid-calf. I don't have boots yet, so my feet were slipping all over the place. The pure and innocent-looking snow was trying to make me fall. As if I need any help in that area. I fall by myself all the time. I even have a scar on my right palm that I got about a hundred Mondays back, when I somehow dove to the ground while I was hobbling to my first class, which starts at the absolutely insane hour of eight o'clock. (How I suffer from the sins of men. Eight o'clock in the morning? Now that's harsh.) I didn't fall this morning, but I almost did, twice. And of course, the snow got its fair share of punyeta's and shit. And when I thought it couldn't get worse, the wind whipped snow in my face. I cursed the wind too, and I know it's going to get back at me sometime soon, so I'm bracing myself for that. But I'm safe and warm here, so I'm good, while the snow is outside, getting brown and gross, so it's not good, and that's good. What am I saying? Figure it out. I'm sure there's some profound wisdom behind that convoluted statement.
Okay, that's all. One test down, three more to go. And then the good times will roll.
Cokelover - Check your mail sometime this weekend.
12/08/2005
Dilly-dallying
It's the night before my first law school finals, and I'm posting this up. What has gotten into me? Oh well. I'm not going to write about anything related to that, mind. It'd be an interesting read, I'm sure, but I'm not writing it up. My friend here said that I'm imprecise in my language, and I have to say that I can be. Like when I go on auto-pilot and start writing without thinking, for example. That's what happens when I post here - I share my thoughts but remain vague about my life (my present life, at least). That's how I like it, and that's how it shall be.
There's no point in me writing this, actually. I'm just looking for ways and means to waste time so that I can focus enough to get down to work. I don't focus easily, but once I do, everything goes really quickly. Hence, I don't get as impatient as some people do when they can't get down to work when they want to. I wait and wait and then work for a long while and then stop. And the cycle begins anew. It's not the most efficient way, but that's how I do it, and I've had no reason to complain.
I want to get out of my room. The bed's too near for comfort is why, and the pictures around me remind of where I'll be in just two more weeks. I cannot wait to go home. I like this place and my friends here a whole lot, but I miss my parents and siblings and family and friends and everyone else from home. Actually, I think I've attached extremely metaphysical definitions to Manila because I think about it so much - the home, the place I know best, the place I don't know at all, the abandoned land, the sought-after dream, the symbol. I'll let that thought bake for a while before I write about it because 1) I don't have the time and 2) I don't want to talk about that half-heartedly. Wow, I'm tabulating. My legal writing professor should be proud. How's that for writing like a lawyer?
But anyway, I think I'm stuck here. The snow is inches high, and I haven't bought boots yet, so if I go out, I'll get cold and wet. But then again, I just might go out. I've been pretty impulsive as of late, and there's no reason for me to remain where I don't want to be. We'll see. If I feel like going out after I post this up, then I will.
This ends here. I'm all for pointless writing, but I'm not going to flunk out of law school because of rambling. Back to work. For real.
There's no point in me writing this, actually. I'm just looking for ways and means to waste time so that I can focus enough to get down to work. I don't focus easily, but once I do, everything goes really quickly. Hence, I don't get as impatient as some people do when they can't get down to work when they want to. I wait and wait and then work for a long while and then stop. And the cycle begins anew. It's not the most efficient way, but that's how I do it, and I've had no reason to complain.
I want to get out of my room. The bed's too near for comfort is why, and the pictures around me remind of where I'll be in just two more weeks. I cannot wait to go home. I like this place and my friends here a whole lot, but I miss my parents and siblings and family and friends and everyone else from home. Actually, I think I've attached extremely metaphysical definitions to Manila because I think about it so much - the home, the place I know best, the place I don't know at all, the abandoned land, the sought-after dream, the symbol. I'll let that thought bake for a while before I write about it because 1) I don't have the time and 2) I don't want to talk about that half-heartedly. Wow, I'm tabulating. My legal writing professor should be proud. How's that for writing like a lawyer?
But anyway, I think I'm stuck here. The snow is inches high, and I haven't bought boots yet, so if I go out, I'll get cold and wet. But then again, I just might go out. I've been pretty impulsive as of late, and there's no reason for me to remain where I don't want to be. We'll see. If I feel like going out after I post this up, then I will.
This ends here. I'm all for pointless writing, but I'm not going to flunk out of law school because of rambling. Back to work. For real.
12/02/2005
Incoherence and Life
I’m in class right now, but my mind is free enough to enable me to write this thing up. On the way to the dining hall for lunch, I was telling my friends about how I wanted to write about this topic last night but that I didn’t because I didn’t want to be any less productive than I already was. Silly thing, actually. All I did was listen to music and think about home, and that’s about as transient as productivity can get. I get annoyed at how stupid I can get sometimes. Especially now, but let’s not go into that depressing and revealing topic.
Anyway, let’s talk about human life and how it is viewed. The common view seems to be that all life is equal, that no one can say that one life is better than another. Intuitively, I agree with this completely. But for now, I am going to try to argue against this notion. I won’t censor myself, and I won’t give much thought to the sophistication (or absence thereof) of my words and terms and to my structure. I’ll just think and write while my professor performs.
I guess the main reason behind the idea that all life is equal is that everyone has that boundless human potential (and because it’s human, it’s boundless, but necessarily bound too – more on that later) and that everyone is called to do different things in life. Therefore, it follows that there is no one standard to measure human life, meaning that every life is equally precious (with the equal not being a standard) and one cannot be said superior to the other.
Is that true? As human beings, we are necessarily bound by time and space. While it may be Platonic to say that the potential of humans exists on a plane on its own, it may also be said that this potential depends on the body, which grounds the possibility that this potential can be manifested and that in fact so manifests it when it is time. Unless, of course, it can be argued that the potential of human beings is completely divorced from their bodies. But I’m not sure if I accept that because all human knowledge (or knowledge about humans) is revealed through and verified by human experience, which means that there must be some external form or manifestation of this. And also, the detection of human potential depends to a large degree on the humanity that is revealed by the human body. If a cat was born of a woman, I don’t think the cat would be called human and therefore be deemed to have that inherent human potential.
Oh boy, I’m qualifying myself a lot, aren’t I? I don’t even know where all these qualifications fit in. I’m just typing down thoughts as they come to me, while my classmate is being grilled on Alabama law. Okay, I’m sick of qualifying myself now. I’ll just spit out the point of what I wanted to say. Well, except that I’m debating with myself in my head, and I don’t really believe any side enough to write stuff down. But wait, I’ll just complete this thought.
Okay, what I was going to say was that there might be some basis to the objective standard that some people are better positioned to manifest their potential than other people are. And now that I’ve typed it, I take it back because I don’t believe it. I can’t do this anymore. I’m getting distracted by the FreeCell game to my upper left and the constant click of the mouse pad, which means that the classmate behind me is playing Snood. And I want to play a game too, but I want to play Tetris, and I don’t have it here.
Boy, I don’t like talking when I don’t feel like it, but I can write and write nonsense for as long as I can think and my fingers can type. So let’s end with a possibly profound thought: In less than three weeks, I’ll be back in Manila. But before that, this war must be fought.
Anyway, let’s talk about human life and how it is viewed. The common view seems to be that all life is equal, that no one can say that one life is better than another. Intuitively, I agree with this completely. But for now, I am going to try to argue against this notion. I won’t censor myself, and I won’t give much thought to the sophistication (or absence thereof) of my words and terms and to my structure. I’ll just think and write while my professor performs.
I guess the main reason behind the idea that all life is equal is that everyone has that boundless human potential (and because it’s human, it’s boundless, but necessarily bound too – more on that later) and that everyone is called to do different things in life. Therefore, it follows that there is no one standard to measure human life, meaning that every life is equally precious (with the equal not being a standard) and one cannot be said superior to the other.
Is that true? As human beings, we are necessarily bound by time and space. While it may be Platonic to say that the potential of humans exists on a plane on its own, it may also be said that this potential depends on the body, which grounds the possibility that this potential can be manifested and that in fact so manifests it when it is time. Unless, of course, it can be argued that the potential of human beings is completely divorced from their bodies. But I’m not sure if I accept that because all human knowledge (or knowledge about humans) is revealed through and verified by human experience, which means that there must be some external form or manifestation of this. And also, the detection of human potential depends to a large degree on the humanity that is revealed by the human body. If a cat was born of a woman, I don’t think the cat would be called human and therefore be deemed to have that inherent human potential.
Oh boy, I’m qualifying myself a lot, aren’t I? I don’t even know where all these qualifications fit in. I’m just typing down thoughts as they come to me, while my classmate is being grilled on Alabama law. Okay, I’m sick of qualifying myself now. I’ll just spit out the point of what I wanted to say. Well, except that I’m debating with myself in my head, and I don’t really believe any side enough to write stuff down. But wait, I’ll just complete this thought.
Okay, what I was going to say was that there might be some basis to the objective standard that some people are better positioned to manifest their potential than other people are. And now that I’ve typed it, I take it back because I don’t believe it. I can’t do this anymore. I’m getting distracted by the FreeCell game to my upper left and the constant click of the mouse pad, which means that the classmate behind me is playing Snood. And I want to play a game too, but I want to play Tetris, and I don’t have it here.
Boy, I don’t like talking when I don’t feel like it, but I can write and write nonsense for as long as I can think and my fingers can type. So let’s end with a possibly profound thought: In less than three weeks, I’ll be back in Manila. But before that, this war must be fought.
11/25/2005
From Logos to Rent
I thought I'd be spending the next few minutes reading for a class, but my thoughts are crowding my head, and I feel restless again. I'm not sure about what exactly I want to do, and I'm unwilling to impose my presence on anyone when I'm in this mood. I tried calling two of my friends from back home, but one didn't answer and the other reconnected me to her voice mail. I then started calling my friend in Canada, but I just realized that it wouldn't be nice of me to speak to her for the first time in months just to rant incoherently, so I put my phone away. Then I started thinking that maybe I should write in my journal, because that always gets me thinking straight again, but, somehow, I didn't feel like doing that. And then I remembered saying to one of my friends here that I was going to update my blog this weekend, and so I'll ramble here. It'd be a nice prop to my pretense of productiveness.
I wish I could write about my thoughts now, but I can't. I feel myself thinking, but I can't grasp what I am thinking about. I just feel a bit disturbed and not completely here. I sometimes think about why I like writing so much. And I'd like to think that it's because, by writing, I bring order to myself. Logos, isn't it? The Word. When my philosophy professor first taught us the concept, I felt so enlightened. Logos = the ordering of the universe. And the Word was made flesh. I remember thinking, so that's what those lines mean. I like it that the Word means something other than the word. Cause when I write, I use words (who doesn't?), and it's nice to think that there's more to my words than I see.
It's snowing outside. I like the snow a lot. It's white and powdery and it looks very clean. But when the grass peeks through it, I see the unshaven legs of a really white man with green hair. And when the snow falls, I see lots of floating dandruff. And when the wind blows, I feel the snow rush up my nose and mouth and eyes before I can do anything to stop it. Pretty invasive, actually; I was rather insulted the first time that happened. But other than that, snow is nice. It looks exactly like it does in the fridge, and I find it pretty. But my friends here tell me that it'll get brown and slippery and gross. So yeah, that's something to look forward to. In the meantime, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
I hate doing household chores. Well, okay, I don't really hate doing them. I just don't like having to set aside my time for them. I have not made my bed for days. I used to do it every morning, before my half-walk/half-jog to the law school. I'd tell myself that I was doing a favor for my future self (i.e. the me that would arrive back home from the law school for a few hours of sleep). And then I realized that by not doing my bed, I was doing a favor for my present self. So the present self won over the future, and the bed remains unmade.
I've developed some gross habits, actually. Take the fridge, for example. There's a blueberry rock in there that used to be a cupcake. A few weeks back, I bit into it, then remembered that I don't like blueberry (I only eat strawberry, and I hate cherry.). And so I stuck it there. I haven't taken it out yet, but I guess I will, at some point in time. Or maybe my flatmate will. But then again, maybe not. I like my flatmate a lot, but I sometimes get the impression that she's even grosser than me.
Most of my glasses are in my fridge. I drink from them, then don't feel like washing them, so they end up there, where I think they'll be safe from bacteria. And then I run out of glasses, so I have to use plastic cups. But that's okay. Drinking from glasses is overrated anyway. But back to the bacteria. See, those things grow everywhere. One time, I brought home an empty Snapple bottle, because I said I wanted to put orange juice in it. I put it in my room and then forgot about it. And then I saw it, so I went to get the gallon of orange juice I keep in the fridge. I was all set to pour juice into the empty bottle when I saw sea-urchin-like spider-shaped bacteria growing in the bottle. That was gross. I don't even know if I'm naming the creature correctly. I call it bacteria, but I remember now that bacteria is too small to be seen. Is the E-coli virus a type of bacteria? I don't know. But okay, if what I saw wasn't bacteria, then I guess I'd have to call it the grossest name I can think of. So okay, we can call it cockroach.
I saw Rent two days ago and Pride and Prejudice last night. (I could have seen Harry Potter tonight, but I felt that I had to get some work done over the Thanksgiving break. So much for that plan.) The music in Rent was as great as usual (the Collins guy has the best voice), but there were some things about that show that made me skeptical. Okay, first thing was how they all got to be friends so fast. See, the group there seems so tight, and they just met each other. Can it happen like that? I don't get really tight with people that quickly. And I didn't like the end, where Mimi said she saw Angel as she was passing through the tunnel of light. That, I felt, was stretching it a bit too far. It's just that the whole movie is so earthly and real, so the sudden addition of something like that is jarring, to say the least. And could Mimi really have spent weeks living off the streets and still have her hair look as un-greasy as that? She looked fine to me, except for the fact that she was dying. But I was glad to have watched the movie.
And on to Pride and Prejudice. After the film, my friend asked me if I had liked it, and I told her that I'd tell her today. She forgot to ask me that today, but if she'd had, I still wouldn't have been able to answer her. See, I had a good time watching the film. I'm just not sure if I think it's good. I thought that Mr. Bingley looked like a gay clown (was he the guy in Notting Hill?). He was just so easy-to-please and gullible, and I know he's supposed to be all that, but I'm not sure if he should have been so to that extent. Mr. Darcy was good. Elizabeth was, well, a little too frivolous for my taste, really. She kept giggling is why, and that got on my nerves a bit. I found Jane to be a bit flat, but my friend said that she was supposed to be flat, and I guess that could be true. Lydia was good. Lady Catherine was awesome. And the ending (Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, mwah-mwah-mwah) was bad. It had me cringing and writhing in my seat. I don't wish Jane Austen were dead, but I guess it's a blessing that she wasn't alive to witness that. She would have died.
Anyway, the film did stay true to the essence of the book. It wasn't anywhere near as faithful as the BBC mini-series, of course, but for the most part, it didn't stray. I think when I get back home, I'm going to read the book again. I have to reconnect with the story, and then I can properly say whether I liked the movie or not. That said, I wouldn't be surprised if I end up seeing this movie again.
I don't have anything more to say. This is it, then.
* * *
I wish I could write about my thoughts now, but I can't. I feel myself thinking, but I can't grasp what I am thinking about. I just feel a bit disturbed and not completely here. I sometimes think about why I like writing so much. And I'd like to think that it's because, by writing, I bring order to myself. Logos, isn't it? The Word. When my philosophy professor first taught us the concept, I felt so enlightened. Logos = the ordering of the universe. And the Word was made flesh. I remember thinking, so that's what those lines mean. I like it that the Word means something other than the word. Cause when I write, I use words (who doesn't?), and it's nice to think that there's more to my words than I see.
* * *
It's snowing outside. I like the snow a lot. It's white and powdery and it looks very clean. But when the grass peeks through it, I see the unshaven legs of a really white man with green hair. And when the snow falls, I see lots of floating dandruff. And when the wind blows, I feel the snow rush up my nose and mouth and eyes before I can do anything to stop it. Pretty invasive, actually; I was rather insulted the first time that happened. But other than that, snow is nice. It looks exactly like it does in the fridge, and I find it pretty. But my friends here tell me that it'll get brown and slippery and gross. So yeah, that's something to look forward to. In the meantime, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
* * *
I hate doing household chores. Well, okay, I don't really hate doing them. I just don't like having to set aside my time for them. I have not made my bed for days. I used to do it every morning, before my half-walk/half-jog to the law school. I'd tell myself that I was doing a favor for my future self (i.e. the me that would arrive back home from the law school for a few hours of sleep). And then I realized that by not doing my bed, I was doing a favor for my present self. So the present self won over the future, and the bed remains unmade.
I've developed some gross habits, actually. Take the fridge, for example. There's a blueberry rock in there that used to be a cupcake. A few weeks back, I bit into it, then remembered that I don't like blueberry (I only eat strawberry, and I hate cherry.). And so I stuck it there. I haven't taken it out yet, but I guess I will, at some point in time. Or maybe my flatmate will. But then again, maybe not. I like my flatmate a lot, but I sometimes get the impression that she's even grosser than me.
Most of my glasses are in my fridge. I drink from them, then don't feel like washing them, so they end up there, where I think they'll be safe from bacteria. And then I run out of glasses, so I have to use plastic cups. But that's okay. Drinking from glasses is overrated anyway. But back to the bacteria. See, those things grow everywhere. One time, I brought home an empty Snapple bottle, because I said I wanted to put orange juice in it. I put it in my room and then forgot about it. And then I saw it, so I went to get the gallon of orange juice I keep in the fridge. I was all set to pour juice into the empty bottle when I saw sea-urchin-like spider-shaped bacteria growing in the bottle. That was gross. I don't even know if I'm naming the creature correctly. I call it bacteria, but I remember now that bacteria is too small to be seen. Is the E-coli virus a type of bacteria? I don't know. But okay, if what I saw wasn't bacteria, then I guess I'd have to call it the grossest name I can think of. So okay, we can call it cockroach.
* * *
I saw Rent two days ago and Pride and Prejudice last night. (I could have seen Harry Potter tonight, but I felt that I had to get some work done over the Thanksgiving break. So much for that plan.) The music in Rent was as great as usual (the Collins guy has the best voice), but there were some things about that show that made me skeptical. Okay, first thing was how they all got to be friends so fast. See, the group there seems so tight, and they just met each other. Can it happen like that? I don't get really tight with people that quickly. And I didn't like the end, where Mimi said she saw Angel as she was passing through the tunnel of light. That, I felt, was stretching it a bit too far. It's just that the whole movie is so earthly and real, so the sudden addition of something like that is jarring, to say the least. And could Mimi really have spent weeks living off the streets and still have her hair look as un-greasy as that? She looked fine to me, except for the fact that she was dying. But I was glad to have watched the movie.
And on to Pride and Prejudice. After the film, my friend asked me if I had liked it, and I told her that I'd tell her today. She forgot to ask me that today, but if she'd had, I still wouldn't have been able to answer her. See, I had a good time watching the film. I'm just not sure if I think it's good. I thought that Mr. Bingley looked like a gay clown (was he the guy in Notting Hill?). He was just so easy-to-please and gullible, and I know he's supposed to be all that, but I'm not sure if he should have been so to that extent. Mr. Darcy was good. Elizabeth was, well, a little too frivolous for my taste, really. She kept giggling is why, and that got on my nerves a bit. I found Jane to be a bit flat, but my friend said that she was supposed to be flat, and I guess that could be true. Lydia was good. Lady Catherine was awesome. And the ending (Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, mwah-mwah-mwah) was bad. It had me cringing and writhing in my seat. I don't wish Jane Austen were dead, but I guess it's a blessing that she wasn't alive to witness that. She would have died.
Anyway, the film did stay true to the essence of the book. It wasn't anywhere near as faithful as the BBC mini-series, of course, but for the most part, it didn't stray. I think when I get back home, I'm going to read the book again. I have to reconnect with the story, and then I can properly say whether I liked the movie or not. That said, I wouldn't be surprised if I end up seeing this movie again.
* * *
I don't have anything more to say. This is it, then.
11/12/2005
Filler
I know I'm going to regret not going to bed right now, but the sleepiness that I felt while I was taking care of my laundry has disappeared, and I guess I'm writing this down to try and occupy myself before it comes creeping back. Not that I don't have anything more productive to do, mind. But yeah, who chooses to do the productive thing at 3 AM anyway?
So I said I'd write about "My Terrorist" and "My Land Zion" of Yulie Gerstel. The films won a lot of awards and are now apparently being shown all over. If you're interested, just Google the terms. I'm too lazy to hyperlink any of the stuff here. Anyway, all I really wanted to say was that I couldn't tell if I was watching a documentary or a 'film starring Yulie.' How much of it was contrived and how much of it was genuine? I'm not sure, but I think I was the only one in the audience who approached the film that way. A lively discussion erupted after the filming, with the audience really getting into the content and asking Yulie all sorts of questions about it. And the only thing I could think how I couldn't lose myself in what she was saying because my disbelief wasn't suspended.
And where that's concerned, I don't know if that's because I am just too disbelieving or because her films didn't really suspend disbelief that well. But that said, they did raise interesting points and shed light on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in a new way. On the suspension of disbelief, though, I finally understand, in a deeper way, what my Creative Writing teachers have been trying to tell me in their classes. You can't communicate effectively if your medium prevents people from getting into your story. It makes sense, methinks. That's definitely something to keep in mind once I actually write something.
Okay, I'm getting sleepy again. I wish I could write more about the interesting things that have happened to me so far. I'm quite abashed to note that my most recent entries do give the impression that all I've done here is think and whine. That's not true at all, but I won't get into that right now because I'm all too happy to walk away from the battle to stay awake. I'll save that story for another time. It's off to bed for me.
So I said I'd write about "My Terrorist" and "My Land Zion" of Yulie Gerstel. The films won a lot of awards and are now apparently being shown all over. If you're interested, just Google the terms. I'm too lazy to hyperlink any of the stuff here. Anyway, all I really wanted to say was that I couldn't tell if I was watching a documentary or a 'film starring Yulie.' How much of it was contrived and how much of it was genuine? I'm not sure, but I think I was the only one in the audience who approached the film that way. A lively discussion erupted after the filming, with the audience really getting into the content and asking Yulie all sorts of questions about it. And the only thing I could think how I couldn't lose myself in what she was saying because my disbelief wasn't suspended.
And where that's concerned, I don't know if that's because I am just too disbelieving or because her films didn't really suspend disbelief that well. But that said, they did raise interesting points and shed light on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in a new way. On the suspension of disbelief, though, I finally understand, in a deeper way, what my Creative Writing teachers have been trying to tell me in their classes. You can't communicate effectively if your medium prevents people from getting into your story. It makes sense, methinks. That's definitely something to keep in mind once I actually write something.
Okay, I'm getting sleepy again. I wish I could write more about the interesting things that have happened to me so far. I'm quite abashed to note that my most recent entries do give the impression that all I've done here is think and whine. That's not true at all, but I won't get into that right now because I'm all too happy to walk away from the battle to stay awake. I'll save that story for another time. It's off to bed for me.
11/04/2005
Wasting Time
I'm supposed to be doing this two-hour homework now, but there's a dull throb in my head, and I'm thinking that maybe I should try and get rid of that by writing something here. It's not working at all, by the way. The throbbing is increasing which each key that I hit, but I don't care. I'd rather have a headache and be writing than have a headache and work. Maybe this has to do with me sleeping at four this morning and getting up at nine. I like sleeping when I feel like it and so I do. But I don't like waking up to adjust to the rigid schedule of the world. Why doesn't the world adjust to me? Because it got here first? Because it's mean? Because it just feels like it? Questions that the world won't answer but which I'll throw at it anyway because I like doing useless things.
Oh man, I feel so wasted. What in the world am I typing? But unsurprisingly, the words still make sense. I wonder if they say anything about me. Well, if they do, then good. If they don't, not bad. I submitted a memo to the court today. My professor is the judge, and she has around 20 would-be-lawyers submitting memos to her on the exact same case. I don't envy her her job. Okay, the throb is going away, but my head is foggy. I'm not sleepy though. And I don't think I'll be sleeping any time soon. The night is young, and there are places to visit and things to do. There'll be time enough for sleep. Besides, it's not like I lack dreams. I dream every night again, just like before, and then there are the dreams outside of sleep and the nightmares there too.
I was supposed to write about two films that I saw last Saturday - "My Terrorist" and "My Land Zion." The director, Yulie Gertsel, answered questions after the film. It was a good overall experience, even if I almost froze to death on the way back home. I'm vaguely tempted to start that piece, but I'm not in an intellectual mood right now, and I don't want to lace that topic with incoherence. But yeah, I'll be writing about that, so that's something for my faithful readers, if there any of you out there, to watch out for. That's a gratuitous promise you can't enforce, because there's no consideration. But I'll be keeping it anyway, I think. As of now, that's the plan.
This is fantastic. I am such an expert at wasting time.
Oh man, I feel so wasted. What in the world am I typing? But unsurprisingly, the words still make sense. I wonder if they say anything about me. Well, if they do, then good. If they don't, not bad. I submitted a memo to the court today. My professor is the judge, and she has around 20 would-be-lawyers submitting memos to her on the exact same case. I don't envy her her job. Okay, the throb is going away, but my head is foggy. I'm not sleepy though. And I don't think I'll be sleeping any time soon. The night is young, and there are places to visit and things to do. There'll be time enough for sleep. Besides, it's not like I lack dreams. I dream every night again, just like before, and then there are the dreams outside of sleep and the nightmares there too.
I was supposed to write about two films that I saw last Saturday - "My Terrorist" and "My Land Zion." The director, Yulie Gertsel, answered questions after the film. It was a good overall experience, even if I almost froze to death on the way back home. I'm vaguely tempted to start that piece, but I'm not in an intellectual mood right now, and I don't want to lace that topic with incoherence. But yeah, I'll be writing about that, so that's something for my faithful readers, if there any of you out there, to watch out for. That's a gratuitous promise you can't enforce, because there's no consideration. But I'll be keeping it anyway, I think. As of now, that's the plan.
This is fantastic. I am such an expert at wasting time.
10/22/2005
Hibernating and Singing
I am standing on the thin line that separates slight restlessness from calmness. I'm in my room, my sounds are turned up, I'm ignoring all things legal, and I'm writing down whatever comes to mind. This is a pretty good place to be, and I think I shall park myself here for a while.
So the fall break comes to a close. I wish it could go on for just a few days more, but I guess it's best that it ends now. I did my fair share of hibernation this week. I need to hibernate a lot to stay sane. And I don't mean this in the sleeping way, although, of course, lots of sleep is an essential part of it. I like traveling to Dreamland, and that's one place you can't visit if you're awake. I mean hibernation in the being alone way, with good music, books, and writing paraphernalia. When I was in Manila, I could spend hours and even days all alone in my room. I'd watch TV for a while, then read, then write, then think, then do the whole thing over again. It's the same thing here. In that regard, nothing has changed.
Because of fall break, my sleeping schedule has naturalized. And that's not really a good thing. If I weren't a social being or if the world revolved around me, I'd start my days at 1 PM and end them at 3 AM. Maybe I'll do that when I get a bit older and have money to burn and power to wield. But right now, I guess I'll have to exert some effort to be normal.
Earlier today, I got in bed at around 1 AM. I was hoping I'd sleep right away, but I stayed awake for a while. As I spend a whole lot of time in the library here, I started thinking about my library days in the Ateneo. See, while most people would hang out at their benches or org rooms, my course friends and I would stay at the Rizal Library.
Three things, in particular, came to mind:
1) Cokelover, Richard, and I were in the Filipiana section. Cokelover had just gotten his laptop, and we were taking turns listening to music through the headphones. And then it was Richard's turn. When he had put the headphones on, Cokelover turned the volume all the way up, and Richard roared, "Hoy, ano ba?!" People turned to look, and the librarian with the moustache and the big eyes was so scandalized that he was turning maroon. And I folded my arms on the table and put my head there, but not before I saw Cokelover shaking with laughter and Richard smiling brightly at everyone looking at him, as though to assure them that, yes, he had been possessed by an evil spirit but that he was fine now.
2) Richard, Comic, and I were in the second floor, reviewing for an accounting long test. Richard went to the bathroom and told Comic and me to watch his laptop. His table was about a foot away from ours. A few minutes after he had left, his laptop started belting out the Marimar theme song. People were starting to look and point and snicker. Comic and I looked at each other, and then I looked at my accounting book and shook my head and bit my lip. After glaring at me for a while and jerking her head pointedly towards music table, Comic got up and started jabbing at Richard's keyboard, trying to get it to stop, but it wouldn't. And finally, Richard came, and Thalia's concert ended.
3) Cokelover, Comic, Caro, and I were in the third floor library one afternoon. We were the only ones there. Then Richard came up carrying a box of chocolate cupcakes. "Oh, friends, kuha kayo!" So, of course, we crowded around the box and picked our cupcakes. Just when I was about to put my cupcake into my mouth, I saw the librarian walking towards us. I said, "Oh," and carefully returned the cupcake to the box, as did all of my other friends. We did it very seriously, as though the cupcakes were floating around and we had taken it upon ourselves to rid the library of stray food. The librarian said something, and we nodded meekly, and then she turned away, and we packed our things quickly and rushed out of there before she remembered that she was supposed to get out ID's.
And since I started thinking about funny things, I went all the way back to fourth year high school, when Jac and I watched "Hamlet" together. I was and am a big fan of theater, and I was looking forward to watching this play, as we were studying the book, and I identified so closely with Hamlet that I felt like I was his female reincarnation. Anyway, it was time for the "Oh that this too, too sullied flesh" speech, which is supposed to be anguished and impassioned.
I leaned forward in my chair and gazed intently at the actor. He paused for a moment, and then started singing an impromptu song - "Oh - oh - ohhhhh", each syllable about an octave higher and a few seconds longer than the last, complete with oscillating notes. I froze. And then I glanced at Jac who was already smirking and shaking. I slumped back in my chair and covered my mouth and then my face. I was laughing so hard that I couldn't breathe, and, since I didn't want to make a sound, I think I was close to hyperventilating. People started to notice Jac and I writhing in our seats, and I tried but probably failed to look as though I were crying because I was so moved by the actor's delivery. I wanted to crawl out of the theater, but I couldn't do that cause we were near the front. Those were the most mortifying moments of my life. I felt like Hamlet had betrayed me.
Because I started thinking of singing, I remembered the concert that Miyan gave during the fourth year retreat in Baguio. For our retreat, the whole class stayed in one big room that had steel bunk beds lined up in two rows with a makeshift corridor in between. Lights-out was 10 PM, I think, so we were all in the room. And then Miyan got up and started singing "On My Own" from Les Miserables, which we were studying at that time. She was swinging from bedpost to bedpost and sometimes dropping to the floor and lamenting there for dramatic effect. All of us were watching her and cheering her on. And then the silhouette of Mrs. Yoro appeared at the doorway, and Miyan dove in someone's bed, and we all slammed our heads back onto our pillows and closed our eyes almost gently when the lights were turned on.
Before I forget, I saw a piglet lurking near the Center, which is like the village office where I live. Or maybe it was a baby wombat. I also saw a fat black cat a few days back. And, of course, the squirrels and I are friends, even if I step on their food everyday. But I still don't mind the chipmunks because they look like mice, and the spiders and worms here are just gross. But yeah, animal farm, much? Holy cow.
More funny memories are coming to mind, but I'm tired of sitting down. And this is the part where I curl up in my bed and laugh by myself before going to sleep.
Next morning question: Does someone know whether oolong leaves grow after they've been dumped in hot water? My flatmate gave me some last night, and I didn't finish the tea, so I left it in the fridge. I heated it up this morning and, aba, the leaves increased in both size and number! If this keeps up, I think I'll have an oolong bonsai by tomorrow.
* * *
So the fall break comes to a close. I wish it could go on for just a few days more, but I guess it's best that it ends now. I did my fair share of hibernation this week. I need to hibernate a lot to stay sane. And I don't mean this in the sleeping way, although, of course, lots of sleep is an essential part of it. I like traveling to Dreamland, and that's one place you can't visit if you're awake. I mean hibernation in the being alone way, with good music, books, and writing paraphernalia. When I was in Manila, I could spend hours and even days all alone in my room. I'd watch TV for a while, then read, then write, then think, then do the whole thing over again. It's the same thing here. In that regard, nothing has changed.
* * *
Because of fall break, my sleeping schedule has naturalized. And that's not really a good thing. If I weren't a social being or if the world revolved around me, I'd start my days at 1 PM and end them at 3 AM. Maybe I'll do that when I get a bit older and have money to burn and power to wield. But right now, I guess I'll have to exert some effort to be normal.
Earlier today, I got in bed at around 1 AM. I was hoping I'd sleep right away, but I stayed awake for a while. As I spend a whole lot of time in the library here, I started thinking about my library days in the Ateneo. See, while most people would hang out at their benches or org rooms, my course friends and I would stay at the Rizal Library.
Three things, in particular, came to mind:
1) Cokelover, Richard, and I were in the Filipiana section. Cokelover had just gotten his laptop, and we were taking turns listening to music through the headphones. And then it was Richard's turn. When he had put the headphones on, Cokelover turned the volume all the way up, and Richard roared, "Hoy, ano ba?!" People turned to look, and the librarian with the moustache and the big eyes was so scandalized that he was turning maroon. And I folded my arms on the table and put my head there, but not before I saw Cokelover shaking with laughter and Richard smiling brightly at everyone looking at him, as though to assure them that, yes, he had been possessed by an evil spirit but that he was fine now.
2) Richard, Comic, and I were in the second floor, reviewing for an accounting long test. Richard went to the bathroom and told Comic and me to watch his laptop. His table was about a foot away from ours. A few minutes after he had left, his laptop started belting out the Marimar theme song. People were starting to look and point and snicker. Comic and I looked at each other, and then I looked at my accounting book and shook my head and bit my lip. After glaring at me for a while and jerking her head pointedly towards music table, Comic got up and started jabbing at Richard's keyboard, trying to get it to stop, but it wouldn't. And finally, Richard came, and Thalia's concert ended.
3) Cokelover, Comic, Caro, and I were in the third floor library one afternoon. We were the only ones there. Then Richard came up carrying a box of chocolate cupcakes. "Oh, friends, kuha kayo!" So, of course, we crowded around the box and picked our cupcakes. Just when I was about to put my cupcake into my mouth, I saw the librarian walking towards us. I said, "Oh," and carefully returned the cupcake to the box, as did all of my other friends. We did it very seriously, as though the cupcakes were floating around and we had taken it upon ourselves to rid the library of stray food. The librarian said something, and we nodded meekly, and then she turned away, and we packed our things quickly and rushed out of there before she remembered that she was supposed to get out ID's.
* * *
And since I started thinking about funny things, I went all the way back to fourth year high school, when Jac and I watched "Hamlet" together. I was and am a big fan of theater, and I was looking forward to watching this play, as we were studying the book, and I identified so closely with Hamlet that I felt like I was his female reincarnation. Anyway, it was time for the "Oh that this too, too sullied flesh" speech, which is supposed to be anguished and impassioned.
I leaned forward in my chair and gazed intently at the actor. He paused for a moment, and then started singing an impromptu song - "Oh - oh - ohhhhh", each syllable about an octave higher and a few seconds longer than the last, complete with oscillating notes. I froze. And then I glanced at Jac who was already smirking and shaking. I slumped back in my chair and covered my mouth and then my face. I was laughing so hard that I couldn't breathe, and, since I didn't want to make a sound, I think I was close to hyperventilating. People started to notice Jac and I writhing in our seats, and I tried but probably failed to look as though I were crying because I was so moved by the actor's delivery. I wanted to crawl out of the theater, but I couldn't do that cause we were near the front. Those were the most mortifying moments of my life. I felt like Hamlet had betrayed me.
* * *
Because I started thinking of singing, I remembered the concert that Miyan gave during the fourth year retreat in Baguio. For our retreat, the whole class stayed in one big room that had steel bunk beds lined up in two rows with a makeshift corridor in between. Lights-out was 10 PM, I think, so we were all in the room. And then Miyan got up and started singing "On My Own" from Les Miserables, which we were studying at that time. She was swinging from bedpost to bedpost and sometimes dropping to the floor and lamenting there for dramatic effect. All of us were watching her and cheering her on. And then the silhouette of Mrs. Yoro appeared at the doorway, and Miyan dove in someone's bed, and we all slammed our heads back onto our pillows and closed our eyes almost gently when the lights were turned on.
* * *
Before I forget, I saw a piglet lurking near the Center, which is like the village office where I live. Or maybe it was a baby wombat. I also saw a fat black cat a few days back. And, of course, the squirrels and I are friends, even if I step on their food everyday. But I still don't mind the chipmunks because they look like mice, and the spiders and worms here are just gross. But yeah, animal farm, much? Holy cow.
* * *
More funny memories are coming to mind, but I'm tired of sitting down. And this is the part where I curl up in my bed and laugh by myself before going to sleep.
* * *
Next morning question: Does someone know whether oolong leaves grow after they've been dumped in hot water? My flatmate gave me some last night, and I didn't finish the tea, so I left it in the fridge. I heated it up this morning and, aba, the leaves increased in both size and number! If this keeps up, I think I'll have an oolong bonsai by tomorrow.
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