Pasensya na sa malikot na pagiisip, ngunit kailangan ko lamang itong maiparating:

Something I tripped on after double-checking some facts for my MTV VJ Hunt 2005 article for Fudge:

http://www.yehey.com/lifestyle/nightlife/article2.aspx?id=12167

Giving emphasis on the paragraph about a half-European girl who’s jinxed in love. And on the second paragraph pertaining to steamy “indiscreet” affairs between the sheets.

Wow. Isn’t this such a lovely time to be bisexual? Ah, such lovely world out there. I wonder if I can convince CINDY KURLETO and BRENT JAVIER that it’s better spent with me?

*calling Tina*

(btw, Paul claims the girl probably ISN’T Cindy Kurleto. Point is, how many UGLY senior VJs do you know? NADA.)

“frnds 4 quite
som tym
so0n 2 prt.
1s we shrd,
cried
bt n0w
we bid farewel
coz_____
colege lyf
as we oL knw
s OVER.
gudLyf___
guLuv
gudL�ks
SENIORS 05′
n0w signing-off!”

-Mark Baquiran
17 March 2005
02:56 am

I found myself staring at this old heap while I was sorting out my laundry this morning. Out of some melancholic urge, I just looked at it for a long time, and whether it’s because I am moved with the idea that I am finally going to be able to wash clean my bacteria’s lounge or that I was actually able to wake up early in the morning (thanks to my niece who got here at 6:30am) is still lost to me, but after those few minutes I could not resist the urge to get out the camera and take a few photos of it.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is my school uniform. Like its predecessors, after years of usage it has become grayish and somewhat soft on the sides, enduring typhoons and sun blasts and hours-long travels and media productions and trips to the loo and overly saccharine moments as well as double overly squirming-ly corny moments bursting every now and then. It has experienced bad hair days to squirming freshmen jitters to smug senior looks. It has eavesdropped on dozens of class secrets, even best friend talks and lately this year, the intimate talks quite different from the usual platonic exchanges.

It has been quite a puzzle to me why I never bothered to name them. Aside from the fact that it’s silly, of course, but coming to think of it, as four days in my academic week requires attendance of that green and white pair, we have become more than acquainted friends but partners in daily life. When I feel down they miraculously slop around, and when I am quite blissful they share my sentiments as well and somewhat frisk up trying to keep up to par. We have both been going through the same directions, only parting when she needs to rest along with the bacteria-lounge heap or finally take that much-awaited refreshment.

However, unlike me, this heap is going to follow after its predecessors, which have either become now indistinguishable rags, or taken other lives as old towels for the dogs, or cut up pieces of fabric to practice non-existent sewing skills on. The luckier piece of my old uniform went to a family friend who fancied the way my mother has sewn my skirts back in elementary and borrowed it for design pattern. We never got it back, and of course, it’s not like we’re going to put up a court case for doing so. We were just relieved to dispose of those navy blue skirts accordingly.

I, on the other hand, will be taking after a different life after graduation. It’s a pity my partner would never even become a witness to my coming up on stage, but since uniforms have faster growing years than dogs, it has subtly told me that it’s not going to make it there on stage proudly anymore. The other day I made sure my uniforms wouldn’t even see the wardrobe I am going to wear on that day. They might get jealous.

Sigh. It would have been easier to part with the archetype of my four years in college if I had the nerdiest “lesser-people” experience of it. But I don’t. I had two years of common college life bountiful of explorations, I had my third year full of bonding experience, and I had my fourth year celebrated with newly acquainted friends. Just when I thought my life was at its peak with my classmates on my third and fourth year, I got to experience the savvy yet obviously equally nerdy (but nevertheless elitists) people of Heraldo Filipino. In the middle I was even making new acquaintances in the rock scene. And then there were also friends I was able to cherish during my OJT stays. I almost had no reason to stay in our house. If I don’t move I feel I’d lose half of my life.

Some of them of course I’d be able to still keep in touch with after. That�s what the emails, blogs and chats are for, my dear theoretical sister, Cholo even declares. But somehow, the toga gives me the ticket to move on aboard a train fast going nowhere. I can only visit once in a while, but the action is somehow lost. You’re not a present-part of them anymore; you only become a (hopefully well-treasured) has-been.

Yesterday JP gave me an unsolicited advice about what I can do after I graduate. It was actually a nice suggestion, considering it was also a vehemently-denied “conjugal” advice with my news editor Maycee (yes, JP. I still stand by my label of it). Why not become a part of the teaching force? JP asked. CAD needs people like you. I Fervently denied him the answer he was hoping for. Nofrigingway.

It would have been a spanking great idea if not for two reasons: that one, I do not read the word “teacher” written all over my face; two, I wouldn’t want to teach students who are more bratty than I am, if not wittier and more sarcastic. Besides, I cannot see what I can teach except for I.T., and I do not have proper training with it except that I love to dabble in html once in a while. And I am still using an outdated software such as FrontPage, so it’s not as idealistic as it can turn out.

That’s the problem with you people, JP reacts, a touch of bitterness apparent. How are we going to revolutionize (read: my word) the CAD faculty? How are we going to change the ailing faculty of LaSalle if you’re not willing to take part in changing it?

I silently chuckled at my own ideals being thrown at my face. First of all, do not think that I have not considered that. But given my position as a fresh graduate and given my experience, drive is not enough. I have been a student once, JP, as we all have been. And we all know how we scoff at professors who are teaching subjects which are not their forte. And considering the small number of faculties around, if I dare it I might be subjected to teach some subject I am near clueless about, and I wouldn’t want to repeat history by mocking my students and claiming I know something about it even if I don’t. If I believe in teaching excellence, I wouldn’t submit my self.

I rinsed my uniform for possibly the last time. Didn’t think twice about putting fabric conditioner on it, even if it may live a peaceful life inside my cabinets afterwards. I did cherish my college life, you know. So I wouldn’t let those uniforms dry just like that. As much as I wouldn’t let my college years go dry either.

As much as I deny the thought that I care for my own school, somehow I do. And I probably always will. It had a few holes, but still good enough to cherish. And JP, I do somehow hope I can do something good for my school when the time comes. It has given me the best four years of my life, even if not purely academically, but at least the grounds of De La Salle University - Dasmari�as has become a venue for friendships and minds and memories which are currently making my eyes a bit moist on the sides, and which would probably trigger teardrops come graduation day. Because I would not just miss the lovely people of Heraldo Filipino, or the people I were able to meet on the side, the people at orgs, the teachers who have shared lessons with me, or yes, even the Sinag Political Party people who have become nice acquaintances on my 3 years in college, and of course, to my great batch mates and especially my block mates who have shared wonderful four years with me in this university. We’re the fourth section but never the underrated lot. I would never �just� miss them. I would GREATLY miss them.

Four years. The last year was even the best. After four years, like my uniforms which have taken different colors with all those travels and experiences, I have proudly caught a shade of different colors given by different lovely people, and even more proudly, I have become soft on the sides. I’d definitely put a conditioner on those memories I have of those years too. Because I’d definitely come back again and again and sniff them inside my cabinets. Because I’d definitely miss you.

All of you.

Thanks for making my stay here better than I expected. I’d really miss you all.

Love lots,

Don’t you just hate it when people refrain from contacting or keeping in touch with you just because they “don’t want to disturb you”?

Like as if the wait for them to breathe life into your hopes isn’t enough disturbance.

Sorry. Just irritated.

- - -

And now, the clincher.

After weeks of experiencing dehydrating, nauseating and vomit-inducing anxiousness, we have finally come around to the absolutes and my fate was decided upon.

I am not graduating.

Hell, yeah!

Yes. Give me your claps. After weeks of struggle, I was able to make the necessary improvements and supplements that I’m finally going to graduate! My endless gratitude to all those who dropped by my site, read my sos, and offered a prayer or two for my intentions . To hell with the flamers. (but I was able to talk to that person, apparently she doesn’t even know who the fuck I am and wouldn’t even care a hoot. Random blog hopper. Just decided she’d give hell to the next ailing person) I’m now graduating, and I am plainly thankful as of this moment. Because yes, we have finally reached the end.

…of being an academic dependent. Start of either becoming a bum (ah ah! Not just ANY bum, but read: PROFESSIONAL BUM), a dream trailer, or a mindless yuppie because of all those calls and numbers coming in. Hello, Convergys. Take me in, People Support.

Up till now I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do with my life. Save for the daily requisite breathing and living, plans of leaving for mother planet are still on hold. I had honestly idealistic plans back then. Study M.A. Or take Creative Writing, Literature, or Journalism at a well-known state school, if ever they decide to take me in for some mental retardation support/back-to-school program or something. Take a second course on graphic and website design at UST (they have good fine arts programs) or yet another state school. Or apply for a magazine/ad company/any jilted company who’d take me and make me realize my dreams. And then I’d come back to my school and hold pre-graduation symposiums with me smugly starting off with words such as, “I just wanted to pursue my dreams, you know, and so should you. You should not be pressured by the real world. Money is evil, blah blah.”

Pffft.

Reality check–basic questions:
a) What is your position right now?
b) What are your resources as of this moment?
c) Any chance nepotism can save you?

My answer:
a) Fresh grad. Currently clueless. Somewhat lost. Have absolutely no idea what to do.
b) Money: none. People who’d adapt a photowhoring fresh-out-of-school bum and give me money because I’m “cute”: none. Schools applied to: none. Ideas: none.
c) No. None of my relatives are working in the field I want anyway.

Sigh. Gone are the idealistic notions. Gone are the dreams. Hello truth: we all need money. But I don’t have anything much.

Well, I have a lighter though. I can have a degree on lighting up cigarettes and earn a living that way.

Hmm. I remember JD. He’s one conceited friend of mine but then he has the right to anyway. One time I tried to ask him out for a ciggie break. I don’t smoke anymore, he claims. Yeah right. JD with no vices is like JD without half of his cerebral functions, and that’s virtually a flawed concept.

Well, yeah, if you ask me if I smoke, I’d say yes, he explains. But only on occasions. It has become a status symbol, you know, of your social life. You don’t smoke, but because you have to socialize, then occasionally, you will. Pakikisama yan, eh. You don’t want it, but you do it to save your life. Sooner or later you can let go of that. It’s what you have.
Hmm. Pretty much makes sense. See, if I have to live I have to do stuff I don’t like. For the moment. I can kiss ass just to live, and when I finally realize that I can finally live without it, maybe I’ll be fine. Make money and kill your dreams for a bit, like a cigarette does to you. It kills you but you earn friendship somehow. And when you’re finally on a good plane, that’s when you try quitting smoking and make truth happen.

Or you can pursue what you want already. It depends on you, I guess. But right now, all I know is that I have a lighter. That’s all I have.

And because we are camwhores. And because it’s the season to change layouts again. It’s going to be the last time that I’d be following a semestral layout change. Unlike Viva whose creativity twitches almost every hour and therefore needs to fuel her need to fiddle with photoshop or else suffer chronic neurotic-ness, I simply follow a semestral pattern, therefore lesser pressure.

But since it is going to be the last summer of my college years–no, actually, it’s the first summer OUT of college–I need a change of layout.

Sigh. I still haven’t written my grad post, or at least I haven’t finished it. Hopefully by the end of the day I will. It’s going to be late again.

Anyway, enjoy the greens. I’m gonna miss that when I’m out of the university. I’m sure Paul will too.

Because of our lack of better technologies in order to zap a person every time an email comes, I was not able to utilize my afternoon rightly. I had a friend supposedly coming to play basketball with me, but alas, he obviously didn’t get my mail. Or maybe he did, but ditched me. That buffoon.

So I slept. Woke up at around eightish, the little guy in Rizal claims I was abusing sleep. Or something to that effect. I’ve been waiting for months for this kind of opportunity to come along, that I nearly failed that darned morning subject because of excessive sleep. So of course I’m gonna abuse it. The hell if I don’t. Anyway, I thought I needed to find a few reco-cards or those dainty-looking cards verifying my attendance on the recollections I attended imposed by our school for clearance. See, if we become the next president we need to verify that even if we are hogging millions we are righteous people because we attended LaSalle’s Recollections. You may never know. So I unearthed a couple of envelopes that housed some of those cards, but I couldn’t resist a glimpse on a few of my reco notes from my precious blockmates. You know, small post-its with monosyllables. Peppered with a collection of words which are virtually repeated at every attempt to write a classmate a letter, like, “Muzta?” or “You’ve been such a good friend” or “whatthefuckamIwritingcanyou
justgivemeasmallnotetoobecauseIwroteyouoneanditwouldbefriggingniceifIseeanote
fromyouinmyrecoenvelopesoIcansayIamloved.”

It was obvious though the theme every year. First year was full of pretentions. Hi, thanks for making me your friend, sana maging close pa tayo, I feel we need to bond, blah blah. Second year had markings of slight gratitude and even hope of having better days. Third year saw more dramatic notes, with people finally telling you what they really like about you and actually attempt at a couple of biting truths because of the two and a half years of bonding. But amazingly, what I’m a bit intrigued at, is why my collection of notes on my fourth year revealed to contain rather passive notes. Almost everyone regressed to writing small paragraphs, pretty generic. I admittedly got lazy writing notes too. Considering we’re about to leave each other.

Three things:
a) Either we already know each other we wouldn’t need to kiss each other’s ass
b) We just couldn’t see the purpose, it’s just laziness
c) We’re somewhat afraid the last goodbye through letters is going to be teary.

Me thinks we’re just lazy.

Anyway, I decided to come back again to my job of being a pro-bono site faker (okay, webmaster) of a certain band. Hoping to get things done before April, which is a bit ambitious considering I wouldn�t be able to utilize the computer for one week on holy week, and I still don’t have the requisite info I’m supposed to post. The band and I are both clinging on to nothing, honestly.

Let’s just hope I’d be able to churn out graphics as good as Viva and things will be okay. Speaking of which, Viva, no, of course I’m not going to write those Viva-heart-whoever stuff. What’s the need; I can always look at you and still convey the same message, more efficiently even. Nah, sarap kasing mag comment minsan. Galing ka rin naman kasi magsulat. Besides, paano pag hindi na tayo nagkita? Wala nang communication. Tsk.

Naks. Feeling welcome-to-the-unemployed na kaagad ako. :p