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.
