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Warning: Possible self-indulgent navel gazing ahead. Will compensate later by writing about something useful like, er, the job fair.
On random acts of not being yourself
I surprised myself yesterday by doing something I normally would not do. I've always seen myself as this stingy, antisocial "I will be nice to you for five minutes provided you leave me alone after that" person. Especially when I'm sitting down and doing something I like. Well, this happened recently: after a lunchdate with Glacy, I had a thirty-minute space between errands to sit down and wait. I sat outside the Main Library, on the last stone bench to the right, the one shaded by a large cluster of bamboo. The day was warm but windy, and I had my little brown notebook with me, so I took it out and began writing/journaling. I rarely do this, anymore--write about my dreams, that is. I miss it--it helps you clear out your insides and indulge in your dreams, a little. So I was doing this, filling in all the blank space I'd left in the first few pages with tiny spidery handwriting, when two kids selling those scrunchies/hair ties made out of velvety cloth ran up to me and basically whined at me to buy their merchandise.
Here's the weird part. I said no (not weird) and told them to sell to other people who were not me, who had longer hair and actually used velvety scrunchies. They refused and whined some more (still not weird) and then without thinking, I struck up a conversation with them and asked about how many they sold in a day, if they went to school and what grade they were, and what they liked doing once they were done selling their stuff. The smaller kid was in grade 1, and was 6 or 7--his name was Tas. (Me: Chazz? Kid: Hinde! TAS!) and then the older one was in third grade, named Aljo. He said he liked taking naps on the grass, and building little houses out of branches and leaves and things. The kids were best friends, they said, and they lived in Balara.
There were a few words I said that they couldn't understand. Trashcan, and "later." I offered them the extra dinner roll/corned beef sandwiches I had, and after some pestering on my part, they took it. Tas asked why UP students were so nice, and Aljo said that a student pinched him once. They asked me if I spoke English at home all the time, and I said yes. I asked them if they wanted to learn English. And then 1:30 struck, and I had to go find Tita Belen, so I said goodbye.
But not before buying a hair tie from each of them.
Anyway, whatever. I don't know what came over me. And I didn't feel weird about it. It seemed to make sense, at that time. Ah, well. Till the next run-in, boys. At least now I have a reason to not buy more hair ties.
This week is a bit of a rollercoaster.
Sometimes I'm really pissed off and I just have to let it out in small ways: slam the cabinet door a little too hard, quietly move to a part in the house without people (really hard) or just rage-write (like this?). It has to do with the tides, for sure. Darn you, hormones, mood-swings and cramps. At the beginning of this week I made a decision to concentrate purely on acads and SV things and be mature in general about life and let me tell you the first day was the hardest. Shut myself in my room for a few hours after dinner, working on a profile for my non-fiction class, hoping to curry up some of that elusive writing-magic. I don't know, this class has been one of my most challenging classes so far. I think I predicted rightly from the beginning: this be the boss fight of the semester.
Other times, I am happy. I had a physics exam today, and everything was OK. Thank God. I accosted Josh about his answers as soon as we left the classroom and they were all the same, save for some. Phew. Thank you, physics book my parents got me for Christmas (yeah) and Youtube. Thank You, Lord. Physics is sometimes cool, especially if it involves the possibility of Star Wars.
About conversations.
They are wonderful when unedited, raw, in the flesh. Silences are wonderful, too. Today I walked with a friend after class was over--just your usual get-to-the-next-building-walk--and we were completely quiet. It had to do with the stress of cramming on my part. She's just a naturally quiet person. This is how it works also, during the car rides with Josh going to physics class. Just the sound of the car and the radio, or usually one of us is humming a song, or sometimes we talk about random things.
I had lunch with Yukari on Monday. It is possibly the last time I am going to see her, so now I have to dig up my Skype account so we can talk. I look forward to that. I can't imagine that it's almost been a year--wait, no, it hasn't. I met her in August, I think. My hair was short and I was wearing heels and this dress. She didn't have bangs, and she was wearing a plaid shirt, and it was her first time in church. I think this was the last Sunday Joh spent over here. Anyway, conversations lead to more conversations. Everything branches out.
About February.
Honestly? The nights are cold and the days are sweltering hot. Everyone's on board with the Valentine's day thing and hopefully we'll get to make some money off of these lovestruck people. I am possibly spending the 14th with the exec at the UP Fair, for more fuzz and feelings. I love these people. For the people who will be clogging up the malls and the restaurants on that day: please give nice flowers to your ladies. They don't have to be roses, because everyone gives roses. Also, maybe you don't have to give flowers? Give a mixtape! (Unless you have really bad taste in music). I personally would love a mixtape, especially if it tells a story.
February is also acads being unreasonable month. And the month where you're supposed to SIGN UP TO ATTEND THE GRADUATION and ORDER YOUR CUSTOM SABLAY(!!!). Feel my excitement, silent people of the internet. I am going to be one of those people stopping by the roadside to steal a sunflower in April. Yep. One of those large yellow things has got my name on it, mark my words. But for now, the slaving away continues. It builds character, Hannah. Be patient. This is plan A and will continue to be plan A no matter what happens and tomorrow will take care of itself.
Low psychic distance.
I think that's the point of blogs though, isn't it? Personal ones. You're not really writing towards a specific interest group. This sort of thing is more for documentation. "This was my state of mind in the year _____, when I was ____ andhorribly confused about life." Gotta appreciate the stream of consciousness sort of thing; the ability to be your unfiltered self. (Of course this is filtered, as I write, somehow. It's impossible to be completely unfiltered; only God can read and understand our unfiltered selves. What I mean is, I won't go back and pore over every little detail of this post, and worry that it's not literary enough. That's not the point.)
I have been friends with the Diamond people for a decade now.
It is amazing. And here are Cy and Jess, still having lunch with me, still linking me to self-made music. My high school barkada isn't large and loud and happy. It's small and, well, usually loud and funny and irreverent, and we're not the type to have reunions organized via social networks, but it is still all very genuine and small and comfortable. The afternoons and evenings still roll by. One day we'll gather at a front lobby bench and play rockxs again.
On random acts of not being yourself
I surprised myself yesterday by doing something I normally would not do. I've always seen myself as this stingy, antisocial "I will be nice to you for five minutes provided you leave me alone after that" person. Especially when I'm sitting down and doing something I like. Well, this happened recently: after a lunchdate with Glacy, I had a thirty-minute space between errands to sit down and wait. I sat outside the Main Library, on the last stone bench to the right, the one shaded by a large cluster of bamboo. The day was warm but windy, and I had my little brown notebook with me, so I took it out and began writing/journaling. I rarely do this, anymore--write about my dreams, that is. I miss it--it helps you clear out your insides and indulge in your dreams, a little. So I was doing this, filling in all the blank space I'd left in the first few pages with tiny spidery handwriting, when two kids selling those scrunchies/hair ties made out of velvety cloth ran up to me and basically whined at me to buy their merchandise.
Here's the weird part. I said no (not weird) and told them to sell to other people who were not me, who had longer hair and actually used velvety scrunchies. They refused and whined some more (still not weird) and then without thinking, I struck up a conversation with them and asked about how many they sold in a day, if they went to school and what grade they were, and what they liked doing once they were done selling their stuff. The smaller kid was in grade 1, and was 6 or 7--his name was Tas. (Me: Chazz? Kid: Hinde! TAS!) and then the older one was in third grade, named Aljo. He said he liked taking naps on the grass, and building little houses out of branches and leaves and things. The kids were best friends, they said, and they lived in Balara.
There were a few words I said that they couldn't understand. Trashcan, and "later." I offered them the extra dinner roll/corned beef sandwiches I had, and after some pestering on my part, they took it. Tas asked why UP students were so nice, and Aljo said that a student pinched him once. They asked me if I spoke English at home all the time, and I said yes. I asked them if they wanted to learn English. And then 1:30 struck, and I had to go find Tita Belen, so I said goodbye.
But not before buying a hair tie from each of them.
Anyway, whatever. I don't know what came over me. And I didn't feel weird about it. It seemed to make sense, at that time. Ah, well. Till the next run-in, boys. At least now I have a reason to not buy more hair ties.
This week is a bit of a rollercoaster.
Sometimes I'm really pissed off and I just have to let it out in small ways: slam the cabinet door a little too hard, quietly move to a part in the house without people (really hard) or just rage-write (like this?). It has to do with the tides, for sure. Darn you, hormones, mood-swings and cramps. At the beginning of this week I made a decision to concentrate purely on acads and SV things and be mature in general about life and let me tell you the first day was the hardest. Shut myself in my room for a few hours after dinner, working on a profile for my non-fiction class, hoping to curry up some of that elusive writing-magic. I don't know, this class has been one of my most challenging classes so far. I think I predicted rightly from the beginning: this be the boss fight of the semester.
Other times, I am happy. I had a physics exam today, and everything was OK. Thank God. I accosted Josh about his answers as soon as we left the classroom and they were all the same, save for some. Phew. Thank you, physics book my parents got me for Christmas (yeah) and Youtube. Thank You, Lord. Physics is sometimes cool, especially if it involves the possibility of Star Wars.
About conversations.
They are wonderful when unedited, raw, in the flesh. Silences are wonderful, too. Today I walked with a friend after class was over--just your usual get-to-the-next-building-walk--and we were completely quiet. It had to do with the stress of cramming on my part. She's just a naturally quiet person. This is how it works also, during the car rides with Josh going to physics class. Just the sound of the car and the radio, or usually one of us is humming a song, or sometimes we talk about random things.
I had lunch with Yukari on Monday. It is possibly the last time I am going to see her, so now I have to dig up my Skype account so we can talk. I look forward to that. I can't imagine that it's almost been a year--wait, no, it hasn't. I met her in August, I think. My hair was short and I was wearing heels and this dress. She didn't have bangs, and she was wearing a plaid shirt, and it was her first time in church. I think this was the last Sunday Joh spent over here. Anyway, conversations lead to more conversations. Everything branches out.
About February.
Honestly? The nights are cold and the days are sweltering hot. Everyone's on board with the Valentine's day thing and hopefully we'll get to make some money off of these lovestruck people. I am possibly spending the 14th with the exec at the UP Fair, for more fuzz and feelings. I love these people. For the people who will be clogging up the malls and the restaurants on that day: please give nice flowers to your ladies. They don't have to be roses, because everyone gives roses. Also, maybe you don't have to give flowers? Give a mixtape! (Unless you have really bad taste in music). I personally would love a mixtape, especially if it tells a story.
February is also acads being unreasonable month. And the month where you're supposed to SIGN UP TO ATTEND THE GRADUATION and ORDER YOUR CUSTOM SABLAY(!!!). Feel my excitement, silent people of the internet. I am going to be one of those people stopping by the roadside to steal a sunflower in April. Yep. One of those large yellow things has got my name on it, mark my words. But for now, the slaving away continues. It builds character, Hannah. Be patient. This is plan A and will continue to be plan A no matter what happens and tomorrow will take care of itself.
Low psychic distance.
I think that's the point of blogs though, isn't it? Personal ones. You're not really writing towards a specific interest group. This sort of thing is more for documentation. "This was my state of mind in the year _____, when I was ____ and
I have been friends with the Diamond people for a decade now.
It is amazing. And here are Cy and Jess, still having lunch with me, still linking me to self-made music. My high school barkada isn't large and loud and happy. It's small and, well, usually loud and funny and irreverent, and we're not the type to have reunions organized via social networks, but it is still all very genuine and small and comfortable. The afternoons and evenings still roll by. One day we'll gather at a front lobby bench and play rockxs again.
