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My day in recluse with William and John.

Today, I am a hermit.

Tomorrow is my dreaded Eng23 (Shakespeare) exam with the equally dreaded professor, and so since last night I was firm in my resolve to read through all five plays we have discussed. Yes, it was an extremely nerdy thing to do. Suffering for the Bard. Would thou thinketh me capable of doing this? Ay, I thinketh not. But since 10 pm last night, I have not seen the light of day. I haven't eaten rice too, and have not taken a shower. (Okay that was totally irrelevant, but since we're talking about sacrifice.. and besides I am all alone in my dorm room! No one will fall victim to my out-of-bed stink.)

I only have one last play left to read, King Lear, but given that it was the most recent play we discussed, I'm quite confident I still remember it well. So, there. I'm right on schedule. Hence, I give myself a much-deserved break.

From the 16th century's greatest poet, I move on to who I think is today's most talented and dashing composer/musician: John Mayer. Yes, John Mayer is my escape. My sweet, darling escape from the tyranny of academics.

It really saddens me how I may not be able to watch his concert due to the very unreasonably expensive tickets (Oh but how I would love to pay P12,000 to watch him if only I had the cash!) and also the disappointing venue (MOA again? Psshyeah.) I'm still hoping against hope that fate will turn to my favor but until then, I shall settle with filling the four walls of my dorm room with his music. Ahhh. Nothing like Room for Squares playing inside our room of.. well, there are square-shaped tiles here. So, yeah. Parallelism?

We are all too familiar with the feeling of a song seemingly written for us or by us because we can completely relate with its words. Well, that's precisely what happened just a while ago. While listening to "No Such Thing" (Google the lyrics and search for the song on YouTube if you must), I can't help but suddenly think about life -- yes, it's ironic that it's John Mayer, not William freakin' Shakespeare who put me in the mood to wax philosophical. I left high school two years ago with medals and certificates under my belt. I was made to believe that I was someone relevant, like I have already earned a place in the world. And yet, I stepped in UP and I realized I was nobody. No one cared if I was a consistent honor student, or if I was an active debater and leader. In college, no one knew who I was and all I had for myself was a blank transcript of records waiting to be filled. I had to start from scratch. Two years down the road, I hardly think I've made myself even half of who I was in high school. I'm not into any organizations, I don't even participate in school politics. I don't think it's because St. Paul lied to me and made me believe I was capable when in fact I wasn't. And it also isn't because UP does not encourage personal and social growth at all. But perhaps, I just had enough of all that in high school that I felt like I don't need to prove myself anymore here. The pressure to be competitive in high school was insane. I felt like everyone else was breathing down my neck, pushing me to do better. But now, I'm fine being where I am. I like being average and normal for once.

I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you got to rise above
-- No Such Thing; John Mayer (Room For Squares)

Sometimes when I look back at my high school life, I can't help wondering how superficial everything was compared to life now. We were all just driven by grades, student council elections, and graduating with honors. But there is more to life than just being a valedictorian, or being the most popular kid in school. When you step outside that little world you've been in for 12 years, the reality of your minuteness to the rest of the world dawns on you. It can be overwhelming, but it's also actually relieving when you realize that the spotlight's not always on you. You can be who you are, and that's fine. You don't always have to be who everyone expects you to be.

Which suddenly reminds me of this line from Antipholus of Syracuse in The Comedy of Errors:

I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop

Which then reminds me of this line from "Love Song for No One"

I'm tired of being alone
so hurry up and get here

(Haha, does anyone get it? :P)

So what is my point? I have no idea. But this is what you get when you close me off from the world, and leave me with two writers I am completely going crazy over (one literally, the other metaphorically. Go figure.)

I'm not sure if I'm making sense. I'm just blabbing away. It's been a while since I blogged without really thinking of what I'm typing, haha. Oh well. I'm off to finish this real-life Shakespearean tragedy that is my English23 class. I shalt do well tomorrow! But not before I take a shower first..


Hell week is hell.

God, it's 1:04 am and I'm still awake. Not wide awake, mind you, because it's just my guilty conscience that's forcing my mind to work, work, work on this reaction paper on stories for our Cl184 (Gay Writing) class. Yes, I love gays with all their fairy dust and frills, but come on, reading 9 short (but actually long) stories on homosexuality in just one night?

The problem is despite so many things I seem to have accomplished for the last week -- a group defense, a critical analysis on two short stories, reading up in advance -- there are still so many things left to do. I still have a play and an exam this Friday, a recital on Saturday, film viewing on Monday, Philo oral exams on Tuesday, another exam on Wednesday and finally, the dreaded Shakespeare exam next Friday.

It's ironic how I can still push myself to work hard when my bed is desperately calling out for me. My body is literally giving up on me already. I am in serious sleep deprivation. I'm hungry and craving for oreos. I feel tired and messed up.


I just really want to get this month over with already :(



One fifty, the clock boldly declared. Ten minutes before the next dose of medicines. I had closed the book I was reading and looked at his sleeping figure. I changed his shirt an hour ago when it got soaked with sweat. He was lying on his back, his mouth half-open. His snores, worsened by his asthma, puncutated the silence.

The sight was the same as this morning, but now all I could feel was love. I don't know why. For all his idiosyncrasies, for all his qualities I didn't like, I couldn't seem to hate him. When I saw him lying on the bathroom floor, feverish, when he held me tightly, his breath searing my neck, I knew right then and there that I really loved him.

Maybe he has grown on me. Maybe I'm stupid, too, for feeling this way. Or maybe I shouldn't care and just concentrate on loving him the way he loved me, even though he didn't please me all the time.

He kicked the covers off the bed again. I covered his chest then kissed his forehead. I prepared his next dose of medicines as he opened his eyes, softly asking for the time.

(excerpt from "Epiphany" by M. Protacio de Guzman)


I'm okay.

I don't know why but for some reason a part of me doesn't want to admit that I'm happy.

A part of me can't share myself to others when I'm in a better state. It's ironic how I close up and hide inside my shell when I'm completely, perfectly fine. I'd rather be alone, wallow in my happiness, than shower the world outside me with sunshine and rainbows.

It's not that I'm selfish and I want it all to myself. Of course, there's nobility in finding and sharing joy with others.

And I also don't suddenly disappear from the world and never speak to my friends again. I'd just rather really talk about normal stuff like school or the weather than share the reason behind my smiles.

Is it just me or are people more interesting when they're suffering? We all tend to exaggerate our miseries anyway -- how stressed we are, how heartbroken we are, how frustrated we are. Being confused and angsty is the fad. And when you're happy, people don't care about you. You've stepped outside the norm, you got to your happy place. Now leave all of us miserable beings alone and spare us your cheeky grins.

But I don't think that's the reason why I've been feeling like this.

Maybe it's because a part of me feels that by keeping it to myself, I make it more special. It's like I'm guarding a secret. The thrill of having this secretly, happy life makes it more meaningful. Unlike sadness, sharing your joys to others demystifies the whole thing. It diminishes it value in a way, because somehow the actual gladness escapes the words.

I feel guilty because all my friends have been asking me how I am and all I can say is the default answer: "Okay lang." Another part of me also wants to scream out loud, "I'm perfectly, completely, tremendously happy with how things are going with my life! I am loved!" but still that bigger part chooses not to. Not only because I fear being placed in the "cheesy addicted girlfriend" category, or because most of them don't even have someone to rage their hormones with, but also because I'd rather really keep it to myself. I like being mysterious. Cryptic.

So yeah. I'm good. I'm okay. I'm fiiine.