Requiem

I joined the DLSU...and I LOST! But it's okay, I'd anticipated the loss days prior, anyway. And I'm glad I didn't join the Battle of the Brains too - it just proved that even what I wanted the most couldn't hinder me from self-satisfaction.

So I guess, I'm good. I've really matured.... OH and KEVS! Congratulations for winning the Battle of the Brains! I think you were the most humble person in the bunch... humility deserves awards and recognition. Not to mention, you really ARE good at your craft. (Is there prize money?)

Btw, this is my 151st post. And I guess, it'll be one of my last. A certain kind of maturity has obliged me to make a new blog. This time, though, I'm not deleting this. In fact, this'll always be here - always, always, always. I want to keep my past in tune with my present.

Of Decisions, Choices... and Hurt Part 2

When it comes right down to it, I guess there's no such thing as being the jack of all trades. It simply is farfetched. I can't be a writer and at the same time a brainy geek. I think this is God's way of telling me that I can't be two things at the same time.




For the record, peeps, I'm flipping The Coin.

Reclusion, Thy Name is I

I feel like one of those old, sick, dying book characters tormented writers write about.

I got the old feel in the pockets. My environment, it seems to me, is antique. Some of my "friends" have faded into the background of an old 50's movie that will presumably be forgettable. My previous "passions" (can't believe I just used the word in plural form) have dissolved into a new (old, actually) kind of impasse...one that I can't explain thoroughly because I don't understand much either. I feel like I just lived and excruciatingly survived 9 lifetimes.

And my birthday is fast-approaching.


So yeah, I feel old.



I am a human disease stick. My life energy is currently getting sucked up by random whirlpools that come in the forms of "friends", enemies and ... internal factors (like too much anxiety, paranoia and hypochondria). Literally, I AM a human disease stick. Today's just 4 days since my high fever bid adieu to my body...and I've already relapsed. Right now, I'm coughing. My throat feels as if a meter stick of a rose with bloody thorns had stuck to it. And there's an overall feeling of dizziness. Alas, my vertigo attacks!

And I feel like...puking which is as rare as Mowgli's syndrome. (Mowgli's syndrome is rare, right?)


So yeah, I feel sick.



I define life as an equilibrium of...things. Now that my social life has gone off the hook, I'm dead. Or at least, part of me is dead. Or maybe dying. Truth is, I don't really know. I've got heaps of problems again. I vow to anticipate the first few weeks of January from now on. Something tragic always happens weeks before my birthday. The weighing scales of my life have either burst because of obesity or anorexia. I know, I know. I could get sued for my choice of words. But getting sued is actually better than facing drama that my "friends" have bequeathed me (let's just substitute the word "bequeathed" with the word "BETRAYED" - all caps) with. How big of a fool am I, anyway? I've had let these "friends" betray me before and I've done so AGAIN. I should be awarded for this!

And this is the part where I hate them all for being so defensive for something wrong they did. They should be condemned for doing this to me. I should be hanged for being the most used person in the planet.


So yeah, I feel like I'm dying.



I always tell people: "I have a life!" ...which translates to: My life is near bliss because it's packed with a social life, a family life, a spiritual life, a career (life), a whatever life... you name it, I'm too old, sick, and dying to type.


...but I guess, sometimes, it's actually a plus to not have a life.


Still...


I HAVE A LIFE!

Revenge is Sweeter (Than You Ever Were)

Mark their words: Nemo me impune lacessit "No one harms me with impunity." Yes, that's The Cask of Amontillado to you.

Never have I ever found myself thinking about vengeance...vendetta... revenge...I'd always thought that anyone's (given that he did wrong) conscience would avenge the victim.

But sometimes, revenge gets to you in the weirdest way possible.

Are there two kinds of revenge: good and bad revenge?

Is doing the right thing revenge?

Is it revenge when it's justifiable (logically and rationally speaking)?

Is it still revenge when you're doing "it" to protect someone, say, future successors?

I don't know.

But, seriously, who knows?

These things are beyond dictionary's definition. Moreover, these things are beyond juvenile experiences.

But, readers, if you hear something in the near future that relates to ME, the thought of revenge, the thought of righteousness and morality (like a scandal), refer back to this little post.

The scandal's gonna explode like a tiny bomb. Let's just wait and see.






Only time will tell.

I'm Corny

Ich liebe Dich




Ik hou van jou




Jag alskar dig




Je t'aime




Te amo




Ti amo



















I love you.

Fuck You and Your Pride

I suggest you read these three posts first before proceeding to read THIS: click here, here and here.

All three of 'em are directed to someone I called: "Miss Emo". And I bet 90% of my readers out there know who she is if I would say her name here out loud - she's a Shekian.

The three posts were written in (obvious) anger months and months and months ago (seems like years to me, actually) but things haven't changed. It's not that I don't do a single kilogram of effort ever, it's just that Miss Emo and I just don't "click".

So now, we're in an impasse.

In the meantime, Miss Emo the 2nd is sprouting. And I won't call her "Miss Emo". She's a lot older, kasi eh. I dub "Miss Emo the 2nd" to be: "Queen of All Emos". Iyan. She deserves it.

What she doesn't deserve at all is what she has right now: credit, "honor", "nobility".

Why doesn't she deserve that?

She's a fucking hater.

Ode to the Queen:

Is that what people call "responsibility" nowadays? Presiding by means of power and executing the tyranny of false virtues? Responsible na ba ngayon ang pag-iiwan ng tasks and duty lying on the fucking floor, waiting for the dustbunnies to fucking eat 'em to death?

"Thoughtful" na ba ang paggawa ng isang bagay na MUKHANG bukal sa puso...but deep inside kumukulo ang dugo mo sa paggawa non?

Is doing THAT to your grandmother "respect"? You told me once that you had a menacingly strong aversion towards your grandmother. You told me once that this grandmother did wrong things. You told me once that this grandmother has made a lot of mistakes. Ask yourself this before I put your brain into the oven: To whom did she do the wrong things to? To whom were the mistakes attributed to? Sa iyo ba? Ganyan na ba ang respect ngayon? Binabastos mo siya eh. Sure, she has made a lot of mistakes. Sure, she's done a lot of wrong things. But she did those "things" as a PERSON not as a GRANDMOTHER. Right now, you're treating her as a PERSON, not as YOUR GRANDMOTHER. Your grandmother needs to be respected - like it or not.

People make mistakes. And just because those mistakes don't make the path to YOUR journey CLEARER doesn't mean you should curse them to hell.

I see you're jealous of me. Lantad na. Hindi na kailangang itago. It's forever etched in my memory - but that doesn't mean I won't forgive you. Even though I saw the intense emotions you channeled that day - the day when material possessions grabbed a GOOD hold of you. Sabi mo pa nga (this I will never forget): "IKAW! HA! Kahit nagrerebelde ka nakukuha mo lahat ng gusto mo!"

That was so random. That was so sudden. Hindi mo machachannel ang isang bagay na ganoon ka-intense kung wala kang pinagkuhanan niyan. Hindi ka makagagawa ng intense emotion like that within just a blink of your fugly eyes. Kaya. You know what that means? That means despite ALL the trust I'd given you, you'd been boiling wrath, irate bubbles inside your arterial chambers.

Ang trust kapag nawala, mahirap nang ibalik.

Bakit ayaw mo akong pabayaan? Bakit laging pinakekelaman mo yaong downfall ko? You're like one of those media-mongers. Like a paparazzo. Waiting for people to fall flat on their faces to get a good snapshot which in turn will wind up all around the globe. But no, yours isn't the globe. Yours is your heart. In short, bawat pagkakamali ng tao, sinu-scrutinize mo sa puso mo. Masama yan. Hindi yan healthy. Sino ka? Si Poodle? Papatayin ka ng insecurities mo sooner or later.

You can't find well-being from a person's mistakes. That, my friends, is why the world is at par with hell.

Nahulog mo gamit ko. I said: "FUCK!" Obvious namang pinaghirapan ko yung ginagawa kong cut-outs di ba?

Wala ka man lang sorry?

Ah, "sorry". I remember, you've never said a sincere "sorry" to anyone else in this universe.

Remember your best friend? Didn't he say sorry? What did you say in return?

Wala.

Pride.

Pride mo.

Fuck you and your pride.

Why are you so fucking mad at the world anyway? You're JUST like Miss Emo but on a slighlty different angle. When I told you about Miss Emo, you were all: "Ang irrational nya." So are you.

When your mom said (in a reprimanding, serious, mad voice): "May topak ka ata ah!"

Queen: "May topak talaga ako!"

So why aren't you changing it?

You see your fault right THERE. Do you change it? No. You sit on your arse and wait for the world to turn its axis. You're hoping... for the world to COVER and BURY your mistakes, flaws and faults.

That's not gonna happen. Never. Ever.

You are the most irrational person I've ever met. You think you're otherwise. You think you're perfect.


Masyadong mataas yang pride mo. Hindi ko ma-reach.

Why do you hate the world so much? If you give me a GREAT answer to that, I will never bug you again.

Definitely, it's not because you grew up in a dysfunctional family. I grew up in a dysfunctional family my own but I don't hate the world.

Hindi rin ako KJ.

Hindi ko rin binabastos ang sister ko. I don't treat her like shit the way you do.

I never talk crap about her behind my back. I'm no nark. But you?

Puro na lang side comments!

Is that the rational way to behave?

I hate the ones like you. Yaong mga pakealamera. Before you go bitching on someone else's life, world, physical looks, intellectual capactiy, emotional status, soul, spirit, personality, attitude,characteristics and VALUES, look at yourself in the mirror.

You might even see a reflection that isn't as wretched as the Devil's face... You might see something a tad bit more revolting. Your pride.

The Shadow of the Wind

Despite the mounting To-Do lists on my desk here at home, I procrastinate.

Procrastination, thy name is me!

Part of the whole procrastination process was reading "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Yes, just judging from his name, he's Spanish. I've been trying to avoid Spanish authors since forever for this purpose: Fear. You ask: "Fear of what? Fear FOR what?"

Fear that I might get disappointed.

... of the Spanish culture, the Spanish people, and Spain. I expect a lot from European countries, after all. And if you know my middle name, you'd know that I really AM Spanish... that part (a quarter, actually) of my identity is the lingering European blood.

My maternal grandfather, the wisest person I've ever met/seen/heard about, was actually what we've studied in Philippine history books. He was brought up to society by Americans and he learned a lot of languages thanks to what remained to be the Thomasites. He even had pictures of those Americans with him!

My maternal grandfather's grandfather was once a Gov-General. Yes, yes, that kind.

So now. Back to the present. When I was in elem, in my previous school, I thought my family was the weirdest family in the universe. My mother talked differently. My mother acted differently. And obviously, my mother thought differently. I was a kid then. I guess my resolute thought for this was because my family, unlike my classmates' families, is intelligent. Heck, I was top in my class. I took this for granted. I accepted that we were different. But I didn't want to be different. I wanted to BE smart and at the same time BE normal. (Now, aged 15, I realize that being smart and being normal are two points that'd never be on the same plain.)

When I transferred to CKSC (where I met y'all: Kevs, Daniel, Fleur, etc etc), I got to know a few people. Elaine. Mollie. Cha. And when I say "I got to know", I really mean: I dived into their family lives. When I resurfaced, I realized: Hey, I'm in a new school, I'm surrounded by smart people and yet I am STILL different. What the heck?

I learned that their families never fought and reprimanded kids the way my family did. I learned that they didn't speak certain words. I learned that their parents didn't come from families that were as broken as the families my parents came from.

Come my junior year, still the same thing. As of now, I've had made bonds with Eunice, Paul, Jake, Kenny, Beni, Aldric, Elaine, Mollie, Cha, Fleur, Arianne, Nuevo, Camille, Jasmine, Aibee, Roy, Bea... the list goes on, seriously... and so far, none of their families are as different as mine. It's like my family's the weirdest or something!

Then... I read the book by the Spanish author (btw, it's translated to English by Lucia Graves, daughter of poet Robert Graves). It was set in post-war Barcelona.

(I'm not gonna expound on the plot. In fact, I'm not gonna mention the plot!)

I got hooked.

The details...the wordings...the events...the dialogue... they reflected my family.

It was so different from the American novels I had read before... the American novels whose characters' lives I thought were "normal". Yes, I am in blood, Spanish. No Filipino novel, no American novel could ever reflect that!

I AM SPANISH! It's a part of me I've never come to suffice with my everyday doings! It's a part of me that I've never uncovered.

No wonder I'm so inclined to Spanish songs (see profile).

No wonder I'm so inclined to learning Spanish.

No wonder I speak the word "tonta" while the rest of the world would say "tanga!"

No wonder I'd hear my mother talk FRANKLY about things.

I guess, if you really know me and my family troubles which I've mentioned in previous posts, you'd realize that my dysfunctional-family-conflict lies in a cultural barrier. My father is Chinese-Filipino. My mother is Spanish-Filipino. Chinese peeps are conservative. Spanish peeps are more liberal. Chinese peeps are discreet. Spanish peeps are open. Chinese peeps censore a few things. Spanish peeps lay them out in the wild.

And so the inner conflicts of Catherine Tan will forever rage...

It's a bittersweet thing.

I'm not proud to be a Filipino. I'm not proud to be a Chinese. I'm not proud of being Spanish. I'm proud of being all three, all at the same time.

"The Shadow of the Wind" didn't disappoint. It did the opposite. It opened my eyes.

Screw the World

Sudden fit of rage.

Why do people automatically "recognize ""Math and Science Geniuses"?

No, no. Don't answer that. That's a rhetorical question, stupid. Sheesh. Does the world not know how to differentiate rhetoric from non-rhetoric?

Why is it that when you're a math and science person, you get to be automatically deemed as "smart", good in analyzing, logic and critical thinking? Is the world's current basis for "intellect" NUMBERS? STATISTICS? DATA?

No. No. No. A BIG FAT NO.

People don't recognize those that excel in the field of English and Filipino. You see, even when there are awarding ceremonies, people award those that win in Math competitions. Science competitions. Math. Science. Math. What about ... us? The writers? The speakers? The English erudites? The lit lovers? The linguistic quiz bee champions?

See there's this BIG FAT discrimination here in Chiang Kai Shek. Not just CKSC. Even the world. I have proof for this but I'm too enraged to actually type DATA right now. Sure, you need DATA to prove things. But are mathematical and scientific data the only KINDS o' proofs you can garner?

Don't people get it?

When we the linguistic people write our essays, we THINK. We DON'T just put our opinions down. (Well, opinions do root from a brain, you know.) We extract "facts". We digest "facts". We analyze "facts". We avoid logical fallacies that can be extracted from "facts". We apply these "facts". We use our style to encompass these "facts".

So yes. We think critically, logically and analytically.

The moment those Math and Science people write a Pulitzer prize-winning editorial, and get up the stage to speak an award-winning speech, will be the only time that I could consider them "geniuses."

Disturbia (A Story Not for the Faintest of Hearts) - the Continuation

A text message lights up the odd screen of my mobile phone. Odd, I say. For a modern man, I don’t ever seem to get used with the technology. I am thankful that my experiment needs not the aid of too much that beast – technology.

It’s Rebecca. She asks where I am. Should I answer? What’s the term they use again? Reply – is that it?

For the sake of chivalry, her query: “Why aren’t you at work today?”, I reply with a white lie: “I feel sick, my friend.”

There. Now, time to get back to work.

I carefully examine the ingredients. Surely, this will take a lot of time, effort and brains. I grab the scalpel I stole from my father’s house – he’s a surgeon. It took me exactly an hour to get the theft done. With more careful observation, I realize that I need three kinds of knives: a big one – the one the butler uses to chop big meat, a medium-sized one – perhaps the one chefs use to cut vegetables, and a small one – the one thieves use to cut open some loot – the Swiss knife. Oh, and I need scissors too.

Maybe it’s time for a quick lesson from what’s that TV show… Grey’s Anatomy is it?

Bah. Who cares?

Suddenly obsessed with my new ideas, I paw over the pots and the pans, looking for the three knives. I already have the big one and the medium one. Now, for the Swiss knife.

The doorbell rings and echoes through my house here in the suburbs. Do my neighbors hear the doorbell ring?

Who could this be? Perhaps Daimler? Nah. He’s probably too scrunched up in work. Work… what time is it? Time… 12 noon. Has it been 6 hours of ruminating already? What is the malfunction in me? Have I been sitting and ruminating for the past 6 hours? As my mind recollects the events that have happened for the past 6 hours, I dash back to the dining table to see what the progress is.

Progress, indeed! It seems that I have carefully put together the ingredients in such a manner that…

The doorbell rings again.

Oh no.

Good thing I’ve hidden the plastic body bags!

I grab without hesitation the sheets of my bed and drape it over the dining table. It will be less conspicuous that way. Besides, who’s to suspect?

“Hey, I’ve been worried. I brought you lunch,” says a charming Rebecca – the one whom I opened the door for. “You have a fever?”

I can’t help but nod.

“Your house smells a little… different,” she observes.

“Must be me. I haven’t had a shower all day. I’m so sorry to disappoint you like this,” I say in my most charming way.

“You don’t have to say sorry. Tsk tsk tsk. Such a handsome man with such a malodorous house. This is what you get when you concentrate too much on work,” she teases me.

And I like it.

“It’s my lack of social life. And love life. And family life. I’m a solitary man confined in this solitary prison, waiting for someone to set me free,” I do this using my drama skills. And I know it entices her.

“I know who that someone is,” says she.

“Daimler!”

She eyes me seductively. Or so I think. Her green eyes, inherited from her Irish mother, are forever seductive, anyway.

“Christine. You know, the girl who basically worships you. You should go out with her. She’d die of happiness.”

I chuckle.

“I don’t like Christine at all.” She won’t set me free. But I know you will. But I can’t have Rebecca. I’ve repeated in my mind that I cannot be with her as a boyfriend, a lover or a husband. I just can’t.

Changing topics, she asks me if I want to eat my lunch. I want to say yes, but then again I remember my dining table draped with my sheets. She simply cannot see the mess under that. All the liquid and the scraps of…

She lets down her long brown hair, inherited from her father’s Chinese-Czech descent. I cannot help but feel a sensation… a manly sensation. I want to touch her skin that is hued with olive from her grandmother’s Greek descent, and ivory from her grandfather’s …

I want to. Caress her. Feel her. Free her.

But I can’t. Her skin is forbidden. Her hair is torture. Her face is unchartered territory.

I simply can’t.

“Hey! Do you want to eat lunch or not?”

“I will but not now. My … throat hurts. My mouth is sore,” again, another white lie.

“Do you want some meds? Because I’m not leaving this place until you’re fine.”

“So that means you’re staying for 24 hours?” I tease.

“I’m serious.”

“Fine,” I give up.

After a few more of those teasing and provoking, Rebecca waves goodbye.

It’s then that I realize that I have a Swiss knife on the pocket of my pants.

Oh, opportunity.

~0~

It is now 1 in the morning – 108 hours after I collected my ingredients that night. There is news going on that a crazed man goes to the hospital at night, steals body parts and puts them in a plastic body bag. So far, they have no suspect yet. But this man, so far has stolen eyes, a tongue, a heart, a woman’s genitals and… a brain.

What they fail to know is that this man doesn’t just go to the hospital to steal body parts. He goes to the cemetery too – that’s where this lunatic went to 108 hours ago, anyway. That’s where he got the bones, the nose, skin and some rotten flesh and the complete set of body parts. He has the abdomen, the liver and the kidneys too.

Oh yes, and it’s also been 108 hours that I’ve skipped my work. I told them I’d be on vacation in my parents’ house.

So here I am, sitting at the dining table, haven’t eaten food in days. Haven’t slept in days, too. But it doesn’t matter. I’m a dedicated man. I will finish this experiment as soon as I can.

I grab the piece of rotten flesh – this comes from a corpse that’s only been dead for a day. It’s rotten but not quite. It still is soft, and has that subtle effect on my fingers. I piece it together with the carpal bones. For 3 days, I have found out a special technique that will piece them together in a perfect fit. This is it. This is the last flesh I have to piece with the bones. I have completed piecing up the past three days! It’s been a puzzle. How to fit the brain perfectly with the skull – this is hard to do with bare hands. I fear I might damage the cortex of such. And the eyes! The smell of it! So…invigorating. The green eyes I stole smell.

Even though I have carefully pieced the flesh, the brain and the bones, there is still much to do. Hey, but give me credit. I am no doctor but I know how this works. This is the true work of a genius! I am a genius!

Now is time for the skin.

This skin comes from a recently deceased supermodel. Her skin is lovely. When I feel it with my fingers…I feel a sense of relief. It’s the same familiar feeling. She must have been beautiful. Her skin, a color with the combination of olive and ivory, I piece with the flesh.

It doesn’t seem right.

Perhaps this skin is intended for other places?

Oh, I know where.

And I’ll be there soon.

No.

Again, it doesn’t seem right. Before I know it, I grab a sewing kit – the one I bought just 3 days ago. I planned on using the needle to merge the scalp and the hair but I guess the needles needs to merge skin and skin now.

It is a wonder. The skin, what they call the protective shield, tears easily. I have to be careful. This is perhaps the hardest job in life.

It still doesn’t seem right.

After what seems to be 2 hours, I take a shower. And as I take my shower, I can feel my skin tearing itself apart. And then, because of some weird thing, I feel like piecing it back together. Again and again, the shower leaves me that impression. And then I think about Rebecca. I am a man, after all. I can take advantage of this shower time to succumb to my lust for her.

But no. I am a patient man. I will wait for my plans to take shape.

As the soap touches my skin, I feel a masochistic urge. And then it happens.

I scream in pain as my instincts command me to tear off my own skin. I pinch it, peel as if doing so on a banana. I see my flesh, steaming with the water, throbbing as if it’s a heart. It pains. Oh, but I love it! The skin, I now hold in my hand, is just a small portion of my left palm. I quickly go out of the shower, and assess my nude self. I have the abs, the toned muscles and the well-endowed member. Everything is perfect. I look perfect. But the skin of my palm is missing. I try to outline the flesh with the fingers on my right hand. Perhaps because of something, the pain is gone. The flesh, so soft and so subtle, can be used in my experiment.

Either that or…

I should practice using my body! That is it! I will piece my own skin with my own flesh. Perhaps with the use of the needle?

Out of curiosity, I lick my flesh. It tastes normal. Like red meat, actually. Now I’m beginning to wonder why human beings normally don’t resort to cannibalism. Must I take a bite?

I chortle to myself and then the neighbors hear a blood-curdling scream.

~0~


(to be continued)

Not So Fruitful Day

Mouth sore.

Throat hurts.

Panic-stricken.


Shit. I have to revise the whole "Towards a Low Carbon Economy" essay TONIGHT. Thing is, I'm aiming for major revision because, heck, I wanna win. Because winning will levitate my dwindling self-esteem (as of now, my self-esteem is only 45% of my "ideal" esteem - this is uber low when compared to two months ago's 85%). And because winning will prove that I'm no two-hit wonder. Okay, okay, so maybe I am NOT a two-hit wonder. But seriously? Perfectionists like me are obsessed with winning. And also because winning will not dissappoint the English Department that I have grown to love with passion as intense as Disurbia's lead character's passion. (Disturbia disclaimers, references and allusions end here.)

The crappiest part is, well, sigh, I don't know the topic that much.

Unlike moral degeneration.

Unlike teachers.

Unlike racism.

Unlike philosophy.

Unlike humanity.

Unlike English Literature.

Unlike history.

Unlike academical intellect.

Those above are my fortes. But if you ask me about Chem, Physics, and whatever the hell, I stall. That's because I don't have THAT kind of mind - the kind that memorizes what Ternary Compounds are. The kind that memorizes the list of ions with their corresponding charges.

I'm the kind who reads the news, analyzes the news, digests the news and applies what I read, analyzed and digested into daily life. Yes, I'm a Rennaissance woman. I write, think, speak and sometimes, I even act.

I promote Democratic regulation, not hybrid cars.

I promote the $700 Billion bailout plan, not ethanol whatsoever

Okay, so maybe I promote hybrid cars ethanol. But still. Still. Still. Still. You get the point.

Worse, I can't bring myself to write something that I don't know much of. So do you know what that means? That means I have to thoroughly research about these carbon compounds whatsoever before I could totally revise the essay. And knowing myself to be addicted and obsessed with details, the research will definitely cost me a lot of time. 24 hours, even!

Another bad thing...

I have to do it all tonight.

Why?

Because tomorrow is MALL day. Srsly, I can't sacrifice mall day. It's too sacred.

Besides,


MY THROAT HURTS LIKE HELL!

Slowly, Gently...

...it's killing me softly.


Four things, my friends, four things. (this doesn't even include schoolwork and all those nasty tests)


1. Oratorical Piece


So I finished it last night.

It sucked, obviously. You can't conjure up a mastermind piece in just one sitting. So I submitted it, it really did suck. Now, I'mma revise it. The problem is, when I try to lift my hand to type up its file name "Mabuhay Ka, Pusong Pinoy", my hands fail me. It's those bodily functions again!

Writers' Block.

Writers' Block.

One word: Heart.

HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO WRITE A FREAKING ORATORICAL PIECE ABOUT A BIOLOGICAL ANATOMY? Can't they just ask me to write anything about.. I don't know,.. corruption? The bull market? The flea market? Euthanasia? Cryptozoology? Psychoanalysis? The Rorscarch Test? ANYTHING BUT BIOLOGICAL, CHEMICAL and... PHYSICAL?

Please! I've been trying to escape the sciences since high school - Biology, Chemistry and soon, Physics. So why do those things keep chasing me even when I'm at cloud nine?

It's 10 PM and the fact that my piece ain't ready yet scares me to death.

This piece needs to be as great as my Infantado piece (or else I'll label my own self a one-hit wonder).

*pwned*

The remaining three will be discussed while I'm stressing about 'em.

Of Crap, BS and Other Dung-related Substances

This school year is full of shit, crap, drama, and other dung-related substances.

It's also full of changed friends who don't know how to act the right way.

Full of grades that are high but still suck for high standards

Full of unwanted, unfortunate circumstances that are too shitty to mention here.

Full of decisions that yield negative effects.

Full of wrong decisions that haunt you in the end.

Full of expectations left unattained.

Full of ....


Oh God. C'mon now, I'll say it without the sugarcoatings.


In a community where you are required to be perfect - act good, look good, be good, do good IN SCHOOL. One can't help but overestimate and underestimate his or her true skills. You know it's really hard to namedrop since ... well, this is a community that is harsh. One wrong move and you're out. This is harder than Gossip Girl.

Most especially when you belong to the Cream Section. You have no idea how ... rigorous the competition is. Even teachers make us eat each other's brains off.

Want an example? Well, if, for example, I get a higher grade in AP and English (say a 98). Some of my classmates leech onto me - plagiarize my works, even (hey, this really happened) to get what they want - which is information.If I get a lower grade, they judge me. But that's just an example - I mean, I just used myself as an example.

But why should you believe me? After all, this is "fictional" autobiography.

Well, I'm not tryna cast a cloud shadow on III-5. I'm merely pointing out the underpinnings of a nearly dystopic society.

I Love My Job

Crunch time once and again in the press room! Papers everywhere - files everywhere. Copy room's occupied. Editors busy. Editor-in-chief having coffee, preparing to pull an all-nighter.

In my dreams!

Gah. I wish I could live that life. If I could be a pro editor-in-chief of a magazine, I'd be the happiest girl in the universe. It's my dream. I wouldn't care if I'd pull a thousand all-nighters. I just wanna live the life.

But who's to say that my current life isn't like that? *brag mode. lol* That I, as the editor-in-chief of one of the most competent publications in Chinatown, doesn't gulp coffee in preparing to pull all-nighters?

Hey, I'm feeding my head balloon tanks of my own ego here. LOL. Forgive me for that.

Well, anyway, even though the stress is overwhelming like crazy, I can cope. Because I am motivated. Because I love what I do. Because I am driven only by those to things: motivation and passion. I'm drawn to the job so much - its positivities and negativities. Socialization. Friends. Drama. Photoshoots. Pictorials. Spreads. Fashion. Seminars. Politics. Philosophy. Psychology. Writing. Interviews. Life. Experiences. Photos. Stress. Editing. Field Trips. Documents. Layouting. Dummy prints. Mastheads. Articles.


And everything else.

"Articles? They will never stop coming," said Mr. Delos Reyes - my Guild adviser and Journalism Guru. When he said that, I realized it. He was right. He was so right. Those things will never stop coming!


I'll be seeing myself soon...in five years or so... in a magazine. A hotshot magazine.

Guess Who's Problematic

It is now an official fact that Drama is too in love with me. The feeling, though, is NOT mutual.

Unrequited love, my friends, is what causes Drama to take revenge on me, thus, bringing MORE Drama to aid in Catherine-oppression.

So now, I dedicate this post to Drama.

A Percentage Analysis of This Certain Thing Called Catherine's Personal Life

1. Grades/Academic Life - 50%

My grades are spiraling downwards. If you think I'm exaggerating... If you think "oh, come on, you're Catherine Tan, you'll see high grades on your report card. You're just a worrywart.." Well, I wish you're right, but you are WRONG. Eeeps. I don't know how to defend my answer. It's true, I may be "smart" or "intellectual" but I'm also "uber lazy" AND "uber paranoid". What else? I set really high standards. I'm a PERFECTIONIST. No, I'm not calling myself perfect. I'm calling myself a perfectionist! And you should know that perfectionists pay attention to every single detail. Yes, yes, yes! If something goes wrong, well, I go at wits end. Not only that, I also kill myself thinking too much.

GAAAAH. My Accounting grade isobviously down (since, Kevs, Fleur, you guys know the answer right? The whole Mam Almazan class record thing? Rememba?).

My Social Studies grade - I might maintain my old grade but it's also highly unlikely since I don't even know what my Long Test score was! (Actually, I don't know it ON PURPOSE. The testpapers-giving day took place during my competition day...so... wasn't able to see it. Someone, though, took note of the scores but I told him not to tell me).

My Math grade - I got an 89 last quarter (which is pretty high for a Math Class person) and I was really, really satisfied. I only got an 83 last year. BUT NOW? This quarter? Flunked tests and seatworks! DAMMIT. I have absolutely NO IDEA WHAT MY MATH GRADE WILL BE NOW.

My Chem grade - 85, y'all. 85!!! That's too low. TOO LOW.

My Filipino grade - from 90 to ...what? Perhaps, an 88? CRAP. DO YOU WANT ME TO DIE?

From 3rd Honor Rank 7, I will probably slip to Rank ..... 12! DAMMIT. DAMMIT. DAMMIT.

I'm supposed to get at least to the 2nd Honors. WHY? Because there's a prize. There's also a series of consequences if I don't get this prize. And it's not a tangible thing, my love.

See, I'm studying hard for a certain person. The details, I'm not supposed to tell you. But I'm doing this not just for myself, but for this PERSON who means so much to me... No, this person ain't part of my biological family. This person also ain't my crush. This person is....

Well, I just need to skyrocket my grades up this quarter. I really need to. I DO NOT want to devolve.

ONE MORE THING, COLLEGE. But we should talk about it during the "semestral break."

2. Physical Insecurities - 25%

My height is killing me. I'm so short I need to wear 3-inch heels to LOOK TALL. Uhh, other physical insecurities include...uhhh...I dunno. HEIGHT. HEIGHT. HEIGHT!


3. Family Drama - 10%

I've written posts about my clan, right?

4. Health - 10%

EARS

5. Sleep-deprivation - 1%

Number 1, number 2, number 3 and number 4 combined KILL ME.

The ABC's of Life

And now I shall venture into teaching.

But before that, I shall give you a list of vocabulary words... make sure you understand them thoroughly, know them by heart, and apply them appropriately.

Voc. List # 1

1. responsibility - when I say something, I make it a point that I live up to it.

Example Sentence: Her damned friends failed to fulfill their responsibility to show up for a group meeting that should have had taken place last Wednesday.

2. friend - someone I can talk to anywhere, anyhow, anytime.

Example Sentence: She has very few friends because many of her old friends weren't friends at all.

Another Example Sentence: She doesn't want a "best friend", a "close friend" or a "best friend forever" - she just wants someone she can call a friend sans the quotation marks.

3. emo - someone who hates the world and is proud during that process

Example Sentence: All of her friends are emo.

4. friendless - someone whose friends resolved to abandonment

Example Sentence: She used to feel loved by her "close friends", but now feels friendless.

5. immaturity - "I am stupid and I don't know anything about the real world"

Example Sentence: Her friends succumb to immaturity and therefore she became friendless.

6. friendship - the most overrated abstract thing in the universe

Example Sentence: Her life is ruined by friendship.

7. frankness - what the world needs to be perfect; to accept the truth and to be the truth

Example Sentence: Her friends rejected any form of frankness.

8. listen - the ability to lend one's ears wholeheartedly to someone who is in the process of self-expression

Example Sentence: One thing her friends failed to do is to listen.

9. stupidity - the inability to think like a morally and emotionally intellectual human being.

Example Sentence: Her friends may be academically inclined, but if there's one thing they're really, really good at, it's stupidity.

10. smart - someone who knows life outside the Chemistry/Biology/Physics/Geometry/Trigonometry/ Chinese History/Chinese Literature books

Example Sentence: She has only one smart friend.

11. superficiality - "Look at me, I'm hot, I'm sexy, I'm fashionable, I'm perfect. I'm just like one of those girls you see on 'Girls Gone Wild'"; "Look at me, I watch TV shows all day and that's the only thing I care about - minus, of course, my perfect looks."; "I'm a party girl, in a party world."

Example Sentence: If there's one thing she doesn't want her friends to go into, it's superficiality (but sadly, it's too late).

12. human being - a creature that, in general, sees, thinks and feels the real side of things.

Example Sentence: Are her friends human beings?

Ran Out of Killer Punch Lines

Part of what I like so much about myself is my ability to see through people without thoroughly digesting them, thinking them up. Then it hit me today, when I'm mad at the world in a non-emo way for something (that "something" - a.k.a someone imitating ME which happens so dang frequently nowadays, a.k.a someone going all emo on me/the world, a.k.a someone who just plain pisses me off), I automatically spot their flaws.

Like if you're psychologically unhinged, for example. I can notice that when your status message in YM is seemingly a.) pretentious b.) constituent of words that one can hear from an "influential" person c.) constituent of a tinge of superiority complex d.) praising you in a way I can justify.

As of now, I've seen 3 people in YM whose psyche seems to me as psychologically unhinged.

Look, if you want to be "superior", make sure other "superiors" won't be able to find your flaws.


And I admit, I dedicate this post to only ONE of those 3 people. And I bet you, he won't be able to read this.

P.S. Come out, come out wherever you are!

The Bitch on the Bus: GoG Cat Fight

Just got home from the field trip. Tiring day...etc...etc. Will not focus on field trip. Will focus on the pissed-off field trip.

You see, when we got stranded on the bus, I started expressing my opinions to my classmates in the usual Catherine Way. If you do not know the "Catherine Way", well, just think of it as: aggressive, frank and straightforward (and not to mention very very very frank BUT not in a tactless way). Opinions about what, you ask? Well, opinions about how two people bond through what they HATE, not through what they LIKE. Obviously, I mentioned examples. I was all: "So if you hate stupid people, you have a mutual bond right there."

(Prior to that incident, some of our BUS MATES (will not say WHICH section) were whining, complaining, bitching and mewling over some random, trifle stuff. - that people at the front were not moving. This obviously ignited my dang neurotic nature so I guess you know where I extracted that Catherine Way.)

I blabbed on about the whole psychological research on HATE thingy until basically we started going down the dang stairs.

But all throughout the WHOLE thing, I had glimpses of this super small girl with shoulder-length hair. This girl was staring at me. And so I blabbed more because I know that her eyes contained judgment, and her eyes were scanning me from head to toe. - another tseture that suggestsed judgment. Besides, since Sophomore Year, I've been seeing this girl stare at me as if I'm: a.) a freakshow b.) Miley Cyrus c.) all of the above. Damn her. So I didn't give a damn - why the hell she did stare, I heck had no idea.

I was about to glare at her when I lunged at myself, grabbed myself by the neck and turned away. No glaring, Catherine. No catfights. No bitchiness on the bus.

But then she started whispering to her MORE glamorous friend. Obviously, the friend looked at me the same way you'd look at a barbarian. The same way you'd look at an outsider who is thrashing and trashing your friend.

I knew why and what she whispered - I heard, heck. (Bitch on the Bus doesn't know how to tone down her voice.)

She whispered that I was bitching on their section. Perhaps because their section was the one WHINING, COMPLAINING, BITCHING and MEWLING over some trifle stuff and at that time I was proclaiming my new HATE theories and just so happened, I mentioned the word "stupid". SO basically she thinks/thought/still is thinking that I am/was/still is bashing her section by calling 'em stupid!

Dang her. Bitch on the Bus ruined MY happy field trip.

And so she passed this judgment to the world.

You know if I were judgmental, I'd probably say - this girl is stupid, fugly, social climbing, slutty, short and ... have I mentioned FUGLY?

If I were tactless and uber mean, I'd probably say - "Hey, bitch, before you pass on judgment to others, look at yourself. What do you see? Besides, I demand a debate. A debate between you and me. And let's see who wins. Equipped with that brain of yours, I don't think you even know how to comprehend what it is that I say right now. Do you even understand English? Oh. Wait. My bad. I remember now - there's no such thing as stupid vs. smart. Simply incomparable. Go fug yourself and die." When I say stupid, I don't mean academically stupid. I don't mean mentall stupid either. When I say stupid, I MEAN STUPID as in "passing judgment", "jumping to conclusions" and simply "emotionally unhinged." When I say smart, I mean THOSE WHO KEEP THEIR MOUTHS SHUT.

If I basked on pride and pride alone, I'd probably scream (to the world): "I have a new principle. If you're stupid (stupid by way of the definitions stated above), you have no right to correct smart people. You're simply a waste of our effing time."

BUT NO.

I guess I'm not THAT worse.

So, instead of all those, I sit on my arse here, typing my hatred away...

...and hopefully, those three "if I's" would not come true to life. For if they do... we'll see who the bitch is.

Happy

For some unknown reason, I'm actually happy today!

Screw the stuff I gotta do. I don't care. I'm gonna emblazon my happiness into this blog.

Happy happy joy joy....

Maybe it's because of my writer-friends.... Roy and the others :)

Maybe it's because of the blogosphere....






I don't know! I'm happy!

Coeur d'Coeurs (Heart of Hearts)

OMG I'm in love....

Call it puppy love, high school love... I don't care. It's love, nonetheless.

Everytime I think of this geeky (gorgeous) guy (he's a year my senior - someone who belongs to either of the star sections), my day brightens up. You know, I thought the whole "OOh, I saw my crush today, I'm happy!" was immature, stereotypical, cliched and cheesy. But it's actually true. It's like you see the guy you like and then... you just sort of daydream about him. Or admire his feats.

In my case, I adore his physical and mental feats. To be both a geek and a gorgeous guy is something that happens once in a blue moon.

I think I'm in love with him. That's because I rarely think of someone in this kind of intense manner. And knowing myself, well, I really like him.

He's just so perfect.

Now, if only he'd stop liking my big sister...

Of Stage Moms, Irrational Fathers and Filial Piety Part 2

Here is a very sexist statement I just heard:

"Babae ka lang. Hindi mo kailangan ng mataas na pinag-aralan. Lalu na babae mas mataas ang pinag-aralan mas nakakainis, walang may gugustong lalaki, mas walang kuwenta."

What the fuck is that?

Well, do you wanna know where that STATEMENT came from? My father's mouth. His big fat mouth.

He didn't aim it at me. He aimed it at someone else. Of course, I happen to care and love that "someone else" so I guess he should just.... URRRGHHHH... See, this is the perfect epitome of a fucking broken family. Broken on the inside, complete on the outside. Broken family.

I wish parents would just stop screwing things up FOR ONCE. Can't they all spare us ONE NIGHT? A SILENT NIGHT IS ALL THAT I ASK FOR.

This shows why I'm so messed up on the whole.

What he said was so fucking discriminating.
FUCK!

I won't say anything more... I'll bite my tongue - after all, that's what I've been doing all these years, right? Biting my tongue about my family because of fear that they may know what I think about them? Yes, false pretense in terms of family. False pretense. They've been living a lie!!!! Living with the truth hurts, but living a lie is not living at all.

This time, you be the judge.