Sayang

I could’ve been graduating with honors. If not for that solitary 2.75 grade I received, I could’ve been marching down with a medal wrapped around my neck.

I was first year then. And a lost soul was I. I was still on that phase where having a firm conviction about one’s self if a rarity, where conforming begets acceptance, where being radical is kewl, where not being good is better.

I didn’t want to take school that seriously. For me, being GC (grade conscious) sounds cheesy. Having my high school motto, “Grades do not measure intelligence” encrusted upon my chest, I decided to live my college life in the most carefree manner as possible.

When Demand Exceeds Supply

I hated my Economics in college. It’s not the subject per se; the abhorrence emanates more from the professor than any other. She was old, batty, balding, and inconsiderate and a worshipper of the numbers 3 and 5. She will trample you with tons of requirements yet you barely understand what she teaches (if she does). She was so full of demands that my supply of patience went zero.

I put up a silent rebellion against her. I never recited. I slept in her class. I passed hastily done assignments. I cursed her every time her shadow crosses our room. I hated her. Then she gave me a 2. 75. I cursed her once more.

It took time before I realized what that grade means – adios Mr. cum laude. I know I could’ve done better than to rant about her. But I didn’t do it. Had I not blew my cool I wouldn’t be feeling sorry for myself. But heck, it’s time to move on now. I really wanted to say more about this but I guess I’ll just let it be this way.

Indeed, grades don’t always measure intelligence but they reflect one’s discipline.

[Mega thanks to Aneng for the inspiration for this post.]

2010 Predictions

This is a revelation: I am a seer. Yes, I possess powers normal beings fail to have: ESP. You know those instances when a vivid picture of a situation suddenly flashed in your mind and right then and there, as if on cue, it happens? Or a sudden surge of instinct tells you what card will be dealt next while playing tong-its? I have those. Most of the time.

And now another year has just kicked off, my mind started barfing visions of the events that will transpire in the next 365 and ¼ days. Here are my startling predictions:

1. Marian Rivera will be dumb (as in mute).

2. There will be an antidote for MELASON (yes, I’m a KJ).

3. Aljur and Kris will finally learn how to act.

4. The EB Babes will finally learn what synchronicity means (mind you, I like the EB Babes, hehe).

5. Manny Pacquiao will have a straight vision (I mean, you know, he’ll concentrate on boxing alone).

6. Ana Ivanovic will win a Grand Slam. <3

7. BF will be the next veep.

8. Jojo Binay will come out of the dark and will realize what hypocrisy means.

9. PGMA will fall in a manhole.

10. Manholes will fill the Palace.

11. Ladies who leave their hair untied while riding a jeepney will be burned at the stake.

12. Spitting in public will earn you a one-way ticket to Muntinlupa.

13. There will be no more pickpockets on footbridges.

14. People will learn how to dispose their trash properly.

15. There will be no more floods.

16. The Philippines will be a first world country.

17. Badong will soon find where his missing properties are.

18. Badong and his group will have passing marks in their thesis defense.

19. Badong’s thesis will be hailed as the most outstanding thesis in the land.

20. Badong will IMMEDIATELY find a job (after bumming for four months).

21. Badong will have lesser grammatical errors.

22. Badong will make it to the headlines (not as a criminal, hopefully).

23. Badong will lessen his parenthetical remarks (I’ll try).

24. Badong will not be corny (I’ll really try).

25. Badong will –

Fine! Fine! I’m a fraud. I’m no Nostradamus or a Madam Auring (thankfully). You can now stab me zealously. This article simply sprang forth because of the absurdity of the predictions from these self-proclaimed psychics I see on TV. Just consider this particular prediction: Prepare for an intensity 6 earthquake that will hit the Philippines especially the Metro Manila area during the third quarter of the year. Mmm-kay. PREPARE for an earthquake. That sounds practical. Should I tie our furniture items to the wall come July? Ridiculous.

This is a revelation: I am a liar. But call me a visionary instead.

On Leave

First thing, I wanna greet you lovely people a belated Happy Christmas! The bountiful festivities had been overwhelming for me (especially my tummy) that I wasn’t able to respond to your thoughtful greetings. You guys rock.

Now, this post was totally unplanned. I was actually considering lengthening my hiatus up until the turn of the year but I deemed making one last entry to give credits to the year that has been (or at least in a few days time).

You see, this year has been totally AWESOME for me. I cannot point my finger on what made it so; it’s just that every aspect of my life had been simply…awesome. I cannot even remember the negatives that happened to me (save for that recent footbridge incident, but that was almost suppressed in my psyche).

But right now I wanna give some kudos to my new and enduring blogging friends. You know who you are, guys. Thank you for keeping up with this lousy blogger. Till next year!

At this point, let me be one of the first to say, “Happy New Year!”

How Cholo and Jodi Almost Made Me Cry

LOL.

I have never seen an entire episode of the local adaptation of Stairway To Heaven, not even if I was a semi-regular viewer of the original thing. But since I have this strong fetish for tragic endings (especially on love stories), I bothered to take some time to catch the last few moments of its final episode aired last night.

Tragic endings.

I simply love sad endings as much as happy ones. I scavenge for stories that conclude with goodbyes or better, death. It all started with Jack and Rose, and then amplified hugely by Jamie and Landon. Here comes my emo side. Gah.

Now back to Stairway To Heaven. I actually assumed the ending would verge on being cheesy to trashy, but I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t that dreadful. Had Rhian Ramos acted better, I think the ending would be a grand slam. My eyes almost welled up. Just almost.

So I was really getting into Jodi’s death scene (with Jodi bidding goodbye and Cholo telling her to hold on just for a couple more seconds) then the maddening voice of Regine Velasquez suddenly played on the background. Hate that part right there. Worse, a CGI-ed ‘stairway to heaven’ materialized and some glorious rays of sunlight and floating orbs to match. Er, what was that, seriously? I almost felt like a heavenly being would descend to fetch Jodi up, or a sea creature would emerge from the vastness of the sea to strangle Cholo down back to Atlantika.

I cried of laughter.

On Time

I don’t usually wear a watch as it makes me very uncomfortable. Save for those instances that it was presented to me in gift wrap, I never really had much use of this useful, little contraption. I pretty much rely on my handy dandy phone to keep me updated of the time.

So just imagine my agony yesterday morning when my phone’s battery suddenly went off while I’m waiting for a jeepney to work. Thirty minutes or so of waiting for a PUV with a vacant space was sheer torture, especially if you have no sense of time at all. Add another thirty minutes or so of being stuck in traffic almost took away my sanity. At that point I know I’m going to be late. No, I wasn’t worried about being reprimanded by my superiors. It’s just that I detest not beating the clock.

Filipino Time

I hate being late. Have I said it already? I simply hate it. And I abhor people who are always late. Especially those who are even PROUD of it.

Have you encountered such lowly beings? I sure know a few of them. Setting up a meeting time with those imps would be a futile effort as proven by these instances:

Mr. Punctuality: OK, so we will meet tomorrow at 7 AM. SHARP.

Mr. Tardiness: Alright. But I’ll probably arrive at 8 so don’t expect too much.

OR

Seven? I normally wake up at around that time. But yeah, sure! Seven!

OR

Sure thing! I’ll leave the house tomorrow at 7 AM. SHARP. *grins*

Know what’s irritating in those situations? It’s when those beings cheerfully proclaim to the world that punctuality is not in their dictionary. Like they deserve a medal of valor or something. Like it makes them cute. Fudge you.

No, I’m not being self-righteous here. As stated above, I’m not always Mr. Punctuality, but only on three kinds of situations:

1. I slept too much;

2. I don’t feel like going to my appointment and;

3. Friggin’ traffic jam.

*4. (Bonus) I know I would be dealing with Mr. /Ms. Tardiness (Baaad!)

Please, don’t blame it on Filipino Time. The sustained existence of this habit results from people’s conscious recollection of the deed. There is Filipino Time because people think that there IS Filipino Time. There are tardy people because they think that there WILL be tardy people.

Bato- bato sa langit ang tamaan wag magalit.

On Constipation

This reminds me of an article written by our high school paper’s editor-in-chief. Constipation – not that pesky digestive problem – is when nothing, nada, nil, not even an iota of idea or inspiration would emerge to push you to continue nor even start writing. In other words, writer’s block. For the past few weeks I’ve been straining every neuron in my brain to produce anything, just ANYTHING worth reading. Epic fail. Well, almost.

Is the world running out of interesting things to write about? Am being less observant?

They say one way to counter this problem is to write about it. So that’s exactly what I’m doing now. And it’s helping me, but not fully. I mean, how can I start writing if I am downright uninspired? Or am I just too idle initiate? I don’t know.

Two-Ball

And now for the real thing. Honestly, I have constipation – that pesky digestive problem. Again. Now what really causes this sh*t? It’s seriously giving me a HARD time.

Now I need fiber as much as I need inspiration.

Why I Would Never, Ever Cross A Footbridge Again

It was the last day of my OJT for this week. Thank you very much. I have all the eagerness in the world to go home today so I can have that well-deserved rest for tomorrow’s big day at school. All seemed well during the jeepney ride to Cubao, but for some twisted reason, our effin’ jeepney driver (Bless him) dropped us at the other side of Aurora Blvd, which meant my friend and I had to use one of those acrophobic, wild pink footbridges.

To avoid spattering rainwater on my pants, I cautiously walked my way across the wet, ill-illuminated overpass like a cat walking on a tightrope. I safely got thru. Yey. We immediately flagged down the first jeepney to Marikina that we saw and just when I was about hop on I noticed that my bag’s front pocket was open. Freaking out, I quickly scanned if my ancient phone and mp4 player were still present. Luckily, they were safely sitting there at the bottom. Sigh of relief. So feeling secured already, I groped for my pouch to get my fare. And I groped. And groped again. But the pouch wasn’t there. Aw, fudge. Now I’m dead.

Goodbye 1k. Goodbye memory cards (of my classmates. Ouch). Goodbye, movie tickets. Goodbye, BDO cash card. Good bye National Library card. Goodbye…

I’ve been often told my parents and peers that that particular pocket was not a safe place to put my valuables. But my stubbornness tells me otherwise.

On the positive side, I wasn’t harmed at all. That is something to be really thankful of. If I was robbed face-to-face I might have wet my pants. In addition, I get to follow my tight-fisted budgeting practices once more. It’s been a while since I last saved money, you see. Oh well, that's life.

Moral of the story: Don’t cross the EDSA-Aurora footbridge at night.