Joji Klarisse Liwag Mendoza. Kahit na bibihira kang bumisita rito, babatiin pa rin kita.
Maligayang kaarawan, kapatid.
Alam kong kung ikaw ako, lalagyan mo ng larawan 'to.
Pero ako ako, kaya naman simple lang 'to.
Pagpalain ka nawa ng Diyos.
Umuwi ka na.
PS. Dito lang kita pwedeng batiin. Pupunta kasi ako sa malayong lugar bukas, kaya magpapaka-ascetic ako.
Battered shoulders. Green wrist. Ten photographs. Irksome throat.
All worth it.
Up dharma Down has never got and will never get trite, even with the signature effects.
Because my companions ditched me, I had gone to the "Bipolar" album launch alone--proof of my undying, ever-enduring love for the band.
Even though I only saw fragments of Armi, Polyap, Los, and Ean at a time, the sounds more than compensated for the lack of vision.
Armi has gotten slimmer and hotter with her hair. If only we reek the same generations, I would've wooed you.
Come signing time, I shoved them their two albums, but was too timid to speak phrases. It somehow was intimidating, like in the presence of idols. Ahhh, if I were to see God face-to-face, I wouldn't be able to breathe.
But tada, nice nice. Polyap, why didn't you sign my CD? You were the only one who signed once on "Bipolar." Good thing the face you drew is awesome!
Up dharma Down, thank you for the music.
Blessed. Clockwork. Delayed breathing. All year round. Taya. Unspoken definites. The cold is warmth. Two. Sana. Return, saturn, return. Every first second. Furnace. Silid. Sugarcoats & heartbeats.
*
Yesterday, I bought four books, amounting to grands: The world without us, Possessing genius, The forensic casebook: the science of crime scene investigation, and Runaways Vol. 1.
This sem break, I will be brushing up the shelves and my neurons with the aforementioned books, plus Mark Lynas' Six degrees.
Any form of Chemistry, flee from me. You will not haunt me this sem break. You will not. If you try to phenylpropanalamine me with the generic meds, I will burn you to the very last drop and I swear I will slack off in school.
*
If only desperate losers stopped from being so desperate, the world will be a better place to live in.
"Taya" is my favorite track so far.
I tried to contain all the emotion, the restlessness stirring within me, what with the fine weather contradicting the quite expected maladies of The Router. But no, alas, I have no evidence whatsoever--no pictures, no memorabilia, no name tag, no souvenir. Just the memory of a thousand friendships, waiting to entangle themselves onto one another, as a labyrinthine connect-the-dots sheet.
I cannot impart upon you any bit of happiness or joy or gladness or excitement because I'm no Matt Parkman. But what I can tell you is that I'm ready to have a kid. And not just ready, I'm excited. It is the beauty of humanity, the perpetuation of its own species, as Mr. Mamaril had told us.
But what gave me the gladness similar to unwrapping a heap of presents during Christmas was the unwrapping of anonymity. The disclosure of closeness, unexpectedly hidden within.
I met a lot of kids. At the Institute for Foundational Learning, I befriended a lot, most of them actually. Kids ranging from 4 to 19 (perhaps?). And it was an easy task, with them approaching you like ants that have smelled cookie crumbles. There were a dozen "Kuya Ben! Kuya Ben!"s And I was looking around and below for the kiddie high-pitched sources.
Ahh, why are kids so happy and joyful? While some people get so impatient and stubborn and bitchy sometimes.
The first kid to approach me was Joven (although technically, it was I who approached him), around 7 or 8 (for so many kids, I only remembered a few ages). I was busy setting up the signs. He narrated about his friend, Ben ________ whom he recalled because of my name tag.
The face-painting made me face a lot of kids, sadly, I cannot enumerate all. I face-painted the green team with Jhing Talan, and the kids LOOOOOVED the face paint. The first creature I drew was a lion, and it looked more like a puppy to me. And some wanted butterflies, the most desired creature of all. Followed closely by the flower. And some vines. These days, kids have gone more earthy.
Three kids that I remembered from that face-painting were Heather, Nico and Jeremiah.
Heather. The plump, cheerful little girl, wanted anything. On her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. Anywhere on her face. Green paint all over her face, and she wasn't even on the green team. Later that day, she went kite-flying with me. I was so ecstatic to help everyone. She got her frame busted. The barbecue-looking stick dropped onto a ground of harvest leftovers. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, except the needle looked much like hay, only harder and denser. But still, we didn't find it. So we had to improvise and put a balloon stick instead, only to find out that it was so flexible that it increased its crash-landing statistics to about five-fold.
Nico. Aww, the kid who never stopped smiling. If only he had perfect teeth, he would have been part of Colgate's "Brush brush brush!" He was part of the orange team, the team with pink paint on (sorry Michael King, no time for mixing colors there). He wanted a green mustache and beard and a green eye-patch. Arrr!!! If only the party hats were pirate hats instead of animals.
And Jeremiah, the bashful. We had to play funny bones, ear to mouth, most of the time. And still a fraction of the time I didn't understand what he had said. He was the sweaty kid. He wasn't at all fat, but he had sweat like he was in the middle of a sun-washed cornfield. He had to line up a dozen times just so his snazaroo didn't wear off. If only the mess hall had outdoor air. This kid got so attached to me that I had to carry him behind my back the entire Treasure Hunt. He was always so serene even when our tribe was figuring out the clues. And the moment we arrived at the clue location, we had to leave so suddenly because by the time we arrived, they'd figured out the clue.
At the fields, we flew kites. There, I sat in the middle, and then came Debbie. Deborah/Debra Grace was the cutest. But the most violent. She was sort of conio. We had an exchange of
"They made away." "Who made away to you?" "Them *points at Pito*"
And later on: "The sky is so taas." "Debbie, why is the kitten bigger than the dinosaur?" "Because Barney's a kid." "Debbie, why is Barney purple?" "Debbie, which do you prefer, Barney or the kitten?" "Barney AND the kitten." "Debbie, do you like your hat?" To which she angrily throws off her hat. And then she rests her butt on me. Later on she kills me, scratching my ears and my neck, like a cat fighting for life. My ears bled. I pretended to be dead. To which she laughed. And laughed some more. Giggled like a teenage girl fan. Then she butt-jumped on my belly as though I was her personal trampoline. And I pretended to be dead more than a dozen times. Again and again and again. And she was not at all satisfied.
It was hard to bid our goodbyes. Debbie never wanted to let me stand. And when I was finally able to stand. She tricked Irish into carrying her, like an infant. But it was a trap! She never wanted to go down. Never. Until, she was forced by the authorities. She was such a strong girl for such a young age; she never showed tears.
Arnel was the same as my age. He had wanted to befriend me, like his brother because he knew another Ben whom he was very dearly close. He taught me several handshakes. Those stuff best friends usually do. The last word I heard from him was "ingat" after the handshakes he taught me. He must have been used to saying goodbyes as he was very composed.
I wish I had that composure. Even though I only got to spend hours with them, I will forever treasure the fun times. It's all in my head. And when I get old, I will recall the day.
And it marks my age too. Tried and disliked. Never gonna happen again. Perhaps.
I will not rant about my exam grades. I will not rant about them. I will not. I will not rant about me getting that low grade in the last Physics exam, nor will I rant about the "supposedly unoable" Chem grade (Hello Doc Q and Ma'am De Guzman, you've made our 31 miserably fun!) I do not wish to remember, nor will I rant about my Math tentative grade.
I will not rant, because ranting doesn't do anything to change that hell-of-a-dumbbell stupidity I exhibited during the past few months. I did not give my all, and I haven't done anything I can be proud of this nearly over semester. (Well, except in that one-unit subject that acts as if it's five units).
Ranting does no good. It only welcomes negative energies. Negative energies I HATE I HATE I HATE. I HATE I HATE I HATE THIS SUPPOSEDLY RELATIVELY EASIER SEM.
*calms down*
I am calm. Thank you stupidity and laziness for making this sem very memorable. Thank you for shoving this memory deep in the cortices of my brain and gluing it in like a post-it rammed along the flap of my printer.
They say "Sometimes you need to feel downs in order for you to strive to go up."
I say "I DON'T NEED A DOZEN DOWNS FOR ME TO REALIZE I'M ACTING TOO LAZILY."
*calms down again*
On a more serious, less aggressive note.
I need to make the list of things to do this sem break. I have to read "Runaways," "Physics of the Impossible," "Six Degrees" and "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Not Slacking Off."
Seriously.
I also need to soak myself in comics as I had the inexplicable urge to buy gatchillion comic books.
And movies. I need to watch a million films, any suggestions?
I hate HEROES for making me wait a looooooooooong time before watching the next episode.
I love the women of Heroes for being so hot. Is it just me or does Hayden Panettiere really look a little bit like Maja Salvador?
Ali Larter, marry me.
