Happy thoughts

No "cancel" is available here. Quite inconvenient. I would have to go back to all my posts and delete the intimidatingly empty blog posts. Reminds me of life.

Let me write stream-of-consciousness-esque.  I have been wondering how people should act, what people should want--stuff like that. These thoughts have emotionally-manipulated me, somehow (an inconvenience of being human, apparently. We were created with reason and emotion..err annoying). Now, I am typing stream-of-consciousness-ly because I do not feel the decency of writing with more articulation and finesse. And I want to write more elegantly in this post!

I am dubious now. Shall I retreat to a mindless life? Slowly conforming to the routines of everyday living while meaninglessly, listlessly, waiting for every sunrise? I have been too much of a nihilist and I insist a change. A change that would hopefully evoke some passion within. A passion for living with ever so much vitality that I would be like one of those extremely vibrant people that appear in those healthy-food commercials. What change shall that be? Value, virtue, all of that. Let value and virtue paste some vibrant glow in my face.

I am nonsensical once again. Thank goodness my audience is limited to myself--and well, a couple of people.

Fourteen and the Dead Butterflies

When you are 14, everything sucks. Every thing sucks. What sucks is that you think you are on your own when hormones rise to their peaks and schoolwork makes you sleep less. You start to battle your parents. You enter a barkada which you believe you aren’t even a part of. You are bombarded with all this uncertainty brought about by adolescence—the kind of uncertainty that you have to face on your own because in your mind nobody understands you. In truth, everybody knows what you are going through. They even have brochures on it. You want to try new things with your own age group. The funny thing is that all these friends of yours are as uncertain about life as you are.

            He was half a year older than me. I was at the top of the class and he was at rock-bottom. He played excessive DotA. Fooled around. Flirted around. He was so mediocre. Then, he chatted me up in Yahoo messenger. His messages were banal since they usually involved incomprehensible one-worders like “hahaha taba”. I was intrigued. He commented on my angst-filled status messages. I bet he didn’t even understand a word of it. He started to court me with roses whose stems were at least a foot and a half long. He escorted me from the high school gate to our classroom. And before you knew it, I fell into the hormonal abyss. Imagine falling into a sinkhole with the force of gravity accelerated by a thousand times.

            I didn’t know anything about relationships but I knew much about tradition. “Say ‘yes’ to him”, said my equally-confused group of 14-year-olds. So, I did. Afterwards, it was like Katy Perry and her teenage dream. No inhibitions. We held hands under the trees of the park-like area in our high school. We exchanged cheesy lines that usually came from modern films. I grew enticed by this illusion and the thought of him sharing that very illusion with another was mortifying—at least, I got that notion from some anime. I fell into a jealous rage.  We broke up. I cried for days and days. He jumped into the arms of another girl. I merely look at him in complete hatred. He did the same tactic with her: wooed her in the pathetic Yahoo messenger parameter and used the same banal one-worders.

            He was still mediocre. He still flirted around. He still fooled around. He still played excessive DotA—which was quite obsolete by then. I was now at the tenth of the class and he was still at rock-bottom. What a loser. What a laugh.

            When you are 14, everything sucks. You are uncertain about almost everything in the world. When you do become certain, that isolated, nobody-understands-me life is good as gone and you get a hangover after waking up from your teenage dream.

            I laughed at him because I thought that he was pathetic. I laughed until I cried. My similarly-hormonal friends mocked him and so did I. After all the laughter, I decided to reflect. But what happened between us anyway? Was there any profundity amidst the pathetically limited courtship ritual? I used to think there was. Was the anime and modern film-mimicry a mere reflection of the curious child in me? I thought that it was more than that. Then I laughed at my superficiality. For the first time, I was sure that I was being a superficial asshole.

            As of this writing, I am 17. I was 16 once and 15 before that. But I remember 14. I laugh at my 14-year-old self. So gullible. So immature. So 14.

-Quebec, Ann

--This comes from my English 12 Reflection Paper--

Summer 2011 list

I am enthusiastic for the summer to begin. Before I continue reviewing for ES, I shall list down the things I want to accomplish (which I hope will only take up less than 14 minutes of my time).

Overall list:
( ) Clean out my closet
( ) Clean out my tables
( ) Attend driving lessons
( ) Obtain an MP3 Player (haha, I found how relaxing this would be)
( ) Practice a language
( ) Read Tagalog novels and or stories
( ) Practice sleeping early
( ) Hang with friends <3
( ) Practice piano again
( ) Finish > 60 movies
( ) Finish >40 movies from 1000 list
( ) Just keep learning
( ) Lose 5 lbs :D (which is no problem)

Reading list:
( ) the downloaded stuff from long ago 
( ) Just keep reading...but novels-wise
( ) Moby Dick - Herman Melville (this has been on hold for over a month now)
( ) Hard Times - Charles Dickens
( ) Great Expectations - Charles Dickens 
( ) 100 Years of Solitude - G. G. Marquez
( ) Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
( ) Candide - Voltaire
( ) Metamorphosis - Franz Kafka
( ) Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides
---super bonuses---
( ) War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
( ) Don Quixote - Miguel de Cervantes
( ) Bleak House - Charles Dickens
( ) Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand
---yes, they are the mighty long novels---

The 10-minute Blog of Senselessness

Because of my 4-hour sleeping earlier, I am not sleepy and my body clock is dead. I shall spend the next 10 minutes writing this blog and listening to The Beatles' "I Want To Hold Your Hand". Surprisingly, I do not feel hormonally-driven. And I feel so chill.

Okay. End of 10 minutes.

Oh hail insomnia (Charles Baudelaire, why oh why!)

I do not feel poetic at all this night. MY attempts at splicing with words and converting them into catchy phrases are failures. I have been sick for a while now. Yesterday was marked with a slight fever. That was a let-down. I had a speedy recovery as well. I retain my old habits. My old insomniac habits. I am pissed! Oh Good Lord, why is the devil myself and SLEEP? I recall SLEEP by Haruki Murakami. A fantastical surreal condition that would be! Imagine the rest of your life without the need to rest. All that would be so beautiful.

I am saddened that the simplest tasks are underestimated. Not that they could be estimated. I'd like to think so. I think that I am lazy but in truth, several other people whom I have encountered in my life befit "Sorrows of the Moon".

Excuse my very incomprehensible stream-of-consciousness. Insomnia emulates drunkenness. Not that I know about it.

To end this nonsensical blog, a note to you:

Do not infiltrate my mind. Do not trespass my dreams. I feel naked. Absolutely naked. Weakened. No protection whatsoever. A single most innocent and meaningless touch of the hand is enough. But no, the evil devil ravishes through my throat and initiates a gulp of the finish. Argh you. The pathetic thing here is that you do not give a thought and I am sickened and pulled inside-out.