6:25 PM 2/12/2007
Oh, dear Lord! I feel so high school these past few days. I don’t understand myself. I’m having intense tantrums: ignoring calls, avoiding people, throwing out off remarks and as much as possible be down-right spiteful to everything. I have no plans of figuring out what’s bothering me. I don’t care if I’m being displeasing to others. Besides, isn’t it what high school is all about: hating the world, figuring out the Self and at the same time confusing it? (Get that, George Mead? Put a sock on it!)
Hahaha. See? I’m being self-centered. Me. Me. Me. I don’t know if I should feel good about it. Some people are noticing it. Part of me wants to relish the attention but nah! Leave me alone, world! I want to die young and bitter.
The bad thing with this is that people whom I’m starting to love now starts to despise me. Well, if they care enough for me at least they should show some concern for me. I know they talk behind my back and the best concern they have offered so far was letting me be. Though, they still talk behind my back. I would want their pity but I feel sorry for myself enough that it’s best for me for them to really leave me alone.
Arggh. God help me. Wait. Maybe it’s because of the yaos and yaois I’ve been reading. (Hello Melissa!) I feel for Plato and the people who see art as something bad. Art distorts reality and… and… blah, blah, blah. They bring out emotions that are untrue and situations that don’t really exist. They are bad because they make a person feel good. They are worse because we know want the same pleasures the characters are having but know we can’t because they don’t fit our reality. And oh, how high schoolish these Japanese comics can be. The ideas are good but, please, I’ve read enough Aristotle that I know what is good plot or not.
Ahehehe. Now I rant! I really feel high school. This is what I used to do back in senior year. I sell assorted junk foods and when people asked for credits, I rant. I tell them to go fuck in hell and more. I tried doing it last semester in UP but I tired out. Selling choc-nuts in Atrium is hell. Maybe I should try selling shoes, perfumes and bras like my Mama. I like how her brochures smell like real fashion magazine. But being a walking sari-sari store is not my dream of a college life.
My real college fantasy was to get whatever course that offers only few units per semester. All would be morning class session. During afternoon, which I would have all the free time in the world, I would work for any fast food chain, Jollibee or McDonald’s perhaps. I would wear a crisp uniform and a red cap to match the happy mood of little costumers. I would smile and greet any people who would enter the establishment and gladly say: “Good morning ma’am, sir, can I take your order?” “That would five-hundred and sixty-five pesos, sir,” or “Ma’am, we only offer soft drinks and coffee.” But unfortunately, I study in UPMin, away from decent civilization and away from red-capped fast-food chains.
I was a little shattered when my friends announced to the world that they are now proud servers at Greenwich in Gaisano Mall, Bajada. Ahh. How I wanted that kind of life, studying in the morning and perspiring cold sweat in an air-conditioned mall. My girl friend, Divine, was the first one to work there. She had a pretty face, one that could be her ticket to Star Struck. The management placed her on the cash registration so that “gewd munei will be beautifully registered.” My other friends who worked there are Beggy and Bernavie. I don’t know if there are more. I don’t even know where Greenwich placed those two eggheads, maybe in garbage disposal. But if you happen to dine in at Greenwich Gaisano, please be very nice and give the people these three people humane tips. I love those guys.
Back to ME! I’m such a freaking loooser, with a freaking capital L on my freaking forehead. Now that some freaking friends stole my freaking college fantasy, I am now reduced to make out the best of what’s left of making a life in the course and school I have chosen. In a course and school that needed the appreciation of the world in order for one to survive, I suck. In the world of artistry and creativity, I suck BIG time. Trying to prove myself fit in this world, I pretty suck DOUBLE time.
Adding to this is a teacher who lied right in front of my very freaking face. Last freaky Friday, I went out with Sir Nino, Sir John, Ma’am Claire and Ate Chi at MTS. I don’t know why I was there. I only wanted people who would accompany me from UP to downtown. But guessing it was a treat, a cheap thrill and a free experience, I went anyway.
So they were commenting on the BAE program and the 2nd year batch in particular. They were especially happy about the outcome of the Shakespeare plays (God, those were freaking HELL!) and went on to comment more about our blogs in CW101. “Oh, si kani kuan hawud musulat. Si kuan pud. Og si kuan!” I sat quietly on my cold chair happy to know that at least my batch, as a whole, doesn’t suck. Then they suddenly fell silent and “Og si Jeffrey, hawud man pud ni siya musulat. Hahaha.” And more silence.
Ma’am, I know I suck but please, please *whining* don’t sugarcoat me. I appreciated the effort but it sucked me more into self-pity.
I curled in to what’s left of my dignity and gave them a pleasant face. I don’t if my face was pleasant. At least, they’re buying me dinner and drinks.
Anyhow, it was fun going out with my teachers, needless to say, going out with some of the best writers/artists in the country.
That night I went home late for a second time in a row, first was from RocKEumentary the night before. The lights in our house were already dead. I ranted silently to myself and called fourteen times before someone finally stirred from within, clicked on the lights and opened the door. It was my Mama. She looked at our wall clock. 1:25 am. She ranted to me as if I was still a high school student. At least, my mind went away from self-pity for a moment. I smiled my most sincere smile for the first time in a long while.
I went to sleep after that ravishing rant, dreaming like a high schooler.
