Old Maid Walking Down the City Street

The week ahead;

I report on this poem (old maid walking down..)come Friday, CW10. I haven’t begun and am  most probably going to cram.

Maniac Magee. The legend of the boy from Two Mills who ran. I must bring this book tomorrow to a budding Jerry Spinelli fan.

And, what exactly lies within the library of Romulo Hall? Our block handlers said it looked like the Hogwarts library, and I’d like to see for myself.

I haven’t tasted the mythical Isaw of UP yet. What do chicken intestines taste like? Rubber? Salt? Chicken meat? All three combined?

Runaways 26. The continuation of the story of the children who woke up and decided to escape. But with cool super powers and a dinosaur named Old Lace. I neeeeed!~

More importantly. I need to know that tomorrow, I will be able to introduce myself in sign language to a classroom of people who aren’t deaf, as well as a prof who seems to be fascinated with the male anatomy.

—-

Something to roll over in bed about:

Erik: think of this
Erik: gawa saan an
Erik: rainbow?
hannah Portugal: droplets.
Erik: yeah
Erik: and
Erik: other than rain
Erik: saan pa
hannah Portugal: hanging in the air. reflecting. light.
Erik: nagkakaroon ng other droplets?
Erik: other source ng droplets
hannah Portugal: tears?
Erik: yeah
Erik: which means?
hannah Portugal: after you cry, there will be a rainbow?
Erik: yeah
Erik: 

—

Poetry;
You bump the shore again and climb out; and see nothing but the sky and the sand, and behind, you, as always, the ocean. The yellow pod is bobbing in the salt water, and hermit crabs are climbing over the grains of sand, scavenging. Pick one up. It’s shell is black and white; like a zebra’s. Name it Tiger.

Tiger grabs at the skin on your fingers. Put it down and look around.

You will see nothing but miles of white sand.

This is a strange island, with not a tree or a creature guarding it from the sun and the sky. One gigantic sandbar. Vast and empty and barren. The wind blows from behind you, and something cracks the sky in half.

Scream.

But make it a quiet scream, it’s only lightning, after all. A roll of thunder follows next, and your heart plays out in staccato notes. Soon after, the clouds will begin their gradual weeping: first, soft tears raining on the white hot sand, and then a drumline of cold, splashing water, nailing down on your skin and your clothes and your cheeks.

Look at your yellow pod with wide, uncertain eyes. The ocean is trembling, the ocean is beginning to churn. And then, turn your head swiftly back to the island.

You will find a shelter that wasn’t there before.

It’s only a cave, hidden under the surf and the sand, dry and warm and safe from the rain.

Look back to the sky– it has changed. From white to black. Your skin is cold.

And your yellow pod that has kept you safe from the beginning–the one with your book and blanket and your hope inside it, is being carried away by the ocean’s hands, slowly at first, but later it will be snatched away from you just as hippos swallow fish.

Look back to the shore–shelter and a home and safety from the rain.

Look back to the sea–a churning, angry storm, chanting drown, drown, drown in it’s silky siren voices, while your yellow pod waits.

Hesitate for a fraction of a moment. Just the slightest bit of time, before deciding;

Go.

Run.

Run towards what really matters, and for that fraction of a moment forget the storm and the lighting. But it isn’t wrong to dismiss the thought of impending suicide. It can’t be helped really.

And if you mean it, hop in.

Despite the fact that the ocean will swallow you, hop in. Maybe, because, for now, finishing what you began is more important than whether you will survive or not. It’s not a matter of YOU. Just a matter of doing what you were meant to.

So even if you know you might die, hop in.

And curl your pale fingers around the hatch, shut it tight and hold your blanket to your chest. When you look out at the window, you will see that old, comforting cave, hiding out from the noise and the rain bullets. It is warm, safe, and might have an ancient TV set that could work for a little while.

The pod jerks to the left, suddenly.

You are rammed against the metal walls.

And, as your vision dims, clutch your hope and your blanket and your book to your chest.

It’s worth the risk, really, it is.

It isn’t about you– it’s about what you’re supposed to finish..

Round Glasses

Tidbits:

I wrapped my Tree in pencil lines for Arch2. I swear, one day our hands will drop off from overuse. o_o

Hee! Today I made Jovi walk with me from AS to Oz Cafe because I wanted to eat with air con! Yaaaay. Mushroom pasta rockxs.

We ate with Mervin, and shared a Chocolate Trifle for dessert. Yuuuum.

Walking back to AS:

*Hannah’s keychain tinkles*

Mervin: You remind me of a cow. With a bell. It rings whenever you move! Say moo.

Hannah: That is soo lame. And stupid.

Mervin: The low and long kind of moo.

Jovi: Mooooo..

Hannah: *high pitched voice* moo!!

Mervin: )

Hannah: I am the baby cow!

(LOL)

Mervin: And Jovi is the mother cow! )

Hannah: Show your udders! Give me some miiilk…

Jovi: *to Mervin* You ASS!

Mervin: And I’m the cowherd!

From this part on, I cannot walk properly because of a full stomach and laughing too much.

Jovi: God, you’re going to die..

Hannah: *can’t stop laughing* Ow, my tummy..*bends over in PAIN*

And we cross safely towards AS~

Hahaha. Just another do-nothing day again. I found out that my CW10 teacher, Sir Capili, referred me to one of his model-manager friends and told him I was 5′5″ o__o (I wish. But I’m like, 4 inches shorter ) ) Another day, another 70% chat, 30% discussion lecture. I love Sir Capili.

*under the purple umbrella*

A Quiet Death

Arki is the end of me.

Time takes its toll, don’t you ever wish you could go back? To re-live those moments that changed the world, to fix the flaws that will ripple across the future, to make sure that the ones you love don’t die. To jump back into the bygone past, even if only to whisper words to our younger selves. And to collect memories long forgotten, and to re-experience those unexpected encounters that everyone takes for granted. Because, before you know it, earth-time ends, and another kind of time begins.

A quiet death. But whose? When your life ricochets past your eyes, towards that white light and a tunnel, you won’t be stupid and waste the last days. Do what you’ve never done, say what you’ve never said. Live, and not only that. Love and laugh and play and bask in the rain and the sunshine and the tornadoes and thunderstorms. And to those who are yet to die, remember the storms. Because the rainbows always come after. No one regrets a rainbow.

———–

Grrrr. *frustrated* Why why why why do Mondays still suck until now? >_<

*inhale, exhale* It will pass, everything will. o_o Pass pass pass.. rainbow rainbow. (Lol. I make no sense at all.)

Sam Concepcion has to eat more.

Tidbits:

o 07-07-07. Happy 07 day. {I miss you guys. Must get batch jacket. Must um, finish yearbook caricatures.}

o Not being at UAAP is depressing. – Jovi. {YES. Which is why I’m dragging your fat emo ass to the next one. xD}

o UP lost to DLSU. Oh well. Not much of a surprise there. ^_^ But that’s okay! Go go Fighting Maroons!

o High School Musical, the onstage adaptation. They edited it to fit the stage; it came out nice. The leads were too skinny for their own good though. Ryan and Sharpay and Darbus and the DJ guy= win.

o You should eat more. – Abby, to Sam Concepcion

o I will kidnap you and you and you and Ate Leny and Kuya Florante and the whole world! Except my mom. – Michelle, 5. {World domination knows no age boundary.}

o Josh Groban + Imogen Heap = Now or Never. Oh my.

o Yes, my dad is a Heroes fan. Yes, I am on the third ep. And yes, Hiro Nakamura is made of win. x3

o Tired…

The Lucky Ones

The child is now official.

Finally, I am a true child of UP. After getting lost twice on foot, I finally found the Registrar (before that, I walked to the Engineering Library, and from there, back to AS, and from AS, to Sampaguita residence hall. I resignedly consulted my freshie manual and found that all I had to do was go STRAIGHT–Gah.) So my ID pic reveals my messed up hair, tired eyes, and haggard smile. At least the Arki guards won’t be blathering about laminating tempo IDs and wearing the strap. Hahah. Finally.

When someone says ‘I love you’, think twice.

Today is a much-loved Tuesday, beginning okay, ending less okay. But ending fine nevertheless. The Capili stories took an interesting turn today, as our ever-loquacious professor revealed that he had successfully matchmade 55 couples from his class since 1988. o_o Not counting those who got together but didn’t get married. The foolproof guide:

1. Pray (Sir will drag you to some chapel, apparently. I assume this is only if you’re Catholic-)

2. Plan and Plot (Again, Sir will play a big, devious hand in this. From “coincidental” meetings to crossing schedules to fruit baskets.)

3. Play hard to get, but don’t be inaccessible. (I do believe a lot of girls do this. And I do believe it works. xD)

In a way, writing is like courtship. You must know how to beguile your audience by flirting with them, dropping hints here and there, but don’t overdo it. Draw back and stick to the basics, play hard to get. Stories with overflowery words stuffed with obscure figures of speech are such turnoffs. Love the audience. Flirt. Flirt. Flirt.

Students rolling on the roof in the grass behind people’s backs

Architecture is death. I have a feeling that “No sleep tonight” will be our mantra for the years to come. But hey, I was warned. It’s not like I had much of a choice though. Heh. But hey. Block A1 rocks my socks; everyone is fun and friendly and fabulous. And the other blocks don’t have the neat foreign exchange student. xD  We’re a group that gets along well despite the lack of males. According to Socsci 3 though, males are more than just bags of sperm, and are actually useful creatures, such that they exist to stimulate femaleness. A1 is already bursting with excessive femaleness, so, yay! I look forward to our sleepless nights, our future “measuring parties”, (o_o) and block lunches. <3

But there are the lucky ones.

“If you were to go back to your former high school and talk to your former batchmates, what would you talk about?” Yet another question we each had to answer.

The first thought that hit me was crazy/fond memories. Like Cy dancing on the table during IS, Cy slamming my alcogel bottle into the track oval, Cy and me trying to weave Ia’s hair into a basket. There’s also the rockxs sessions at the front lobby, Matrix Demented, TLBTS, and many others. Mithi, Jessica and me, arguing about whether PMS is right or wrong; Sir Marc and his chalkbutt. Then, second year. The male-dominated elections, the one-man group in geom, Hannah getting hit by a basketball four times. Etc. Year the third, where half the world revolved around prom, STR, and math. The Ramayana: the Mg boys in skirts, Ervin in a dress, and Don being all gay. Prom revealed cotillion horror, date obsession, and the like. Senior year. Vladymuon, Project Runway and the viscomm people I love to bits. James of 5 seconds before now, James of a week before now, and James missing all his previous selves. 4th year, the critical period, the crossroads of life. Happy, sad, whatever. I miss high school. But this is all a different place. You cannot get lost in Pisay. You cannot take a wrong turn twice and end up having to call someone for directions. You can skip class without a care in the world, and you can always see your friends around.  Pisay is a fortress. UP is a beach. At the beach, you can drown. You can scald your eyes with salt water, step on sea urchins, get carried away by strong currents. You can build sandcastles, lie down and bask in the sunshine, chase hermit crabs and rescue starfish. Infinitely more interesting. Just as dangerous.

There are some things we miss doing in high school. Most people are thrown into new life at the universities. But there are the lucky ones.

 After all the battles and the wars, I am still the queen of my domain.

So I sat there on the AS steps and watched the sunset through the foliage. Something inside me sighed. My first UP sunset with my butt scraping the concrete, my parched throat and tongue, and my left hand shaking from too much doodling. 11 people were on the steps. At 6:22 pm, the streetlights turned on. A few minutes later, dad pulled in. Finally.

And this day ends.