Explosive Dreams, and Art School

Shifting away from Arki feels scary and empowering and, well, surreal. I guess this is an offshoot of ’sticking to the plan’ all my life, and having someone else plan my academic life for me. Ah well, the gears are turning in the opposite direction now. But at least there IS a direction, and I am grateful for that. Following your ridiculously huge dreams is exciting and wonderful, and adrenaline-injected. How big? First off, I want to go to school here. Yes, that word is linked to the correct site. School for Visual Arts! New York! (James Jean is from there! Will Eisner! Dave Mazzucchelli! Jared Leto and Gerard Way! Umbrella Academy was okay)

Thirteen thousand six hundred and eighty nine kilometers away from here, Manila! Four years of school over there would cost me at least 8 million pesos! Gasp!

I do not have that kind of money. And as far as background in the arts is concerned, I need more of it. Architecture did help, of course; perspective, rendering, etc. But that’s as far as it goes. Color theory? Nil. Composition? No. Presentation class didn’t help much (all plates and no actual teaching) AND THUS, my shiftage into UP Fine Arts is justified. But does it need to be justified? Do you need a reason, an excuse to follow your dreams? I think  NOT! And I know what my dreams are. Ever since I picked up that green marker and drew a fan comic of an episode of Timon and Pumbaa when I was six, I knew that I wanted to be. (a singing meerkat/warthog duo) Comics and cartooning? Animation? Illustration? I have yet to decide. But I certainly want to be involved in this field, and I am certainly passionate for it (or at least, I think I am)

Why only now, you ask? I guess I thought I could stick it out, bear the burden and all that. I realize now that I am not doing myself any favors by staying in a course that I was never really an eager beaver for. Also, Pisay approved it. Yeah, that goes to show how being a stickler for the rules doesn’t really get you anywhere. It was a fun ride. But I’d rather be awesome at something I love. Awesome Comic Book Artiste > Mediocre Architect. I’m sure you agree.

“BUT HANNAH, YOU’RE OLD!” Do I look old? Problem solved.

Yes, it is one huge prerogging, GE-less (for now), major-dropping adventure, and I can’t do it alone! Only by God’s grace shall anything happen, for I may be tiny, but my God is the infinite enormity, towering over human logic, human systems, blowing people’s minds everyday. So, so long Arki people. There will be no teary farewell (the only teary farewell will be at my funeral. Or YOUR funeral, maybe. ), and most certainly no regrets because I definitely don’t want to be an architect (although I will surely miss you all and wish you the best of luck) and I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other around. In the mean time, it is fine to assume I’ll be floating around in the infamous limbo known as NON-MAJOR and will be having a grand time triapsing about language classes, long lunch breaks, and such. At least, I hope so. Here’s to the bright, precarious future, and to, after two and a half years of  loitering, finally following your dreams.

(I will still be there at your parties, lounging on your parents’ couches, listening to your gossip. Just a heads-up, arki people.)

On “I Am a Zombie Filled With Love” by Isaac Marion

Jovi sent me this story; he picked it up somewhere on the peyups LJ methinks. I papered it for English 11. Haha. Here goes:

The story deals with a well known, fictional creature—the zombie. A reanimated human corpse who eats living flesh to survive, the zombie is something of a pop culture icon, spawning many horror films, comic books and novels. The zombie prototype was established in the hugely popular 1968 film, Night of the Living Dead.

In this short story, Isaac Marion delves into the mind of a thoughtful young zombie, as he tackles life and love in the realm of the undead. Marion writes with humor and insight, and is able to connect with the readers, even when speaking from a rotting corpse’s point of view.

Being dead changes you, as the nameless narrator points out: I don’t think much about the future anymore. That’s something that’s very different from before. When I was alive, the future was all I thought about. Obsessed about. Death has relaxed me.

The story takes place in a post-apocalyptic world, where pretty much everyone has been turned into a zombie. Of course, there are still cities with living people in them, but everything is slowly disintegrating and decaying. The author describes to us the way of life of a zombie: they eat, they lose some of their number, they walk around in circles in the dust, and they groan. As mentioned earlier, death is uncomplicated. There are no more obsessions to worry about, because there is no more future. Dead is dead.

Of course, there are certain things that transcend death, according to the story. A handful of memories, the capacity to think, and, love. The narrator falls in love with another zombie named Emily, but according to him, it is a different, simpler kind of love than the love that existed when he was alive. Here, the world is stripped of sex, fights, and ulterior motives. There are no more reasons to hurt each other, and no more reasons to mind anything.

In the end, the story is all about how nothing really matters anymore, once you are dead. It’s an entertaining read, and it brings to light a question: What really matters when you are alive? Is it riches, sex, ambition, success? What do they matter, when you’re a zombie? The story’s answer, of course, is love. Love matters, love can be carried over, even in death.

Ten-thirty tales at a table for two

It was nighttime. Equally excited, we settled our behinds on the long jeep-benches, sitting across one another. We were talking in chirpy, bright voices, and the jeep’s lone light bulb flickered like a candle, tinged our skin with yellow.

I peered outside, felt the cool air toss the troublesome bangs into my eyes.

“I think it’s here. Right?” I glanced at Reez for some affirmation, as navigation wasn’t one of my strongest traits.

“Hmmm…” her eyes flickered over the square forms, the passing shapes in the darkness. “No, I think it’s there pa.”

The jeep drove on.

A few minutes later, she tossed the driver a “Para ho.”, and we hopped off, fixed our eyes on the little restaurant built to resemble a tree, and the floating lights surrounding it. I pointed to it, said,

“There it is! Shall we trek through the jungle?”

Reez looked indecisive for a moment, and she put her hand to her chin. “No, I think there’s a way through here.”

We walked through another building’s ramp, which eventually led to the little tree-shaped restaurant. The lights were lovely, and several tables were vacant. A handful of people were having dinner, and a petite waitress approached us, menu in hand. Reez and I hesitated for a moment, as she turned to me.

“I don’t see a poetry night going on here.” I nodded, and she turned around to ask the waitress.

“Ay, na-move ata. Hindi sila natuloy.” A pained look must’ve crossed both our faces, as she smiled at us sympathetically, and went to the front desk to consult a little piece of paper taped behind the counter.

“March 20 ho. Na-move nga. Ito ba yung sa Underground?” I looked at Reez quizzically. She was the one with all the details, more or less. Reez nodded.

“Wow, that sucks.” I checked my phone for time time. “So. What now?”

—

Five minutes later, we were standing by the roadside, waiting for a jeep to rescue us. A lone streetlamp curtained us in yellow light once more, and Reez begain to sing.

“I know your eyes in the morning sun! I feel you touch me in the pouring rain! And the moment that you wander far from meeee, I wanna feel you in my arms agaaaain….”

The Bee Gees. At this point, I joined in, a little amused.

“And you come to me on a summer breeeeze, keep me warm in your love and then softly leave, and its me you need to shooow..HOW DEEP IS YOUR LOVE!”

Sadly, there are few things more magical and smile-provoking than two friends singing at the side of the road, with no where to go in particular. We both sounded sub par, but it didn’t matter. At all.

I really need to learn
cause were living in a world of fools
Breaking us down
When they all should let us be
We belong to you and me

Nine-thirty in the evening landed us at the McDonald’s in Katipunan, amidst a gaggle of screaming, talking, laughing students whose Friday nights were probably just beginning. We had dinner, and in situations like these, the ice cream must always be eaten first. Reez made her way to the bathroom, and I reached for the plastic spoon, scooped a bit of the white and brown into my mouth.

We sat there, and, it wasn’t a conscious effort, but we made our own poetry night right then; out of notebooks and the backs of Haruki Murakami printouts, out of screaming schoolgirls and big-eared, bespectacled janitors. Out of the cars passing by, painting trails of light in the blackness. Reez’s lines are italicized.

9:30 pm in McDo when you’re bored.

The street is filled with cars in caution
Denizens, brisk walking, always in a flurry
The world is a hive-
But here I am, eating spaghetti
With my eyes glued to glass windows
With my ears plugged into the blues
And I think I’m in deeper than a submarine
So I type the hours away on my laptop of doom
Thinking that the guy with the mop is lonely
So I put on this smile and say, “I’m the hot friend.”

It was pretty simple. We’d observe, write down words. A fat girl was wearing this T-shirt that said “I’m the hot friend”, another girl wore a Yellow Submarine shirt. The janitor mopped the floor beside us, and beyond the glass walls, cars. Easy, no?

The next poem was kind of weird and sad and funny all at once.

“MEMORIES” 8D

I can’t believe you lost me on a train
So I sat on the roof and watched
The sky explode instead.
So I’m drawing on my shoes
The things I hated about you
While someone on TV cried about
How she got Hepa-A from isaw.
I napped on you and
Dreamt about Flo-Rida and
We rolled like lumpiang shanghai
Down the grassy slopes of
The sunken garden (in the afternoon)
You know I can’t dance
But I hope you teach me
How to boogie so fast that
We can reach Jupiter today.
Running after the balut man,
cause we’d be tired and hungry
And gift him with Hershey
Kisses divine. (for he is just awesome.)

–

“Your phone’s vibrating.”

I lifted my pen, just about to continue one of Reez’s paragraph for a joint story, this time. It was 10:45. Dad was calling.

“Dad?” I rose from our table and glanced outside. “Yeah. Okay, I’m coming.”

I gathered up my things, and gave Reez a hug. “Are you SURE you’ll be ok?” She smiled at me, “Yeaaaah, I’ll text you when they pick me up.” Her parents were somewhere along EDSA at the moment. “Alright. I’ll see you on Wednesday!” I walked towards the door and looked back at her. She waved a bit, I think. “Bye Hammie!”

Heh. Friday ended awesomely, and in the most unexpected way.

—

We like our fun and we never fight
You can’t dance and stay uptight
It’s a supernatural delight
Everybody was dancin’ in the moonlight

Kuya Ed, CAT-dissing, and the Lost Children of Anthro 10.

Fact of the day: Happy first anniversary, vladyparents! (maudrik) I can’t believe it’s already been one whole year. O_O

I walked in for math class this morning, and spotted *them*, and smiled and said good morning. Then Audrik followed me, walking backwards, so I smiled wider and said, confusedly, “Oh, and happy anniversary!” A weird look crossed daddy’s face. “Alam mo?” I nodded. “Alam mo? Pano mo alam?” I laughed. “Secret.” And then I waved and walked off to math. I was early! Celine was leaning against the doorframe, so I approached her from behind and grabbed her shoulders. “I’m early!” She freaked out slightly, of course. :3 Ma’am Paguio came the second later, so, according to Jovi, I wasn’t early. Fine. I was earlier than usual.

After a lesson on how good mathematicians are those who know how to guess the right numbers (a.k.a finding the roots of a polynomial through trial and error) we were dismissed early-ish, and headed down (but not before accompanying Jovi to buy a bluebook) to the Toki. Socsci3. A short conversation about “mr hamster” ensued with Karlos and Kira and Rev. And then I went to my seat. Warner was already there. Jackie came shortly after. No class! Ma’am Batangan had a meeting. Yesss. XD So after chatting a little about our lovely project (pr0n, ladies and gentlemen. pr0n.) Jackie and Warner and I went to FC, found Dom (who was trying to sell us raffle tickets.) and Jed, and hung out at Katag till 11:30. Erik passed by, and then we went to pick Jovi up at CAL.

And then we walked to our Anthro classroom. No one was there. Hmmm. Maybe it was a film showing, or something. Alright. We went to the SSP AVR. There were people inside. I opened the door, and found a bunch of people wearing long sleeved polos gathered around an LCD projector. Ergh. Wrong class. So we walked to the library. Wrong class again. =_= This is the price we pay for coming late. Gaaargh.

EDIT: Sir Castro was in Puerto Galera the whole time. =__= (Compliements to Paul the Tall Chinese Man.)

Anyway, after lunch, we took off for Pisay to interview Kuya Ed. Found Jackie and Garrick and Rayray in the teacher’s lounge. Garrick has a car with no gas. Garrick has no money to purchase gas. The world is cruel. :/

We went to the caf! Lots of things changed. The caf, of course, was pretty deserted. After they got food, we went to the front cause Rayray had to leave for her NatSci class. We passed the discipline office, and found Sir Talaue in it. I got my Bio notebook back!! Hahaha. Oh the 4th year over-ness. We talked for a bit, and then went up to Kuya Ed, since Jackie was calling. Jackie, Jovi, Erik, AJ and I crammed into Kuya Ed’s room and we began the interview on pr0n. But not without a lot of conversation before, after, and in between. ^__^ Kuya Ed rockxs forever. He noticed my hair, and said it was the same style during first year and early second year. Over two hundred students in our batch, and he remembers. We heard stories of our other batchmates, too. Kim, who passed by before. And Chino, whose prom picture with Nikki hangs on Kuya Ed’s wall. It’s funny that the first year children ask about us and our pictures.

I miss Pisay, but I guess visiting there today made it clear that nothing will let us relive high school as it was, exactly. Hahaha. But oh well. Twas fun going there anyway.

And oh. We watched 08’s CAT. Gah, these people (Jackie O_O hahaha) They diss the 08, but I seriously doubt 07 was that elite to begin with. But yeah, it was fun seeing them turn in circles and fidget when the officers weren’t looking. Reminds me of those horrid sunburn days with squat thrusts and standing listlessly in the field, waiting. Just waiting…

We went back to UP after that. Off to CW10 for me. Just reporting, basically. I talked to Reez the whole time (well, almost) and tried to make an ambigram of ‘Marella’. I did, eventually. It just looked like gibberish. That’s all. :p

Oh. I must get ready for bed now. Le Dad calls for us to sleep. Anyway. The last part of the day was absolutely fun fun fun.

No disguise will save you now

*listening to Cora May for the billionth time*

I took one class today, (Arch1), where Sir Nick gave us the day off because Gino pwned the Hiyas ng Arki gown design. Yay. Apparently, Bohn (Kuya Bohn, or Ate Bohn? Let’s just settle for La Suprema) likes us lowly apps better now. Hurrah! :3 After some banter with Lexeesh (who escaped to Katipunan without me. For lunch. But she was occupied, so it wouldn’t have worked anyway.) we the blockmates, ferried off to SC for some of that egg-spattered tapsilog at Rodic’s. Never gets old. (Oh, and today is pink day. And green day. ^^) And then, after dispersing a little, we had some fake FIC in a photocopier/computer shop (don’t you just love the multipurposeness of it all?). Mmm. Ice cream. That light brown flavor me and Reggie got was heavenly. I forgot what it was called. But it was gooood. :3

Fits of coughing here and there. I admit, maybe I shouldn’t have taken the ice cream. But I’m a sucker for sweet things. x3 Ooh, and yes. Here’s the fun part. Me, Jovi, Reggie and Elise were standing in the middle of the hallway, licking our heavenly bits of coldness, when I turned around and *woosh* went Jin Joson, with her long long hair and glasses and pretty socks. She wasn’t in cosplay mode, but no one can not NOT recognize her. I turned to Jovi, who grabbed my shoulders and shook me. Obviously in fanboy mode. “zomgwhatthehellit’s JIN!!! Jin!”

Er. After a few minutes of licking more ice cream, we decided to walk in her direction (on the pretense of looking for Carla, who was in one of the internet shops. She’d gone in the same direction anyway.) and she passed us again! It is rather entertaining to watch Jovi stop himself from being dumbfounded. :3

We went back to Arki after that, and I worked on my rough draft for Arch10. I wasn’t feeling too well, though, so I decided to go home and take a rest. (They didn’t do anything anyway, so, yeah. Hurrah.) Eandra lent me American Gods. Yessss. XD I’m prolly the only Gaiman fan who hasn’t read it yet. But no more! Heeheee. Other books in progress are Septimus Heap: Magyck by Angie Sage, and A Swiftly Tilting Planet by Madeline L’Engle. I miss being sick. It’s a cough and a fever, nothing new. Tomorrow I shall quest towards GCF, commuting is required, according to the parental units. I’ll manage. >:)

Friday is a busy day. I musn’t forget Therizo, either.  Inverloch ended. The end was…soo…NOT ENDWORTHY. o_o

In other news:

-Lola Pacing has arrived! I migrate to the brats’ room.

- Still have to write a couple of poems for CW10. Tundundun.

-And finish that comic for Kuya Ie.

-And my sigsheet.

-And my model for Arch10.

-And I guess I *should* return that horribly over over over due book…

o_o

Teh blogging ends here.

The home you make me bend and break

I am not what you created-

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*

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.

Ooh! (-nibersidad ng Pilipiiinas! *drums*)

Hannah is now a college student at UP, block A-1, BS Architecture.

(Today was the first day of my UP life. Hurrah. I still can’t believe it. XD)

According to Kuya IE and a couple of his friends, because we are ArKi students, we are soon going to have no life. (Oh no, have I gotten myself into another Pisay?)

Lex, Jovi, and I.

We came across Brian and Bona, the result of that being,

Jovi and I.

The hot afternoon sun, and no jeepney rides, because we don’t know how to use them yet. Chafing feet, reddened faces, and a trek to an obscure fruit shake stand.(I did not faint.)

I sat in for Jovi’s Geography class, where all the prof did was take attendance-

And he accompanied me to CAL for my CW10 class, which the prof did not attend. But we did see the “push button to eject teacher” vandal, and I had a desk that said “handicrap.”

We left after half an hour.

Oh, and our block seems FUN. There are around 20-30 of us, and 7 guys. The block head was elected using the “spin the bottle” method, and the other block head was chosen out of the blue.

Hurrah for Arki, for the Zombie game, for the little rainmaker bottles, for Kuya Francis, and all our NEW FRIENDS! (lol) Yesyes. I woke up excited, I will sleep excited.

(sked tomo…PE! Duckpin bowling!)

Welcome, n00b.

A week is all that’s left. I find that scary and exciting at once. Jumping into college is like creating a new character in an mmorpg for the very first time. Confusing, frustrating, and lovely. UP Diliman can certainly be compared to an rpg; you have the non-player characters, the diverse online community (the activists, the transvestites, the feminists, the atheists, and the guys from the province who don’t get city life.), and lastly, the potential hero of the game, you. The freshie, a.k.a the n00b.

But college shouldn’t be as scary as all that. Right? Yes and no. If you’re the naive type who willingly walks into a busy intersection, then you’re most probably going to be a choice target for the unscrupulous- Or you could be the sheltered child, raised in a nice home, graduating from a strict Christian school. UP comes with its very own culture shock. It’s a rude awakening for those who’ve been living under a rock for the past few years. But for the sheltered, the naive, and the commuting-challenged, the learning experience is going to be fantastic. (I’m a lucky combination of all three. Can’t wait. ^_^)

But fear not, n00b, for if you have the right connections and the right resources, life could go on much more smoothly. Knowing a few profs is a good thing, I guess. I have a few titos and titas from church, one of whom teaches Anthro10. (Sadly, his sked clashed with mine.) Knowing the CRS dude is also good. But it’s the invaluable advice you get from the older students that help a lot. I am personally thankful for the churchmates and relatives and Kuya IE, whom I harvested bits of advice from. Despite all the help, though, I can’t help but feel a little nervous.

The hugeness of the campus is what I’m worried about. The online map isn’t that helpful, but at least I know where the College of Architecture is. And the jeeps! o_o Ikot goes..from econ to somewhere, and Toki goes, from the econ building in the direction of the BA building. Simple, right? No. (x_x) But hey, that’s what blocks are for. I am bascially, the stereotypical clueless freshie who trips over things and forgets to bring things and forgets to look in the right places. But that doesn’t daunt meee! Oh no. It just…scares me. And makes me look forward to jumping in, getting killed off, regenerating, and jumping in again. It’s the experience that matters, righto? ^_^