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.

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..

What Does Inspiration Taste Like?

hannah Portugal: what does inspiration taste like?
Cy: It depends
Cy: there’s inspiration that’s like a star
Cy: like
Cy: a star
Cy: fell into your head
Cy: there’s also
Cy: a fiery chest area inspiration
Cy: but
Cy: I find that
Cy: The star falling inspiration is much handier and more mutable and potent
Cy: than the chest
Cy: but
Cy: you’re at your best when you have both
Cy: the chest area inspiration alone doesn’t really get you anywhere.
hannah Portugal: i see..
Cy: there’s more though
Cy: there’s
Cy: the world falling apart inpiration
Cy: which happens when you’re really tired
Cy: things turn into other things
Cy: but
Cy: well
Cy: it’s like swimming
Cy: but
Cy: it’s hard to come up with anything
Cy: because you’re usually too tired.
hannah Portugal: ..i do that a lot.

Cy: it prolly comes in more flavors.
hannah Portugal: that inspiration is mixed with luck, i guess.
hannah Portugal: it’s like…
hannah Portugal: i guess inspiration would taste like theobromine.
Cy: I have never tasted theobromine
hannah Portugal: neither have i.
Cy: we’re both wrong
Cy: it’s an active ingriedient in chocolate.

hannah Portugal: hahaha
hannah Portugal: that’s the point-
hannah Portugal: :p
Cy: inspiration is
Cy: very
Cy: odd
Cy: it’s like
Cy: an
Cy: um.

hannah Portugal: it doesn’t taste like anything.
hannah Portugal: maybe.
Cy: mayeb
Cy: it tastes like everything
Cy: so that
Cy: it tastes like nothing
Cy: like
Cy: a rainbow