Crashed Trains (of thought)

Writing this down before it all goes away.

Very hesitant to post this. Here it goes.

Abby: Teacher Mac and Teacher Jen want to have twins.

Hannah: There should be a sort of pregnancy belt that has options for babies. Like, there’s a dial on the belt, and you can choose to give birth to a girl, or a boy, or twins, and have traits that are based on the available genes from the parents.

Dad: You should write a story about that.

Abby: Wasn’t Kira like that?

Hannah: Kira, Gundam Seed? Yeah. Coordinators, except they’re programmed to able able to go into SEED mode, etc. etc.

—-

Hannah is now washing the dishes. Here is her train of thought.

Hannah: *thinking* Pregnancy belt.

No, instead of the pregnancy belt, scientists should invent a pill that dictates how DNA strands connect to form the correct alleles producing the desired trait. The mother has to take the pills regularly to assure a positive result.

If this becomes possible, humans will have gained control over what is supposedly a predestined result. Will parents be able to say to their children, “God planned you before you were born!” ?

God. We attribute the random things in life to God. We call them random because they cannot be explained by any pattern, cannot be pieced together to form an explanation that the human mind can fathom.

Like nature. Nature spawned from random atoms clustering together, etc. etc, forming giant Acacia trees and cells and human beings and dogs and rats and horses and Bill Murray.

Drift back to Tuesday this week.

Lunch with Cy.

I asked him what exactly he believed in. He said,

not an agnostic, but I believe God is a mechanism. a mechanism that lies behind things humans can’t explain, like nature.

Now that I think about it, his view sort of makes sense. Who determines what babies look like when they are born? Who made the particles collide and birthed this planet into the universe? A mechanism, there is some sense to the randomness, perhaps. Probability has something to do with it. The fabric of the universe.

Then, now, humans gave that mechanism a name because they couldn’t explain it any better, made it a being, personified it somehow. Called it Him. If nobody believed in God, would he exist?

Or what if humans never thought of naming that mechanism anything? It’d continue to be there, constantly creating, controlling the variables, making things happen, but everything looks random and scattered and everything looks like chance, to us.

Ah, the randomness in creation.

So, some people have it easy, others have to work hard, others are dying, and all this is caused by circumstance, which is caused by birth, which is caused by? God, the mechanism? So we can’t really blame anyone but God/the mechanism.

We could wait to watch where it would go. We can control small things, decisions, who we marry, why. Toss a coin and fall in love with the next person who walks into the room.

Mind-skip.

Conditioning. You see things only if you’re conditioned to do so. Artists see shapes in random lines smushed together because..I don’t know, they just do. A rock is beaten into shape by erosion, constant chipping, People are beaten into shape, minds are molded, but by other people

Or by a book. D:

I have finished washing the dishes.

Reality with a dash of pessimism

Something I found while procrastinating arch10;

It made me smile, really. Because part of it is very real and very pessimistic. My kind of stuff. :3 From one of the greatest authors of all time.

Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life . . . You give them a piece of you. They don’t ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like maybe we should just be friends or how very perceptive turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.

Neil Gaiman 

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..

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.)

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.