My diary

Smart bro decided that I should be away from the PC for a bit. With 80% of my time spent in front of the PC, playing games, working, studying and socializing in online networking sites (e.g. Plurk, facebook), I really need some time off from the net XD. So yeah… Smart bro *cough* (thisinnotapatheticattempttojustifysmartbro'ssuckyservice)

With nothing better to do on hot lazy summer afternoon, I decided it’s time to clean my room a bit. Replace some stuff and redecorate a bit, just the usual. Ate Gayle gave me a lot of Fushigi Yuugi and Samurai X mangas so I started with those. I arranged them neatly in a stack and moved some books to another shelf to make room for them. Now that I think about it, I acquired most of my books back in high school and college. Back then, I used to love reading and imagining stuff. In college, specifically in Miriam College, I met some professors that killed that part of me (“some professors” doesn’t mean ALL. Stop generalizing before you even begin). Since then, the number of books that I purchase every year, have depleted. And I’ve done myself wrong by not reading a lot of good books this past 4 years. It’s sad. I know.

After 15 minutes worth of bad flashbacks, I decided to move on to another stack of notebooks and books. I took them out of the shelf, piled them on top of each other and carried them to a spot where they will temporarily sit ‘til I figure out where to put them. In the process, something slipped and fell on the floor. In my effort to pick it up, I slipped and hit my head on the corner of the shelf. It didn’t bleed but I now have a huge bump to remind myself of the incident (Yes, it hurts).

It was my pretty pink diary that I got from the last day of my first semester in First Year College. The first entry was about my class president stalking me and our declamation event in Filipino Class under Mrs. Visco. There was also an entry about our teacher in Math who has a speech problem that he pronounces anything with “T” as “P.” It wasn’t a laughing matter though when he showed us our final exam and all of the questions didn’t have any Ts or Ps to make fun of. An entry also talked about politics for debate. Back then, politics was just a subject under Mr. Fulgar, discussed for the sake of grades. Now, Politics is in school, work, hobbies, family, friends, government…. “Everywhere.”

The following entries painted the picture of me being the student I used to be. It was an image I’d give anything to see myself in again. I was never late for any of my classes despite the 3 hour trip from Antipolo to Manila. I’ve always enjoyed the jeepney ride from Cubao to Morayta through Espanya at 5am in the morning. I would dread each storm that visited the city because I know it will send me home, swimming in flood water. I also remember that I’d rush down the stairs from the 7^th floor of EHB building after my last class of the day to catch f4 and Barbie Xu on TV in the canteen right outside the school. I’d spend 2 hours in the bookstore looking at cute erasers and artbooks while hiding from suitors. And I’d spend 1-2 hours in the comp shop fixing my Friendster layout to pass the time while waiting for my classmates’ emails for projects before going home. It was fun. I learned a lot and I enjoyed it.

Then a phone call came, from my grandmother, telling me to transfer schools. It was a sad day.

I skipped a few (a lot) pages and reached the last 4 entries in my diary. Of all the entries in my diary, these were the ones that mattered. It was about love, responsibility, realization, difficulties and learning. I don’t feel comfortable sharing the full details of the entries but to those who would understand what these words mean… they know what happened. (At least a large part of it)

“The great game”

I thought about things. And I felt embarrassed that I went through this, but at the same time, I’m glad that I did. It was a…a very unusual learning experience. Something I would guarantee to everyone, who knows, that I will never forget. I am thankful for the people involved in that event, one summer 5 years ago. It was, mentally, the craziest moment in my life. Coining my usual statement…. “I was young, it was summer.”

From that time, I can’t say that I’ve grown a lot. But then again, I don’t think I ever will (haha lame joke). But I am looking forward to a time when I can openly share that crazy experience to someone younger, laugh about it and say “It was crazy… but you see, I learned.”