Haters

Some religions would claim that we are but reincarnations of our former selves which explains why we have soul mates. This would also explain why we have people we are immediately comfortable with at first meeting, the so-called "kagaanan ng loob". It is believed that in our former life, these people (in their former lives) were our friends and companions. But I'm not writing about soul mates right now. Rather, I am writing about its antithesis, of which I don't know its name.

Every once in a while you get to encounter people who immediately get on your nerves without trying. Often these people aren't doing anything to you and most of the time they are even nice and meek. But still, there is something inside you that stirs, a storm of hatred and contempt which perfectly ruins your perfect day upon seeing them. It may sound mean, but I never fail to comment about them each time we have an encounter. Is it because they were our enemies on our past life? Or is it because they reflect what we are afraid of becoming ourselves?

Since people I hate upon sight are people you don't know, there would be no bearing writing about them. Instead, I'd like to write about celebrities who gets my irk. First on my list is Samuel L. Jackson. I automatically shut off the TV each time I see him. I don't know why but he is really irritating. Sarah Jessica Parker seems like a very nice lady but I hate her as well. And I cannot understand how they always praise her for her sense of style which errr... doesn't even look stylish. But among them, nobody takes the cake but Renee Zellweger. God how I hate her. I don't have to know why, I just do. Lolz

Hating people without any reason may seem mean to other people but I don't care. It is perfectly reasonable to hate them as I'm pretty sure there are others as well who hate me for no apparent reason as well.

Time Calls Me Home

It's been a long long time since I've written and even now I don't have any intention of writing. I am practically staring at the keyboard without anything to say, to write eventhough at times I have a million things to say. There is not single soul here where I can just blurt out anything to, without feeling guilty, misjudged or misunderstood. I have been here in Manila for a couple of months, and though I could get used to the big city lifestyle, God knows I want to go home.

The way I've been raised and the way I have handled myself with people really helps alot with my initial adjustment here. And I am streetsmart enough to distinguish the crooks from the innocent bystanders. I was overwhelmed though, walking one day through the busy, colorful streets of Quiapo, to see an ocean of faces, each going their own way, not noticing each other, as if everyone's existence seem non-existent at all. To see a lot of faceless people cramped in one place is rather sad. In a city of 10-million strong, everyone is a stranger. Everyone is alone. And that is sad.

I get-by day-to-day in a monotonous routine of going to school, meeting the same people who I will leave behind in a few months time. I miss home a lot. I miss that small town I left behind. The place may not be as exciting, the women not as exquisite and sophisticated. At least the place hasn't lost its heart. Not everyone there is waiting to pounce on the weak. People there have faces. Faces recognizable through unintroduced acquaintances. They may be nameless, but definitely not faceless. So here I am. Waiting. Waiting for time to take me home...

Poem XVI (From Verses of the Red Rock)

(To the victims of the Maguindanao massacre)

The earth awoke to a solemn morn
To hushed whispers of a looming cloud
Fear is tangible--it hovers like fog
Too cold and thick to swallow.
The roads are long and winding
And the journey seems neverending.
Shadows rise on the distance
Slowly, slowly darkness came.
The shot burned skin and shattered bones
Lying sprawled and bleeding,
The sun shown the stairway to oblivion
This final breath liberates the spirit
But eternally chains the burdened soul.


8:21pm 113009

Errrrr.......

I have, once more, almost forgotten the password to my own blog. 2 months have passed since i wrote anything. In those two months, the faculty has been decimated by half. We have been struggling to keep the College working. Since both of my remaining colleagues are holding administrative duties, I was given a teaching load large enough to wear me to the bones. The load was no joke. It more than twice the load I handled a few months back. That shouldn't have been much of a problem if I have mastered the topics by having taught them for a long time. Problem is, a lot of the subjects given to me are those I have practically never bothered to study in college then and those that require me to teach strucutre and discipline to students which, of course, wasn't me at all. I strive on, trying my best to study everything and prepare well. But then again, I am no superman. I cannot be efficient in delivering if I wasn't even given ample time to prepare well for my classes. In a way, I have become the monster I didn't want myself to be. I never believed in mediocrity when it comes to teaching. And yet these circumstances drive me towards that pole. The transformation isn't complete. I hope it will never come to this. It ends here.

Powetree

I ate an early dinner yesterday evening and crawled into my bed to get a very late siesta. I grabbed a small notebook from the shelf along the way to try to read myself to sleep. The notebook was rather familiar to me. It was a collection of poetry I wrote from years ago which I intend to (hopefully) publish in the future.

Reading through the poems I wrote, I felt a little sad. They were very powerful, intense and passionate--as I was then. I wrote with angst, with vengeance for trespasses both real and imagined. I wrote with the blind conviction of a fanatic, blood and tears pouring from pen into parchment. I wrote like a victim. I wrote like a god.

I don't know which one made me more sad--having to read the anxiety and the drama that goes along with puberty and channeled into dark poetry or having to read sad but beautiful poetry written by my own hands realizing I will never get close to writing them again. I remember it was so easy to write then. I would lie in bed, with a pen and whatsoever paper I can get my hands on--tissue, scratch, receipts--and write. The outcomes were not great all the time, but I think they're rather good. Now, each time I managed to find the time and be inspired to write about something, I break. The words don't come as easily anymore. It seems my hands no longer remember how to write, my mind to imagine and my soul to empathize. Is it because I grew up and left all the angst behind me? Is it because requitted love is not as inspiring as an unrequitted one? Is it because I finally got to realize that poetry as an art eventually becomes obsolete when work and personal responsibilities eventually take the spotlight in someone's life?

As I write now, I remember the poetry I wrote and their words reverberated in my core. I guess we all do need something to get us through the day. I wrote them to get through mine. I think, it was wrong to feel sad reading through them. Moreover, I should've been proud. For those brief years, at least, I was able to write like a victim. And I wrote like a god.

The Heat is On

As I predicted, the past two weeks had been very hectic for me. I can breathe a little easier for now, but that is just about it. I have so much to write about and so little time to do so. So I'll keep this post rather short.

Swamped with work, classes and make-up classes for two weeks, my body is just about to give up. Adding more to the stress, is the pressure of processing my papers as soon as possible to have myself recredentialed to another state. My first choice, of course, is Ohio so I can watch a live game by Lebron james and the Cleveland Cavaliers. But then, Lebron may be transferring to another team come 2010. I am now considering Pennsylvania as my other State. The main reason I chose that is because Tepi will be going there as well. So at least, if I have someone close to me with me, I won't feel as nervous and as stressed as I would be alone. For the record, I have never ever been completely independent my whole life and that would be a very big challenge for me. A year has already passed since I passed my Toefl and I believe once I have started processing my papers, I would have to take a leave off from work to study the stateboards. Were it still taken in Guam, I will have studied while working at the same time. But because of the leakage scandal and the test's transferrence to the mainland, the level of exam difficulty I believe was raised three notches higher. Woe is me.

Adding to the stress, is the possibility that the PT office will be virtually empty by the end of the first semester. Ms Aj, Ms Ronz, and Ms Sheila are closest as possible to having themselves interviewed. Tepi will follow soon after. Left lurking in the school corridors would be Raymund and yours truly. To add to that, it is increasingly difficult to find new faculty to replace them. Furthermore, the College is also planning to open an OT department to fill the soon-to-be incredibly state-of-the-art PT department at the hospital.

It makes me want to jump out the window from the pressure. And I know soon, either Zaw, Jenny, or Emz will draw first blood on that US license. Once, one of them has it, I believe that everything will snowball. I hope it's not too early to say that the predictions of former teachers like Doc Alekz that our batch is very lucky because by the time we graduate, the demand for PT in the US will rise again. For the time being, it seems so. I hope I can get there on time.

Ang Sa Facebook na Bala

This and next week would probably be two of my most hectic weeks for the entire semester. I have a lot to do, stuff to finish, books to read, practicals to schedule, schedules to reschedule and I am wearing out. I would've wanted to take solace in alcohol but I don't think it would be helpful at this time. I probably won't be able to get drunk for the next two weeks. Soooo sad.

I thought I was supposed to have a class right at this time but Ms AJ told me she would still be the lecturer, and so here I am, writing once more.

Since I am virtually stuck on Facebook, I want to rant about some things. I have about 1400+ friends on FB. Don't be alarmed. I am not that friendly anyway. I added people I don't know because of my Mafia Wars application. I placed them on a list called "Loser Mafia Friends" and I placed people I know on my "Real Frenz" list so I can chat up with them if I wanted to. If an FB friend post in his/her wall in a foreign language aside from English, I automatically hide him/her. Even real friends who post nonsense are automatically hidden. I also hide friends who post every few minutes to announce whatever bullstuff they are doing as if people are dying to take part in the blow-by-blow account of their lives. I don't delete them as friends but I hide them. Bwahaha.

One thing that also pisses me off and merits automatic inhibition from my wall feeds are friends who post about their love lives on FB. Don't get me wrong. Professing your love for your partner, spouse, fubu or whoever is perfectly okay as long as you don't do it on a regular basis. Posting "Sigh! I miss him so much", followed after an hour or two by "Love is...." followed by "Wishes to spend the day with him" sends a shiver up my scoliotic spine. WHO CARES ABOUT YOUR F*****G LOVELIFE OR YOUR NEED FOR ONE? You don't have to advertise your profession of love for whoever prick you are interested with because NOBODY cares except you. The prick is probably having an affair somewhere right now and never uses Facebook kay nasa Friendster stage pa lang xa. I mean why do you have to post everything? Why? Because it's your wall and you can do anything with it? That's right. As I also reserve my right to hide you and never hear from you again. We are still friends though, technically, but that's just about it.