herheartfeltconfession

K. Now I feel stupid. But I won’t give you the satisfaction—of seeing me cry like this. I’MNOTSTUPIDI’MNOTSTUPIDI’MNOTSTUPID.

Say, this weekend is the worst weekend of my entire life. I’m bitter. But I promise, I’ll be fucking better.

This chip on my shoulder makes me smarter and bolder, no more whining or blaming, I am fucking reclaiming my pride.

Go to hell, savages. The teasing and scolding fucking hurts, but I try to put on a no-shit-I-don't-really-care-I'd-rather-go-to-another-school face.

herheartfeltconfession

So, what next?

HAHAHAHAHA

herheartfeltconfession

And you have no right to call a person stupid if she doesn't get your joke. Calling her stupid in front of your other friends makes YOU worse, because you have no balls to say it to her face.

Just sayin'

herheartfeltconfession

I hate it when she scolds me every time I let out a loud burp or laugh a little too loud.

I hate it when I come home pretty drunk, and she phones our relatives telling them about my being a "wild, rebellious" kiddo. My dear grandmother, I'm not really wild or rebellious. I don't even do drugs. I play loud music, and cuss when I'm angry, but I'm not really rebellious. K? Rebellious is different from being... I don't know. Being "me," I guess.

Oh and I hate it especially when she says I shouldn't be like them Filipinos or "hua-nas," lazy and selfish.

Ha. Too bad she couldn't hide much of our family history from me. A long time ago, mom told me not to mind my grandmother's racist comments. Mom said her mom's really Filipino, and my late grandfather was the one who was pure Chinese.

Eh. I don't understand why she would hate Filipinos when she's a pure blood Pinoy herself.

She hates my father because he's a Filipino. Well, that's what she says.

Whatever. Faker. Haha.

--

But sometimes she cooks me food (Probably the only thing I love about her, I guess).

I don't understand her myself.

herheartfeltconfession

(Obsession, pt. II)

Strangely enough, there's an image of you inside my head that refuses to fade.

4:44 p.m. I was in my philosophy class, stealing glances at my phone, writing down notes, and yet at one point I had begun to doodle your name. I had been out of love since God knows how many summers ago, but I continue to be obsessed with the idea of us seeing each other again / you nodding my way / us having a decent conversation that would lead to mutual reconciliation, and so on and so forth... scenes that my pathetic imagination would allow.

Yesterday, I saw your friend in the LRT. He smiled and I smiled too, thinking it could have been you. But God didn't will it, Fate prevented it. Maybe it isn't time yet for us to--

Sometimes you appear in my dreams. Sometimes I wake up crying. I remember your face-- flushed, thrilled, when we were aboard the Anchors Away. My friend threw up, but not even the stench of her vomit could ruin that moment for me. You held my hand just when I started screaming my friend's name, up, up, fifty or sixty feet up in the air.

You know what makes me sad? Knowing that unlike me, you could have already forgotten that moment. Because it didn't mean a thing to you.

herheartfeltconfession

Give me ten minutes to prepare myself for the disastrous result of my oral exam taken last December. During the break I've tried to tell myself that I shouldn't be too pessimistic about this, but heck, I know I screwed it up big time.

Ten minutes and I'm off to class to face the Witch, the Crone, the Circe who would probably give me my first (and hopefully, LAST) F for an oral exam.

Must not falter under her stone-cold stare. Must maintain my p-p-poker face. Must not shake. Dear fingers, if only you would stop from trembling so much...

herheartfeltconfession

I can't sleep.

After all this time, I still think of him.

How childish.

herheartfeltconfession

Let earth receive my hate love.

I've been sick for two weeks. Doctor says it's stress, and that what I need is complete bed rest. But last week I went on working, going to school, cramming, bleeding my brains out, for the sole purpose of fulfilling my requirements (or maybe this should be changed to "fulfilling my mom and pop's wish for me to graduate on time next year). This week I'm still stressed, pondering what to do and how to start working on group presentations, projects or papers when almost all of my group mates are out of the country.

My Christmas sucked. I was able to enjoy the company of my family, although it felt like an ordinary celebration. Basically we just ate, ate, ate. Like random Sunday brunches or dine-ins. Nothing special, not like what we used to have in the old days when I was short of a tween. No Christmas party where a huge Santa comes in with a sack of goodies and a big "Ho! Ho! Ho!" laugh. No fake reindeers, no Chupa Chups hanging from the Christmas tree. No Christmas tree. No Christmas lights. No get-together with my other relatives. Just one big, nice parol and a Baby Jesus. And that's it.

A few days ago, I met up with my former classmates from high school. I was sick-- and I wheezed and sneezed all the way from QC to Manila-- and yet during the whole time wherein I was with them, I tried to fight back my coughing and sneezing attacks.

I struggled-- and also, on another deeper level. A more personal level-- since the sting of old scars remained, old scars that have had to do with ex-friends. And yet, for the benefit of my other friends, and because it was Christmas and it was our first-ever reunion after _ years of no contact, I swallowed my pride and smiled and shook my ex-friends' hands, like I had forgotten every damned little thing.

One was a traitorous little witch. Back then, we were really good friends. Then we entered this competition, and eventually we were pitted against each other. For the final round, she knew the coverage but didn't inform me about it. She told me to study another set of chapters.

I believed her. I trusted her. And I ended up studying the wrong lessons. I couldn't-- wouldn't forget the humiliation when I got FIVE points and she bagged ninety.

Anyway, I smiled at her and she proceeded to ask me about my life. How are you doing? Cum laude? Magna? I answered "Nope. I've had a couple of poor grades." She seemed satisfied after hearing that. Then she went on and on about her achievements, her thesis, her being part of the dean's list, etc.

I didn't tell her about my writing award, and that I met and shook hands with Mr. Zobel de Ayala himself. I didn't tell her about my DL moment. I didn't tell her about my experience working for Senator _. I simply nodded. Felt a pang in my heart. Because somehow, along the way, I've learned that these achievements-- make you happy-- only for the time being. Then you realize, after the excitement is gone, that they don't really make you happy. They don't complete you. They don't define you.

What a shame that sometimes, people can be reduced to shallow beings who believe their lives and their happiness are determined by their grades and achievements.

Anyway, never mind me. I'm just ranting as usual. Typing incoherent paragraphs. Thinking irrelevant thoughts.

Good night. Hope you've had a lovely Christmas.

herheartfeltconfession

Okay. This is my usual self ranting, so please bear with me.

I am the type of student who goes to class, studies, takes notes, and does not fall asleep in front of the prof.

I am the type of student who diligently does her homework, and edits group reports when necessary. Usually, reports = group papers, videos, or powerpoint presentations.

I have no problem with people who fall asleep in class. And I absolutely have no problem with people who cut class, as long as they make up for the requirements or activities they had missed during their absence-- without having to rely on others.

The problem comes in when there is a required group work that has to be accomplished. Most profs would give term paper or group report requirements that students have to work on for the rest of the sem, and then submit on finals week. For a major project, our group had five members, including this guy who, coincidentally had been one of my groupmates in previous classes.

And he still does not want to cooperate. I wouldn't make sumbong-- I'm not the type to shriek, "MA'AAAAM HE DOESN'T DO HIS PART HE DOESN'T WANT TO COOPERATE WITH THE TEAM BOOHOOHOOHOO!!!" but this guy really pisses me off big time.

We're seniors, dude. You haven't changed since first year.

I don't care if you say you're not going to law school and you don't need these stuff.

The fact that you still do it pisses me off.

You know I work hard. I'm not the type who would get straight A's in all of my subjects, but I really think papers should be written and edited thoroughly, presentations made with great thought, care and creativity, because at least if we flunk one or two of our quizzes or exams, these papers and videos, &tc. would help pull up our grades.

The problem with you is that you're taking advantage of the fact that I'm a freaking OC when it comes to academic requirements. And you're not doing anything. Just sitting in the caf with your jock friends, or sleeping in class.

You're not even answering my texts. Not going to our group meetings. Nothing.

Now you have the guts to call me because you don't have notes and shit and we have exams next week?

Fuck you.