counting down the days

Maybe it's the inexistent sembreak. Maybe it's all the stress from this sem plus the graduation woes. Or maybe it's just me -- the lazy ass.


roughly a month into the sem and am still not, you know, in the zone, whatever zone that is. Feasib's not going anywhere,at least from where i see it *cough i shall reasearch soon, really cough* and then THE orgs. i took a lot of responsibility, because i know this is the only way i can shape up. oh no, not physically. i meant, responsibility shit and all that. that thin line between raising up your hand to own up responsibility and getting that fat ass of the cozy chair and actually starting working. hay, me and my things.


and here i am, typing away, happily ensconced in this makeshift chair in my room, drumming my fingers to beatles songs i stayed up late last night downloading. why do i do the things that i do. and i ask this question everytime i write -- even after twenty repetitions, i still dont know the answers.


Holiday today, means finally getting to write Neng's yearbook piece (yes, the one i still have no idea what to write about), writing the marketing things for the marketing responsibility i took for AIESEC, and accomplishing all those things i typed up in that pathetic little notepad. that notepad of hopes -- hopes of really accomplishing things.


i figured a have so skillfully mastered this deadpan form of writing, that dry, jaded way of pouring out my feelings. i feel like a really old, sad person now that i am reading through what i wrote. this an unneccessary disclaimer, but one i will make, nonetheless -- i am a happy person :) *requisite smiley there*


on other non-academic responsibility, so many things coming up, clouding my kiddie comprehension. i think i remember this time when i actually asked for real meaty stuf, the one adults worry about, just to assure me i was actually growing up. kaboom, i am reminded of being careful of the things you wish for lest you get them. now, i am flooded by things i thought i wanted, and i now i realize i am so not ready for any of them. too much adult resposibilty -- definitely more than i could handle (random shit sorry: i just have to say i totally love typing in this laptop. makes me feel like like i know my keys. weee! anyhoo, moving on...). now the things i worry about are the ones i once thought were the big words thrown around by OTHER people. the kind of people you read from magazine stories, the ones who are so different from you, that their sadness if poetic. the ones you think are so surreal, you wonder if they actually are true. and then the things you read about, they come to your life, popping in front of your face to tell you YES (in big bold capital letters) that they are real things. the ones real people worry about. wow, i feel like a real adult. i just am not so sure, if am very happy about this. whoah, hello real life, please at least knock when you're coming to show yourself to me.

my ego took big blows this week. ow.

first off, the workshop. I've never been to a workshop, ever. I've heard things about workshops from people who've been in them -- like Gia who introduced me to Sir Capili (and the "happy" writing classes he holds) and a handful of WC people who i asked about how workshops go. and that was the closest i got to a workshop, mere second-hand accounts.

last Wednesday was my first. i was pep talking myself, telling me it will be as informal as informal can get and that I'd be good. of course i knew i was scared shxt inside, i just didn't want to admit it because i knew I'd be overwhelmed by it. i was practicing my best poker face, the one that looked appreciative and grateful, and not that only serious look i can muster which looks too defensive for my own good.

so i was read, and then given the requisite comments. i knew i wasn't exactly headed to the right direction with my piece, considering the workshop head, Jomar, was someone who's very keen on social issues. what i did was a very shallow, humorous piece on everyday commuting and the travails of the commuter who wipes drool and sweat from her sleeve. i wanted it to be funny, unfortunately for me, my readers didn't exactly see my piece that way.

for starters, i was told it was immature and lame. the piece, as they see it, set a very elitist tone, they didn't find it funny. i was told wanting to have a car, as an end of the essay was totally shallow and that there are more pressing issues to write about -- other than well, casual everyday observations inside jeepneys. for another, i was told i didn't get to exhaust the rich material observations inside jeepneys provided. there was so much story inside the jeep and my very limiting (and shallow) piece didn't get to capture the more important issues.

but then i was told, i have a pretty good command of the language. and that i have control over the tone and direction of the piece. it was just that, i wasn't exactly taking it to the direction that spoke of depth and maturity. am in such a lost at how to rewrite my piece. hay.

and then another, the resume. Kat and Gia have been trying to talk me into joining the MME they've been working really hard on. my slot was pretty sure, and the all-expenses paid tag the event has was the come on they were waving at my face. and well, the other is that it will make my resume look better, because yes, it adds one additional line to the "seminars attended" part. and finally, after a good number of days' worth of bugging through text and email and all other means and ways of harassment, i give in.

it was the night of the deadliest deadline that i start working my application form and the resume. i was saddened by the very... um, sparse contents of my resume. i figured i haven't been doing a lot the past four years of my college. maybe i was just coming and going to school, drifting through the days and not exactly doing any growing up, at all. it was too much for my PMS-y ego to take. um no, no suicide is happening at all. just some verbal diarrhea to let the bad feeling out.

and because this is sour graping, MY sour graping, i just have to say, it doesn't help that someone gets to play basketball with Kobe and that that someone is a freaking freshman. no, it doesn't help at all. it makes me feel worse, that while i am wallowing in this (self-made) pit (I'd like to call, monthly self-pity), someone's basking in the glory of getting handpicked by THE Kobe Bryant to sweat together and share Gatorade. never mind that his grandstanding never won them any game in the last 13 sets. i hate it more that that makes him too good for the self-pity-ing broken ego person. oh dear.


***

i thought there was a lot of wisdom in six-ear old Seth's question for Pastor. the boy goes "Pastor, how come goals are important?" and all ten of us, with jaws wide open, get floored at the sheer wit that little boy spews out ever so casually. Pastor answers matter-of-factly that goals are important because they keep you focused. and it was just one of the best non-verse quotes he had to make.

in another floored experience that witty little boy gave us, he answered Pastor's question on life goals. Seth goes, "My goal is to be a very smart boy" and we all clap in amazement at the purity and innocence of the statement. i am both happy and saddened at the boy's certainty of his life goal. i am happy that at six, he knows where he's headed. yes, maybe it can change and, for a fact i know, it will change when he grows older. but still, i am happy at six he knows what he wants.

i am saddened because at twenty i feel like i am just letting the tide take me to wherever. i feel out of axis, just spinning with the groove, out of control. and six-year old Seth knows what he wants, thankyouverymuch. i need a goal, i need focus and i dont know where to start. twenty, six months away from college graduation and about to write my resume isn't a good time to be clueless. oh Lord.