breaking the hiatus

11 months is a long time and it feels, honestly, very strange to come back writing semi-publicly. Good times followed the end of sophomore year and this junior year has become a divisive year for me. Divisive in many senses, but mainly in the emotional and internal senses. This is because I’m choosing this year to be my last year here on campus as I’m spending my impending senior year studying abroad.

Unlike my coming here, however, I’m somewhat better equipped with this decision. I have the experience of knowing the implications of making a brash decision without having carefully considered the alternatives. I am better acquainted with distinguishing my desire for wanderlust from my desire to escape. I know what it means to lose–and I know what it means to start from scratch, because those were the exact situations in which I found myself in September 2014. Since, there had been no reverse, no do-overs, but simply consequences, both good and bad. I hope that I can heed these admonitions myself from now beginning to look forward, because the future had always been an indistinguishable void for me, daunting and generally unpleasant to think about.

Life is happening fast and I hope that I can keep up ||

flaws, VI

Currently, I find myself in a situation that isn’t any more  that surprising. It might as well be just a regular Saturday if at all, because finding me meandering through thoughts alone in a café on a quite pleasant spring afternoon might be just what normal is now. The old, new normal, because it’s really nothing I’m not already used to.

I hate to reintroduce a vague notion of high school back in to the fold, but without it, it’s difficult to discuss my own merde. As in, there’s no merde without the high school past. It’s a delicate subject now, probably one in which most of my friends from there would not even give a thought about in the day-to-day business. They’ve all moved miles away from those four years, and even myself, I’m further from that time than I have ever been in my life, both literally and figuratively. But I also don’t expect many of them to have random thoughts about me in a similar way that I do about them. I am sure about that because it’s so obvious.

I don’t want to say that I feel left behind and almost forgotten, but the truth is that yes, a part of me feels that way. A part of me also feels like I’ve been betrayed in some absurd sense, and even I consciously view it as absurd. They’ve done nothing to me because they’ve just simply went on appropriately with each their lives. As absurd as it is, I can’t help but feel like that in some way, and I feel so guilty. I don’t want myself to feel like that about them because they are such good people.

I didn’t know what to anticipate, actually. Of course, I had hopes that since I had such few friends in high school, they’d be those friends that always, no matter what, feel the same to you even after being months and years apart. I guess you could say that I had unreasonable expectations for them that I shouldn’t have imposed. It was unfair and they deserved to be treated better since they were such great friends to me.

Yet another part of me feels this undeniable jealousy that I am also guilty of feeling. Jealous of the amazing people that they’ve already become, and of the bright path that they’ve began carving for themselves. And every time that I am reminded of that, I also remind myself of an assortment of things, such as the things I’ve failed to do (mostly), things that unfolded out of my favour, and the simple fact that they are almost certainly happier than me. I know that comparison is the thief of happiness, but with these constant reminders surrounding me so often, sometimes I’m unable to deny it.

I know that I can’t look them in the eye any more and deny this mixture of feelings that they’ve become to me. The guilt simply unsettles me to the bone, and I can’t go on treating them that way even if they aren’t aware of every thing that they’ve become to me. To them, I might still be what I once was. But to me, they’ve long gone their new paths and left me only as a memory simply associated with those four years. Perhaps I’m only worth such that, because that is the way I’m swayed to feel. May they forgive me, nonetheless. They are good people who would never feel that about me. The fault’s with me, again. The stars have nothing to do with it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

off campus, off mode

This week went fantastically awry. It was the week of my last midterms, and I didn’t really expect that everything would have gone seamlessly and simply great overall, but I also didn’t anticipate that they would have turned out so incredibly out of my favour. I know how much it sucks that all these things just accumulated and became this massive wreck of a week, but I am so honestly relieved that the week is coming to a close. I don’t know if my sinus-pressure-suffering head can actually take much more before it simply explodes.

I’m trying to keep my head at least upright until the semester ends. Right now, with about 2 weeks left of it, followed by a 10-day reading period and then finals for about another 10 days, I don’t know how I ‘ll be able to manage that, because those 5 weeks still honestly feel like a lifetime. And to think that I’ve been through about 13 weeks already of this semester…

Recently I’ve started reading a book, Debout les morts, that has had some pretty interesting topics of conversation. A single line quite nicely sums up one of these topics : « Enfin à chacun sa merde ». Loosely translated, it reads “Alas, to each his own shit.” This sort of idea has helped me to cope these past few days, in helping me to understand that some of us are still dans sa merde (in our own shit). There are those of us who can probably handle it better, or maybe hide it better, but they still have their own problems. Then again, I still feel as if my own have somewhat blown up in such large proportion in my life. Though I know that everybody might have their own merde, that doesn’t help me understand if they might suffer in the same way that I do. To the extent that I do. And to those that might, I applaud you because inadvertently those who are like me must themselves remain so silent.

This isn’t easy to talk about, I must admit. It never has been easy and I don’t think it might ever will be. However, that’s okay with me, because I am aware that even though it might never be so, I also know that no one else will probably ever fully empathise or understand. It’s mostly a form of closure that I hope to achieve by discussing what I can about my own merde. It helps the days go by a little more quickly, in less eloquent words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

what I learnt yesterday /3/

Yesterday had been a bit of struggle. The day-to-day basis had felt longer than usual. Perhaps it had been just because yesterday was Monday and Mondays are scientifically proven to feel longer than the rest of the days. But the day eventually ends and it feels nice to know that likewise will today’s struggle, no matter what.

Now today is the day of my second midterm for organic chemistry, so it had been appropriate that I was not in the best mood given that I had to occupy my time, mind, and work with mostly study. I’m glad that today is the day that most of that will end, at least until the final.

Yesterday, whilst all my frantic studying in an effort to try to get last minute details in order, I looked up trying to reorient myself back to earth. Coming to that tea bar was almost synonymous with me busting out that laptop or book and beginning mainly hours of work before I finally left. That place that had once been my favourite place to go to had slowly became the place I detested simply because of what association developed with it for me.

Realising this, yesterday I learnt that I have to be careful with the associations I develop with things because sometimes I am not always in control of my own perception. By this, I mean that often times my perception is too clouded for myself to even rely on. I cannot so easily be swayed by the thoughts and emotions in my head, because they are just that—they’re not reality; they’re not what’s actually happening. They are just things that are going on in my head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the 31st

I remember in 7th grade when I first heard of the term, “death March,” used to describe this month that is now drawing to a close. My Language Arts teacher mentioned it once when the month was approaching during the school year, and at first, I didn’t get why it bore that title. Then she went on to remind us how during that month of the school year we would never have any days off of school, and thus, going to school every week for the 31 days apparently became something of a struggle. You know, because the 7th grade life is such a struggle.

But death March is no longer an appropriate name for it. Usually our semester schedules the year so that we have our spring break during some week in March. So now, the march is eventually disrupted for one whole week.

Nevertheless, March still continues to have the connotation that it used to have, for some reason. This month in the past always seemed to be the busiest, the one during which usually I’d lose the most steam. I feel that this lives on in college, even though it has been my own spring break this entire week. It’s Thursday, and tomorrow is my last day of break officially. Even though I have the weekend technically, it still feels like there was too little time. Beginning tomorrow, trickles of students will begin to flock back onto college hill, and I’m not sure if I’m ready again to face them. This has transformed into an issue of stress, and I find this peculiar. I know that my anxiety is playing a role in all of this but I didn’t think that it could have such a dramatic and imposing effect, even now.

So now I wonder how April is going to evolve for me. Essentially I have school for the entire month—death April, so to say. I cannot describe to you how stressed I am of my being here. Of my continuing to fight against such a disparaging and conflicting internal self.

I get more and more tired everyday. I know sleep isn’t a cure. I know that I am teetering sometimes. But the cherry-on-the-top is knowing that I have to “suck it up”and just continue to study and continue to force myself to do work in order to at least divert my attention elsewhere for even a short period. In the end it doesn’t help. Studying and school work just grows more repulsive and I have to force myself a little harder each time in order to do it. This shouldn’t be the way to live, and this shouldn’t be a college experience. I don’t know, I think it’s just something with me, personally. I’m pretty sure no one else understands what this feels like, and I am aware that that is a strong statement to say.

 

 

 

 

 

uncomfortably comfortable & fate

Today, I’ve been wondering on and off about the appropriate time to accept when something should be left at the hands of “fate,” so to say. The subject of fate, or even just a general idea of “destiny,” has been one that I’ve always been a bit hesitant about. Hesitant about considering, let alone even accepting. But it’s always been there, it seems. Lingering in the background and attracting attention to itself during the times that I’ve been inclined to think that it has some validity. Its presence sometimes lends credence to its own validity, I even vacillate on believing.

But on the other hand, it also seems utterly absurd. Utterly absurd that pre-destiny is an actual thing because then it renders everything that we strive to do futile. Accepting such an idea seems to signify us forfeiting control, and that is something that honestly is so disempowering. In effect, what do we leave ourselves with ? Control is a precious thing.

But at the same time, there are more darker sides to control. When too much of it seems to start to grip on to you. Precisely this is how I’ve felt. That I’ve allotted myself somewhat too much control over what I think will make me most comfortable and happy.

However, comfortability and happiness are not one and the same. Perhaps one can exist partly in the other, but I would be lying to say that I am happy and comfortable with the position that I’ve essentially driven myself into. Perhaps I may actually have put myself in a false sense of security, which would be most probably the worse case.

I don’t know, I’ve had such a gut feeling that I’ve just messed up. With what, the answer God only knows. I feel comfortable but I feel like I shouldn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

the nth time

I’m so frustrated by the fact that I can’t formulate what I want to say even though I’m experiencing so many strong feelings at the moment. It’s almost as if it’s some form of mental torture. I simply want to express what I’m feeling concisely so that I can get at least some things off my chest.

Is there a sense of independence born from a feeling of exclusion ? As if rather than naturally disposed to being fine on your own, we find ourself driven to become so as a result of our failures to escape feelings of exclusion or because of others’ denial ? Others might praise and adore exclusivity, but for those who feel as though they’ve been cornered in to it, there really isn’t so much of a yearning to leave it but a strong urge to question, why me ? Examine the timeline and ascertain what went wrong, possibly. I find myself sometimes exactly doing this to find some answers beyond the such dissatisfying answer of “I’m just different.”

I mean, I see different all around me. I’m different too, I guess. But here we go again.

As much as I would love dwell aimlessly on this frequented subject, I honestly am not okay with doing this for the nth time. It’s a circular discussion that leads me nowhere except left with similar questions that I’ve already posed myself so many times before. There is actual work that I need to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

monologue 2

I sit here thinking about how the past really doesn’t feel all that different from the present. I remember myself at this time one year ago, still struggling with all of it, and by all of it, I’m just referring to my life here in general. I scrolled through some of my posts I made approximately one year ago and I find that I still relate to them, more or less. The differences being that I’m just a year older, maybe also wiser, most probably more cynical but still breathing.

On a side note, yesterday night or the night before, I dreamt that somehow one of my closest friends back home found out about this here blog. I think it was because on that day, I called him and our conversation ended up lasting more than three hours. I immediately became my whole “LA” self once we started talking. Everything felt right again and there was little damn I gave in that I was in public—I was laughing, smiling and practically yelling in to my microphone as I was in Starbucks. It was such a nice feeling despite how short-lasted it came.

In my dream he had texted me the title of my blog, and I clearly remember the shocked facial expression I made…I was taken by surprised. All I could think about was how he managed to find it. Unfortunately, I can’t remember much of any thing else in that dream—his reaction thereafter, if he had said anything. I take this as a sign, possibly.

Any ways, I am trying to get myself fully back in to some sort of school rhythm (similar to those I used to get in to during high school), so that I could at least pass the time comfortably rather than trying with each day. I find that the latter takes too much of a toll on my body, spirits, and emotions. The cycle of discouragement, hope, and disappointment is something that I so furiously want to prevent again. Must I continue this life with full banality I will, particularly if it means that I’ll be able to hasten it in exchange.

I suppose I’m simply bitter now, but bitter is a feeling I’d much rather feel than the subtle despair, loneliness, and overall sadness that this place has otherwise gotten me accustomed to feeling. I see no more reason to continue myself in the same fashion that I have in the last year and a half. Perhaps this is what today has been trying to tell me.

 

 

 

 

summary of the week (a rant, basically)

This week had went by more or less at a fast pace, but I still really glad that it’s over, and even more so that we have long weekend this weekend (thanks, Columbus). This week consisted of a midterm, lots and lots and lots of homework, skipping my English class (felt kind of obliged to because I’m taking it credit/no credit any ways), lungkot (sadness, mopiness, no real direct translation from the tagalog), being frustrated with my engineering classes, missing my french class that I could not take this semester (I don’t think the department will allow me to take the class any more), missing the Philippines and travelling in general, and reflection (lots of it).

I suppose that the highlight of this week had been my physio midterm that I took on tuesday. I think that I adequately prepared myself for the exam, but I certainly could have studied a lot more and guaranteed myself an A on it, but this class did not pressure me the same way that my last biology class did (cell and molecular bio). The test was completely fair, and I am also completely aware that I will have earned whatever grade that I get on that test (shooting for a A- for the best case scenario). I would be really surprised if I get lower than a B-… I am really sorry that you are hearing me get worried about getting a bad grade on my midterm…it’s just that I really am.

I really have become so sick of homework this past week. Literally, whether or not a day is successful for me is determined by the amount of homework that I get finished. I can perfectly metaphorise my relationship with homework as a game of cat and mouse—just as the cat gets close to finally catching the mouse, the mouse manages to speed up or the cat accidentally trips. When I manage to get work for one class done, I am rewarded with more homework from another class. I guess the worst part about this whole thing is that most of my classes just pile the work…especially my damn engineering class.

Get this—the class in credit/no credit, but the actual course consists of 3 (THREE, TROIS, TRES, TATLO) sections—lecture, conference and a useless 2 1/2 hour design portion. All this including weekly problem sets that take hours to do. That’s right, so much effort put in for such little gain. Perhaps the worst part of the course is how inefficiently structured it is for the actual students who are taking the course. We must learn so many programs by ourselves, and the only thing that they think we only need as assistance in completing this formidable task is a feckless tutorial that some useless and uncaring grad student was probably paid to create. The class seems like a joke that it’s completely the opposite of in reality.

This brings me to another class that I’m taking credit/no credit—English. To be precise, a class called “Devils, demons and do-gooders.” Yes, you can guess that it’s the title of the class that got me interested in the class…but you can say that I was “forced” to be interested in an English class because I still need one writing course to take before sophomore year ends, which is the only requirement here at Brown: that you take at least two writing courses—one in either your freshman or sophomore year, and the other in either you junior or senior year. If this hadn’t been a requirement, I guarantee you that I would not be taking this course right now. I am not very skilled at analysing literature to its bone, so I would rather leave that duty to the lovers of English who flourish in Poe, Melville, Milton and Shelly. If I were a lover of literature the way that my professor is, maybe I would have more enthusiasm in actually wanting to go to class, but alas, I am not (blame my genes? And also probably sparknotes).

Let me also add that taking this forced English class came at the expense of my registered french course… I was in accelerated french last year, and I was supposed to take advanced french this semester but I honestly could not handle a schedule of five courses. Every single one of the classes I’m taking are either required or required for my major, so that robbed me the pleasure of taking a class I was thoroughly interested in this semester. I feel in my gut that I made the right decision, but my mind keeps reminding me of the lost opportunity. Ah well, c’est la vie. Donc la vie marchera encore.

Taking so many classes that I have grown to dislike so much makes me wonder whether I will really choose the right major for me (biomedical engineering). A part of me wants to believe that the classes are just like this because they are “weed out” classes for the time being, and so the more interesting classes will be next year and later, just in general. But I can only convince myself so much and I can only hope so much. My thoughts are my weakness. I have a history of succumbing to my thoughts.

There’s still some time left for me to decide… but everyday, the decision draws closer and closer.

Of course, there’s also my lungkot , but I believe that you’ve already been acquainted with that if you have been reading my other posts lately.

QUELQUES petites harangues pour vous (small rants)

J’ai décidé de faire ce blog partiellement en français, alors si vous ne comprenez pas, ne faites pas attention à moi , comme tout le monde.

Cette semaine, bien qu’elle n’aie pas fini, elle a été une épreuve, parce que j’ai réalisé que je ne suis pas confortable avec moi-même. C’est bizarre.

Anyways, I have been trying to practice my french more and more whenever I can because it’s what feels to me what I’m good at–just learning languages in general. Everyone here seems to find some sort of niche to fill, and I think that the language department might be my own. The only problem is that I’m majoring in biology. Don’t get me wrong, I love biology and I can see myself with a happy future job with it, but learning languages has always been sort of an innate interest for me, rather than a subject that I grew to love after I had digested it with some force down my throat. My original plan when I came here was that I would take two languages concurrently during the year, french and spanish, with my spanish level much higher than that of the french, but circumstances have limited my work capacity for only one as of now. I hope that my original plan will follow through in the coming years, however.

I recently had a very nice chat with one of my high school friends about how we feel like everyone else has changed except for us. Everyone, especially. She explained how her roommate (another one of our HS friends) has practically become a different person in the last 5 months, and both her and I are happy that she is happy, of course, but we don’t know how to feel about the fact. It’s an indescribable feeling that’s neither pleasant nor distasteful, but is certainly strong and asserts its presence. I feel as though I have been trying to mask that feeling with work and trivial matters.

Ce sentiment ne va pas se disparaître, alors je dois faire face à lui. Mais avec ça je dois aussi me poser une question : quand ? Quand est-ce que je vais décider de me changer, de surmonter ma peur, et après, revenir sur mon expérience, changé et avec sagacité, finalement heureux et content avec ma vie. Surtout, j’espère que je pourrai dire que tout ce que se passe maintenant, s’est passé pour des raisons et pas pour rien.

J’ai rien à faire sauf me coucher et dormir parce qu’il est tard. Mais je refuse quand même pour que je puisse avoir seulement six ou sept heures de dormir plutôt que huit ou neuf. Je ne sens pas bien quand je dors trop ou trop peu.

En plus, il y a des gens à l’autre côté de ma chambre qui m’embêtent beaucoup parce qu’ils chantent. Ils sont dans un groupe d’accapella, mais ils ne doivent pas à mon avis. Whoops. Excusez-moi ||