The pull of this simple red chair I’m sitting on is definitely appealing. I’ve just endured damage of brain cells due to overuse AKA I just spent the hour of my scrabble class thinking of anagrams. It was like Text Twist only it was graded. Maybe that latter part made it all the more hard. Now, as I’ve said, the pull of this red chair is so great but only because I fear further damage to my brain cells. Next subject? Math60.

Maybe it was just Freshman blues or maroons. Whichever. But what can I say? I think I’m falling in love with my University — not quite falling in love with my course though. I think I have learned to love the beauty of my gigantic school. These details that were never known/familiar to me are sending my heart fluttering into some kind of school-girl-frenzy. Simple Ikot and Toki rides make me feel like I belong. Like in some loser-ish manner, just the fact that I finally know their routes makes me belong.  And finally, Math60 isn’t all that much of Greek to me.  I was probably just totally overwhelmed at the overly fast pace we’re taking up the subject.

Just now I think that I may have a future in this school after all. It doesn’t matter if my classmates are iotas smarter than me and I feel like a dummy. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is me and that I’m here. I’m facing this challenge.

I’ve wanted this after all, to be called a Centennial Freshman. I’ll make memories and moments I would never forget. Capture them on film (or pixels), perhaps?

And maybe I can join UP@100 Photo and Music Video Project that has been spearheaded by some bloggers out there. I hear Coy might even give out some prices? Maybe that’s why I’m posting about it. Haha! JUST KIDDING. I seriously want to join, but I’ve never had the “perfect moment” to capture. Deadline is on the 15th of August. So, go go go!

I’m starting to morph into something I’ve never been for so long. Since classes have started and since I’ve come to live with my Grandma, I can tell I’ve been someone I am not. I’ve been somewhat responsible. I don’t procrastinate as much (but, I still do sometimes) and by the miracle of some unseen force (probably boredom) I’ve been sleeping way before the clock strikes twelve. Say 6 PM.

My classes have been alright save for the fact that every single day makes me feel dumber and dumber, especially during our Math60 class. I seriously feel depressed during that class. I feel like a misplaced puzzle piece. I can tell that my classmates are really passionate about Math. I just can’t say the same. I can’t feel the same. I do love Math, but not to that extent — not their extent. The sad part is that back in high school (it makes me feel old saying that), Math was my best subject. It used to be something that came naturally like blogging. Now, it feels as if no matter how hard I bash my brain cells they just won’t function right.

But I guess I know why my brain is reacting this way.

Everything is changing so fast. Too fast even. This movie I’m on changes scenes too fast. I know I’m reacting to the fact that things would be totally different. This is it, the future. Typhoon Frank must have brought my traditions with it. I guess I just can’t get over the fact that high school is over. I’m sure that my friends would always be just here, but let’s be honest. Let’s face the reality of things. It just won’t be the same. Something will be lost. Something is lost. I can’t help but feel left out.

I admit I’m a bit depressed.

I’m sorry for not being optimistic. It’s like every other freshie’s blog I go to, it oozes happiness and normality. Maybe it’s not my time yet. I guess naturally, everyone’s an awkward flower wanting to face the sun only they couldn’t find it. Or maybe that’s a lame metaphor — but only because words can’t pin down how I feel exactly.But I’m sure someday I’ll find my way. I’ll blossom (and die eventually, hah!).

I hate myself for being so pessimistic about all this, but I just can’t help it. It’s programmed into me.

Time and again, I have found my peace in words. In books. The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini) has helped me through totally boring nights. It’s seriously one of the best books ever written. Now I’ve stolen my cousin’s Love in the Time of Cholera and I’ve bought Atonement. I’ve also dug up my Catcher in the Rye copy (Moses! Ayan oh.) These are my paperback love affairs.

The sunshine peaks behind the enormous slabs of concrete that define the city. The land below is bathed with a glorious gold, it looks almost magical. Almost. Hanging over the city is a very thick smog. This is the air we breathe, the catalysts of our early demise. Yet, even with that thought, we go on living. We struggle with our humanity, we live with it. We bask in the imperfectness of who we are and we have survived so far.

Then, as soon as we rise from innocence to being a teenager — a college student (specifically in BS Math in UP Diliman), we encounter Math 60.

We think that the smog is no longer a catalyst. Math 60 is.

The naked sun hanging over the horizon gladly took refuge beneath the clouds as I stepped out of my home. Another day of adventures, I pressume. Of wet feet and dirty pants the story begins, but just as I was forming a wonderful play of words on the weather the sun suddenly appears. I groan.

Suddenly I wasn’t feeling all artsy and sentimental anymore. The whiz of metal and the whistle of warning reminded me that I was walking on concrete and that unfortunately I just missed my ride. I usually was lucky, arriving at the station always just at the nick of time. I’d usually arrive when the doors were about to close or the train had just arrived.

The geek in me wanted to do a social experiment and I did. It was actually more of a blow on my self esteem than it was a “social experiment.”

So I thought: what if? What if?

What if I stopped initiating conversations with my instant seatmates for the day?

So I did just that. I entered my classrooms, sat and waited for someone to start talking to me. I watied. Waited.

GOSH.

Am I that unnapproachable?

So you see my little experiment just backfired and now I have lower self esteem. Do I look scary or something? Too fat? Too small? My head’s not proportioned? I have eye bags? Whhuuut?

CHAPTER 2: An Episode of a Night

PICK A CHAPTER: Prologue | 1 | 2

We fade in and out.

In and out.

The sound of city lights drown our thoughts.  We don’t mind.  We live by the moment and we cherish our existence.  We don’t mind our thoughts.  We just fade in and out.

The night is young. The hands of the almost unnoticeable clock on the corner were barely pointing upwards. The tangled sheets displayed tangled thoughts of our tangled aftermath.  Yet we did nothing.  We stayed there amongst the stars, and the comets.  We lay there thinking of nothing.  Whatever this was, it was nothing.  You are nothing.

Yet I felt like floating.

It was not how books or movies made you picture them.  It was long and painful. It was like a Death March of sorts only we weren’t standing.  We weren’t even marching.  Although, I admit I felt relief in the sickest of ways.  I felt glory in knowing that I did something my Dad would never approve.  Instantly defying him.  Instantly disobeying him consciously.  A first in many ways.  One of the gravest sins of a daughter.  To be dishonored.

Every push, every sweat was in spite of him.  In spite of my family.

Do I regret this? How could I when they’ve done things so much graver.

—
N.B.

In Chapter 1, it was in the point of view of Rayne’s father. In the lines:

I guess I’ve made her life a mess too. I blame her for my every mistake.
She was the one who killed her after all.
Seventeen years ago.

Rayne’s father was referring to Rayne killing her mother 17 years ago. Rayne is 17 years old. So Rayne’s mom died of childbirth.

You get?