Why I Should Have Failed Junior Year When I Had The Chance

I think this more often than not: I am graduating in less than two months. Most people (meaning every adult I or my parents may know) get all wound up and animated at the mention of that fact. I, on the other hand, cringe to the pits of Hades. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the sentiment people extend (although somewhat forced) to my life, but the conversations I have with these people are quite exhausting. And frankly, they’re all terribly awkward and embarrassing.

This is how every (friggin’) dialogue goes:

Random Adult (RA): Ano ka na nga year, Day?
Me: Ahh. Fourth year na, Tita/Tito.
RA: Teh, ano na nga course kwaon mo?
Me: Ha? Wala pa ‘ko kabalo.
RA: Diin ka ma-school haw?
Me: Sa Manila na siguro.
RA: Diin ‘to nga school?
Me: Wala pa man gid ko kabalo. Depende pa.
RA: But, ano gid plano mo maging mag-dako ka haw?
Me: Ha? Uhh. Hindi pa ‘ko sure.

By the end of our little tête-à-tête, I’d be desperately wishing for God to strike me with a really strong blast of lightning. I’m not the blushing type, but I swear my face turns into a pitiful shade of scarlet. That’s why I try to steer clear of adults whenever I attend social gatherings. I think it’s the bright thing to do, sparing people from unwanted uncomfortable situations. Of course, it would be so much easier if they’d just butt out of my existence.

Okaaaay. That was mean.

The more accurate thing would be to wish for wisdom and insight. You see, I passed all my college entrance exams (which, God knows, I’m profusely thankful for). Now I’m at a dead end. Or an impasse, I should say. I don’t know what to take up. Hell, I don’t even know what I want to be when I grow up. This wasn’t such a big problem a year ago. This is exactly why you shouldn’t put things off (Even as I’m saying this, I know I won’t change).

The worse thing is that people expect me to know what I want – which, as I said, I don’t. I’m not going to rant about how other people’s expectations are weighing me down and all that psychological drama, because I don’t really care about what they think. If I’m being honest, it isn’t as much as it is their fault as it is mine. I’ve never been passionate about anything (unless you count the more shallow levels of my being). I do stuff because it is expected of me. There may have been a time when I wanted to reach spectacular heights, but I think I’ve been running on this mode a tad bit too long to care for anything else.

What is wrong with me? — Don’t answer that.

I can’t believe it. I’m operating on fear after all.

But then again, that shouldn’t surprise me one bit.

P.S. We have a soiree (pre-prom activity) in three weeks time and I still have no inkling of a partner. I go to an all-girls institution (if it helps you understand why this is such a dire drawback). I’m not socially incapacitated that I don’t know enough boys. It’s just that I don’t really know who to ask. And FYI, I’m not being picky. Okay. So, I am being picky. Dammit (Excuse me).

Take One

Here we go.

This is my first official blog, ladies and gents. I deleted my old (WordPress) blog for this. I thought it was about time I scrapped the old material with something fresher and less juvenile. I saved all the files in my hard drive though. I’ll be looking back at them one day, and I’ll realize how ridiculous I used to be – or still am, for that matter.

It feels great to be blogging again. By the time I got to high school, I completely lost all ounces of patience with diaries. Manual writing was a chore. That’s why I seek refuge in modern technology which has yet to disappoint. Besides, the good thing about blogging is that you don’t have to deal with illegible scribbles later. My spiky handwriting may be appealing to some people, but, in truth, is actually nothing more but a botched form of “art”.

English class was interesting this morning. We talked about Virgil’s Aeneid and how similar it really is to Homer’s Illiad and Oddyssey. From there, we went through an overview of (the Glory that was) Greece and (the Grandeur that was) Rome. We then had the discussion of how the Romans were a bunch of copycats, and how the Greeks were a race of push-overs. Miss A then posed this question: “Would you rather be Greek or Roman? Why?”. To me, it was a question of whether you’d rather be the artist or the businessman. On one corner you have natural ability, classic taste and brilliant talent. While on the other you have skillful ingenuity, cool tact, and cunning sensibility. Personally, I’d rather be Greek. No offense to the Latins, but I find it extremely tacky having to exploit another peoples’ culture to create yours. Also, I’m an individualist. I refuse to be subject to popular culture (Of course, the Greeks got the the other end of that bargain). I want to be the one setting the trend, not the one following it like a lost puppy.

Hmm. Look at me, all academic. It’s a good thing you guys don’t know me. If you did, you’d probably realize how parallel I am to a teenage imbecile.

That’s about it for now. See you around, folks.