I’m out. Tomorrow, I want to see better partial results. This cannot just end here.
How Lasallian karatekas jump into the pool XD
DLSU Karate Club’s First Summer Outing
May 10, 2013
Kubli Resort, Los Baños, Laguna
A passenger jumped onto the tracks at Guadalupe MRT station.
Taft, Magallanes, Ayala, Buendia, Guadalupe and Boni stations are now closed; the line at Quezon Ave. Station is until the bottom of the damn stairs; all the buses and shuttles are full; no taxi cab driver wants to pass through any f-ing part of EDSA because of the traffic (now even heavier because of the pissed MRT passengers), so I got stuck in EDSA, and my mother asked me to just go back home and get a taxi cab here. Bloody brilliant. I’m gonna lose 3 hours of OJT time because of this. =.=”
I don’t really hate the passenger for jumping (‘cause now I have some time to catch up with sleep), I mean, I know there’s a reason he/she has a reason for doing that and I’m sorry and I hope he/she rests in peace. But seriously, using the trains to kill yourself… the pain that will cause you and the passengers and the traffic it will cause…. :( If you’re attempting to commit suicide, whether by jumping onto the train tracks or by other means, please, just don’t. Please talk to someone. You can even talk to me. Please just don’t. It’s depressing enough that I couldn’t get to work on time because of the disrupted operations. What makes it more depressing is knowing that the cause is someone took their own life.
…but there are so many more things that keep me hanging on. If it weren’t for those things, I wouldn’t be here right now, typing this post. Maybe I’m still not used to mental and emotional pain. If I were, I wouldn’t be feeling this right now.
I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired. Of being rejected all the time, of failing no matter how hard I try, of being just not good enough, of always running out of time, of getting sick all the time, of always being the second, third, fourth choice.
In all honesty, if I didn’t value life and everything and everyone that still loves me for being the unbelievably big mess I am right now, I would’ve killed myself off. This is too much. I don’t know how to comfort myself anymore. I can’t find comfort in other people because they think I’m just having another episode, being a drama queen and all. But this… everything that happened in a span of four months… a term… 2 terms… this academic year… I think I’ve reached my limit. And I would do anything just to stop and drop everything without consequences and feeling guilty. I really would.
But I CAN’T. Maybe I can’t let go of anything because I’ve learned to love them.
That’s just it, huh? I love too much. That’s why it hurts.
I don’t know how I can get through this. The negativity is eating me alive.
- Friend: Hahahahahaha let's be happy for him! Haha.
- Me: That's all I did in college. "Be happy for him." Hahahahahaha. -jumps in front of a bullet-
M’sieur, m’sieur, you made my entire week. Thank you.
Apparently, Kim thinks getting decent guys is easy. I am laughing my head off and I don’t even know why. XD
I still remember the day you first sent me a message. You were an absolute darling, and you made me feel like I wouldn’t have a hard time adjusting in a new environment. I was insecure, unsure of everything, and you told me you would be there to help me, that you would be my “shining knights of glory”. That was the first time I realized that maybe not all boys are arrogant idiots.
I still remember the day you yelled at me, scolding me for doing something stupid even though I was already crying, practically begging you to stop. You slapped me back to reality instead of sympathizing with me. You forced me back to my feet by being brutally honest. That was the first time I told myself— since the day I started college— I became friends with the right people.
I still remember those times when you did the craziest things to cheer me up. You were overprotective, overly caring, excessively everything a girl could want from an older brother or maybe a boyfriend. You had a heart bigger than your build. That was the first time I told myself that I have probably met the sweetest guy yet.
I still remember the day you cried out of the blue. I was cold to you. That day was the first time I talked with you again, asking you what was wrong. You didn’t tell me anything. You cried because of me, because you missed me, and you had no idea why I was acting that way. I was consumed with guilt when I found out about it. That was the first time I discovered that somebody I’ve only known for less than a year would miss me that much, that somebody was that afraid to lose me as a friend.
I still remember the day you called me imba, the Filipino slang abbreviation for “imbalanced”, which means that something is too good and makes the “game” unfair. We were in a jeepney bounded back to school, and I was explaining how the mash-up I came up with a few minutes before would go. We were going to perform it in front of an audience that night, with only little preparation. Your eyes showed pure admiration, your gestures showed disbelief, and you blabbed to the guy sitting beside you how imba I was. That was the first time I felt proud of myself for getting that reaction from a hard-to-impress guy.
I still remember the day you listened to me practice a song. I asked you what you thought of it; I was quite sure you were staring at particularly nothing, and told me my voice was nakaka-in love, enamoring. That was the first time anybody’s complimented my singing with such words, the greatest praise I’ve ever received yet.
I still remember the day you pulled me aside to talk to me, to help me. You took the time to eat with me, tell me that you wanted to help me because you didn’t want to see me in pain anymore. I didn’t even say anything about what I was feeling that day, but you understood. You saw what I was going through, and you made a move to make me feel that I didn’t deserve that pain. That was the first time I smiled and cried tears of relief in ages because I became friends with the best guy friends anyone could ask for.
I still remember the day you caught me off guard by telling me exactly what I was thinking. I planned my entire speech that day, how I would confront you about my problems with you, words carefully picked out to mask what I was truly feeling. You left me speechless; the words you said practically came straight from my head. You always noticed the rants and all the angst I posted all over the Web, and you always took the time to tell me that you would always be there, no matter how shitty the past was. That was the first time I came to believe that a guy can be sensitive enough to understand a girl’s thoughts.
I still remember the day we all sat together in a coffee shop, talking about anything under the sun— just a day full of bonding and laughter and spontaneity. Everybody declared that it was the best day ever. You wrote that date on the door to the loo for everyone to see. That day, I swear I felt infinite, every fiber of my being confident that the friendship we have forged was unquestionable, a bond beyond that possessed by blood brothers.
The little girl you knew is still inside this sad excuse of a young “woman”, struggling to stand, struggling to not let emotions get the best of her, struggling to restrain herself from getting too close with anyone ever again. Did you forget?
Happy anniversary, the family that I used to know. I love you. Always will.
Pvt. Modesto K. Vergara, World War II defender of Bataan
To conclude this year’s Undas, my family and I traveled south to Taguig to visit one last grave, the grave of Modesto K. Vergara. Nobody knew much about him. Those who probably knew a lot about him— his brother (my grandfather), his parents, or maybe his other siblings knew him better— either cannot remember anything due to old age, or have already joined him in the other world. We do not even know his birth date. As I was standing there over his grave, watching the flames of the candles flicker and absorbing the serenity of the cemetery (there’s something beautiful about the place that I can’t quite put my finger on, despite the undoubtedly eerie feel), I started trying to figure out a little bit more about my granduncle.
I can’t remember the year we asked the administrative office of the Libingan ng mga Bayani where he was buried. They gave us a slip containing the following information: Section I (Defenders of Bataan & Corregidor), Row 24, Grave G, Capas files. If my so-called “deduction” is correct, he was a part of the Battle of Bataan and the infamous Death March. The “Capas files” info written on the slip given to us must mean that he survived the March, and may or may not have survived the last march from Capas, Tarlac to Camp O’Donnell, one of the most “hellish” concentration camps of World War II.
This information may not be 100% accurate, and it’s not enough to write an entire book, but it is enough for me to say that I’m proud to be your grandniece. I salute you.
“I do not know the dignity of his birth, but I do know the glory of his death.” -General Douglas MacArthur
I’M GONNA SPAM YOUR DASHBOARDS WITH JONAS BROTHERS STUFF IN A FEW MINUTES ‘CAUSE I’M SO HUNGOVER AND THEIR MANILA CONCERT LAST FRIDAY JUST TRIGGERED THE SLOW AND PAINFUL RETURN OF MY OBSESSIVE JONAS DISORDER, WHICH MOSTLY DISAPPEARED FOR ABOUT 3 YEARS NOW. JUDGE ME.
I CAN’T DSKFJAS;LDGKFJA;LSDFG I JUST OMG I’VE WAITED 8 YEARS FOR THEM TO COME TO MANILA AND OMG I STILL CAN’T GET OVER THE CONCERT EVEN THOUGH I HARDLY SAW ANYTHING OKAY LAOKJFG;ALDKFG IT’S THE 2ND CONCERT I WENT TO (the first one being Paramore’s hihi ♥) AND I DON’T REGRET ANYTHIIIING KF;’kfg;alfkg. They’re a big part of my life, okay. 8D My playlists back in high school consisted of a lot of their songs. I grew up with them. With their music. 8D I went through that awkward transition from child to teenager (including all those depression and insecurity stages yay!) with their music. OTL
Being a fangirl is difficult. And expensive. OTL
You’re really planning to make me suffer before I get a nice diploma with your name on it, aren’t you? I’m suffering, all right. You’re more competitive than I thought you were. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a real heart-breaker? You are. You’re breaking my heart slowly and more agonizing than any other pain I’ve felt yet. You’ve managed to make me feel emotionally and mentally exhausted in just one day. You’ve made me feel like I’m dumber than a machine, dumber than a piece of equipment that I could probably build with enough time, in just an hour. You’ve crushed everything— my self-esteem, my confidence in my intelligence, my sleeping pattern, my plans of having a normal college life full of fun— in just one test.
You made me feel like a complete and utter failure, a feeling I was unaccustomed to for most of my life. I’m not trying to be obnoxious or anything; I know that I have above average intelligence and my former teachers have commended me for the way I think. You, however, have pushed me to the edge. I’m dangling from a cliff, and I’m still hanging on with less than five fingers. I’m hopelessly devoted to you— a phrase which here means “distressed and close to jumping off a 20-story building out of frustration, but still horribly clingy and refuses to let go of you”. I could have just chosen some other course out there, and I would undoubtedly excel, but I refused to open that door. I stuck with you, even though my type of intellect— artistic, opinionated and refuses to follow technical rules— is different from those that excel in my classes. Don’t ask me why I chose to suffer; I still can’t quite understand it myself. Maybe because I don’t want to waste three years worth of tuition fees, or maybe I just want to go and “experience the world” already. Maybe I just want to prove to my relatives that I can survive college without shifting. Without running away from the things I’m afraid of.
Okay, fine, laugh at me now. Laugh at me because you’re winning the game. Laugh at me because I’m more than a year away from getting the prize. From defeating you. From proving the world that I can finish everything I started. Laugh at me for crying. Laugh at me, go on. But this I promise you: I may be an emotional wreck right now, but I will do everything in my power to conquer you. Push me away, c’mon, but I guarantee you, I will knock more persistently every single time you slam your door at my face. Every single time your spawns mock me and call me an idiot. You’re just a course; I am a person. I am a human being blessed with a life full of people who love me and will do whatever they can to help and support me, and a God that’s bigger than anything. Stronger than anything. Oh, so you think it’s stupid I’m relying on my faith? You’ll see. I’ll pin you down. No matter what it takes.
And you will be hopelessly devoted to me too.
Photo is not mine! It belongs to Cosplay Lab.
Things like the 9/11 attacks, Bermuda Triangle, Easter Island, Roswell UFO, Atlantis….
That would be interesting, right? Sometimes I wish that he were here, in our world, so all the criminals would be scared of him, significantly lowering the crime rate. If he would solve the world’s greatest mysteries, then maybe we would know more about the origins of the world, and there would be more topics to research on and study. It often frustrates me that people nowadays easily jump to conclusions and close a case just because they don’t know what else to do with it. And if somebody out there knows what to do, he/she doesn’t speak up— or worse, not given the right to and just end up being laughed at. I don’t know if anyone else has ever felt this way, or this is just me worrying about problems that aren’t mine.
If he were real, then he’d be my ultimate crush, and I’d stalk him and love him forever asdfghjkl; But if Ran were also real…. I don’t want her to demonstrate her karate on me. 8D
This is the second autographed book in my humble “library”. ♥ Happiness!
“To find connections requires an appreciation for useless information.”
Danica and I went to Dr. Ambeth R. Ocampo’s lecture Before the Japayuki: Japan in Philippine History at Ayala Museum today! It was the most fun history lecture yet! I’m not a super fan of history, but I think it’s interesting. Dr. Ocampo certainly knows how to make people listen to him with his refreshing way of relaying information and his humor; everybody’s eyes and full attention were on him the entire time. How he pointed out what seemed to be useless information and connected all of them at the end was amazing and amusing indeed. I definitely enjoyed and learned a lot. I hope I can go to his next lecture! Now if only I can find another person who’s interested enough to come with me…
This is such a geeky post. Haha. But really, you should try going to his lectures! They’re far from boring, I swear! And yes, Andrea is actually my real name. (Useless information right there. 8D)
I can honestly say that I’m not the person I was a year ago anymore. I’m more positive, happier, and I can tell that my friends can notice a little of that too. Maybe some of them think I moved on. But did I really? Yeah, there’s still a feeling of longing, a feeling of completely missing everything, and yes, I still make bitter jokes. But I’m happy. Happy because it happened, that I got the privilege to feel what falling in love feels like, and saved from being hurt further because there wasn’t really anything between us. It was one-sided. I can’t say I moved on, I can’t say I “fell out”. Is there really such a thing? I don’t think so. I think that nobody can really fall out. Maybe you can move on— a phrase which here means, “accepted that it’s just not for you, and you are absolutely fine with it; no hard feelings or grudges”— but not fall out. I haven’t moved on yet. At least, not perfectly. I’m getting there. It still hurts a bit to see that it’s not me that he spends most of his time with, telling stories about his life and everyone in it, but I’m fine with it. But I really don’t think I’ll ever “fall out”. Okay, maybe there really is someone there for me, and I just haven’t met him yet (or maybe I already did, but both of us haven’t realized it yet), and I would fall head over heels, but there’s a tiny, tiny part of me that still loves… this guy. I mean, c’mon, how can you ever forget your first love? Haha. Such a big word, I know. But how do I know? Because I can’t explain why I feel this way over such imperfection even after some years, and even after we grew apart and only talked over really urgent things. Because it hurts to see a gloomy look on his face. I just need to know that he’s happy. Will this become infidelity to the person I will spend the rest of my life with in the future? No. I believe that once a feeling is there, it will never be gone. It will grow weaker, sure, but it wouldn’t disappear forever. Maybe I won’t be “in love” anymore, but I will still “love”.
Am I still making sense here? Am I wrong? Maybe that’s just me. I don’t know.
Oh, the things Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years does to my feelings.
(I’m done vomiting thoughts now.)