Still have a paper due.
While everybody else is on Christmas break [or at least, momentarily free from the clutches of academics], I am here once again fighting writer’s block for a paper due tomorrow.
I have to submit a three-page paper answering the question, In what areas of our country’s current situation can development writing play a role, and in what way?
I am having a hard time because I don’t know how to begin the paper. I have a vague idea of what it will contain and how I’ll attack the question, but I can’t answer it cleverly.
I mean, wouldn’t development writing be utilized for any issue? Is this a trick question, or is there really a particular answer?
I bought a newspaper yesterday, and it is only right now that I’m attempting to read it. I want my vacation already… Darn it. But I guess I brought this on myself. I could have submitted earlier; I didn’t have to wait until the last possible day, and yet that is exactly what I did, like the procrastinator that I am.
I wonder if writers ever get tired of writing? If journalists ever find themselves lacking inspiration [money doesn't count]?
If so, I wonder how I’ll wind up… seeing as I am quite a sloth.
I suck.
Everyday is so wonderful,
and suddenly,
it’s hard to breathe.
Minus the part where I wasn’t alone half the time, I had the worst day in weeks. First I missed class without even knowing it. MISSED CLASS, when I’ve been trying the whole darn year to not miss anything. [except LTS 1]
Screw Chancy and his stupid tradition. I wish he saw how many classes were still held around the campus. I mean, one of my friends even had Chemlab this afternoon. You’d think they’d suspend that already. But heck, they didn’t.
I didn’t get to attend class this morning because my dad waltzed in my room at 8am and told me there weren’t any classes anymore. I was about to get up already, try to be early for once in my 9am class, but that stopped me. I suddenly felt sleepy again.
And so the devil put me to sleep.
When I woke up again, it was 11am, and I had a few messages on my phone. But the one message that had me bolt right up on my bed was “Rialynne [not my real name], may klase tayo sa ___.”
So I told my dad, who just mumbled, “Pero wala na raw klase eh…” and locked himself in his room.
And I told my mom, who scared the crap out of me. You know the one thing mothers do best? They SHOUT. And shout my mother did. Til the whole street knew what a loser I was.
A loser for believing, or trusting, or whatever it is.
So at 1pm I made it a point to attend my History class, especially since my very responsible seatmate who is a year ahead of me told me that Sir wanted us to come to class because he had an announcement.
Before I got my butt over to Hum, though, I messaged a fellow devcom classmate who had told me we didn’t have a class, just so she wouldn’t make the same mistake I did. Besides, it had come straight from my instructor’s mouth [or fingers, if you know what I mean, since I bet my seatmate only texted sir] that he wanted to meet us.
So when I got to my classroom in Hist 1, I realized… that it just wasn’t my day.
I bet the devil was dancing beside me then, rejoicing at having fooled me twice already, when I hadn’t actually started my day yet.
Yeah. I think he was there. Because at Room 2 of CAS building were two students staring at their laptop screen [they were not classmates of mine] who looked over at me like I was some sort of escapee from rehab or wherever. And they said, “Um, wala pong klase ngayon..”
Like I hadn’t heard that before.
And sure enough, the friend I had warned about Sir’s announcement was pissed off with me for telling her there was a class when there obviously wasn’t.
Wish she knew I was just trying to be kind.
—————
This is bad. This is very, very bad.
When I found out, I was like, “I don’t believe this!” And yet my conscience answered, “Yes you do.”
And it was right.
Since the semester started, I knew something had changed. When my instructor in 120 projected his lecture on the screen, it was difficult to make out what was written. I thought at first that it was just because I was very far from it and that so many heads were blocking the view, but Microbio proved to me that there was a problem.
It was only earlier, when I had my eyes checked up on, that I realized I’d blown things way out of proportion.
Before the doctor told me what was up, she looked at me like I was the most delinquent creature on earth. She asked me how old I was, and then she said me….
“Anong nangyari dito, ineng? Dati 125 yung grado mo, tapos ngayon mga &%^ na.”
I was like, “Um. Pakiulit po?” Because I thought I’d heard her wrong.
So she repeated it, and suddenly my knees felt weak and I wanted to get away from her data and her unkind tone. I’d known my grade shot up; God had clued me in on that, and I wasn’t that stupid. I just didn’t think it would reach that high.
I don’t want to wear glasses anymore, but what the hell? I’ve ruined my chances of lowering my grade quickly when I reach 25. The only chances I’ve increased are chances of contact lens.
I haven’t told my parents yet. I’d probably lose an arm and a leg if they found out. But heck, they’d lose their minds.
Funny. I can declare to the world how much of a loser I am for murdering my eyes in front of the computer, but I can’t bring myself to tell my parents.
Hmm. Actually, I think it’s only mom I’m afraid of. I bet I’ll get yelled at again.
*sigh*
When materialism kicks in…
I want a new phone. Either a Sony Ericsson C905
…or a Nokia N96.
I don’t know why I suddenly do. It’s just, I want to carry something that is a phone, a camera, and a music player all at the same time. Not to mention a video player. I wish my parents could give me a new phone. It’s not like I’m always asking for things. I truly also want a laptop and a new iPod, but… I don’t know. I really feel like a new phone.
Inkblot..
I have made three papers so far this weekend, and all of them were for my major subject. Right now I am struggling with my history subject. We were assigned to make an autobiography. After 17 years of simple existence, I don’t know what to narrate.
Reflection.
After having spent three whole semesters in the University, most people still think I am a freshman. I do not know if I really look that young or if I look too innocent or if I seem to be…disconnected. I can not blame those who get the wrong impression, though. There is this crazy ideology that a person is a freshman if a) he or she is disinclined to converse with a weird seatmate; b) he or she is too careful, or too organized, or too conscious; and c) he or she is anxious about the subject and the instructor/professor nearly every meeting because the latter might call out his or her name for recitation or give a surprise quiz.
I call it crazy because I really would fall under the “freshman category” if this were something freshmen-hunters should follow.
Maybe if people knew who I was more, they would know better than to call me a freshman.
I have a lot of casual friends, I know a lot of names, and I can recognize which car belongs to whom. I can be known through degrees of friends, known only by face, or by name. And yet I am not known. Not at all.
I do not want to be a popular, “universal best friend” who gets away with everything. That is somebody else’s dream. I want to know others and be known, but not for reasons other than friendship and getting a big shot at something.
Our interviewee, Karen, snagged the opportunity of a lifetime. Long before graduation came (of course, she has not really graduated yet), she received an offer to write for the Philippine Daily Inquirer (PDI), something she had dreamed of doing since high school. Her friend from the UPLB Perspective who had been working in PDI, Nina Calleja, recommended her to the editors. Nina was going to be promoted, and the editors were looking for a replacement for the position she was leaving.
My uncle has a lot of friends around the world, and when he travels he does not have problems with money or with places to stay because he is well-connected. My mom cites this in some of her lectures to me about how important contacts are and how I should make friends with older batches. Sometimes she even goes overboard and tells dad how he should be, since he is more accustomed to doing things by himself. His justification is that he does not need other people to be able to get what he wants. He thinks people are meant to stand on their own, and that this is a type of measure of success or something.
I understand the two sides. Obviously I am more of the second at the moment. I have been for nearly my entire life. And yet a nagging thought absorbs me: What if I can not do everything on my own? What if there are some things more powerful if brought about by others?
There are so many things I want to do after I graduate. There are so many possibilities, and I can not choose on my own. Maybe in the long run, if my friends are not there to help me get a job like Karen, then maybe they could help me choose. Maybe they could advise me against the bad habits of a certain company, or push me towards the good qualities of another. Either way, I feel the need to mingle with others.
I have never left a bad mark with my interviewees (or at least, I do not think I have), and if I went to visit them today they would probably still recall me. But that is not exactly enough for them to want to recommend me to anything. They barely know me. And I bet if Karen were to be promoted, she would refer someone from Perspective to take her old position, because that is just the way it is done.
I know a lot of people, but most of them do not know who I am. I practically knew Karen (even Nina, only by name) way before we met each other.
The point is, I think I should make use of the time I have now to get to know others. I have been thinking about it a lot since the semester started, that I should stop keeping to myself. I feel that I have been too selfish, even in writing, and that I should do something new.
Even though I know this now, I think I have some personal prerequisites to gain—just to make sure I am stable—before I pull off something mindless and start looking more like a sophomore.
Insipid.
I’m bored. It’s a Monday afternoon and you’d think I’d be studying right about now. The day before my week normally starts.
Next week, and for the weeks after that, my Monday afternoon will include paying my hours for Literacy Training Service. I’m a little bit excited for that. Maybe I’ll learn how to teach properly and… well, I don’t know, maybe I’ll learn to love it.
Now that I think of it, I must be lucky I was put on the Monday schedule. School is usually cancelled nation-wide on Mondays. Lucky.
As I was saying, I’m bored. I thought I would forever love the monotony of my existence, but this moment proves me false. How else would you explain?
There’s nothing to look forward to. Every day that I wake up, all I want to do is not face the day. That is just so wrong.
Each time that I pray my thanks for the day, I can’t help feeling that I’m not completely and sincerely thankful. Because another day entails fear and impatience with time. On weekdays I count the days until my weekend arrives. During class I glance at my watch every now and then. I don’t know what is up with me, aside from the fact that I am bored, and that I’m getting tired of the same routine over and over again.
What am I to do? What can cure me from this indifferent disease?
