Time Capsule

I'm currently studying for my Food & Nutrition finals for Monday. As much as I'm trying to concentrate for our comprehensive exam, I can't help but be distracted by thoughts of what I'm going to do after this semester ends. Just last week I heard from my friend that the Nursing program I was planning to apply to is being frozen due to having budget issues and having way more people apply than they can accommodate. Of course, I'm now one of those people who are part of the 'Cannot be Accommodated' group. This just depresses me to the point of developing frown lines overnight.

Since I've changed my major from 'Undecided' to 'Fine Arts & Humanities', and finally to 'Nursing', I've been pushing myself to complete my prerequisites, enter the Nursing program, graduate with sparkly rainbow colors, and join the work as a Nurse. I snort as I type this since the only thing I seemed to have accomplished was finish my prerequisites. And those prerequisites were just for the Maricopa Community College Nursing requirements to enter their program. Of course I have submitted my application and now in the wait list. The fact that the wait could take years though is just a minor detail. So now I am again going to finish my prerequisites for the University Nursing program. I'm guessing that would take a year at the most, and there's that minor detail again that they're extremely competitive and only accept straight As from your transcripts. Minor detail that out of 300 people they only accept 100 on a good day. And the most minor of all the details, their program is now "temporarily frozen". That takes the cake. I roll my eyes at the thought that maybe, I'm just guessing, I'm wasting time.

So now on my break, I'm inquiring other universities on their Nursing program, and if, hopefully begging, they can let me graduate in the very near coming soon in your local theaters future. The first in the least is a private university that advertises the fact that they have room for nursing students, in response to the crisis of all wait-listed students probably. My response to their response is: Please accept me in your university, I am willing to study my slacker butt off for you, and lay you golden eggs in the form of straight As. Seriously, my inner nerd is crying for a school that will let me graduate, or at least give me assurance that by the time I'm twenty-one I am already working. For crying out loud, I'm turning twenty in four months or so.

The only reason I'm harping and griping on this desperation to graduate is the fact the I want to end being a burden to my parents. I want them to retire and enjoy their lives somewhere they want to, where they won't have an obsessive compulsive, perfectionist for a boss. I know I should be looking for a part time job at least, and I am. The minor detail getting in my way is the fact that this state is in major recession, and more people are losing job rather than gaining promotion. My desire to immediately graduate makes me seem like a child wanting to be an adult Right Now. Laughable to some, I know, but for me it's really Srs Bzns. (Text speak for Serious Business). I guess it's more a frustration right now where I seem to just be running in circles and then straight to a wall. I feel like this is some demented game of Snakes & Ladders where there's more snakes than ladders, more manholes than highways.

Lord God, I just close my eyes in prayer. I need a miracle.

Ataractic effect.

It's been months since I last updated on my school work or what I have been up to these past weeks. The only reason I can give is my laziness, or the fact that I felt like procrastinating. Either way, an update is clearly appreciated.

This month has certainly been quite interesting. First, it's November. I can't believe how fast time has flown, only a month left and Fall semester is done. Wow. November has been welcomed by the joint (children's) birthday party of my Another interesting fact, I've been drawing again, with much intensity in fact. Yay. The most obvious interesting fact is that US has now a new president. The first black US president, in actuality. I am not able to vote yet, but I am quite interested in how this country will turn out under his presidentship. And the most fun interesting thing, or things I should say, is that I finally went to the Phoenix Symphony Hall and watched a live orchestra perform Petrouchka while renowned third generation puppet master Basil Twist and his crew performed with their puppets. The other, is that I have started baking. My first try is the Devil's Food Cupcake or also known as the Red Velvet Cake. As I have enjoyed the orchestra, my test subjects, I mean family members also enjoyed the cuppycakes. So that's a success to me.

Despite the many happenings, there's the ataractic effect like the calm before the storm. I have an easy-A class right now, from the term you can easily glean that you can get an A in that class without even trying. There's the Phi Theta Kappa that's inviting me to be a member, an international Honors Society that bases their membership on grade point average and the units you've completed. Yeah, I'm being praised for all the stuff in school I've gone through. I'm humbled and all but it feels so much like dark foreshadowing in a story. Maybe I feel that way since there's the pressure of the Spring semester coming up in January. Spring should sound pretty, like flowers blooming, birds singing, as in Vivaldi's Spring. But my Spring semester sounds like sixteen units worth of credits, five classes Mondays thru Fridays, hours of mental torture with even more mental professors, and sucky parking spaces. Sounds like fun to me. I have endured it before though, good times, good times.

I shall enjoy this ataractic sedateness, link my arms behind my head, and close my eyes in rest. And come Spring, I shall face the storm and hope to the high heavens that I do not drown. Meanwhile, let's eat more of those cupcakes.

i'm obviously bored but interested.

This is what I was doing earlier after hours of just browsing art pieces in deviantArt. I don't normally do these kind of things. I am such a bum. But oh well.

Your result for What Your Taste in Art Says About You Test...

Non-conformist, Visionary, and Independent

16 Abstract, -8 Islamic, -13 Ukiyo-e, 4 Cubist, -2 Impressionist and -24 Renaissance!

Abstract art uses a visual language of form, color and line to create a composition which exists independently of what may appear to others as visual realities. Western had been underpinned by the logic of perspective and an attempt to reproduce an illusion of visible reality. It allowed the progressive thinking artists to show a different side to the world around them. By the end of the 19th century many artists felt a need to create a 'new kind of art' which would encompass the fundamental changes taking place in technology, science and philosophy. Abstract artists created art that was diverse and reflected the social and intellectual turmoil in all areas of Western culture.

People that chose abstract art as their preferred artform tend to be visionsaries. They see things in the world around them and in people that others may miss because they look beyond what is visual only with the eye. They rely on their inner thoughts and feelings in dealing with the world around them instead of on what they are told they should think and feel. They feel freed from the tendancy to be bound by traditional thought and experiences. They look more toward their own ideas and experiences than what they are told by their religious upbringing or from scientific evidence. They tend to like to prove theories themselves instead of relying on the insight or ideas of others. They are not bound by common and mundane, but like to travel and have new experiences. They value intelligence, but they also enjoy a challenge. They can be rather argumentative when they are being forced or feel as if they are being forced to conform.

Link to the test if you are interested or bored. :)

the fasten seatbelt sign is on

10 and 9. Those are the number of times we've moved houses and the times I've moved schools, respectively. The number of times I've been on airplanes I've lost count, as well as the number of times I've had to introduce myself to a new crowd. My life has been full of introductions. A new introduction presented itself when Princess called and said she was leaving for Canada.

"You're leaving me?" were the first words I blurted out. I didn't really know what to say. When I was going to the US, I was totally depressed. I wasn't excited about new life, starting over, yadda yadda. No. What I wanted was to stay. What I was wanted was to keep my life the way it was and be happy. What I wanted was to never move again, end of story. Except it was never the end of any story and I had to start over again in a foreign place. And now that Princess is moving, I feel for her. I feel sad that she's not going to be able to see her friends when she wants to as she normally does. I feel sad that she's not going to be able to just book a flight and relax in Boracay. I feel sad that she's going to miss out on our niece's life. I feel sad that she won't be able to just take a jeep to the mall and window shop all she likes. And most of all I feel sad that nothing is going to be the same anymore.

Jokes that made you laugh before would make you cry on the spot. Clothes that were comfortable before would make you feel alien and naked. Foods that used to keep you company would make you feel homesick and alone. Nothing is familiar when you leave familiarity with your friends and toys. I wish I could say that it's going to be better, that sooner or later you'll be fine and happy again. It does in some ways. But there's a void that you avoid because that's where everything you were and had is.

Moving is a trying experience. It has an emotional roller coaster mandatory for everyone. But moving is moving forward. Where your past and future become your present. Where every thing is new and exciting. I'm blessed that with every move my family is still there, a room away, a phone call away, an email away, a video chat away, a prayer away. My bestfriend once said that even though we never see each other we are still under the same blue sky. As cliched as that sounds, I find comfort in the fact that we are connected by God's love, under the same blue sky.

Princess, I know you're going to okay. Just think of the place you're going to as a bigger Cebu. You're going to be just fine.

with these hands

When I look at my hands I always remember what my eldest sister said, "Artist hands." Long, thin fingers, unmanicured. Scars on on finger, two moles on another. I like my hands. We used to have a family friend visit us on the Farm when I was younger. I remember her teaching me how to color. That is my earliest memory of liking art. When I grew up I always asked my parents to buy me coloring books and crayons. Crayolas and coloring books were there in place of dolls and dresses.

I was never a girly girl to begin with. So dolls still scare me to this day. Another cousin of mine, Kuya Steve, is a great artist. I remember when we visited in Manila I would go to his room just to look at the paintings on his walls and even on his ceiling. He made me draw a vase of flowers once but the Crayola coloring me just looked at the pencil and blank piece of paper like it was alien. I attempted to draw but it ended up looking like an abstract piece. It still makes me laugh when I think of that.

Highschool crept up and my parents no longer thought coloring books were appropriate for me. I got distracted by computer games but I still liked pastels and watercolors. One time though, a teacher wanted the whole class to draw him a horse. A horse. Not everyone in our class has seen a horse, they were all city kids. And even if I knew how a horse looked like I couldn't draw one to save my soul. A stick figure horse was unacceptable. But lo and behold, this one guy was an artist. So our classmates commissioned him to draw a horse for every one of us. He saved us all, with his artist hands and his horse.

I became really envious of him. Not that I wanted to save the class with horses. No, what I wanted was to have his artist hands so I wouldn't need someone to save me because they can conjure a horse on paper. So I started drawing again, and asked my parents to buy me sketchpads and pencils. My sister Darlene also encouraged me to draw since she was really good at drawing, coloring, painting...okay, she was good at all kinds of art. And I wanted to be an artist too, innate talent or no.

Fast forward years later, I have artist hands, after all. What I lacked was practice. And now that I stopped drawing, my art looks like stick figures again. I look at my hands now and know what they are capable of doing. I look at my hands and wish I can draw every single day. I seem to have lost my muse. I know that is not true, what I lost is my first love. Art is and will always be my first love. So now that I'm back to rank Amateur, all I can do is draw and draw and draw until art comes back to me. You accept art in whatever form because art will come to you however it wishes.

the f word

I don't really like cursing or swearing. I usually make up my own phrase or sentence to express my frustration. And I do have lots of frustrations. Especially when I drive. Yeah. Just, yeah.

So it goes like this, five minutes into driving on the 101 freeway bound home, this dark blue two door car cuts in front of me, nearly missing a van from his lane. I ignore the car since Arizona drivers tend to be insane anyway. And it's not like honking will change anything. But then a couple of feet away, he (yes, he) decides to stick out his arm out the window and raise his middle finger. Yes, that universal F sign that was spontaneously invented to replace verbal use of the word. Surprise, surprise, it caught on. He waves his smug sign for a couple of seconds before putting his arm back inside. So who was the sign aimed for? Me? Maybe. For some other driver? Probably. For all of us? Highly likely.

I raise my eyebrow at that and stop myself from thinking of ill of him. Too late though, a sick smile has already spread on my lips as I think avidly of how morbidly ironic it would be if he suddenly gets blindsided out of nowhere. Or he suddenly rear ends the car he was now behind. Ah, the possibilities. I only sigh though as I watch him exit off the freeway and go his merry way.

I wasn't really mad at the guy. For the life of me I can't think of why he would do that and if it was indeed aimed at me. Only God and him know. But still, isn't he concerned that if he did that to someone else the person would probably chase after his car and shoot him? I mean, Arizona is one of the states that have a lot of road rage incidents. And I would not want to encourage anyone with anger management issues to blow my brains out. I have enough of seeing people reported on the news who got shot after angering a fellow driver.

I was thinking that God would deal with that idiotic asinine of an ass, but then as I exited Thomas Road, I felt foolish enough to just ask God to forgive me and that addled brain half-bake. The next time I meet another dullard dumdum on the road, I will stay clear of their path lest I catch their dumbass and foolhardy manner. After all, some are born stupid, some achieve stupidity, and some have stupidity thrust upon them. But stupidity is not passed on by ancestors but it is their own hard-worn accomplishment. Kudos to you, driver of the dark blue two door car. May you always have bliss. Since ignorance of stupidity is bliss.

Lessons from our backyard

For the past six weeks my Dad has been with us here in Arizona. In the last couple of years, six weeks is not the longest we have been together, but six weeks weighs more than a year's worth of Skype video chats, sparse cellphone conversations, and at most, bi-weekly emails. I have never thought about the strangeness of this situation a lot. Since it's not like I think it is strange. Not seeing or talking or hearing from my Dad daily is as normal as my hair tangling up like a wretched hairball. Both are certainly unappealing, though hairballs are generally more disgusting. By unappealing, I mean that daughters usually want to know how their father is faring and vice versa. In my case, I DO want to know how my father is faring but again, in my case, that's just not always been possible. There was that one simple hang up with us not being in the same house, or even in the same continent. Good news, we're in the same planet.

I have (as you mostly are all probably aware) always been a daddy's girl. My mom and I are close but my dad and I just mesh better. As cliched as being a daddy's girl is, I think it's enjoyable. Most of the time, anyway. My dad is a military man, a math man, a straight forward and loyal man, a Bible man, a generous man, a well respected man. Not in that exact order but he is certainly the kind of guy you want with you when your car breaks down or when you are lost in this crazy Twilight Zone kind of place. Being with him again has reminded me and shown me that as smart mouthed and sarcastic I am most of the time, I still need my dad in my life. Especially since I usually keep everything to myself to the point of bursting my figurative innards.

Ever since I can remember I have always tagged along with my dad. Driving with him to Manila or taking the bus back to the Farm, I have always been by his side. Most of our conversations were conducted on the move or during nap time when I was trying to make him sleep so I could play. One time when I was four and my brother would not let me join him and his friends play, I went to my parents' room and sat beside my dad. I was clearly sulking so my dad asked me what happened. And I just told him, "I wish I was born a guy, then I could do whatever I wanted." My dad just laughed at that and replied, "Not every thing's going to be okay if you were a guy. That's why God didn't make you that way." I just humphed and stayed quiet. When I was five, I told him I wanted to be an assassin when I grew up. My eldest sister looked at me then at my dad when he calmly said, "That's not really an easy profession, why don't you choose something else?" My sister wholeheartedly agreed with him.

There were many instances of me saying some random thing to him and he would respond in a straight forward manner, despite the amusement or astonishment to my sentiments. I have always felt that he was not talking to me as a child but as a person. Once, we were parked somewhere and just sat there watching jeepneys when I noticed the signs painted on the sides of the jeeps. I asked him, "So where is 'Vice Versa' located in Cebu?" He was silent for a couple of seconds before responding, "Vice Versa?" I nodded as he started saying, "It means it also goes the other way around. It's not a place in Cebu." And with that, I sat silently, and we burst out laughing. There goes my English classes.

The past six weeks, he's been taking care of our backyard. My dad's first love is planting, and plants love him too. So my mom has given him the task of planting new plants and flowers in place of the ones that have succumbed to the desert heat. The plants which have been withering before are now basking on growth since my dad started caring for them. Another project he was tasked to do was to replant the uprooted tree on my aunt's backyard. He took me there one afternoon with his shovel, his ropes, a couple of stakes, and my car's jack. All the while I was angsting over what my mom told me just hours ago. He did all the talking while tying up the tree, talking about his childhood and how my grandfather gave him a job in the farm. I sat on the loose rocks and listened to him talk of responsibility and the hardship of sacrifice. In the end, we prayed and he asked me if I was hurt by what my mom said. I tried explaining but all he wanted was a Yes or No answer. I said yes, and he replied, "Ok. It's okay to tell her you were hurt."

I've learned a lot from my dad, and I'm still learning. I've learned that it's okay to say what you feel, and that you should. I learned that driving a car should only be done when you are sure of what you're doing. I've learned that math will not eat you alive, and that anything can be learned if you are willing to. I've learned how to really plant a flower and not see it die in two days. I've learned how to cement bricks, the difference between cementing and plastering, and that if you get cement on your hair you can wash it off as long as it hasn't hardened yet. I've learned that gardening and watering plants are relaxing and enjoyable work. I've learned that taking a break can be relaxing and enjoyable too, especially after you really worked hard.

My dad is a great influence in my life, and by great I mean in intensity and ability. I went back to Philippines one time to figure out if I should take Nursing or not. My mom wanted me to, of course, but she wanted me to decide. My dad gave me a verse in Psalm and I decided on Nursing. "Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me." Despite the fact that Art was my first love, I decided on taking a risk with Nursing because of my dad's confidence and support in me. And in times when I doubt myself for my choice, I remember that verse and feel better again.

I had a conversation on the phone once with my dad where he was asking me if I missed him. I thought about it for a second before I answered, "No." He was clearly taken aback by that and replied in a hurt voice, "Oh, why don't you miss me? Why did you answer no?" I just said, "Well I don't miss you right now. And you told me not to lie." My mom had to explain to him later that I was just an abnormal kid and did not think normally. The truth is I miss him everyday. But I just don't think of him so I don't miss him so I don't think I miss him. It's not logical but that's just the way I cope with not seeing my family. For me it's not absence making a heart fonder, but out of sight, out of mind. But when I do say I miss someone, I really do miss them. Cross my heart.

So when my dad goes to San Francisco tomorrow, I may not get to say goodby to him at the airport. Or I may forget to email him in a week. But I think it's safe to say that I will miss him even as I bury myself on schoolwork and reading. Lessons from our backyard go from mundane to enlightening, from poignant to silly, and from father to daughter but the answer to "Do you miss me?" will always be "Yes," from now to forever.

Tough Love

My head hurts. After mulling over the happenings the past few days, I can certainly say that my head hurts. This, of course, does not imply insult to my intelligence. I'm not that dumb. My thoughts just refused to let go of me, perhaps like a cow and her cud, just refusing to go down effortlessly. I digress. Cows and cud aside, my thoughts are just too bold in wearing out their stay in the confines of my brain. And I wish I could just forget about thinking and thoughts all together like every other time but no, this one time it has to regurgitate itself over and over. Just me and my pathetic luck. Or lack of pathetic luck, even.

Why in the name of all that's noble and ignoble am I being tortured by my own brain? Well, first off, my brain just plain sadistically enjoys my discomfort. Self-sabotage, much? Okay, so maybe not that reason. The only reason I can think of is that reason, that which is Tough Love. And I mean that in the most platonic sense. The only sense that is of parent and child, specifically, mother and daughter in perfect discord. Don't you just love oxymorons? At any rate, there is that Tough Love in every mother-daughter tandem that even sitcoms make money off it. In my case though that tough love can be a bit jarring to the point of wounding.

What exactly can I say? First, it was just annoyance that I was watching anime instead of typing my laboratory report (which wasn't due until next week [Yeah, Kat, excuses, excuses]). Then there was the displeasure at the fact that I haven't been resuming my job hunt in two weeks now. And then there was the little incident of overhearing her retell to Papa the earlier scene of annoyance and displeasure she had with me. When I told her that she should say the things she wanted to my face, she did that and more, to my regret. Maybe it hurts a little to hear her talking about me in her vexed voice to Papa and hearing it in the way that sounds as if she enjoyed scolding me. Or the matter-of-fact voice of hers saying, "There is no secret between your papa and me." After that it was just me tearing up and staring at her emotionlessly that made her say, "Don't you dare look at me like that, I know how your mind works. You think I'm just being hysterical. I'm not." And continuing on to say that she does not work herself to the bone to have it all be for nothing, a waste. And that she has provided for me and so I would lack nothing. Again with the remark on me looking at her that way (my emotionless stare mask) which made her say, "You looking at me that way is such a disrespect to me. Your mother." And with that, she left.

So I just stood there for a while. Then I remembered my book and notes in the living room and sat there. I cried. Maybe it was because of monthly hormones that made it hurt more. Or maybe because I was completely blindsided by the whole thing. It was Sunday, it was not supposed to be that way. I didn't come home from church to have everything blow up in my face. I could make excuses for my inaction from job hunting or taking a break from writing the lab report. But no, that's just not working for me. It would all just sound pathetic and false. All the while, I completed my job application online, shut the laptop off and locked myself in my room.

Papa came knocking moments later so I had to open the door. He wanted to talk but what would I say? I didn't want to be in a pissy, vulnerable mood while talking to him. And I'm not a Talk kind of person. So I just told him an excuse and shut the door again. Later I had to go with Papa to help water the plants in my aunt's house across the street. I just seriously really wanted to be alone, by myself, in solitary isolation. I really can't get a break can I?

So there I was exiting my room when she stops mopping the floor and looks at me. "O, ano?*" She not speaking in English anymore, indicating that she was considerably calmer. Oh, goody. I just stared at the floor since I figured that staring at her would just make me appear disrespectful. She starts out by saying that she was not mad at me but frustrated that she was not seeing any effort from me. That I was not doing my best in looking for a job. That she just wants the best for me. That she just wants to see me enjoying my life, seeing me have a passion for something. That she does not see me making any ripples in my life, or in any one's, basically. I guess it went from frustration at my inertness to me being passionless then to me being a waste of space. That remarkably does not do great and passionate things to my ego and self-esteem. If I have any left. Then she asks if I was angry with her or hurt. I could only continue to stare at the floor with my face tracked with tears as I answered silently. "I don't know."

I really did not know how to feel about her. I wanted to be angry at her for having the ability to hurt me when she knew I would not retaliate. I wanted to keep on crying because it just hurt so much. I wanted to punish her by ignoring her and whatever else she would say to me. I just did not know how to feel when I felt like I was betrayed and naked. She and Papa are the only ones who can hurt me so much with their words. To everyone else, I would just emotionlessly stare back and cry privately. But with them, I cry on the spot, where ever the spot maybe. So I continued to cry as she hugged me after being surprised by my answer. She just confidently said that I would understand what she means in time. Maybe.

Maybe it's just me blowing it out of proportion. Maybe I'm overreacting and I shouldn't be. Maybe I just wish that never happened so I can continue on with life, blissfully not trying to avoid her. Maybe I'm trying to desperately keep my apathetic mask back on to prevent myself from shedding more tears. Maybe I shouldn't even be sad right now. Maybe I should just continue to retreat to my shell and stay there indefinitely, until I get my bearings set. Maybe I should never have left that shell and tried how it is to feel again. Maybe. Maybe tomorrow I'll have acquired amnesia and live happily ever after. Not bloody likely. What can I say, we all have our days. I just wish mine were pre-marked in the calendar so there'll be no surprises. Ha. My head still hurts.

*O, ano? -Tagalog for 'So?' or 'What?'

Food and Nutrition Lab Rule 6: Do not eat, drink or smoke in the lab

That title right there is one of our Lab safety requirements for Food and Nutrition. It is kind of ironic, don't you agree? I was wondering what one does in a Food and Nutrition Lab, or why one needs a Food and Nutrition Lab. I found out that there is no food involved in a Nutrition Lab, we are in fact actually required to fast for one project. Irony, that is the word for the day. Well, my day at least.

How do I start? (Or continue, I suppose). I went to school early today, at least an hour and 45 minutes early. Because, first of all, parking during the Fall (or Spring) semester is so bad that it is horribly horrid. The other reasons were that I needed to buy my textbook and print out the notes for class. I just have to say that going to school an hour and forty five minutes early seemed to be the common consensus by my fellow collegiates. And I spent the next forty five minutes circling the parking lots (north and south) with other students circling there way away. We were like ants foraging for food under the Arizona sun. And the more time I was wasting, the antsier I got along the rest of the masses. I concluded that life sucks when you can't find a parking space, or make one. I got so fed up looking for a space that I ended up parking three blocks outside campus.

That is just the start of my lovely day. So now, I had an hour left, but wait it took me fifteen minutes to get to the other side of campus to the bookstore. And once I got there the checkout line was l-o-n-g, endless. It took a good twenty minutes for the line to dwindle and for me to get out of there. Another fifteen minutes got me to the Life Science Lab to print out my class notes and five minutes to get me inside the Technology 1 building. I had five minutes to spare. Yay me.

Another highlight of the day was the vending machine. No, I did not kick it. I almost did though when it wouldn't spit out the potato chips I was planning to have for lunch. There's always the "Now what?" moment after a vending machine eats your dollar and doesn't release your food. So I looked for coins in my purse and found three US quarters and one Canadian quarter. They were the same size...so I figured that the machine might take it. I took one quarter and fed it to the machine and took another one which the machine promptly spat out. I did that two more times and got out two potato chip bags for the price of one dollar and a quarter, instead of two dollars. Another Yay me moment.

Currently, I am looking forward to the long weekend since I have no class projects or assignments due. My professor, whom we shall call Persian Mistress, apparently likes giving our assignments to do in class. So Yay.

the grass is greener

I am currently still in Edmonton, Alberta. It's almost three weeks now that I've been here to attend my cousin's wedding and to visit the Queen. Well, my cousins in fact, but this side of the family is like royalty after all. Not that my mother's side of the family isn't descended from Dons and Doῆas. But my father's side is too noble and prideful to be considered anything less than royalty. I guess I just come from a family of extremes. And coming here to Edmonton gave me a chance to experience another side of my family from a different angle, perspective. Same difference.

I know that when one travels to a place for the first time, Traveler must mention, describe, and excite people of what the place looks like, of the different people encountered, of the meals one had eaten or had not eaten but wished they did, and of the activities one had done and wish to repeat, or not. As for myself, all I can say is I like Edmonton. If you have money and time, come here and enjoy. Done. I have done my touristly duty and wish to go on to my true purpose of sharing more stuff about my royalty family that may or may not mean anything to you. Shush, I just need to write. So, on to my family.

Specifically, I am writing about my dad's side of the family. The side that lives here in Edmonton. As I wrote earlier, I come from a family of extremes. And this extreme extends to the fact that my dad is my uncle's brother. Some of you are going, "Duh." What I mean is the fact that they are related translates to the fact that they not only share or have the same temperemental, stubborn disposition and discipline, but they also share the noble qualities consisting of honesty, generosity, caring, loving, and quirky sense of humor. These characters are trademarked in each sibling coming from my dad's side of the family. And my cousins and I had the great time of discovering these similarities in our parents. Stories upon stories brought out the common bond that is our parents, and we drew closer together as we cast our collection of memories and shared them as one. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy, and giddy, I admit. But I rejoice in being reunited with cousins and titos and titas that I have been too young to remember or been to apart from.

It is true that I have been too apart from the royalty. E-mails and rare phone calls are the only correspondence that have kept us from completely being out of each other's lives. We all have been moving from one area to another, one town or country away. Moving is normal for us; it is like a complicated dance, to and fro, to and fro. Packing and putting away is part of the lifestyle, yet in all the complications we have always belonged where ever we were.

I came to Edmonton just expecting cooler weather and living in my Tito Joy and Tita Lulu's house. Yes, both are what I expected. However, living with them for two weeks and a half has shown me more than I was expecting. I saw that the grass is greener here. Their family see each other almost daily, they just live minutes aways from each other, they eat out all the time, and they come and go as they please. They're not a perfect family by any means, no one has that. But perfect is not what I have been wanting since I was a child. What I wanted was a family like theirs, a family living close to each other. As I wrote, I come from a family of extremes. And as their family live minutes away from each other, mine live continents apart from each other. Well, before it was just islands apart. Funny.

I do find it funny. Funny in the ironic kind of way. Although, I also find it funny that despite the fact that I feel that I should be jealous, I am not. Of course, it makes me a bit sad to see how it could have been with my family. I can see driving to visit Sister's place and spending time with my brother in law and my niece. Or going to Princess' apartment and just kill time with her. Or goof around with my brother later while my dad and mom call and ask what time I'll go home for dinner. It makes me sad because I know that although the grass is greener this side of the family, I just sigh and move on because I also know that this isn't my grass. My grass doesn't exist since what I have is desert sand and all that grow in it are tough weeds that look pretty and flowers that struggle to survive the day's heat.

My visit in Edmonton humbled me. I can't have everything in life and what I have is enough. What's more important than having my family close by is having a close family intact. I wouldn't trade my royalty family for any green grass, beanstalk, or ducks that lay golden eggs in the world.

fitting room wars

Friday morning I woke up to my mom asking me when Fall semester starts. August 25th is when my Food and Nutrition class starts. The question of why was uttered sleepily by me and the not so plain answer was "You're going to Canada." Oh. That certainly woke me up.

Fast forward to Saturday morning I woke up to be asked what I was going to wear for the wedding. Piles of scattered dresses and hangers later, my mom and I were on our way to JC Penney, Lola's free blank cheque in hand. After all, blank cheques are for shopping.

Hours later I was backed into a fitting room surrounded by dresses and hangers. Deja vu, much? My eyes just continued to narrow and my brows drew together as the dresses that continued to mock me were becoming worse and worse in style and fit (and would you believe, in smell). kasuigdbajbshbjh.

In actuality, I already had a dress I wanted. It was simple and comfortable. It was a nice, black dress. The kind that doesn't compete with bride's white (or near that color scheme) wedding dress However, my mom seemed intent in finding the holy grail of dresses. Or at least the dress she wanted me to wear. It was ridiculous to be having a fitting room war. I would glare at the door when I would hear a scuffle indicating my mom's presence outside bearing more dresses to be worn, like Santa Claus sneaking in through your chimney bearing either gifts or coals. My face grew stiff in an attempt to be apathetic.

When she finally found a dress she wanted I was ready to burst into tears of chaos and frustration. Finally. I was hungry. The holy grail dress was (how should I say this) perky for a long, brown dress. I guess having humongous red and orange print of flowers can do that. Alone in the fitting room with the holy grail dress, I was conversing with it, out of annoyance and hunger. I was apologizing that I didn't like it but I would like us to try and get along since we were going to spend more time together. I found that completely ridiculous but I somewhat felt better. At least I could be honest with the dress.

In case you find it curious that we were having a fitting room war, the truth was we were shopping for a wedding dress or a dress one when wears for a wedding. A dress I would wear for my cousin's wedding in Canada. SO now that you're up to speed, let's move along with the rest of my weekend blues. If none of you noticed, my mom can be a bit overbearing. I assure you that I know that she is overbearing for my own good and the wellness of my well-being. I doubly assure you that that is not sarcasm you hear.

Knowing that, you can probably deduce that the fitting room war continued to the battle of the heels. As I said, jdbbaskhabaKJK. Short story miniscule, it was a standoff between open toe wedge shoes and open toe stilletos. Their color, of course, matched the holy grail dress. The better heels won, and I am happy to declare that mine KO'd the other shoe. Woot. A small victory, but a victory no less.

In the end, the Queen gave in bought my mistress as well, the other dress, so to speak. And we all lived happily ever after. Yes, you can totally hear the trumpets rejoicing in the background.

beasts of dysfunction

I'm your typical good girl. The funny, quirky, nerdy, goody two shoes. Though with a good deal of sarcasm and fondness for being random. I obsess about getting the grade for my classes though I'm a bit lazy to study. I rarely get scolded by my parents. I'm too boring socially for them to worry about me getting wasted or trying out meth or some other high inducing drug. I'm too introverted to be seduced by going out with classmates I barely know and hanging out. I can hear you saying "You need a life." Hehe, not really. I like how I am and quite comfortable with my life. So what's the point then? You can already see that this is going to turn into a big, raging, hormonal rant, don't you?

No matter how perfect I desire to be I cannot ignore that I am still a beast of dysfunction. This is not a 'pity me' statement. Since it is the truth, after all. I believe that no one is perfect, not one can be. Despite push or pull, whether you devote your life to be one, perfection is just elusive that way. What I wish though is the freedom from being expected perfect. Perfection is not demanded but it is quite implied. Like a humongous dragon breathing down your neck, filling your lungs with smoke with your every inhale and possibly a crunchy meal next. I know that a lot is expected of me and my knowledge of that just annoys me.

I am the youngest child and youngest daughter in our family. Yes, those two qualifications are important. Growing up, my older sisters were already in college while I was still in grade school. I rarely saw them but I rarely failed to hear tales of their flaws or at least what grave mistakes merited a public rant from my parents. Disappointment laced their voices when they would share what my sisters did wrong. And I guess that sticks to a kid, it's one of those childhood sentiments that clung to you. I was always told, "Wag mong gayahin mga manang mo." (Don't be like your sisters). And my mind asked what exactly were my sisters? One married too early, and another didn't finish college but worked instead. I do not fault them for doing what they did. I saw them as independent people who made their own choices. I admit I was angry at my parents too, saying we were Christians but driving their children away. It did not make sense why we were that way.

I remember once when my brother and mother had a fight they both cried. I remember watching TV and having my back to them so they did not see tears on my face. My brother did not want dinner so I went to his room and lain their beside him. I did not have to look at him to know that he was crying. He was angry and hurt that they were thinking him ungrateful. He said that he did his best and he graduated from the academy for them. I did not say anything and just asked if he was going to eat. Appeasing him was unlike me when I did not want to choose sides. I love my parents and my brother, they were family. And family to me should not take sides.

I was not like my sisters, I grew up dependent on my parents. I still have the childish habit of holding on to my mom's shirt tail like a child would (although he being annoyed by it is a bonus). My father frowns when I hesitate to talk to other people as I try to shrink into myself. I believed my self to be not smart like my sisters, not talented enough, not pretty enough, not good enough. I am not like my brother, I do not have ambition. I do not have goals for my self. I do not have the initiative to do what I need to do. By being like them would I fail my parents too? By being myself would I remain mediocre?

I no longer wanted to be a child. When I was a child I was powerless, unable to voice my opinions. I experienced this when my mother told my sister to pack her things and leave our house. She was being sent away. I remembered following her to the room we shared and asking her if it was my fault she was being sent away. I told her that I would behave myself and not fight with her for the remote control if she did not leave. But she just shook her head and answered that no, it was not me but she had to leave. It was then I accepted that I could not remain a child anymore. Being a child was naive and pathetic so I grew up.

I cannot ignore the flaws and scars my family have. I tell my sister that my parents are different from their parents. They can only stand being with them for three days and no more. My parents when with my siblings turn into harsh critics which embarrasses me. This blog is not one sided, my parents are not the only ones in the wrong. A relationship is a two way street, they say. I believe that. I try and tell myself that if we weren't so self-absorbed then perhaps we could all reconcile without having to resort into having a three day countdown. Sometimes I am in the receiving end of my parent's harsh words and I admit that it still makes me feel small and weak. Whoever said words could not never harm should rot in a pit of verbal massacre. But I do not dwell in them anymore, especially when I did do something wrong. It's just so easy to cling to being hurt and angry. That just tires me out.

I will just continue to be myself, borrowing backbone from my sisters and ambition from my brother, and advice from my parents. Maybe by being me, I'll be free from being perfect. And that way I will be happy.

I am Queen

Right now it is about 109 Fahrenheit. It is so hot that when I was outside in the parking lot I felt like I was burning or roasting without the flames. It was 111 Fahrenheit in my school earlier so that was probably a prelude to hell.

Anyway, my brain has undeniably fizzed out. Seriously. ME using multisyllabic verbiage is just a great concoction of your imaginations. Believe it. I only have three hours of sleep from the previous night and five hours from last night. That would have been sufficient enough if I didn't have any exams or whatnot. But my oh my, fancy meeting you here, I had a lab practical on cat veins, blood and lymphatics, plus our sheep hearts. Yeah, get over it. But wait! There's more...dun dun dun. I decided last night that I was going to take the Nurse Entrance Test Test (Duh. They call it the NET Test). Psh. I'm an idiot. That's an exam for about two hours on math, reading comprehension, reading rate, test taking skills, stress level, and an added bonus for me, hunger control. UNbelievable.

So, anyway, I took both exams earlier and I have yet to find out my lab practical result but I do know my NET test result. Let it be said for the record that that test was taken without any food in my system and lack of sleep...SO, let's just say that I passed. WooHoo. Okay, okay, so I scored better on my Math than the Comprehension. Big deal. Isn't it?? Yeah, it is. I scored better on my Math than the Comprehension. It's true. People who know me dear can attest that me and math are not tight but we manage. SO that was kind of a weird situation. I feel kinda bad since I am so much better at reading and comprehension. But my comprehension was non-existent today since I was just shy of passing out cold on the High Tech1 Building Room HT-143. Hunger and lack of sleep can do that to me.

I am Queen. Queen of Procrastination Hullabaloo. The reason that I took the NET test without preparation was 'cause I needed it as a requirement for my Nursing Application which I need to submit by Monday since I want to get in the Banner Program whose deadline for application is this Monday. Cheers for me. I am likely to kill myself before I can submit that application. SIgh. I need my Fingerprint Clearance Card since it is also a requirement but it will take three weeks or so to get to me. I am really, really not that optimistic about all this. But at least, I really am trying. The only reason I am rushing is 'cause I want to be considered for Estrella Mountain Community College's (school near our house) October Nursing Program. If I don't make the application I'll have to either wait for a year on the waitlist, or I could hope to be considered for the next batch which will be on March 2009 (Next Freaking Year) for Glendale Community College (college I go to right now which is farther from our house).

If my 2+2 did not equal 4 in your head, that is entirely my fault but your problem. Heh. :) Kidding. Yay me, Queen of PH.

open up the moon for you

Second week of summer class is officially over. We've finished our first exam and our first lab practical. I've finally become used to once again waking up at 6 in the morning and arriving in school early enough to chat with fellow early classmates. I bring my daily fuel of chocolate and some other snack passable as food to last me for the day. And off the day starts with my whole six hours devoted to my AP (Anatomy & Physiology) prof, with me hanging on to his every word as he lectures through the endocrine system to cat dissection. Seriously, it's like sacrificing your first born child to the witch who caught you red handed in her garden. Why did the witch have a garden anyway? For her magickal potions and poisons perhaps? But I digress.

My professor isn't boring per se, he's just on a tight schedule is all. After all covering half of our text book in five weeks is not for the feint of heart. So I can quite understand his need to bring us along up to speed. But still, it is not easy to listen to him for six hours straight. He drones on and on with occasional side stories about people he knows or read about with a medical condition pertaining to our topic. It is funny to hear about his colleague who experimented with melanin and ended up making ridiculous amount of money for creating a sex enhancer. Or about the alarming story about his friend who developed a weird problem with the pericardium covering his heart when it became calcified like egg shell. Or that a dissected turtle heart placed in a saline solution would still be able to beat for two days due to its being myogenic. Who knew, right?

That's all lecture right there. That doesn't even count lab. Our first day in lab had me up in arms of cat insides. Seriously. Our cat was pretty big and fat. His liver was freakishly huge. We have a theory that he was an alcoholic or something. Arteries are fun to learn, like really. Sarcasm, much? I'm not complaining since I'm fascinated that every cat is unique. And that just means that you and I are very much unique too. Aww. Yeah, I'm just too perky for my taste. And if you're cringing and sobbing right now about me being inhumane and mutilating kitties, stop right there. It's part of the disclaimer in our lab class that we were working on cats that were just being neglected by society. They were the ones that were unable to live in homes with people to care for them. So they were euthanized to put them out of their misery or collected in body bags from road casualties. Which is still quite sad but that's better for me than the thought of them being abused somewhere.

Today we handled sheep hearts. Should I wait for that to sink in for awhile? (Kat, you big meanie! First, cats! Now, you talk about poor sheep? How could you?!) Yeah, I feel your outrage. But before you start the rotten vegetable target practice, bear with me awhile. I'm learning to be a nurse. And I need to be able to know what I'm doing if I be one. So I need to have knowledge on real body parts and familiarize myself with the big world in organs and veins and arteries. When I graduate and you become a patient of mine, I want you to be glad that I know my stuff so you can continue on with your stuff. I'd open up the moon for people if that would save them, but I doubt there's anything to be dissected there.

So now that you know that I'm trying my hardest right now, I hope that I'll be able to know my stuff to before our second exam on monday. SIgh. So much for all that.

Sensible Sounds Kindly Shut Up.

I'm done taking my pre-requisites, all I need is one co-requisite, and an application packet and I'm set. All I need to do is wait for my application to be processed and hopefully be accepted in the Nursing Program this year. So why am I dilly dallying?

I'm 19. I'm considered a grown up. Heck, I am grown up. And yet, I still twiddle my thumbs and bury myself in the land of Lala. Does anyone else have the same problem? Many times I wish for a How To Manual or An Idiot's Guide to Growing Up. Please. No matter how mature you get you still quake in your dolled up shoes when you have to go through something new. I guess that's one of the rules.

The first time I was in a plane was a domestic flight to Cebu. That wasn't so scary since I was with my parents. And the naive me was yet to know that Cebu was in the Philippines. The next plane rides were more fun and was just routine that now I can board a plane alone for international flights. And no, Arizona is far from the Philippines.

The first time I was in school was me being too young to remember. All I can remember is learning to write in short hand and being annoyed since my penmanship sucked. Maybe it's because if those black, jumbo pencils. Now I can attest that I know how to write in cursive but it still sucks. I've been to nine different schools since and being a college student, like all the previous levels still has both pros and cons. The only difference is my classmates are not of my race and I actually pay attention in class to the point of being called a nerd.

The first time I drove a car was with my mom in the Farm. She wanted me to learn so she let me take out our van for a drive. It wasn't that nerve wracking since it was an automatic car. Later I would learn how to drive a stick shift, or a manual car. That was harder and earned me more frustrated lectures from my dad and annoyed glares from my older brother who expected me to learn in a day. Suffice to say, that wasn't an easy process and three years later I'm still an amateur in parking and avoiding curbs.

The first time I drove myself to school via the freeway alone in my car, I was gripping the steering wheel so hard. I was tense and unable to fill my lungs with enough oxygen for survival. I arrived in school with ample time to shake off my trembling limbs and prevent tears of joy from leaking. Driving home was better, I was gripping the steering wheel less, and I could breathe easier. All in all I survived and now I can drive with one hand and half of my brain memorizing previous class lectures.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. I've taken many single steps, and I guess It'll take time when I can run to my destination. I'm still a frog in a well, I don't know how great the ocean is. I guess wanting to grow up is different from actually being a grown up. I can say it's freakier and more troublesome but it's not something I can avoid if I want to reach my goals. Years ago I didn't know what I wanted to be, and now I am wanting to be something. Move forward, that's all I can do. Mada mada dane (You still have lots to learn).

to hear you say that

there's so many things i want to say. the things that i keep inside and exchange a smile instead. it's funny how as an introvert i rarely say what i want to. it annoys my sisters, or rather bothers them, i should say. when they ask me what i want, without fail i answer "just choose what you want, it's fine by me." and they ask me again what i want, i reply minutes (eternities) later. i know how to choose, i just don't choose for myself. i don't really blame anyone for that. it's my flaw that i nourished growing up. i let other people take away my power of choice. what i eat, when i eat, which dress i buy, which shoe i wear, what class i take, when i take the class, which movie to watch, and so on. you may say, but kat those are such small decisions, they don't really matter. indeed, but they matter to me.

i want to change. i don't want to rely on other people to live my life for me. i don't like living that way. it isn't because of me wanting control. it's just me wanting to be free of other people controlling me. i know that they mean well, and i know they want what's best for me but that can only go so far. if i let other people choose how i live my life, i might as well give them my life to do away with it. i am not rebelling. that's absurd. i just want to make my own choices. i just want to be able to make my own mistakes and know that they're still proud of me. not that i made a mistake but because i am my own person.

my dad wrote me an email a while ago which made me cry for some reason. he said he was proud of me for getting the grade i wanted in my classes and for learning a lot the past semester. why cry? i guess because it meant a lot to me. i made a choice the last semester to not give up until i finished. usually i'd just say i don't care anymore, que sera, sera. but this time, i decided to push myself more and refuse to back down. it was a great feeling when i finally got the grade i worked so much for. i felt so accomplished. and it made me happy that i made my parents happy. to hear them say that i did great was momentous. hopefully, it will remind me that i have the power to choose. to choose whether i want to be great or not. or whether i eat that chocolate or not. whatever.

i said what?

okay, so we had a party today. my party. so technically it was supposed to be for my birthday last month but our social calendar was full, so to speak, and we decided to have it today instead. yeah, there was cake and presents brought by titas and titos. after all that jazz, we got talking, chismis and new news. we were talking about vacation and going home to the philippines on january. suddenly, it turned into an "oh my gosh, let's all go home on january and have a big, badass reunion" excursion. yeah. wait, what?

so, my head hurts. my mom suddenly asks for paper and pen and starts writing down the trip details and itinerary. that's my mom for you. not to be outdone, my tita b says she'll arrange the tickets for the trip, though not pay for all of them mind you. she'll just handle them with a travel agent. further talking led to my tita t saying we'll do this and that, book a hotel here and rent a van there. basically, being the eldest, she'll do the supervising aka the boss.

meanwhile, outside on our backyard, my three titos were chatting and getting drunk...pleasantly buzzed? whatever. inside, all my titas were talking all at once, over each other. migraine is building on my temples. i just sat there eating cake and playing with my laptop, acting as the deranged errand girl to do their bidding.

four hours, two cake slices and a half, one drink, and a dozen pictures later, we had a full blown planned trip to the philippines on january for two (three?) weeks including a trip to cebu, bohol, boracay, zambales, manila and shopping (not in that order). but wait there's more...crud. are they serious? i'd say yeah. are they carried away? i'd say, it's the alcohol talking (oh wait, only tita t was drunk). are they related to me? i'd say sadly yes. whatever.

the point of this blog is, never celebrate your birthday on another day. either celebrate it on the day you were born or not at all. because weird things will happen to you and you will be ignored in favor of planning a trip so spontaneous you will combust. i just don't know how it went from being a party to planning to a plan. somewhere in the middle, the camera flash disoriented me and funked up my system.

my fortune cookie aptly warned me by proclaiming: IT'S OVER YOUR HEAD NOW. TIME TO SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP. yes, indeed. kat, save yourself.

10 years later

I was 8 when my parents sat my brother and I down to talk. It was somber that night in our small living room in Cebu. My brother and I were thinking to ourselves what the talk would be about, did we goof up that day? But no, it was about our eldest sister. She was going to get married. We youngsters stared at my dad like he spouted some nonsense and was just kidding. He wasn't. And the next days were a blur of taking a flight to Manila and staying near my aunt's place.

I realize now that even then that was an alien occurrence. Marriage was usually a happy, joyous occasion with a big flourish preparation and an even grander celebration. But my sister's wedding did not happen that way. I remember being held by my dad as we sat on my aunt's couch. I remember crying, and stomping my feet. I remember being heartbroken and inconsolable. I was being a child who wasn't getting what she wanted. And what I wanted was keeping my sister in our family. I wanted her to remain ours.

I smile now when I recall hating my brother in law even before he was officially and legally my brother in law. I remember being in the farm with him and playing Mortal Kombat and Mario with him and my brother. All the while I was wishing and cursing him away from my family. It was childish and petty but it was me experiencing my world shift and tilt off course. But I remember him smiling at me as if knowing and understanding how I felt towards him.

In the end, I was dressed in a simple white gown befitting a sole flower girl. I remember holding a basket full of petals and scattering them on the carpet as I walked by. I remember sitting in front and frowning as my younger cousin found it amusing that I was in a dress. I continued frowning as I felt itchy in my dress and it turned into glaring as I felt my heart stop and pound at the same time. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I clenched my teeth in despair.

In front of the pastor was my sister on her wedding gown and her husband to be standing side by side. I remember looking on but soon averting my eyes so they wont' notice my obvious glare. I remember learning that even when nerve cells are anesthetized they still feel pain but cannot send that information to the brain, so we don't feel the pain the cells do. I felt that there was a scream bubbling in me but I knew that it would not be heard even if I opened my mouth, my brain remained numb. I was afraid that I would ruin her day for her. I was fearful of being scolded for being a brat. But I was even more scared that she would be forever lost to me.

I remember her teaching me how to read my Filipino textbooks and correcting my homework. I remember her being afraid of mice and anything that crawled. I remember her singing during church, she had such a great voice. I remember her driving the motorcycle too fast and ending up crashing it in a ditch. She was really sorry for endangering us due to her desire to speed. I remember being conned into getting money for them from my mom's purse. I remember being introduced to her highschool friends and being told that I was her cutest sibling but until I was older she held that title. I remember her going away to college and seeing less and less of her. I remember her visiting in Cebu, finding the dialect amusing. I remember being in South Cotabato with her and our family for a vacation. I remember wishing they were just there in Cebu with us. I remember being told she was getting married. I remember wanting to beg her not to marry. I remember wanting to cry and ask that she not leave our family. I remember wanting to ask if she was leaving because she no longer wanted us. I remember being heartbroken that I no longer had my big sister.

10 years later I sit here and write about it. I realize that I had begged them all to stay. And they wished they could but it was not possible. However, I am still their baby sister, they say. I am content with that. I wrote this for feeling nostalgic, for her since her birthday is nearing and I have still to get a card. I wrote this for us, for me being born on the same month she was. I wrote this for closure for that little girl who experienced her first heartbreak when she realized that nothing is forever. I wrote this for being on good terms with my brother in law, who sucked at playing the villain who stole the princess. I wrote this for love which is shared greatly in this family.

Happy birthday sister, you are loved always.

the blame game

I had a fun day today. I went to my Micro class and wrote down lecture notes and then proceeded to the Micro lab. Thank God that I did not spill any more of my culture broth :) So I'm definitely happy about that. What's funny though is that I did not mess up this time but someone, or rather something else did. Our last incubated experiments got contaminated by a fruit fly. Yep, those little flying suckers. It had a great time gallivanting through our class' agar plates so most of our experiments had worms in them. Yes, ew. But it was bearable and we just went through lab uneventfully.

When I finally got out from lab, I sat on the bench near the Life Science building to wait for Dr. Coop for our study session. As I was waiting, I noticed a lady with a doberman and her companion a good distance from me. A few moments the healthy (obese) woman fell forward, as if in slow motion. Her companion, her dog, and I just stared at her as she fell on the ground. Huh. I just watched on impassively but felt my eyebrow raise when she yanked the dog's leash and started yelling at her dog. I watched on as she continued to scold her dog for causing her to fall. "Shame on you!" And other words of anger were issued from her mouth.

I wasn't amused but I had a smile on my face. I wasn't smiling because she fell, I was smiling because she was blaming her dog. I wanted to walk up to her, help her up and say, "Excuse me but don't blame your dog that you're fat." It's mean. But it clearly wasn't her dog's fault when she suddenly pitches forward and hurts her knee. It's a dog, it doesn't know any better. What egged me more was the fact that she was using her dog to carry her things, like a common mule or a dessert camel. I felt bad for the dog to have such an owner. This post may provoke and/or offend people and start the hating and rotten vegetables thrown at me. But what I saw was an obese woman too lazy to carry her stuff around campus, using her poor dog to carry them for her and blaming it for her own fault. I don't mind fat people, I like being fat. What I don't like is when you go and lash out at something or someone else who can't defend themselves from your attack. That's just spiteful and cowardly.

I wanted to name this post 'Don't blame the dog you're fat' but no that's not nice. The next time that happens just don't use your dog as the scapegoat and we're cool. It's easy to point our manicured fingers at someone or something else but it takes a real person to accept that the blame is theirs alone. It's not easy but it is the right thing to do. Everything else considered, my day was fun, dogblaming and all.

K is for klutziness, the kind that bites you in the ass.

This day just continues to amaze me. A tuesday that should have have been normal is acting so alien that even I am left staring at it. The day started normal as a normal day would be for me. I woke up to the ever vengeful alarm clocks, prepared for school, skipped breakfast, and drove steadily through the freeway. I was early. Maybe that's what's off.

Anyway, the lecture on genetics and biotechnology was confusing but that was understandable. Manipulating genes and usage of the products sounds something Scifi channel would air. But nonetheless, it was fascinating and not to mention part of the third lecture exam. But I digress, that wasn't the weird part at all.

Lab, now that is a different subject altogether. We began the Unknowns Lab today. Ah, my young broth culture, G157, we had fun together. I was flabbergasted. We had to do several tests to determine what our unknown bacteria were. It was like a blind date: awkward, unscripted, and cringe worthy.

I started out fine with the wet mount for the Motility test and the Streak plate. It was fun, that is until I proceeded to Gram staining, the Thioglycollate broth, and the slanted agar media. For the record, I suck at gram staining. Maybe because I'm sort of color blind that I can't distinguish red from purple. And seriously, bacillus is hard to tell from cocci and spirillum, even under Oil of the microscope. That was the start of my blind date fiasco.

It went downhill from there when I overtipped G157 and spilled some of the broth on my hands and the lab table. Contamination, much? Good thing Katie loves me enough to spray my hands and the immediate area with disinfectant. But still. Guh. Bacteria. I don't want to die due to contamination. That's just pathetically sad. I had to scrub my hands raw with soap under hot (scalding, peel your skin off, sue McDonald's and win Hot). If I were an ostrich, I would have buried my head under sand and stayed there until hell froze over twice.

But blind date isn't even over. We'll continue the date for the next week and the weeks after that. That wouldn't be a problem if I didn't spill half of my broth. Now I only have thismuch. Thismuch won't last for two more plates or tubes. This is sucky more so since I know this isn't the end of my clumsy klutziness.

Excuse me while I go bash my head repeatedly on the wall now.

in a loss

I have no words to describe this. This, this. Just this. Foremost, I'm caught off guard. Our dog ran away. Poor Chairo. I can't believe it but yeah. I'm sad now. I don't even want to talk about him. And what makes me more sad is the fact that no matter what I do I still cannot get the grade I want. Why? Is there a conspiracy against me? A plot out to keep me from getting that grade? I'm tired. I don't want to give up but that class is argh. I don't want to complain and angst and whatever. But still it's so frustrating. I just want to find a corner to cry into, but all the ones I see are taken by other classmates. I can do this. But I'm not sure if it's enough. I don't want to obsess about the grade but why can't I not want it when I know that I know the stuff. It's that simple but it's that hard. So just let me rant and vent.

Agsbsdguiahdhegduyq3bhdsu83uIYDhi379w;Y&y7;IHFBCNDCF97d7wet7sai7WHEA7w7eihfad.

DIE. LIKE RIGHT NOW. JUST DIE.

esse quam videri

to be, rather than to appear.

Why can't we just be upfront and say what we want? I'm guilty of hiding behind my sarcasm and words so I have no excuse of calling you on your own mask. I'm just curious about our relationship. We've had the typical sibling rivalry, the nonsensical spats, the immature bickering, the quiet moments of peace, and conversations on nothing and everything. I used to hate you when we were younger. You were annoying, pesky, and mean. You had the typical older brother behavior down to pat. But we grew up and matured, somewhat. You opened my doors to animes, computer games, and music. I never relied on you to protect me, and I grew up strong. You were the only one who could get under my skin and get a reaction from me. It was fun to be your younger sister. We had an odd relationship at best but we got each other. What I don't understand is why I don't know who you are right now. I thought I got you pegged as this guy but you aren't him after all or at all. You haven't betrayed me, you haven't hurt me. The only thing you did was strip me away further from my naivete, my reluctant comfort zone of ignorance. I'm not judging you for what you did, I'm not like that. I just sigh because when we grew up I don't know who left whom behind. I guess we can never go back to the past and be the way we were as much as I want to. I hope you know that you're still my kuya and I am still your ading. The sibling dynamics hasn't changed but I have to grow up some more.

there goes that dream.

I want to be a cow. Because cows don't need to drink milk, and they say "Moo."
I want to be orange. Because it's glaringly obvious, in an 'in your face' kind of way.
I want to be a calendar. Because I wouldn't have to worry about losing track of days.
I want to be music. Because music doesn't worry about not being heard.
I want to be a pair of slippers. Because being barefoot isn't all that great.
I want to be a satellite. Because. Just because it's cool.
I want to be an amusing, witty comeback. Because it just begs to be used.
I want to be a speck of dust. Because, why not, right?
I want to be a dictionary. Because we sometimes need words to convey stuff, articulately.
I want to be lightning during a storm. Because I get to touch the heavens and the earth.
I want to be a black Sharpie marker. Because it's bold, that's why.
I want to be a nostalgic summer day. Because of the warm breeze and rustling trees.
I want to be a shiny, new toy. Because it's exciting and fun.
I want to be a serious conversation. Because of awkward silences that have meaning, depth.
I want to be a letter in the alphabet. Because you'll miss me when I'm not there.
I want to be a picture on your desk. Because you smile when you see me.
I want to be a sandcastle. Because of your effort and teamwork, and memories.
I want to be a worn book. Because it shows the adventure of my existence.
I want to be a great, epic movie. Because, well, I love movies.
I want to be the sky. Because duh. It's the sky!!
I want to be joy. Because I'm permanent in your heart.
I want to be a doorbell. Because, again, why not?
I want to be the caps lock button. Because IT CAN EXPRESS HOW YOU FEEL.
I want to be the neighbor's barking dog. Because anything annoying can also be cute.
I want to be a special moment. Because it's a turning point.
I want to be a map without the water. Because don't you want to know what's under all that ocean you see?
I want to be a question mark. Because questions need answers.
I want to be that silly inside joke. Because it gets you laughing all the time.
I want to be a chocolate parfait. Because it sounds better than chocolate ice cream.
I want to be the computer cursor. Because, try using your computer without one sometime, eh.
I want to be a dream. Because it urges you onward.

because we hurt the ones we love.

it hurts that you don't trust me. that you think so lowly of me. it hurts that you trap me in their shadows. it hurts that you don't know me. that it's not okay. it hurts that i'll always be mediocre. that i'll always be lacking. it hurts because you can hurt me. it hurts because i want to be spiteful but i'm not that person. it hurts that i can't tell you that i'm hurting. it hurts because you have the power to make me cry. how much more do you want me to bleed? how much more do you want me to break?

i just want to cut my bonds. to strengthen my defenses. to keep you out. all of you. i hate you. right now i hate you. but it hurts that i hate you because i love you. you make me bleed with your careless words. you break me down with your doubt. it hurts that i will always forgive you. that i will force myself to forget. just to make you happy.

what more do you want from me? i don't understand what you want me to do, to be. i hope you're freaking happy. because i'm not.

mauled by reality

She sobs quietly behind the closed bathroom door. Only the silence witnesses as tears furiously roll down her cheeks. She is breaking down again. Only this time it seems to hurt more. What has she done to deserve this?

She wipes away the hot tears on her face as more threaten to fall, prickling her eyes. She looks at the mirror and sees her reddening, swollen eyes. She touches her quivering lips, holding back the scream that would completely undo her.

Her gaze grows distant as she remembers her first husband dying. It was slow and yet quick at the same time. There wasn't enough time. He was a kind man, everyone loved him. But cancer ravaged their lives and took him away. It was God's will. She remembered Canada and moving her moving there. She just wanted to forget the pain. She tells herself she's moved on yet her voice still trembles when she talks about him. But she continues forward.

Her mind is forcibly brought back to the present as her breath hitches. Another sob is wrenched from her throat. She deserves to be happy now. She's worked so hard, she's given so much. She's lost too much. But as before, cancer is once again invading her life. She wants to be selfish. She doesn't deserve to lose a person she loves again.

She thinks back on the doctor's appointment. She vaguely remembers the medical charts and displays in the doctor's office. She could only focus on the doctor's concerned voice as he informs them that the tests say it is cancer. There is an inoperable tumor in the liver, further complicated by Hepatitis A. You have three months to two years to live. I'm sorry.

Yes, so is she. Sorry, that is. The appointment went downhill from there. She isn't ready for this. She's going to retire in a few years. How could she live knowing that she's losing to cancer again? There isn't enough time. What will happen to the plans? How will she handle this?

She hugs herself as if warding off breakdown. On the other side of the bathroom door is her husband. She doesn't want him to hear her crying for him, for them. She doesn't want him to know how much this is hurting her. She isn't the one whose life was given a sudden deadline. She isn't the one battling with the tumor. She isn't the one going to die in three months or two years from now. She's just the one that's going to be left alone. Again.

She doesn't hear the bathroom door open. She only feels the warmth embracing her, as arms wrap around her. She lowers her head on his shoulder as sobs wrack her body. She doesn't want to lose him. She can't see herself without him. They don't deserve this. He doesn't deserve this. It isn't fair. She continues to cry as they stand there in the brightly lit bathroom in each other's arms.

In her mind, various memories are playing through as though a film. They weren't expecting this. She only holds on to her husband tighter for comfort. She can only pray to God for a miracle. In this messed up situation, only a miracle can save him. Only a miracle can keep them together longer.

-You only wish this was fictional.

alarm clocks from space and why i was late

Scene this January 16, AM. Under the confines of my cozy blankets, buried in warmth.

Suddenly jolts awake. Stares at the round clock hanging on the wall I'm facing. Reads 9.00 AM. Slow, blink...*ding*. Freak out in full mode.

Inside head: Freak!!!!!

I woke up at 9AM. My Anatomy class is 8AM. Yes, I was in "I'm gonna die" mode. I was thinking whether I should still forge on and go to Lab which starts 9 on the dot. YES, I had to at least show up in lab.

So, I threw on presentable clothes, tied back my messy hair, brushed my teeth, grabbed my bag and book, car keys, sock and shoes, and dashed to my car.

I wasn't speeding. Seriously. Ok, so I was but only about 5mph more. And I got to school without further incident, except there was no available parking space in campus. If there was one, it wasn't showing itself to me. Ooh, I just saw one...well, technically, it was a parking space. A space between two cars which you can manage to fit one's car into is a parking space. So, yeah, I got it. And out the passenger side I went.

I speedwalked/dashed/ran? to Montezuma Hall to reach my room. And outside, was my Prof, Prof Z. Aha! She graciously allowed me to go inside the room despite me not showing up in lecture and our lab had started. Yes! Thank you Lord!

Once inside, a few inquiries directed to my table mates assured me that I had not missed a lot. Only that we had a quiz on Wednesday. Ok, cool, I can handle that. I think. Lab had us discussing tissues, art vs. tissues, and microscopes, digital and nondigital.

Lab finished and I found myself walking back to my car. Only to find the people parked next to unable to leave since they couldn't get inside their car. Well, the guy couldn't get to the driver's seat, so they couldn't leave. He was going to try to get in the car by using the back door of their van...but dude, too many obstacles to hurdle, seats and all.

I stood a few feet away, inconspicuously, of course. The guy finally decided to try going in by the passenger side where his girl companion was sitting. Heh. He got in and drove away successfully. I was waiting for screeching or some sort of painful noise. You know, the one that accompanies a piece of something scratching your car by the ragingly mad person. But, no, they were good people. I got in my car and drove away into the light. Ah, it feels so good to go back home.

But wait, I haven't even learned my lesson yet. So the lesson for the day was this: Don't freak out. We say do your best and God will do the rest, but no. It's actually God doing His best and everything so that we just have to do the rest. The simple lesson is trust God. Trust God even when your alarm doesn't do its job, or when your class is 8 and you wake up 9, or when you have to use the passenger door to get out of your car. Believe me, it's better than cursing your alarm clock like a lunatic and waiting for it to give a suitable response. It may make you feel better but it won't fix your day. :)

Ready or Not

A new year has again began. 2008 is now. It is January once more, folks. Are we ready? It seems it's too late to ask that question now that we're starting "anew." It's silly really that I'm asking myself if I'm ready to face 2008. But in actuality, I'm just plain scared of the new year. I feel so much pressure for this coming year. And that seems a bad omen doesn't it? But no, I think everyone feels a bit of trepidation for the new year and more as we grow older and wiser, I hope. :) It' normal to feel scared and doubt. But I feel that those feelings give us the drive to prove ourselves wrong, for us to hope that there is something more for us than fear or dread. The new year won't always be new, it will be last year again next year when a new year will come. Are we ready? Are we ready to be better? To change? To learn? To take risks? For new experiences? For opportunities? We are here now because of previous "new" years, and we've come a long way. We've learned, relearned, grew, matured, and best of all, we've lived. So are we ready? Maybe it's weird to ask that question when it looks like we don't have a choice in the matter. But we do. We all have the choice. We can choose to be ready for this year or not. It's our choice. Ready or not, the new year's come. :)