For a long while I have not visited this place for many reasons: lack of time, school, lack of energy, school, and lack of desire. Mostly, I just didn't know if I wanted to share my experiences, my failings, my utter glee, and my current self with the rest of the internet. So, a sudden hiatus from writing was warranted.
I did miss baring my soul to the universe. I feel that writing here is similar to shouting my feelings on a mountain top where there is not a lot of chance for someone else to hear me and respond. That, of course, is not true, but it is a delusion that I choose stick to.
I have run out of words. Or I have been silent too long that words have dried up and faded even before I can write them down. I miss handwritten letters and smudges and carefully folding of the papers before tucking them in neat envelopes. I miss conversations that occur on a silent canvas of parchment and ink stains and tear stains and tears on the margins. I miss waiting for a message that I can feel, crumple, smooth out and re-fold. I miss all of these simple things that I took for granted before and now I can only slightly recall the event I was so angry about that I wrote them out or the joyful experience that I carried on about and why you wrote these words. I miss the people we used to be when we wrote them even though we were rougher, more impatient, angrier, more childish, and different than the people today.
I want to write you all the words but I keep them in my heart instead because I have no time. I have your e-mail address. I am your friend on Facebook. I just liked your status. I follow your tweets. I read your blog. I text you all the time. I call you once a while. I have no extra money for the postage. I'll pray for you instead. I don't know what to say. I don't have your address. I don't think you'll care about my week. I don't want to wait too long for your reply. I have a list of things to do. I will do it tomorrow, or maybe next week when I have time. I don't have nice pens and paper. On and on.
I'm sorry that I missed years of your life now. I'm sorry for being a below average friend that we're not even friends anymore, we're down to mere acquaintances. I'm sorry to have been such a jerk that I waited for you to write but never wrote on my own. I'm sorry I stopped sending you letters. I'm sorry we're only friends online but not in real life. I'm sorry I depend on social networking to update myself on your life and not asked you myself how you are really doing. And I'm sorry that I'm blogging this now instead of telling you myself. Ironic, I know.
This a letter to remind me to write you all the words and to read all the words you write to me. This is a reminder to make memories with people instead of just waiting for them to upload and update about their life so I can 'like' them. This is a reminder not just to keep all the things in my heart but to touch other people's hearts.
Showing posts with label life loves ironies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life loves ironies. Show all posts
March 26, 2010
The problem with love is that it's not blind.
Or... La la lala la lala la... I can't hear you.
At this moment, pardon my childishness. It's my way, kind of, to cope. The other thing that was bugging me (read: taken over my brain when I refuse to entertain it) keeps bugging me. Aside from the emotional slash vague slash sudden crazy post I made previously, there is this other less emotional slash less vague slash crazier stuff that has been going on in my dull life.
So, I'm single. And I am totally cool with the fact that I have no boyfriend, that I am unattached, and the fact that it's easier that way with less drama. I am at the point of my short life span where I don't particularly think I need a boyfriend, because first of all, Hello Nursing School (defined as Hello, I have no life). The other reasons are, there is still a loyalty for the last person I dated that abounds, and that I'm a selfish brat that just doesn't want the hassle of dating. Yeah, I went there.
The ironic thing about my being single is everyone else seems to have a problem with my being a single, dateless loser. Not that they said it in those terms, but one friend remarked "Are you gonna wait til you're thirty, is that your game plan?", and another said, "Not that I'm rushing you, but when are you gonna have a boyfriend?" My response "I don't know...I haven't really spent much time on thinking about it". Honestly, close friends are fine with the harping but when my clinical group and my clinical instructor start trying to set me up, that's when my spidey-sense tingle and get my hackles rising.
All I can think of is "Why?". I mean, what is the issue? I clearly don't have an issue with my being single, so shouldn't my desire to not have a boyfriend for the foreseeable future be their deciding factor? Sheesh, they're like bored fairies trying to match make me into misery. I have no problem with people who are happy in their relationships, their marriages, their "mutual understandings" (whatever that means), etc. I am happy for all of you. It's great that you are with the person you love. But seriously, just because you are all sparkly like a vampire in love, doesn't mean the rest of us non-sparkling humans want to catch the spring fever you're exuding. In fact, I am actively dodging love-mones and sparkle.
Ok, I'll stop with the hostile sarcasm now. So, yeah, I went and did another soap box. Maybe it's the fact that a classmate of mine is setting me up with someone and making promises in my name and being giggly about it. If you know me at all you know that the more someone is pushing me to do something (that I do not appreciate) the more I dig my heels in. I appreciate that you guys are looking out for me, but seriously don't ask the guy for his number and expect me to call him. Sometimes, being a friend means respecting your friend's decisions even when you don't agree with it.
So, be a love, okay, and don't keep trying to maneuver me into a love life. It ain't happening now so just wait for it. Don't jump the gun on MY love life. The moment it happens then you'll be the third to know. Until then, just be a friend. That's what I need more of right now anyway.
At this moment, pardon my childishness. It's my way, kind of, to cope. The other thing that was bugging me (read: taken over my brain when I refuse to entertain it) keeps bugging me. Aside from the emotional slash vague slash sudden crazy post I made previously, there is this other less emotional slash less vague slash crazier stuff that has been going on in my dull life.
So, I'm single. And I am totally cool with the fact that I have no boyfriend, that I am unattached, and the fact that it's easier that way with less drama. I am at the point of my short life span where I don't particularly think I need a boyfriend, because first of all, Hello Nursing School (defined as Hello, I have no life). The other reasons are, there is still a loyalty for the last person I dated that abounds, and that I'm a selfish brat that just doesn't want the hassle of dating. Yeah, I went there.
The ironic thing about my being single is everyone else seems to have a problem with my being a single, dateless loser. Not that they said it in those terms, but one friend remarked "Are you gonna wait til you're thirty, is that your game plan?", and another said, "Not that I'm rushing you, but when are you gonna have a boyfriend?" My response "I don't know...I haven't really spent much time on thinking about it". Honestly, close friends are fine with the harping but when my clinical group and my clinical instructor start trying to set me up, that's when my spidey-sense tingle and get my hackles rising.
All I can think of is "Why?". I mean, what is the issue? I clearly don't have an issue with my being single, so shouldn't my desire to not have a boyfriend for the foreseeable future be their deciding factor? Sheesh, they're like bored fairies trying to match make me into misery. I have no problem with people who are happy in their relationships, their marriages, their "mutual understandings" (whatever that means), etc. I am happy for all of you. It's great that you are with the person you love. But seriously, just because you are all sparkly like a vampire in love, doesn't mean the rest of us non-sparkling humans want to catch the spring fever you're exuding. In fact, I am actively dodging love-mones and sparkle.
Ok, I'll stop with the hostile sarcasm now. So, yeah, I went and did another soap box. Maybe it's the fact that a classmate of mine is setting me up with someone and making promises in my name and being giggly about it. If you know me at all you know that the more someone is pushing me to do something (that I do not appreciate) the more I dig my heels in. I appreciate that you guys are looking out for me, but seriously don't ask the guy for his number and expect me to call him. Sometimes, being a friend means respecting your friend's decisions even when you don't agree with it.
So, be a love, okay, and don't keep trying to maneuver me into a love life. It ain't happening now so just wait for it. Don't jump the gun on MY love life. The moment it happens then you'll be the third to know. Until then, just be a friend. That's what I need more of right now anyway.
November 02, 2009
It's a nightmare but it's one exciting ride
Okay, so I've been awake for about 30 plus hours now. Yes, I kid you not. If I probably close my eyes for more than a minute I would just immediately sleep and wake up tomorrow... whenever that is. You're probably asking what took me thirty hours to do that I haven't slept yet. Or probably, by now, you already know me better than asking that. Because there is no logical answer to that, or at least it wouldn't sound logical coming from me.
The long and short of it is that I just had way too much fun and put off my homework for later. And later, of course, translated to the whole night and morning just hours before Monday class. Don't ask me how I manage to get myself into these situations, all I know is that procrastination is a talent. Ugh. I spent the whole time, from 8 last night to 5.50 this morning, finishing my Drug Classification Worksheet; which was about 18 pages, about 60 plus drugs that I had to research. Normally, normal people do this bit by bit, little by little, over the course of several days. Oh, you know, those free days that you had last week. Which you just totally wasted, which just says so much about you. Have you ever felt that way? When you just want to bash yourself on the head with a book? A shovel? Obviously, I am again arguing with myself. But I pinkie swear that I will not procrastinate that much again. I learned my lesson and payed my penance. The fact that I finished that DCW was a miracle. But still, never again. That's so not fun and really not that safe for my sanity.
So as you imagine, I lack sleep on a regular basis, but that's cause I have a weird body rhythm. Being part owl, part bat, and part insomniac dog of our neighbor who doesn't stop barking. (Not that I bark, or anything). [Oh goodness, I am starting to make less sense]. Anyway, since I completely did not sleep this day, cooking breakfast was a bit of a hardship earlier. I was trying to make omelet, so I cracked six eggs, put them in a bowl, cut up some what do you call them... ah, mushrooms, put those in the bowl, turned on the stove, grabbed a frying pan, poured on some oil, and stared at the egg/mushrooms in the bowl. And stared. Because for some reason my brain, the poor thing, was broken; I forgot to beat the eggs... so they were still whole, with some chopped mushroom on top of them. Sigh. But I managed to cook my share and my mom's without further brain breakage.
I managed to drive to school without becoming a hazard. I got to my lectures without looking like the corpse bride. What made me feel somewhat better and somewhat appalled was the fact that most of my classmates were also sleep deprived. But anyway, lecture was good and great. I actually learned. Really. And now, I am back home. Yay.
On a completely obvious sign of changing the subject, my "job" interview with the B hospital last month actually payed off, and I got the scholarship from them. I totally owe that privilege to all those people who coached me for my interview; Princess, thanks for helping me decide what to actually wear. Momi, thanks for prodding me to submit my application on time, and for the advice of "Just pretend you're just talking over dinner". Sister, thanks for believing in me, kayang kaya nga. Papi, thanks for praying for me, and telling me that it's okay to take a minute to think of how to answer their questions. Kuya, thanks for telling me to just look them in the eye, and that a little flattery never hurts. Tita Bea, thanks for driving me to the hospital, and for assuring me that I would get in the program. To all those who prayed for me, thank you all so much. Now, that I am done with my acceptance speech, /cough/, I mean now that I'm done with my soapbox, I shall let you get back to your real life. I have officially been awake for 32 somewhat hours. Oh Katrina, go to sleep you silly girl.
*The title comes from 'The Mob Song', from Walt Disney's Beauty and the Beast's OST.
The long and short of it is that I just had way too much fun and put off my homework for later. And later, of course, translated to the whole night and morning just hours before Monday class. Don't ask me how I manage to get myself into these situations, all I know is that procrastination is a talent. Ugh. I spent the whole time, from 8 last night to 5.50 this morning, finishing my Drug Classification Worksheet; which was about 18 pages, about 60 plus drugs that I had to research. Normally, normal people do this bit by bit, little by little, over the course of several days. Oh, you know, those free days that you had last week. Which you just totally wasted, which just says so much about you. Have you ever felt that way? When you just want to bash yourself on the head with a book? A shovel? Obviously, I am again arguing with myself. But I pinkie swear that I will not procrastinate that much again. I learned my lesson and payed my penance. The fact that I finished that DCW was a miracle. But still, never again. That's so not fun and really not that safe for my sanity.
So as you imagine, I lack sleep on a regular basis, but that's cause I have a weird body rhythm. Being part owl, part bat, and part insomniac dog of our neighbor who doesn't stop barking. (Not that I bark, or anything). [Oh goodness, I am starting to make less sense]. Anyway, since I completely did not sleep this day, cooking breakfast was a bit of a hardship earlier. I was trying to make omelet, so I cracked six eggs, put them in a bowl, cut up some what do you call them... ah, mushrooms, put those in the bowl, turned on the stove, grabbed a frying pan, poured on some oil, and stared at the egg/mushrooms in the bowl. And stared. Because for some reason my brain, the poor thing, was broken; I forgot to beat the eggs... so they were still whole, with some chopped mushroom on top of them. Sigh. But I managed to cook my share and my mom's without further brain breakage.
I managed to drive to school without becoming a hazard. I got to my lectures without looking like the corpse bride. What made me feel somewhat better and somewhat appalled was the fact that most of my classmates were also sleep deprived. But anyway, lecture was good and great. I actually learned. Really. And now, I am back home. Yay.
On a completely obvious sign of changing the subject, my "job" interview with the B hospital last month actually payed off, and I got the scholarship from them. I totally owe that privilege to all those people who coached me for my interview; Princess, thanks for helping me decide what to actually wear. Momi, thanks for prodding me to submit my application on time, and for the advice of "Just pretend you're just talking over dinner". Sister, thanks for believing in me, kayang kaya nga. Papi, thanks for praying for me, and telling me that it's okay to take a minute to think of how to answer their questions. Kuya, thanks for telling me to just look them in the eye, and that a little flattery never hurts. Tita Bea, thanks for driving me to the hospital, and for assuring me that I would get in the program. To all those who prayed for me, thank you all so much. Now, that I am done with my acceptance speech, /cough/, I mean now that I'm done with my soapbox, I shall let you get back to your real life. I have officially been awake for 32 somewhat hours. Oh Katrina, go to sleep you silly girl.
*The title comes from 'The Mob Song', from Walt Disney's Beauty and the Beast's OST.
October 19, 2009
how deceptive that their apathy eludes us.
One of the feelings I dislike is the feeling of loss, or being lost. My primary example would be related to my father's job when he was still active as an officer. I remember traveling with him as a child; one time more vivid than the rest because I almost boarded the wrong bus and was almost spirited away if not for him being there behind me as I turned around in panic. Being five years old and lost was not a pleasant feeling, and although older I am still directionally-challenged, apt to being lost. I also remember the time I was with him in his quarters that was more of a prison cell really, than anything else. It had the tall, vertical iron bars, the drab gray cement walls and the lack of privacy. But it was homey and fun, our neighbors were officers as well, and their loved ones. What I remembered there though was the one time I woke up with him gone and the door locked. You couldn't blame me for crying my lungs out, distressing the young wife in the cell beside ours, when I found myself locked in by myself. I finally stopped bawling when I figured there wasn't anything that tears could do, I was too tired to care. I stopped wanting to go with him then, a change that my mother noticed, and he had to explain that he left me to go to the bank while I slept, he only locked the door to keep me safe, to keep me in, and keep others out. After awhile it was the same routine, me going with him to work for a week and coming home for the weekends, riding the bus, playing in his office, but he never let me out of his sight. It must have been terrifying for him too.
But enough about childhood, let's move on to a whole 'nother side of distraction. Right now there's a niggling sense of loss that just makes me slightly nauseous. Not of being lost directionally or of being lost because someone left me. I am just lost. Emotionally, perhaps. Or more like I lost myself. Sorry, I am confused at the moment too. So I ramble now. I was an art student. Now I am a nursing student, after three years of prerequisites, you know that by now. I have been taking science classes longer than I have been an art student but I have loved art far longer than science has challenged me. It is a bit convoluted but bear with me. Maybe I feel I haven't let go, I guess I sometimes feel that I am an art student playing at being a nursing student. That still I am not smart enough, or serious enough, or just enough to be a nursing student. But I know I come from people of intelligence and smarts, able to be dedicated to one or more things. Yet I can't help but wish sometimes that yeah I am artist and not a nerd. My freaking fortune cookie today said: "The thing you do is the one you love." Is it? Don't take me wrong, I find no fault in nursing, it is great, it is a wonderful, wonderful profession. But at times my hear just clenches at the sight of pencils, sketchpads, and paint. I want to cry because I resent having to be half-hearted. My mom wants me to do great in nursing school for a lot of reasons, but she also wants me to keep drawing and all that artsy stuff. Sometimes I just want to sneer and say, "just pick one and stick with it will you?", because it still stings to be reminded that I chose nursing over art. I feel that I betrayed a part of me and no matter what I do it won't come back to me.
Maybe subconsciously I resented my mom for having me change my major because when I did, I stopped drawing for two years and when I started again my art went to everyone else but my family. Maybe it's petty but I don't really care. I grimace when she tells people that I am an artist because in my mind that is a lie. So maybe you say, Kat you do not need to be an art major to be an artist. You don't need to be, but I wanted to. I wanted to be the cliched art student that wasn't really cliched because she had her own style and was great and all that. I am so annoyed right now at making such a fuss over this non-issue. It is a non-issue because no matter how much I rant about it I will still be a nursing student because I already committed to nursing. No, I am not changing majors, and no, hindi ako magshi-shift sa Fine Arts (No, I am not shifting to Fine Arts). It's not about "kung san ako masaya susuportahan kita" ("I'll support you if that's where you are happy"). I just noticed myself getting half-hearted on my nursing classes and coveting art, is the reason why I'm having a fit. I feel lost because I am getting coerced by the side that seems to have a more gooey chocolate cookies. I feel because I feel I lost a part of myself and I now realize that I want it back.
Why can't you keep doing art while you study nursing? Because I am an extreme kind of person, I either do it or not do it. This post does not even make sense. It's all pouty and tantrum-ish. Okay, so I guess the fact that it doesn't make sense means that my thought process also cannot make sense of it. I know that it's not nursing versus art. I also know that no one is holding me at gun point and forcing me to choose one over the other. And I also know that I feel strongly about both, enough to warrant me to write it out and subject you with the torment of reading this insanity of a post. Gulo, you are a labo (Mess, you are a convolution). Maybe in a month we can get back to this and iron things out. UGH. Spare me.
But enough about childhood, let's move on to a whole 'nother side of distraction. Right now there's a niggling sense of loss that just makes me slightly nauseous. Not of being lost directionally or of being lost because someone left me. I am just lost. Emotionally, perhaps. Or more like I lost myself. Sorry, I am confused at the moment too. So I ramble now. I was an art student. Now I am a nursing student, after three years of prerequisites, you know that by now. I have been taking science classes longer than I have been an art student but I have loved art far longer than science has challenged me. It is a bit convoluted but bear with me. Maybe I feel I haven't let go, I guess I sometimes feel that I am an art student playing at being a nursing student. That still I am not smart enough, or serious enough, or just enough to be a nursing student. But I know I come from people of intelligence and smarts, able to be dedicated to one or more things. Yet I can't help but wish sometimes that yeah I am artist and not a nerd. My freaking fortune cookie today said: "The thing you do is the one you love." Is it? Don't take me wrong, I find no fault in nursing, it is great, it is a wonderful, wonderful profession. But at times my hear just clenches at the sight of pencils, sketchpads, and paint. I want to cry because I resent having to be half-hearted. My mom wants me to do great in nursing school for a lot of reasons, but she also wants me to keep drawing and all that artsy stuff. Sometimes I just want to sneer and say, "just pick one and stick with it will you?", because it still stings to be reminded that I chose nursing over art. I feel that I betrayed a part of me and no matter what I do it won't come back to me.
Maybe subconsciously I resented my mom for having me change my major because when I did, I stopped drawing for two years and when I started again my art went to everyone else but my family. Maybe it's petty but I don't really care. I grimace when she tells people that I am an artist because in my mind that is a lie. So maybe you say, Kat you do not need to be an art major to be an artist. You don't need to be, but I wanted to. I wanted to be the cliched art student that wasn't really cliched because she had her own style and was great and all that. I am so annoyed right now at making such a fuss over this non-issue. It is a non-issue because no matter how much I rant about it I will still be a nursing student because I already committed to nursing. No, I am not changing majors, and no, hindi ako magshi-shift sa Fine Arts (No, I am not shifting to Fine Arts). It's not about "kung san ako masaya susuportahan kita" ("I'll support you if that's where you are happy"). I just noticed myself getting half-hearted on my nursing classes and coveting art, is the reason why I'm having a fit. I feel lost because I am getting coerced by the side that seems to have a more gooey chocolate cookies. I feel because I feel I lost a part of myself and I now realize that I want it back.
Why can't you keep doing art while you study nursing? Because I am an extreme kind of person, I either do it or not do it. This post does not even make sense. It's all pouty and tantrum-ish. Okay, so I guess the fact that it doesn't make sense means that my thought process also cannot make sense of it. I know that it's not nursing versus art. I also know that no one is holding me at gun point and forcing me to choose one over the other. And I also know that I feel strongly about both, enough to warrant me to write it out and subject you with the torment of reading this insanity of a post. Gulo, you are a labo (Mess, you are a convolution). Maybe in a month we can get back to this and iron things out. UGH. Spare me.
March 29, 2009
Still Looking For A Dream
Of the things that scare me, I can name three: I am afraid of losing my family, just the thought of them dying makes me cry. I am afraid of loving, the thought of surrendering myself to someone who can break me is unfathomable. And third, I am afraid of dreaming, the thought of wanting something so much only to be disappointed is too much.
Next month, I will be 20. I don't particularly mind getting older. It is just an increase in number, a birthday is just a means of measuring your time on earth. Age does not equate to maturity or intelligence. I could be forty and have a maturity of a thirteen year old, and be as smart as a physicist. Age does not mean a lot to me. The only thing I am really happy about turning twenty is the feeling of triumph I might get. Finally, I caught up to my older siblings. Maybe I'll have more common ground with them since I will no longer be a teenager.
The nursing advisor from the university I am applying to called me last Friday to inquire if I was still serious about my application. Of course. Presently, the desire to enter Nursing school is the only thing I am being driven by. I don't care if I don't get any vacation, if I'll study to the pain, I don't care. As long as I get accepted into their program then that's all that matters. And that scares me the most. I've always felt that if I wanted something so much then the world will conspire against me. I'm not afraid of failure, I am afraid of disappointment.
When I was younger I wanted so much for my family to be a family. A family that would be together, seeing each other off as the day started, going home and sharing stories during dinner, playing, having picnics and outings together, being there for each other happily ever after. Of course, that never happened seeing as my two older siblings were in college, my older brother disliked me, my parents were in their own world, and I was the youngest daughter still in grade school. Move over kiddie, we have lives to handle. By the time I was in high school, I no longer cared if we were in the same house or not and whether my parents would be home on the weekend. My life isn't as melodramatic in reality, but that was because I didn't care. I've learned to be content that they're alive.
When I was in fifth grade, I remember being called to the Principal's office because they wanted me to compete for a scholastic writing contest. I remembering protesting that I knew nothing about writing but they assured me that it didn't matter. All I had to do was write in Filipino and it would be fine. Oh. So I did as I was told and went off with other students to the competition. I was scared to death that day with all the unfamiliarity and anxiousness. Even today I cannot remember what the topic was, all I can remember was berating myself for not learning cursive and not knowing how to count 2500 words. Tough luck, kid. At the end, when they were announcing the top nine winners, I could remember sitting stiffly and thinking how happy I would be if I won the ninth position. I dared not hope higher when I knew nothing about writing. I was so disappointed when I never heard my name that I stopped listening at the sixth placer. But I remembering tensing further when my classmate, who was also in the competition for illustration, started shaking me and shrieking, "You won! You won!" I stared at her perplexedly and asked her what I won, to which she replied, "They called your name! You won the first place!" Imagine that. I was thankful that I made in to the stage without passing out.
Later that week the winners from my school were told that we were going to another competition. I was ecstatic that I dared to hope. I wanted to win again. I've never been good at anything before that when I got my first trophy, I thought I could do it again. Of course, I wasn't able to win again and I wasn't able to go to the competition. I wanted so badly to cry but it hurt so much to even try, so I just pushed to bitter experience to the back of my mind. Pain burns so much like acid and disappointment is like a crushing blow. I never attempted to write again after that. It was too painful and raw.
And now, I am back to dreaming. I'm back to hoping that this time I'll be accepted into that program and I'll be graduating as a nurse in two years. I wish. Do I dare to put my heart on a platter and hope that it won't be crushed? The only reason I've stopped wanting things is because disappointment requires too much emotion. And that is why this blog's header is Bombeck's quote. I've stopped dreaming long ago, the moment I knew that apathy was safer was the moment I stopped caring. I no longer desired for my family to be together, I no longer dreamed of greatness, and I no longer wanted. I stopped being a child and went off into the world of adult skepticism and pessimism. But once more, I will hope. I will hope for my future that I will be accepted to their program and finally start my way to nursing. Just once more, I will dream and not be tainted by the doubt of disappointment.
Next month, I will be 20. I don't particularly mind getting older. It is just an increase in number, a birthday is just a means of measuring your time on earth. Age does not equate to maturity or intelligence. I could be forty and have a maturity of a thirteen year old, and be as smart as a physicist. Age does not mean a lot to me. The only thing I am really happy about turning twenty is the feeling of triumph I might get. Finally, I caught up to my older siblings. Maybe I'll have more common ground with them since I will no longer be a teenager.
The nursing advisor from the university I am applying to called me last Friday to inquire if I was still serious about my application. Of course. Presently, the desire to enter Nursing school is the only thing I am being driven by. I don't care if I don't get any vacation, if I'll study to the pain, I don't care. As long as I get accepted into their program then that's all that matters. And that scares me the most. I've always felt that if I wanted something so much then the world will conspire against me. I'm not afraid of failure, I am afraid of disappointment.
When I was younger I wanted so much for my family to be a family. A family that would be together, seeing each other off as the day started, going home and sharing stories during dinner, playing, having picnics and outings together, being there for each other happily ever after. Of course, that never happened seeing as my two older siblings were in college, my older brother disliked me, my parents were in their own world, and I was the youngest daughter still in grade school. Move over kiddie, we have lives to handle. By the time I was in high school, I no longer cared if we were in the same house or not and whether my parents would be home on the weekend. My life isn't as melodramatic in reality, but that was because I didn't care. I've learned to be content that they're alive.
When I was in fifth grade, I remember being called to the Principal's office because they wanted me to compete for a scholastic writing contest. I remembering protesting that I knew nothing about writing but they assured me that it didn't matter. All I had to do was write in Filipino and it would be fine. Oh. So I did as I was told and went off with other students to the competition. I was scared to death that day with all the unfamiliarity and anxiousness. Even today I cannot remember what the topic was, all I can remember was berating myself for not learning cursive and not knowing how to count 2500 words. Tough luck, kid. At the end, when they were announcing the top nine winners, I could remember sitting stiffly and thinking how happy I would be if I won the ninth position. I dared not hope higher when I knew nothing about writing. I was so disappointed when I never heard my name that I stopped listening at the sixth placer. But I remembering tensing further when my classmate, who was also in the competition for illustration, started shaking me and shrieking, "You won! You won!" I stared at her perplexedly and asked her what I won, to which she replied, "They called your name! You won the first place!" Imagine that. I was thankful that I made in to the stage without passing out.
Later that week the winners from my school were told that we were going to another competition. I was ecstatic that I dared to hope. I wanted to win again. I've never been good at anything before that when I got my first trophy, I thought I could do it again. Of course, I wasn't able to win again and I wasn't able to go to the competition. I wanted so badly to cry but it hurt so much to even try, so I just pushed to bitter experience to the back of my mind. Pain burns so much like acid and disappointment is like a crushing blow. I never attempted to write again after that. It was too painful and raw.
And now, I am back to dreaming. I'm back to hoping that this time I'll be accepted into that program and I'll be graduating as a nurse in two years. I wish. Do I dare to put my heart on a platter and hope that it won't be crushed? The only reason I've stopped wanting things is because disappointment requires too much emotion. And that is why this blog's header is Bombeck's quote. I've stopped dreaming long ago, the moment I knew that apathy was safer was the moment I stopped caring. I no longer desired for my family to be together, I no longer dreamed of greatness, and I no longer wanted. I stopped being a child and went off into the world of adult skepticism and pessimism. But once more, I will hope. I will hope for my future that I will be accepted to their program and finally start my way to nursing. Just once more, I will dream and not be tainted by the doubt of disappointment.
February 09, 2009
Holding On to the Dead
Forgiveness is the act of releasing or letting go of what you hold against someone. It reminds me of the anime Cardcaptor Sakura, when Sakura chants a spell, swings her wand forward, and shouts "Release," and the Clow Card would become effective in its natural state of power. I guess. So here I am, ready to exorcise you from my scarred soul into your natural state.
I forgive you for how you laughed at me at the wrong times: when you hit my head hard with that golf club, accidentally, when I fell down the stairs chasing after you, and when you again, accidentally, closed the car door while I was getting out behind you. That really hurt, by the way.
I forgive you for locking me out of the apartment because you just felt like it, and how you chased me in the room with a belt when I refused to obey you. I was so scared of you that time that I took hours staying in the bathroom. I forgive you for refusing to give me my allowance and having me starve. I was really angry and mad at that. I hated you for that.
I forgive you for using me as an experiment in your sadistic games. For when you nightly pricked my finger with a blood sugar testing kit because you thought it was fun. It was probably for you, but you made me cry myself to sleep every night. And that time you deliberately electrocuted me when I said no. That really wasn't funny.
I forgive you for gambling away the Ipod I gave you. Again, that stung. I felt like you didn't really care about me, that I was disposable to you. I forgive you for always asking me to buy you stuff, and you conveniently never asking me back what I wanted. It's not that a big of a deal, but I know you're a nice guy, maybe not just to me.
I forgive you for when you forgot that you have a temper and had me on the receiving end even when none of it was my fault. I forgive you for never apologizing on your own, you always had to be prodded by Mama and Papa. I forgive you for breaking my heart. I forgive you for being such a sucky big brother. I forgive you for even having me do this, for making me hate you unwittingly. I forgive you for making me hate guys, I just looked up to you for so long and then realized you didn't love me.
I really hated you, do you know that? You made my childhood miserable. You made me feel so small, defenseless, and you laughed instead of apologizing. I don't care that Mama likes you more, I understand that, but I dislike the fact that you got away on tormenting me. Disillusionment sucks so much.
I'm sorry if I became the baby in the family, I know you liked that spot. But you see, you're our only favorite brother, that's your role. I'm sorry if I screamed at you when you teased me many times before. Believe me, you're the only one who riles me to the point of anger management mandate. I'm sorry if I made fun of you unknowingly, or when I hurt your feelings. I'm sorry if I cramped your style, when you had to go with me when you wanted to go with your friends. I'm sorry for only having time for good times and forgetting to ask you how you were, we don't really know each other.
I'm sorry for clinging to you like a leech, I wanted a friend because I was alone. Maybe you needed a friend too, but I was so busy being selfish. I'm sorry for not being a good younger sister, I know I can be a pain. I'm sorry for the times I wasn't there for you, I'm here if you need someone. And I'm sorry for not loving you as I should. I do love you, I just forgot underneath all my hatred. You're still my favorite brother.
I forgive you for how you laughed at me at the wrong times: when you hit my head hard with that golf club, accidentally, when I fell down the stairs chasing after you, and when you again, accidentally, closed the car door while I was getting out behind you. That really hurt, by the way.
I forgive you for locking me out of the apartment because you just felt like it, and how you chased me in the room with a belt when I refused to obey you. I was so scared of you that time that I took hours staying in the bathroom. I forgive you for refusing to give me my allowance and having me starve. I was really angry and mad at that. I hated you for that.
I forgive you for using me as an experiment in your sadistic games. For when you nightly pricked my finger with a blood sugar testing kit because you thought it was fun. It was probably for you, but you made me cry myself to sleep every night. And that time you deliberately electrocuted me when I said no. That really wasn't funny.
I forgive you for gambling away the Ipod I gave you. Again, that stung. I felt like you didn't really care about me, that I was disposable to you. I forgive you for always asking me to buy you stuff, and you conveniently never asking me back what I wanted. It's not that a big of a deal, but I know you're a nice guy, maybe not just to me.
I forgive you for when you forgot that you have a temper and had me on the receiving end even when none of it was my fault. I forgive you for never apologizing on your own, you always had to be prodded by Mama and Papa. I forgive you for breaking my heart. I forgive you for being such a sucky big brother. I forgive you for even having me do this, for making me hate you unwittingly. I forgive you for making me hate guys, I just looked up to you for so long and then realized you didn't love me.
I really hated you, do you know that? You made my childhood miserable. You made me feel so small, defenseless, and you laughed instead of apologizing. I don't care that Mama likes you more, I understand that, but I dislike the fact that you got away on tormenting me. Disillusionment sucks so much.
I'm sorry if I became the baby in the family, I know you liked that spot. But you see, you're our only favorite brother, that's your role. I'm sorry if I screamed at you when you teased me many times before. Believe me, you're the only one who riles me to the point of anger management mandate. I'm sorry if I made fun of you unknowingly, or when I hurt your feelings. I'm sorry if I cramped your style, when you had to go with me when you wanted to go with your friends. I'm sorry for only having time for good times and forgetting to ask you how you were, we don't really know each other.
I'm sorry for clinging to you like a leech, I wanted a friend because I was alone. Maybe you needed a friend too, but I was so busy being selfish. I'm sorry for not being a good younger sister, I know I can be a pain. I'm sorry for the times I wasn't there for you, I'm here if you need someone. And I'm sorry for not loving you as I should. I do love you, I just forgot underneath all my hatred. You're still my favorite brother.
December 13, 2008
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.
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.
October 01, 2008
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.
August 27, 2008
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.
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