Exactly who was it that said this wasn't going to be awkward again?

Warning: This post is bound to have abuse of adjectives and conjunctions, inaccurate use of metaphors, and improper use of tenses.

So. In case there're people who are like me that haven't noticed, it's December now. Yes, quite. Last time I checked I was still with my buddy angst as we whined about the variable called time and my fair weather friend called life while I slept in bed with half my textbooks buried with me. Now that I have resurfaced from this thing called school and have again been participating in the things called holidays and good cheer, please to be letting me be show you my existence this past months in fast forward.

So. It all started out jolly and well, and well, it all went to pieces. But that's fine because I enjoyed my clinicals and met a bunch of 'older adults' as we say them, as I went bumbling around in the hospitals like a non-bull in a tea shop* while I figured out how to actually use bed sheets and pillow cases on actual beds, fumbled through head-to-toe assessments, asked awkward personal questions about people's dental hygiene and bowel movements, managed not to manhandle clients as I gave bed baths, deciphered the language of scribbles adapted by healthcare providers, mentally talked myself through as I gave clients there daily medications, wore my purple scrubs, lived through being called adorable, and ultimately laughed at myself literally and figuratively as I ungracefully toddled through these eight weeks. All in all, if you're looking for awkwardness, why, I believe that there's no need to look further as I am at your service.

I've just had five exams this week and I'm supposed to be typing (I feel like that's just what I've been doing these past months. Seriously. Ugh.) my portfolio. I just wanted to say that I am done with this semester. Woohoo. :D So I have a ten-day break which I will spend catching up on sleep, my reading, watching movies and TV, and preparing for my next class which is on January 4th. And if you're wondering, yes, I will be doing it on that order, exactly that order.

I'm actually wrapping gifts right now too. Okay, I've only done one yet but I will manage to wrap all of them. Maybe.

Obviously, I am in dazed state of mind again. So. Let's just end this with more Christmas-y pictures. One more at least.


Have a bright and cheery Christmas!
_
*There's a misconception or overly used metaphor that when you put a bull in a tea shop, they will wreck the fine china and all that, but in reality, bulls, like any sane creature, would actually not break the china and the tea sets since they would avoid colliding with the cabinets or whatever the china is stored on. So, no, bulls aren't masochistic creatures that destroy china/tea shops.

Manliness is a sport.

Watched Manny Pacquiao's fight tonight against Miguel Cotto in my aunt's house across the street. Both guys were amazing! I loved how Manny smiled from the moment he walked to the ring to the moment he was saying his thanks to his supporters. I liked how he got me excited about the fight, even though I'm not a big fan of boxing, and I liked rooting for him. He was favored to win but there were doubts, and in the end it wasn't about winning or losing anymore, or who had a half-inch more in arm length, or who was faster, or even stronger. I admired Cotto's desire to last til the last round. 12 rounds of heavy beating does not sound fun, but Cotto stood up after every time he was knocked down, even after being bludgeoned and bloodied. Both of them had fighting spirit. Some people might say that there was a disadvantage of speed and strength, well of course there is; for everything there will always be someone lesser or greater.

Personally, I thought that it was a great match; I enjoyed how they both hang on, Manny for stepping up and showing that "Yes, I challenged you and I intend to prove to everyone that I deserve to win this title", and Cotto, for not backing down in all the twelve rounds even when it was going south for him. I thought that was a "I accept your challenge, let the best man win." Of course, I'm totally putting so much emotion (mushy stuff) in their fight when boxing is such a manly sport. I just admired both of them that I'm gushing over this, which is weird since I was yelling "Just punch him!!" and "No! Just stay still and get punched! Stop moving around" repeatedly earlier. My aunts were saying that we (my uncles, my tita, my lola, and my uncle's kids who were visiting) were a bunch of bloodthirsty people. I don't quite agree. Yeah, there's all that blood and violence, but it's more athleticism and skill, like any other game or sport out there. Although, I guess I'm a fan of more contact sports since I also like football. I think I like the rush of having people play together, be a team, and play a good game. And in boxing, well my dad used to box during his academy days, but more than that, I admire boxing since it is kind of vulnerable. I mean, the fact that a person has to put them self out there and say "Yeah, I can do this. I can defeat this person". You really have to be sure, you really have to train, and you really have to get hurt in order to claim, that yes, you did indeed prove yourself as a person and as a boxer. It's very emotional, I tell you. (Yeah, whatever, you're a total girl). What, I'm just happy, I'm allowed to be mushy when I'm happy, ok?

Loves like a hurricane. I am a tree.

SPAM: Now in your friendly neighborhood stores. Okay, not that spam, more like video spam. But before all that: Disclaimer: I do not own any of the videos, lyrics, or the music below. I am posting this for fun, not profit.

And heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets
When I think about, the way
That He loves us
|How He Loves - David Crowder Band|

Oh God, I know, it’s so much more than I can dream
It’s far beyond anything I can conceive
|Heaven Is The Face - Steven Curtis Chapman|

Late have I loved you
You waited for me
I searched for you
What took me so long?
|Alive Again - Matt Maher|

Not to undermine the consequence
But you are not what you do
And when you need it most
I have a hundred reasons why I love you
|Boys (Lesson One) - Jars of Clay|

No matter how much I get sucked in the mayhem, all I have to do is close my eyes, take a breath, and think of You. And not once have You failed to make me smile and made me feel whole again.

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.

Relax, they haven't been holding out on you

Excerpts from Level One Traditional Nursing Students during the course of eight weeks.

Charlotte: What is that term -- lympado? lymphathy - what?
Kat: Lymphadenopathy?
Charlotte: Yeah, that.
Bryce: Why do we use medical terminology? I mean it's not like we go around saying this outside of class anyway.
Kat: Because we're in class right now? I mean, it's like being in Starbucks and saying you want a venti or a grande when you really just mean medium or large.
Charlotte: /laughs/ I like that.
Bryce: ... I guess.

Miranda: Are you okay? I just called since you looked so out of it in class today.
Kat: Hmm, no. I think I need to sleep. I'm just so blah right now. I can't, I don't even know what I'm doing right now.
Miranda: Then sleep. You can go back and do your paper after you get some rest.
Kat: Oh yeah, that paper... I haven't done that yet.
Miranda: It's easy, don't worry about it. Go to sleep, eat, relax, pray, okay?
Kat: Ok.
|She totally sounds like my sister. I just get bulldozed into submission when we talk. :D|

Charlotte: This sucks.
Miranda: What does?
Charlotte: There's no cute guys in our class.
Miranda: What are you talking about, we do.
Charlotte: Yeah, but they're all married or something. That doesn't really count.
Kat: /laughs/

Ms. S: /doing roll call/ Katrina T?
Prof. W: Oh, Joy, Katrina Joy. I know her. /looks at me, explains to the class/ She's so sweet, she writes Katrina Joy on all her papers.
Kat: ... But that's my full name...

Michelle: /text message/ Heyy, what do you have for our schedule in the 27th? I don't have anything written down on mine.
Kat: /looks at September calendar on the wall/ /texts back/ September 27 is a Sunday :D
Michelle: /reply/ Oh, just kidding then. LOL My bad.

Kat: /looks at the hand outs for the case study/... So, we have the general survey, and the info on the percussion of the heart and the lungs. It looks like it's a respiratory problem, not a heart problem.
Prof. W: /stares/ ...
Kat: So, what we need is more observational information, so we'll know how she is really doing.
Prof. W: Okay. Just think of what you are looking for when you make a diagnosis. /walks away/
Kat: /breathes in deep and exhales/ Wah.
Bryce: /returns to our table/ So what did I miss?
Kat: Oh nothing, just me pretending to know what I was talking about when I really have no idea.
Michelle: Aw, but you sounded like you really knew this.
Kat: Well, apparently I'm good at BS then.

Ms. J: Are you guys okay? You're all giving me this weird look. I'm worried.
Class: No, we're good. We're just...yeah, we're good. (Suffice to say, we were talking about bowels and stuff).
Ms. W: /knocks and comes in the room/ J, I just need to ask you where the rest of the PAM is, we need some.
Matt: /mutters/ Oh, I have some in my backpack. /laughs with Bryce/
Ms. W & Ms. J: ... /looks at Matt/
Class: ...
Matt: I'm just kidding. /laughs/
Ms. W: That's what I thought, I didn't catch that for a moment.
Class: /laughs/
Ms. J: Matt, you need a time out. /laughs/
|PAM is a type of cooking oil that you spray on Teflon pans. We use it on the mannequins in lab, go figure.|

Kat: Do you want some? /offers Strawberry Pocky/
Will: What's that?
Kat: It's like some strawberry wafer stick. It's yummy.
Will: You always bring treats. /laughs/ I should call you 'Treats'. /takes a Pocky stick/ Thanks, Treats.

Charlotte: How do you spell 'mannequin'?
Kat: M-a-n-n-e-q-u-i-n.
Charlotte: Thanks.
Will: Sorry, my brain's not working. How do you write 'gynecomastia' again?
Kat: G-y-n-e-c-o-m-a-s-t-i-a.
Will: Thanks. For some reason I'm really crappy at spelling.
Charlotte: Me too. That's why I have Kat to do all the spelling for me.
Kat: Thanks, I knew there was a reason you're so nice to me.
Charlotte: How ever did you guess.

Bryce: Do I need to lift my shirt up for this assessment?
Kat: This is a Christian school, I don't think they condone nudity. So keep your shirt on. This is strictly G-rated.
Bryce: /laughs/ Oh shut up.

Will: I just can't believe how stressful things are right now.
Katlyn: I know, we have so much stuff to do and there's no time for anything else.
Will: And on top of that, I eat just really bad now. I think I'm gaining weight too.
Charlotte & Katlyn: What?
Will: Yeah, it's like I'm just so depressed that I just eat whatever. It's so sad. I just want to cry right now.
Katlyn: Aw.
Charlotte: Are you getting Freshman Fifteen, or something?
Will: Exactly! It's only now after years of college that I'm getting fat.
Katlyn: That's awful.
|Freshman Fifteen is when freshmen students gain fifteen pounds once they start college because of all the junk food, partying and stuff that happens 'cause they're free from parental supervision|

Dr. J: Okay, who wants to pray? /before taking our test/
Girls: /raise their hands/ ... Oh, oh no. We don't. I mean we do. But we want you to pray. Not us.
Class: /laughs/
Dr. J: Okay, then.

Matt: Darn it. I can't do this. /leans back on chair and stares down at his notes/
Gina: What's wrong?
Matt: It's stupid. I've got that song by 'Our Lady Peace' stuck in my head. /sings/ "I know you're out there, somewhere out there."
Gina, Kim & Kat: /laughs/
Matt: No, seriously. It's driving me crazy. "You're falling out of reach, defying gravity. I know you're out there somewhere out there."
Kim: Don't you dare. You don't want 'Single Ladies' to get stuck in your head.
Gina: What is?
Kim: You know, "Well, if you liked it then you should have put the ring on it."
Gina: Ugh. No. Now I have Beyonce singing in my head, along with the stupid music video.
Kat: /laughs/ We'll all be dancing during our test later.
Gina: Ugh. Thanks a lot, Kim.
Kim: Sorry.
Miranda: What is?
Kat: Oh, we've all got 'Single Ladies' stuck in our brain, complete with the leotards and the high heels, thanks to Kim.
Miranda: /sings/ Aw, uh-oh, uh-oh, Aw, uh-oh. If you liked it then you should have put a ring on it...
Kat, Gina & Kim: /snickers/
Miranda: /five minutes later/ Ugh. Now it's in my head. Thanks a lot you guys.
Kat: /laughs/

So, do you have her stuck in your head now too? :D

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.

Default to bland

I suppose this one is long overdue. I've been so busy lately that I don't even remember the last time I blogged. The last months have been devoted to studying, studying, and catching up on sleep. If you've read my previous posts you know that I've been whining about my desire to be part of a nursing program. Well, I got my wish. And you know what they say about wishing, being careful and all that. I was just so happy to finally be in the program, done with prerequisites, free from community colleges, that I got so caught up and eventually crashed down without me even noticing it.

I suppose it started with the fact that the first week was greatly exciting and overwhelming. It was like gulping down ice cream too quickly, your teeth tingle, your mouth bursts with cold and sugar, and your poor brain protests with a painful jolt. But by then I was already way into my third week. I was driving home, listening to the white noise of the radio, when I just started crying. I was tired, frustrated, miserable, and I was just done. I've met all my weekly requirements, I've gotten high 80s and 90s, I've never been late for a class, and I diligently brought all my notes and books every time. All good and great, except for the fact that I only ate once a day, forgot to pee, woke up at 5 in the morning and slept at 3 in the morning, did not know what I was doing half of the time, nor did I know how my mom was despite the fact we lived in the same house.

I suppose it was such a revelation that I just drove home with mascara blurring my eyes and my unchecked sobs choking me. I had the same problems before, pricy tuition rates, demanding (psycho) professors, simultaneous assignment due dates, not sleeping, not eating, and all that jazz when I was taking prerequisites. So what was different, if I got through all those, why was I so desperate this time? I know that nursing isn't easy, but I was just ready to tear my hair off. And I hated it. The irony of being in a Christian University was the fact that I left God the moment I got in the program. "Thanks, I can handle it from here," was basically what I said. I didn't get really far though. I was so lost and broken down without Him. I felt the desperation in my bones, but still I felt His comfort when I stayed up to 3AM typing my papers, I saw Him making me smile as I drove to school watching the silly antics of clever birds and fluffy bunny clouds, and I felt His embrace as I tiredly crept under the cover of my blankets.

The first three weeks in nursing were the most difficult for me. Not because of the overwhelming material or the lack of sleep, but because I was alone and apart from God. My prayers were half uttered, half meant. And I missed how I was before, how I was excited to go to school to learn new things, how I would say "Yay, two more exams to go", and I missed how I actually enjoyed getting high grades. I suppose it totally sucks when your life is on default to bland. Not excited by anything, always trying to catch up with time and due dates, and just being caught up in yourself. But it's easy to be stuck in that situation, it's so easy to just coast along passively. But I know better, and I refuse to live mediocrely when I have experienced an all-consuming, passion-filled life.

This isn't about being angsty or emo, or "woe is me, my life is hard", whatever you call it. It's about choosing to live more, being more, growing more. And it hurts to move forward, but it's worse to stubbornly lock yourself in corner, gathering dust like a piece of furniture. I know I'll probably get hurt more, break down, bleed, get my heart broken, get pushed to my knees, and fall down that pit once more in the future, but that's life. We don't get to live life safely in a bubble and pretend that all's good and dandy. There is no easy way. I can fully say now that I am once again back to my upbeat, perky, optimistic self and as long as I push my self to live then it's okay. And I would like to stay that way. What about you? What's keeping you defaulted to bland? What's stopping you from life?

I think this video conveys how I feel perfectly.

Day in and out the music's up because all I know is that even before we met halfway, fate got in the middle and whisked you away

Avoiding the issue. That's what I've been doing the past days. So all day long I turn up the music just so the silence wouldn't be heard, and the issue remains ignored. I can't even make sensible sentences. I tear up every few minutes without thought; a testament to how even my subconscious is affected.

This post wouldn't make sense. I wonder if it should. It doesn't really matter right now.

Why do people suddenly out of the blue ask you something that makes your brain feel that it's putting a square in a too narrow circle? That all you can answer is an awkward laugh even as you wish the earth would open up and just hit you upside the head back into sense.

I was really shocked, you know that. And now that I'm out of that daze, I find myself into another crazy landscape with neither a bespectacled rabbit nor a grinning cat for company. So my head is filled with clouds and my eyes rimmed with tears bitter to the taste. I don't blame you but you just had to go and mix up the dynamics.

I hate right now. I hate that this is all awkward. I hate getting overly flustered and incoherent. I hate that I have to avoid going to all the familiar haunts just to avoid you avoiding me. I hate how I know I hurt you when I acted like a child and blurted a mess of words with a misplaced sense of nobility. I hate how you act so nonchalant while you say it hurts and we both know I cut you deeper than we both like to admit. I hate how I have to care about this. I care enough to hide like a coward child. I just want it all to blow over, forgotten by the next time I wake up. I doubt that will work when even sleep is avoiding me. I hate that turning this over my brain is only adding to the nausea of idiotic love songs playing in the background.

I don't know how to deal with this right now. If ever I ever will. It tastes raw on my tongue and this feeling is alien. Sentiments and a plethora of apologies won't make it go down better. I've been brought down by words, and even as I wish it nothing said out loud can be unsaid. All I can do is leave you alone. I don't know whether to laugh or cry harder with the thought that someone other than family finally made me cry.

Here's to hoping. Here's to hoping that when this issue and I collide, I don't explode from the heartache and drown in the vat of forlorn love songs.

A portrait of what was being said

'SYTYCD' Top 8: Melissa & Ade's Contemporary Performance @ Y! TV

There's so much beauty in this piece. For all my loved ones who battle cancer, and the rest of us who are right alongside them, you have so much strength, and you have our strength too.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley.

My life on a shuffled fast track

I felt like being silly today. So a meme for you people. :)

RULES
1. Put Your iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS
*Disclaimer: I do not own any of the mentioned songs or lyrics. I am not doing this for profit.

Are you male or female?
+ Pagbabalik by Asin
Bayan ko, nahan ka. Ako ngayo'y nag-iisa
Nais ko magbalik, sa iyo Bayan ko
Kung ako’y nagkamali sa landas na aking tinahak
- I am asexual apparently. I am a country. Heh.

Describe yourself.
+ Wedding March by Felix Mendelssohn
This is instrumental. It’s happy, funky, and familiar. /cough/

What do people feel when they're around you?
+ Goodbye Skyline by Danger Is My Middle Name
The darkness is disrupted by a whisper softer than a breeze and oh so tender like tender busted lips,
I'm laughing at those quips, I'm so damn happy why am I in pain?
The darkness is dispersed beneath the moonlight, pale as your skin and oh so bright.
Strike my heart with stakes or burn me up in flames, I'm waiting for someone to put them out.
Goodbye skyline, I'll be just fine.
–This sounds like a sadistic/masochistic relationship. Huh.

Describe your current relationship.
+ Anna by Top Suzara
I long to tell you
How much I need you
If I could find the words to say
I’d never have to feel this way
Not knowin’ just what to do when I’m with you
- Apparently being single gives me narcissistic tendencies.

Where would you like to be now?
+ For What It’s Worth by Amber Pacific
We missed our chance
I won't forget
As time will only tell where to go

How do you feel about love?
+ I’ve Got You Under My Skin by Patrick Ki
Another instrumental. It’s mellow and for all the percussion instruments sounds wispy. Erm, yeah.

What's your life like?
+ Mistakes We Knew We Were Making by Straylight Run
We'll get over it
Sad, strong, safe and sober
We'll move forward
And know where we went wrong
But you can't go home again
- Bleak, it seems.

What would you ask for if you had only one wish?
+ Caruso by Russell Watson
I love you so much
I really love you, so much
now it's a tie that melts the blood inside the veins, you know
- Love,so much of it. Apparently.

Say something wise.
+ Love On The Rocks by Sara Bareilles
You love the chase but hate me for the runaround
We both just tired of the whole thing.
You tell me what you want you need you know you have to have
And I just pretend I'm listening
- Um. Whut?

If someone says "Is this ok?" you say:
+ One (Blake’s Got A New Face) by Vampire Weekend
Oh, your collegiate grief
Has left you dowdy in sweatshirts
Absolute Horror
- Exactly.

How would you describe yourself?
+ Divertimento No. 1 in B flat major by Joseph Haydn
A classical piece. Again, mellow, almost like a song.

What do you like in a guy/girl?
+ Maps by Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Lay off
Don’t stray
Well, my kind's, your kind
I’ll stay the same!
- Fidelity?

How do you feel today?
+ Venus by Frankie Avalon
Venus, if you will
Please send a little girl for me to thrill
A girl who wants my kisses and my arms
A girl with all the charms of you
- I'm channeling Katy Perry looks like it.

What's the purpose of your life?
+ Hit the Heartbreaks by Black Kids
Oh, boo, what can I do?
It's not me, yeah, it's you
You've been hittin' the heartbrakes hard.
- I’m still debating whether I’m the one saying that or the one being told.

What is your motto?
+ Beautiful by Kari Jobe
I am letting go of all I've held
of every motive, every burden,
everything that's of myself
- That sounds about right.

What do your friends think of you?
+ The One I Love by Sufjan Stevens
This one goes out to the one I love
This one goes out to the one I left behind
A simple thought to occupy my mind
This one goes out to the one I love
- Uh. They liiiike me.

What do you think of your parents?
+ You Make Me Feel Brand New by Simply Red
Only you
Came when I needed a friend
Believed in me through thick and thin
This song is for you
Filled with gratitude and love
God bless you
- My parents. The make me feel brand new. :)

What do you think about very often?
+ Just You and Me by Zee Avi
We can build our own little world
where no one else can come through
We can live in huts made out of grass
we can greet father time as he walks pass
we can press our feet into the dirt
a little mud, no, it wouldn't hurt
- Ah travel, vacation, mud. What more do I need to think of?

What is 2+2?
+ If by Bread.
The answer is philosophical then.

What do you think of your best friend?
+ Kabilugan Ng Buwan by Drip
Kapanahunan na naman
Ng paglalambingan
At kasama kitang mamasyal

Sa kung saan

Kabilugan ng buwan

At ang hangin ay may kalamigan

Aakapin kita mahal ko

Sa buong magdamag

What do you think of the person you like?
+ Nothing Sacred by Russel Watson
If we can say goodbye
Is nothing sacred anymore?
- A bit presumptuous, Kat.

What's your life story?
+ Itoshii Hito by Miyavi
My beloved
It's not "I could die for you," but rather,
I've decided "I'll live for you"
- I choose life.

What do you want to be when you grow up?
+ She Wore Velvet by Bobby Vinton
She wore blue velvet
Bluer than velvet was the night
Softer than satin was the light
From the stars
- Pfft. Yes, my life’s dream.

What will you dance to at your wedding?
+ Dancing When the Stars Go Blue by Tim McGraw
Dancin' where the stars go blue
Dancin' where the evening fell
Dancin' in your wooden shoes
In a wedding gown
- That sounds apt. Ironically.

What will they play at your funeral?
+ Last Song by Gackt
The continually falling sadness
Changes into pure white snow
Through it all, I raised my head to the sky
Before this body disappears now, if my wish reaches you
Please hold me tight just once more
Even if I disappear along with this white snow
I want to always bloom in your heart
- Again, apt.

What's your hobby?
+ The Hat by Ingrid Michaelson
I knitted you a hat all blue and gold
To keep your ears warm from the Binghamton cold
It was my first one and it was too small
It didn't fit you at all, but you wore it just the same
- Knitting. Always wanted to try it. Sounds fun.

What's your biggest secret?
+ I’m Making Eyes At You by Black Kids
Oh please don't, please don't speak
You'll kill the mystique
Oh baby let's not, let's not dance
We'll ruin our chances
Oh, in between the drinks
I can't help but think that
Even as we speak
We kill the mystique
- I secretly don’t know how to dance. HAHAHAHA

They told us not to cry

My best friend sent me an instant message asking if I was there. I replied and received her response that said her grandfather just passed away. He never woke up. Oh.

I gave my condolences and said that I was sorry. And I was. I was sorry for the fact that she wasn't able to say goodbye. I knew how hard it was for her to receive a call or a text message letting her know that she no longer had a grandfather. I knew how it felt when you hear family cry over the phone. It's unimaginable. It's painful to hear heartbreak over the line.

She asked me if I knew how much he meant to her. That he was the father she had in her life. And that she was so sad. I told her I did. That I knew how much she loved him and how much he loved her. I told her that I understood how much it hurts that she was unable to say goodbye to him. But I knew that he would never begrudge her her feelings. That he would not allow her to pretend that she was okay, that it was okay, that it didn't hurt. I told her that it was okay to cry.

She told me she again that she was so sad. She told me of her plan to go home to the province, that she asked for a leave. I wished her a safe trip. I said that I would pray for her and her family. I asked her to give my condolences to her grandmother.

I was slightly uncomfortable when I was chatting with her, honestly. I knew she was crying when she was typing since she misspelled every now and then. That was the first time that I ever told someone that it was okay to cry. And even as I expected her to cry, I was unsure whether I was actually comforting her correctly. No one tells you as you grow up, "this is how you comfort someone, especially when they lose their grandfather, specifically when you're chatting with them continents away."

The twenty-first century has seen evolution and devolution, raced through inventions and application of laws and logic. Human socialization is growing even as you read this through interactive networks but there is a growing chasm in human connection and community. We don't hesitate to "add" someone, a friend, an aunt, a cousin twice removed, or the crazy uncle no one talks about on our page. But there is a definite pause when asked who lives three doors across your house or if you actually acknowledged that small smile-nod Mr. Smith gave you earlier or you either stared between his brows and gave your own smile-nod as you ducked away.

I think people are becoming socially awkward. Even as I admit that no one is taught the art of comforting and say that it comes naturally, I find that I am at a loss as to how I should break that silence of grief. That I don't say or not say something and then wince as I see them shirk further away. Some might say that just being there counts as an act of comfort. I suppose. But then my being continents away does pose some trouble. I don't want to make an ass of myself as I type an instant message.

All I could tell my best friend was from my own experience. She told me again that it hurt so much. And I replied that it would get worse. That it would hurt as she would remember how he looked, his favorite breakfast, how he smiled when she would greet him as she came home. That we lose parts of ourselves when a person we love passes away. I couldn't bear to tell her that sometimes we would forget how their voice sounded like, or whether they ever wore this shirt. The simple details would fade from our minds even as we desperately try to hold on to as much as we could.

I couldn't tell her that it would ease in time. That it would hurt less. That she would be able to breathe easier. And that she could smile at the thought of him in time and not be guilty that she was still alive. That it would be okay not to cry. But maybe I don't have to. Maybe she'll figure it out herself.

The great thing about human beings is our capacity for change, our capacity to adapt, our capacity to survive. And the great thing about us is that we don't have to be told how to comfort someone; that even as we awkwardly pat someone on the back, it comes naturally. I think it is great to be a human being. That's the beauty of humanity, we are always being. Not becoming, or doing, but being.

It's Menopause!

So what do you do when you have the weekend ahead of you? Redecorate your house, of course. At least according to my mom, that's what's supposed to be done. So instead of finishing my observation project for my World Religions class and my Sustainable Living outline for Philosophy, I spent the weekend general cleaning and rearranging the furniture. Snippets of conversation included and was not limited to:

"It's okay, Pa. It's just menopause. She'll get over it."
"No. The furniture do not want to be rearranged. They are happy where they are right now."
"It's okay, Momi. We understand. Don't feel bad. As long as you're happy, we're unhappy." (That was after my dad got his toe bloody due to the computer table).
"You, why you torture me so?"
"I could be typing!!"
"This is abuse."
"I suggest you just quit your job and become an interior decorator. That way you can satisfy this obsession of yours."
"No, thank you." (After being asked/told if we should fix my room now).
"Go away, Momi. I'll pencil you in instead."
"I could be typing!!"
"You lied to me! You said that we wouldn't be moving any more furniture!" (After a long debate on how she wanted to switch the coffee tables).
"That's discrimination. You're making it insecure. You're making it feel fat." (My reply after my mom said that the coffee table is too long and doesn't match the formal living room).
"I could be typing!!"

Momi: "Now, doesn't that look nice?"
Kat: /Eye twitch/ Glare.

The only winning thing about the events was getting a new red comforter and pillow cases with white floral designs and new curtains from IKEA. And that was a trick too. I wanted art materials for my birthday, and now I get a makeover for my room and backache instead. I'm too young for this. I will get a red bookcase for my room though, so that will be great. All's fair with moms and menopause.

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.

Playing Hooky...

I finally get a break, in a form of the academic Spring Break. I feel ambivalent though since I'm still thinking of the many things I need to do, like my Utopia outline, my Statistics homework, my Pathophysiology case studies and notes, and my World Religion worksheets, and oh, start my research for my Health Care Ethics presentation. It's not really a break, I say, when my brain is still working and fried. But beggars can't be choosers, I certainly am appreciative of the break of driving 34 miles everyday, of waking up before my alarm does, and of struggling with a parking space, and not to mention the familiarity of facing some of my zany professors. Yup, I am totally happy right now even with the workload.

I've been back to college for three months now. I've been handling the stress pretty well (are you sure?!) considering the fact that I have a full load. Famous last words, Kat (cue evil, maniacal laughter). The only thing more stressful than class requirements are people. I have met the most awesome, weirdest, world-record breaking, insane, dumb-founding, and memorable people this semester. Take my Patho professor, I've been complaining about her all semester. Maybe it's because she doesn't have PowerPoint or it could be the fact that she has time to have manicures twice a week but no time to change the erroneous exams she gives us. But it could just be the fact that people who took her last semester absolutely adore her, but I'm still waiting for that person to come to class. Mondays and Wednesdays are devoted to complaints against her. Maybe it's my pride that's bruised for getting Bs in her exams and not As.

And then there's my classmate in Patho, B. She's fifteen years my senior, one of the smartest persons I know, and one of the most interesting. It could be because she has experienced most of the diseases we've covered in class: Hemolytic anemia of the newborn, Jaundiced at birth, Constantly low blood pressure even with medication, hypovolemic shock, congenital heart problems, anaphylactic shock, and oh, she's allergic to 80% of the medication out there. That's what I call phenomenal. But it could also be because she's on counseling right now because her husband is a jerk. Case in point when he let their health insurance lapse, and when he constantly goes hiking when he should be job hunting, and when he should at least wash the dishes since he's the one at home. Makes me want to stay the heck away from marriage. Whatever the reason I find her fascinating we get along famously. Thick as thieves, as Lemony Snicket would say.

Another professor, my Buddhist World Religions teacher, makes me laugh. It could be because of the fact that she keeps saying she's a double capricorn and won't grow up, whatever that means. Or the fact that she disses all religions, even hers, but especially mine. Or maybe it's because she owns tons of cats, has myasthenia gravis, and keeps saying "I'm not ready for this" when it comes to our exams. She certainly is quirky, you have to admit a person who's willing to sabotage their jury duty is something.

Then there's Maria, of the Filipino-French-Vietnamese parentage. She's divorced, loves dancing, and is usually late for class. She's divorced because her ex-husband was pre-meditatively killing her. Isn't that obvious when your spouse lists down a number of ways to make you angry when he knows you have a heart problem, and then conveniently says, "I love you" afterwards in an attempt to soothe you? Or it could be the way he conveniently leaves a "Dear John" letter for her in his bag and dismissing it as "nothing." But then later you change jobs, change cellphone numbers, and refuse to leave a forwarding address. Charming.

There's tons more of people that make my list. And in their own way, make me laugh, cringe, gape in shock, roll my eyes, and just about see life in their eyes. Why the list? Well, they make me realize that everyone is a small person in the universe. All of us have our own little worlds but it all comes down to the fact that everyone living has stress, crappy spouses, insane professors, cats, and mounds of homework. It humbles me that I am not alone in my misery but with other people I can be free to laugh, cry, scream in frustration, and live.

So I'm playing hooky, with the knowledge that it's okay to just be sometimes.

Always the Smart Ones

I bet her eyes widened as her brain digested what she just heard. I can imagine how they would hold that involuntary response for a second, and then she would blink. But her mouth would be slightly opened as she would form the words, "What? What happened?"

I asked her how she felt. Sad. Yes, I was too. But then she says, "So, nice weather we're having." And all I could do was laugh while we proceeded making small talk to hastily change the subject. There we were on the phone discussing cows on the freeway, brunch, how Twilight sucks, and the distinction between cliff diving and cliff jumping. All the while in the backs of our mind contemplating how it isn't really funny, and we shouldn't really be laughing. It was inappropriate after all.

"We need to talk. I need to talk to you," was what my Mom first said when she opened their bedroom door. And I could tell it was going to be a serious discussion. And in a habitual childhood-borne reflex, I started thinking of what I could have possibly done wrong in the past couple of days, and then weeks, that warranted that serious tone of voice, and that grave facial expression.

My mom started with chitchat. She explained why she didn't think visiting my cousins would be a good choice, because she couldn't, no time, and all that. And then she explained why she wouldn't agree to my desire of buying a smaller cupcake pan, because it wouldn't be fair for everyone. I understood, I explained that I figured that out. It's fine, I'll get over it. "It just makes me feel bad when you make that face, I feel like it's my fault." It's not, Mom, it's normal that I'll be sad. But I get over it.

What is this about? I was asking mentally because we don't normally do this, we do, but not over trivial matters of vacation or cupcake pans. So I asked, "Is that all?" And not surprisingly the answer is No. The next thing she tells me makes me frown, raise my eyebrow, take a breath, and laugh. Maybe that was inappropriate as well. But I did not mean to be disrespectful in light of having someone I loved try to cheat life and fail.

It made me both mad and sad that she did that. I was mad at myself because she felt she couldn't approach me at any time. I was mad that she bottled it all up and used a bottle to end it all as well. I was sad because she's only fourteen, and in the two years I've been with her I didn't see it coming. Or maybe I did and it pisses me off because I chose not to see it. I was sad because it shouldn't have come down to that and she shouldn't have felt the need to do that.

What do I tell her? Do I ask her why? Do I pretend that it's okay and say everything will be fine? Do I tell her honestly that what she did was crap and that she should have thought of her family? Of her younger siblings who looked up to her? I could say that the worst thing I've heard is someone saying they're giving up on life. It makes me feel like there's nothing worthy enough for you to stick around here until the end. It makes me feel so angry because there are hundreds and thousands of babies being born everyday that don't even survive to take their first breath. And it makes me sad because no one should choose that option ever.

We all have our pain, we're all broken, and we're all human. And if you think that life sucks, then welcome to the real world. Because in this world your younger sisters will be affected and scarred by that all their life. The youngest might not even know what happened but your younger sister, well, you probably broke her heart. This might sound spiteful, it might offend you, that I'm ranting at you when you're in a frail and delicate situation. But you should at least think about the fact that I care enough to be angry, I care enough to be mad at you. You have so much going for you, you're smart, you have a great sense of humor, you're highly intelligent, you have a great family, and you don't have body odor. I hope you realize that life doesn't have to be perfect for you to be happy. Life is pain, but it is a gift. Life is a choice and in all things you have a choice. The only thing you don't have a choice over is death. But when the time comes for that, I hope you can honestly say you don't have regrets on how you lived.

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.

A Break From the Pity Party

My pity party is finally in conclusion. After weeks of tears, hair pulling, and sequestering myself in my room, I am now salvaging my pride and resurfacing as a human being. Maybe I should leave it at this. I should just exercise my facial muscles and smile again. But I need to write or I'll forever hold it and drag it with me to my last breath.

Ah, drama, how you fill my life with angst and profound melancholic monologues. I went to church yesterday with my Dad. I didn't want to since I had cramps and all that lovely time of the month joys of being a woman. But I knew he would be disappointed and I would feel guilty, so there we were. The guest preacher was funny, self-deprecating, and honestly confessed to a family case of inherited depression and self-medication. My kind of person. His message was aptly entitled "I Am Not A Victim." Huh. And there I was enraptured as he talked of his granddaughter's weepy soccer game, Jesus' miserable time on earth, his mom's seemingly pointless death, a parents' brutally murdered son, the elevator of choice: up for heaven and down for hell, and of why God doesn't answer our most esoteric question: Why?

"Because He's God, and He's right, and you don't get to ask that question." He was kidding, of course, but yeah, it feels that way sometimes. When my uncle passed away, I asked God why; Why did He allow my uncle to die when He could just have healed him? So I was angry and hurt, and it hurt more that I was angry at God when I've loved Him since I've known Him. Add to the fact that I was stressed out over my classes, and being bombarded by blasphemous statements by my World Religions professor, having no time to clean the house, piling papers needed to be started, and having someone tailgate me to the point of hitting my car's rear end. Ah, hell. Wonderful.

I used to think that asking God why would result in being struck by lightning and damnation to a voidless, dark, pit. But I learned recently that if you're honest with God, He'll be equally honest with you. It didn't matter what God's answer was, in hindsight, I just wanted the assurance that He would answer. The preacher said that asking God why should not were we should exert our effort, but in searching for God's plan for us. Pain happens, and you could either choose being a victim, or believing that God has a plan. Jesus suffered on earth too, but have you ever felt that he was a victim in all that you've read of him? I'm sure he didn't enjoy some or most of the experiences he's had on earth, similarly, we don't either.

Sometimes life is hell. But hell, as I learned yesterday, is just the absence of God. When we choose to be victims, we take God out of the equation and instead believe that life is just random and out of control. I don't want to be a victim, I want God there with me. As my Patho prof says, "there are no victims, only volunteers." I certainly don't want to volunteer for hell. So I'll start by pressing the Up button; it's tempting to stay wallowing in hell but no thanks.

At a loss.

I can't believe we lost. After we finally caught a lead and a break, the Steelers caught up. And they caught up big time. I'm sobbing. A four point difference. This sucks. I can't believe it.

Cheers, Tito! This Miller Lite's for you.

I saw him last Tuesday. He was yellow and pale at the same time. He was frail, and thin. Yet I took comfort that he was laughing with the rest of us. He looked vulnerable when he cried as we prayed, yet he held himself strong. His quiet strength was still immanent.

I'll miss him. When I looked toward their bed I kept expecting him to open his eyes and smile. My eyes deceived me when I thought his eyes were fluttering, as if he were only asleep. "Any moment now," I thought to myself, half expecting he'll look up and see everyone praying around his bed.

I answered the ringing phone. She was crying on the other end; seeking comfort, asking for strength. "Wala na siya. Wala na ang Tito Ben mo. (He's gone. Your Uncle Ben is gone)." My dad wanted to pray, delaying it with hymns. I wanted no songs so I left and went ahead. I needed to comfort her crying, I needed to cry as she comforted me.

I didn't even notice that I was crying until I felt tears wet on my face. Odd, I never thought I'd cry. I wiped them as fast as they fell but I didn't bother trying when she hugged me tight. There was no point when she was crying herself. I finally prayed while we cried. I needed to calm down, I had no need for grief when that could come later.

"Restlessness is a the first sign of hypoxia." When you lack oxygen, you'll be restless. I remember writing that down on my Pathophysiology notes. He was restless yesterday, and he was already confused. He was talking of fish and labels. I didn't understand. Is what she said as she explained what they both went through. I nodded, I only understood the signs and symptoms.

I thank God I met him, for a brief moment that was a lifetime. It was a blessing and a pleasure to have known someone as humble and generous and loving. I can only be amazed that God created someone like Tito Ben, brought him to our family, and took Him back, with him in our hearts and memories. I thank God because he passed away surrounded by his family.

This is January 30th of my life. This is the day he passed away. Two days from her birthday and six from his. May God rest his soul.

Then and Now.

Cue for Change

Finally, after years of preparation, of grueling campaigns, of nervously yet hopefully viewing the election polls, and after a spectacular win, the President Elect is now finally sworn in and ready to set off. The 44th US President Barack Obama certainly has come a long way. His promise is Change, and his will is to lead America through downfalls and glorious moments, all in the name of change. And all the world before him is watching, waiting for him, as sets the world of change upon us. But as we wait for the change he will bring, it is also our cue to begin with the change this world desperately needs. For a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

Touchdown to Championship

We had a home game today for the Arizona Cardinals against the Philadelphia Eagles. Of course, I rooted for the Cardinals!! They're treated so much like the underdogs since, well, they're not that much of a threat before. But they proved themselves today, winning against the Eagles 32 to 25. It was insane how they led the first two quarters, lost the third quarter when the Eagles caught up (13-0), but pushed forward in the last quarter after a fumble. Cardinals win!!! Woot! They're going to Super Bowl 43!!! This is the first time in the history of the Cardinals franchise. Go AZ! I'm so excited :)

P word for Stick Figures.

My lovely class schedule for Spring semester 2009. I'm neurotic when it comes to making diagrams and such. So as you can see, this schedule pleases me. And it gives me other P words in mind, like pressure, panic, paranoia, and possible plentiful pounds of painkillers. But I'll take it one day at at time, until I reach the peroration (another P word for conclusion). So wish me the best. Kat, fight-O!!

We're made of sterner stuff.

I know how belated this new year message is, but I hope that everyone is starting their new year right. Whether you have a resolution or not, or whether you do have a resolution and forgot already, I hope your year is still starting out better than last year.

My family's Christmas and New Year's celebration was quieter this year. Not because of the recession or because their were fewer relatives here in Arizona. I think it's because this year it wasn't because of the presents we gave and received, but because of the blessings we've received the previous year.

The previous year, I had an uncle who was diagnosed with liver cancer during the Christmas of 2007. Despite the prognosis that he only had six months left and despite how the tumor has progressed to his lungs, he is still with us this year. In 2008, I had an aunt who suffered a stroke, but despite the paralysis on some of her body, or how she can't use her hands, or her feet, or speak 'normally,' she is alive and undergoing rehabilitation currently. My sister's mother in law, was diagnosed with cancer in the colon. But with successful surgery, she is still able to enjoy her children and grandchildren. We have undergone a tumultuous year filled with people we love experiencing pain and disease, siblings going through demanding situations, and then there is the uncertainty of finances and future, and the nightmare of how everything is going wrong.

It may seem to us that there is no hope, that nothing else matters, that this is it. But life is suffered by everyone. No matter how it feels and seems that you're alone in your pain, and that no one else in the world understands what you're going through, despite breaking down in defeat and utter desperation, it's not the end, not yet. It's not through if you don't give up. Everyone of us has our crappy days, when all our demons rush in to devour us, when everything we do is wrong. It's okay to angst, and cry, and break down. But afterwards, get up, dry your face, and take a big breath. Exhale.

I'm not trying to belittle the problems, or the feelings of those who are facing problems. No, all I'm trying to say is, you're not alone, that no matter how life sucks for you, you are stronger, and braver, and smarter, but you'll never know unless you try and do something. I know that despite how I angst and huff and puff over my studies or my worries, as long as I don't give up, I'll be fine. There's nothing wrong with psyching your self up, there's nothing wrong in hoping for the better if hope is all you have left in your pockets. Hope is infectious.

If all else fails, if you only remember one thing from this post, I hope it's this: You can't get everything right. But you can't get everything wrong.

It's okay to make mistakes. Mistakes, problems, angst, and incurable diseases, are part of our lives that reveal who we truly are, what we're capable of, and what we're shaping to become. There's no shame in breaking down, but there is strength in getting up, brushing your knees, and moving forward.

something there that wasn't there before

I still remember the first time I saw Beauty and the Beast. It was movie night with my family; I was young and happily tomboyish. We watched it on the VCR (completely ancient now) and that was when I realized that despite my tomboyish attitude I was a romantic.

I reacted awed at Belle, wanting to have my own adventure too; equally disgusted with Gaston, and his drunkard minion. And then there was the Beast. The Beast was one part daunting and another part amazing. Daunting in the sense that he was a beast, easily could maul you apart, amazing in the part that he was human underneath all the fur.

What made me discover my being a romantic was not their love triangle. It certainly wasn't the part where Gaston proposed to, well, himself. Nor was it the part when Beast gets rid of Gaston once and for all. I cheered at that part though. But it was the part when Beast surprised Belle with a library. (A library, you say?)

Yes, a library. What's so romantic about books? It wasn't about the books. When Beast gave Belle a library it was like giving Belle love. Belle loved books. Her love for books was greater than the ridicule she faced daily from the villagers who thought she was different from them. Beast gave her the library because it would make Belle happy. I think loving is like that. It's giving or doing something for a person knowing that he or she would be happy about it, or that that person would love it. I'm not saying that we should go and give the people we love a library (thank you, though, if you give me one) but we should desire to make that person happy. Just go and love the person.

I'm equating the act of Beast giving Belle a library with love. Ridiculous? Maybe. But I'm a romantic remember? So in the meantime, while I sit here and listen to the soundtrack, I'll wait for my own library.