I’m having regular arguments with my parents about homophobia and sexism. If I’m patient enough, I could make them understand and believe that the world would be a much better place without those two (and lots of other things). 

I have to admit before tumblr, I wasn’t really that aware of the extent of these issues. Aside from racism, which is very rampant in this hypocritical country, and homophobia (believe it or not, Philippines is one of the most gay-friendly countries in Asia), I had no idea how badly people are treated because of such prejudice. I knew they existed but posts in this site opened my eyes to the bigger picture.

And day by day, I try to wipe my life clean of these awful things, I started with myself and if the opportunity arises, I inform my family members and friends. I’ve been dubbed annoying and a know-it-all but I never regret talking about these issues. 

Crossing my fingers I leave a ripple of awareness and kindness, not because everyone’s doing it but because it’s the right thing to do.

PS. Thank you, tumblr.

I met a lot of beautiful people tonight at our organization’s induction party. I was a bit dizzy from all the alcohol we’ve been drinking all night but I still had fun. The members were very friendly and it’s safe to say I’m no longer /that/ intimidated by most of them. The host’s house was really big though. I guess that’s more intimidating ha.

I’m so excited for what’s ahead. I always get giddy expanding my social circle while doing something I enjoy. 

I got a new job.
I’m part of a new (college-wide) organization.
I’m a director for publicity in another.
And of course, I’m always excited being a member of the college yearbook committee.

Academic year 2013-2014, BRING. IT. ON.

I’m starting to think the reason I love being interviewed is because I enjoy talking about myself, my hobbies and things that I really find interesting. Somehow hoping that some of the things I’m fond of intersect with whatever the interviewer (or other interviewees, in case of a group interview) likes. 

and then I’ll have some new friend to laugh and watch matches with, jog and hike and camp with

I was interviewed thrice yesterday. The first one was a group interview, where we were allowed to talk about anything we wanted. I was second to the last in the group, and most, if not everyone, that preceded me ended their ‘speeches’ with reasons on why the company should hire them. 

I don’t know if it’s just me but I never find it necessary to brag about supposed qualities and work ethics that should make someone a definite hire. It’s too cliche to talk about being loyal, hardworking and flexible. Chances are all of you in the room possess those qualities.

Not unless I’m asked why should we hire you, do I speak of such things. And most of the time, I will talk about the work I did with my organizations, and let those projects do the talking for me. 

Being loyal, hardworking, patient and what other common attitude that people come up with during interviews doesn’t make you standout. And no company wants to hire robots anyway. Except Shell, they do want robots (fucking 16 Math problems in 15 mins). 

Point is, be yourself. And spontaneity in what you say will follow. But never brag too much. It’ll never get you anywhere.

Today, I’ve been asked what part of me is beautiful.

It’s one thing to be told I’m ugly, but it’s another thing to ask me why.

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Damn, it felt like forever when I last opened (aka posted anything in) this account. I’ve been very busy ever since the holidays started, from Christmas eve to New Year’s eve and up until yesterday afternoon. I had my hands full with errands I wasn’t  good at, like cooking dinner for the aforementioned holidays, babysitting my cousins, picking gifts and other things I’d rather not mention because you’d go ‘how can you suck at something so basic.’ 

The holidays have always been my favorite time of the year. I get to see my relatives a lot which, surprisingly, is something I really enjoy. I didn’t get the ‘do you have a boyfriend’ or ‘when are you graduating’ questions. Else, I would’ve punched someone. You see, our (extended) family is a close-knit one, where everyone makes sure he/she is present whenever something grand is celebrated. We often mark our holiday photographs with cliches like color-coded outfits for each family and exchange gifts. And because I rarely go out with my friends (unless I’m into you or it’s your treat) on the last weeks of December, our family reunions are all I can talk about when asked ‘what DID you do last Christmas’. And oh, not that I have to mention it but the 25th is also my birthday. Wow, I’m already 21.

And though I really liked my 2-week stretch of seemingly endless activities like swimming, binge eating, booze and (insert awesome stuff here), I felt most satisfied after watching Liberal Arts yesterday. The movie was so refreshing and at the same time subtly judgmental (in a good way) of its viewers with what they’re doing with their lives. I felt this immediate need to move and do something about my sedentary behavior over the last few weeks. I took a bath afterwards, cleaned my closet and picked out clothes I can donate to shelters. I got to throw away useless papers from last semester, dust off my old books, whether for leisure or academic purposes. All this while listening and being stuck in the awesome corner of Youtube, started with the first song in the credits of the movie, and clicking a related song after another got me in this unimaginable high that well, started getting things done. 

That may not sound like a fairly unforgettable end of the year celebration but sometimes I prefer a leisurely long lunch with good friends than to a steak dinner out on the town. Just like how I wanted this year to be, generally uplifting with minor bumps and scratches along the road, but still something worth living for. 

I had an awe inspiring moment with a close friend of mine today. 

You have to know, this friend of mine is a classic romantic. And not the cheesy, superficial romance; if it were that, I’d easily dismiss his naive ideas about love and sit back in the comfort of never ever disappointing cynicism. 

When I’m listening to him talk about how scared he is, how loneliness sometimes creeps up on him, how worried he is about maybe not making the right decision in the past— I feel like we’re on exactly the same page. 

Except here’s the difference: 

I, immediately, without fail, without even having to think about it, put up a wall of defense and start questioning the necessity of it all- romance is dead, right? 

But he, without a hint of naivety, immaturity or even (for the cynics) desperation, believes that romance is walking among us. Sometimes it’s hard to see. And sometimes, the real romantics are scared to even show themselves. Romance, he thinks, is not sex. It’s not the text messages. It’s the secret smile you share in the middle of a great movie. It’s the first time you call her. It’s not set in a club at 2 am, but in mid-morning, bright in the sunshine, where among everyone else around, she sees you and you see her.

His long term relationship recently ended and, personally, I find it such a rarity, that in a society that sometimes forces you to walk around with a bulletproof vest, he is an open book.

Romance isn’t dead. It’s just a little worried about what the cynics have to say and sometimes, like the rest of us, it hides. 

It is down right paralyzingly scary, but find someone who makes you smile, close your eyes and jump. 

So, I told my dad about a certain “stressor” I’ve been dealing with recently (try, since the start of the semester). How he called me “p*ta” and meant it. How he kept giving me headaches for not doing things he should be doing (group works and such). How he has this prejudice against me when he himself is doing the same. I found myself breaking down in front of my dad while telling every single thing the stressor has done. And with a hug, dad gave me this advice, harsh as it is, is still true:

“Alam mo, ate (everyone in my family calls me ate), yung mga pinakamasasamang tao, sila yung mga taong walang nagmamahal. Kaya kailangan mo sila intindihin. Kung sa tingin mo hindi mo na kaya, isipin mo kung importante pa ba na maging kaibigan mo siya. Kung hindi, dapat lang na iwan mo na. Kahit pa sa ere. Minsan kailangan ng mga ganyang tao, isang malakas na sampal kasi akala nila tama lagi ginagagawa nila.”

And so tomorrow, I’ll talk to my plant design adviser about the problem we’re having. I hope, though, that I won’t end up crying.

is bittersweet.

If it weren’t for my hair getting tangled in a brooch, I would’ve cried in front of the photographer. Haha kidding. Having to wear the sablay made me a little uncomfortable knowing I won’t be marching on April, but at the same time, gave me a pride boost being a part of the university. Well you see, the sablay is the official academic costume of the University of the Philippines. We don’t wear togas on graduation, but a sablay over a barong or Filipiniana. 

We still wear togas, but just for the yearbook pictorials. And that’s what I did last Sunday. A small part of me screamed I’m undeserving to be wearing such things when I haven’t proven anything yet, or at least made my school proud in even the smallest way possible. That’s why even though I am very proud of UP and that I’m from UP, I don’t say it outright. I don’t bash other schools just to have UP stand on the higher (or even highest) pedestal. I see no point in defending your school tooth and nail when you haven’t done anything to contribute to your school’s long list of achievements and achievers.

Acknowledgment is one thing, false school pride is another. How timely is this when the cheerdance competition is a week away.

Can you believe I made this lengthy realization in between shots? 

So my grade school Math teacher decided to add me on Facebook. To be honest, he’s one of three teachers that really had an impact in what I became, in what I am today. I entered elementary school without expectations of getting high grades or topping the class. I just went to school because my parents told me so and my friends were in school, too. I had no one to play with and I had colored every page in my coloring books. Imagine how shocked my mom was when I was announced third best in class. I was satisfied with where I was. Hey, third ain’t bad, and besides I was in school for fun. But as I grew older, with each year passing by and a grade being crossed out, I thought I could do better. The only record you have to break is yours, right? I aimed for the top but always came short to some of my classmates. You know what I’m talking about. Those perfect students, and no amount of my effort could come close to theirs. There were three of them that I remember that stood up for me. 

My mom isn’t the type who hanged out in school a lot, to get close to the teachers, to her fellow parents and even the school admin. So when I was bullied by a parent just because I had a higher grade than her kid, a teacher defended me. That parent’s illogical reasons versus my teacher’s grading sheet. It sort of became an issue because it was such a big deal to that parent (and her kid). That was how I got recognized by my other teachers, by my classmates, by (some vicious, jealous) parents. That was around third grade, I think. My efforts became fruitful and I finished third grade at the top of my class. 

All grade schools had competitions to worry about and selecting the competing students was not very hard for our school. The favorites always got the recommendation. I was always booted out of the list. But this teacher believed me. He gave me reviewers and books and problems that helped me practice for Math competitions. Math was just another subject before he became my teacher. Arts was always my favorite. But things changed and I found myself loving numbers, enjoying work and mixture problems. Sure, I competed in the preceding grades but I never got the push I needed to actually want a win. We finished second to the last that preceding year. Eventually, we found ourselves clinching a spot closer to the finals. And after such a long time, our school got first place in the division. And though we students get the recognition, I can humbly say that I OWE IT ALL TO THIS TEACHER. He never had apet, he was always a mentor to those who had passion for the subject. 

I would’ve not gotten a lifetime’s glory days if it weren’t for him. Here are some of the things we’ve won for the school:

• 2001, 2002, 2003 MATH DIVISION CHAMPIONSHIP (team)
• 2002, 2003 MATH SECTORAL & REGIONALS CHAMPIONSHIP (team and individual)
• 2003 MATH NATIONALS CHAMPIONSHIP (team and individual)
• 2002, 2003 NATIONAL QUIZ BEE CHAMPIONSHIP (first two times I appeared on TV ehehe)

I spent most of my school time, practicing and training for the contests. The accolades we got silenced all doubters. I graduated valedictorian of the batch. Winning all those competition helped me entered a science high school. And eventually, my high school helped me get to UP. In the first place, I’m pursuing an engineering degree because I learned to love Math. Not as a subject, but a part of who I am. Sounds cheesy, right? 

My favorite, and prolly the only one I remember, quote about teachers is this:

A teacher affects eternity, no one can tell where his influence stops.

TL;DR. Passion is contagious. I’m lucky I get to cross paths with a person who values his work in such an extent that simple gestures inspire and influence people’s lives. There are more people out there that he inspired.

I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one.

Two posts back, I wrote about how I got you back, our friendship back. And unfortunately, my feelings back. In the midst of rain and lazy no-class afternoons, I found myself blabbering about you in any place possible. When I’m online talking to my friends, on tumblr blogging about those feelings, with my sister when we had nothing to do but talk about our non-existent significant others, and when I’m eating a bag of chips because I’m bored — I found myself being so preoccupied with thoughts of you. 

I don’t know why, after two days, I’m feeling this resentment towards myself after letting all that emotion out. A week ago, I remember telling a friend how I miss the feeling of being in love. Not being in love, mind you. Just the indescribable doozy that engulfs me when I’m in love. 

That everything, all of these in my gooey, romantic side, is just me forcing myself to return to familiar territory because I miss it. In this case, forcing myself to develop feelings for you again. 

I wrote about that one time you were a gentleman to me. And no matter what I wrote, looking back at it, all I can read is exaggeration on what appears to be a simple act of kindness. Not even enough to make one fall head over heels. The feelings I had just isn’t there. I believed, for a brief moment, that it was there. But it just wasn’t. The sugarcoated words did not make up for my lack of emotional attachment to you. 

I guess being nice to me isn’t enough to make amends for what you did. You’ve ignored me in more ways than one, and not even while I was madly in love with you. Like how you ignored me, I’m ignoring this feeling of missing being in love. I won’t ignore you. Like I’ve said before, I just got our friendship back.

And that’s more than enough for me.