Until the Very End

Exactly eleven years ago, my childhood was turned completely around by my desire to receive a letter. I'm sure you very well know what kind of letter I'm talking about. That which is contained in an envelope where an address is written in slanting, tiny letters. That which would take you to a place filled with everything you could only dream of.

I hoped, just like every child my age, that one day I would wake up to an owl post.

And in most ways, when I look back from where I am now, I guess I got that dream.

I was one of the lucky children in the world to be given the chance to join a world that is filled with magic, goodness, friendship, family, and love. I became, in the tiniest of circumstances, a part of something that defined magic anew.

Along with more than half of the world, I got to enter the world of Harry Potter. From the day he was delivered to the Dursleys with nothing but a lightning scar on his forehead and a marked life ahead, I watched him grow and discover who he really was, fight for his friends, and save the only home he's known from being corrupted by the evil.

Year after year, we waited for his new adventure. We anticipated, knowing he could probably get past anything (heck, he got to "unofficially" battle a troll at the age of 11, didn't he?). With every bit of himself that he shared with us, we developed a kind of friendship that crossed the line between fantasy and reality.

But now, we got to see him end everything. We got to say goodbye, knowing "all is well" now. We got to witness the finale of something we've known since childhood.

We all have to grow up, eventually. Maybe this is one of those times. Must I say, it really is hard to grow up. Especially when one of the things you gotta do is let go and just commit to memory your happy times as a child. And Harry-time was, is and will always be, a happy one for me.

This is a difficult post to complete, I should admit. I ought to be saying goodbye, that's why. I logged in thinking about bidding farewell, acknowledging an end, and accepting he fact that I gotta let go now. But like everybody else, I find it difficult to the point of being heartbreaking.

What do you say after eleven years of emotionally and psychologically investing into something like Harry Potter? Nothing, I guess. This is a wordless stint, something you cannot easily describe. And perhaps, it will always be like this.

And I would always be back. To the place I call home, to the walls of pure magic, to the world where everyone gets accepted.

I would always be back, at night when I have a hard time sleeping. In any time of the day when I have nothing to do. At any moment when I just want to feel warm.

Because the child in me would always be there. No matter how much I've grown, matured, or learned. That child who waited for an owl by her window would always be within me.

Until the very end.

I knew this was going to happen . . . (is this even an original title?)

I could use a fully-functioning brain, you know.

A blank stare, a loud sigh, and then a surrendered shrug.

Have you ever tried to gear up for a marathon only to find out that you don't really want to be in there and so, before the signal to start was fired, you just turn your back and leave? You leave, all the while feeling the regret welling up inside you.

That's how I feel every time I open any of my (purely writing) blogs and try to haul out words about worthy topics. I sign in and click the "New Post" button with enthusiasm only to realize that my brain is all the while immobile.

I'm not saying I'm good at what I do, nor that my lack of written stuffs would drastically affect the world at large. It's just that I'm quite disappointed with myself; I worry that maybe I'm not anymore as eloquent or that maybe I'm now living a way too dull life to write about it.

Hopefully, things start brightening up a bit. I'm trying my best, reading good finds for inspiration, and channeling many of life's excitement. Wish me luck.

Somebody grew up . . . yet again.

Tuesday this week, as I went out of the bathroom draped in a colorful towel, I saw my sister clad in her college uniform. She was waiting for me so I could close the door after her. I watched her leave and walk through the street, head bowed against the soft wind. And I thought about how it was just yesterday when we were wearing matching red-checkered school skirt--hers for grade schoolers and mine for the high school girls.

Sometimes it's hard to imagine life moves on at all. Especially when you have nothing at all that conspicuously grows and changes--like Saturday routines or the arrangement of your bedroom.

And then you become arrested by an apparent change, like a car going through a straight road and then suddenly comes to a swerving point.

I like those times, when life shatters the very ground I'm standing on. It makes me move as fast as I can, develop, grow. It makes me change what is there is to alter.

Some things I really knew was going to happen. Some things I did expect but still managed to shock we good. Maybe life really is like this: we may or may not plan yet things will keep on happening.

Survival is the Key

Ambilis natapos ng summer! Akalain mo, isang outing pa lang ang napupuntahan ko, bigla na lang nag-uulan. Tapos isang araw, nakakita na ko ng mga batang naka-uniform.

Panahon nga naman. Pabagu-bago, takbo nang takbo.

At ngayon, pasukan na naman. Which, of course, makes me reminiscent of how life has been when I was still in school. Kung nabasa n'yo ang Bob Ong-inspired posts ko dati tungkol sa elementary, high school, at college life ko, yun na yun.

Lately, lang, may tao akong nakilala na nagpaalala sa'kin ng tungkol sa college life ko. 'Di naman s'ya ga'nong importante. In fact, ayoko sa kanya (sabihin na lang nating ayoko ng masyadong mahangin na panahon). Pero dahil araw-araw n'ya ko halos nako-corner, wala akong choice kundi makipagkwentuhan sa kanya.

Tungkol saan?

Tungkol sa paano ako/kami nakalabas nang buhay mula sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas.

Ang UP, sabi nila, mahirap pasukin. Pero, mas mahirap lumabas galing do'n. Katakut-takot na pahirap, pasakit, at problema ang naranasan ko bago ako nakalabas ng UP. Hindi ko sasabihing gano'n ako katalino o ka-husay. Ma-diskarte ako nang kaunti, pero ang talagang nakatulong sa'kin? Believe it or not, katamaran. Totoo!

At para sa lahat ng katulad ko, some tips:

1. Ang Math 11 ay simpleng Algebra lang.

- Promise. Kahit na 4 ang grade ko at kahit kinailangan ko pang mag-exam ulit para maka-tres, madali lang ang Math 11. Minsan kasi, iniisip lang ng mga estudyante: Math 11 'to. . . Math 11 'to . . . mahirap 'to. Pero kung bubuklatin mo talaga 'yang module mo, Algebra lang talaga ang laman.

2. 50% ng trabaho ng prof mo ang takutin ka.

- Wagas na wagas. May mga prof na akala mo gano'n katapang. First day pa lang kasi ng klase, rules na agad ang binabanggit. Bawal ganito, bawal ganyan. Pag na-late ka ng 3 beses, bagsak ka na. Pag na-late ka ng 1 minuto sa pagpasa ng paper, INC ka na. Pero ang totoo, nadadaya ang oras at mas nale-late pa sila. The secret? 'Wag pasisindak. Mas tinatakot ang nagpapatakot. Kaya 'pag tinanong ka, sagot lang nang walang kurap, 'wag manginginig. Kahit 'di mo alam ang sagot, paikut-ikutin mo lang--sa pagkalito ng prof mo, 'di ka na makokontra.

3. Adrenaline ang pinaka-magandang source of creativity.

- Kapag alas-singko na ng umaga at ang report mo ay para sa klase mo na alas-syete, pustahan tayo lahat ng magagandang ideas parang ulan na bubuhos galing sa utak mo. Ang mga thesis drafts at paper ko dati, nagagawa ko lang 'pag isa-submit ko na. Yung tipong magsi-skip pa ko ng class para lang matapos ang pagta-type at pagpapa-print. O kaya, di ako matutulog para matapos ko.

4. Ang final exam ay mas madali kaysa lahat ng exam mo buong sem.

- Noong nag-aaral ako, dalawang exam lang ang pinag-aaralan ko bawat subject: 1st long exam at final exam. May mga subject kasi na parang promo ang finals, 'pag naipasa mo ang 2 o lahat ng long exams, wala nang finals. Ang problema, yung 2nd at 3rd LE, kaluluwa mo ang kapalit. Pero ang final exam, kahit buong sem pa ang coverage, multiple choice lang. O, diba! So, "thanks but no thanks" ang sagot ko lagi sa promo na 'yan.

5. Importante ang groupmates.

- Hindi lahat ng subject requirements, kaya mong mag-isa. Kailangan mo ng groupmates, o kahit partner man lang. Lalo na 'yung mga bibo kids, 'yung mga ayaw ng basta-bastang grade lang. At lalo na kung ang sistema ay hatian ng trabaho: 10% lang sa'yo pero same grade. Okay nang set-up yun.

6. At eto ang the best: Biyaya ng Diyos ang tres.

- Ipagpasalamat mo, naka-tres ka. 'Yung iba nga, kwatro lang o mas malala, singko. 'Wag nang choosy, pag-akyat pa lang sa tres, nakakapagod na. Buwis-buhay na ang uno, pang-mataas na pangarap. Kaya 'pag ang prof mo nagbigay ng tres para sa buong sem kung saan isang exam lang ang naipasa mo at 2 papers lang ang na-ibigay mo, 'wag nang umangal--anghel ang prof na 'yun.

Isipin mo na lang: 3 o another 6 months of the same subject (+ 750php pa)?

Simple lang naman ang buhay-Peyups. Basta matapang ka, kaya mo silang lahat. Kahit pala-absent ka, basta kumpleto mo ang requirements, buhay ka na. 'Wag kang papadaig sa sinasabi nilang UP ka, dapat magaling ka. Dahil ang UP, hindi naman hangad na pahirapan ka. Ilalabas lang lahat ng nasa loob mo. Wala kang dapat patunayan kahit kanino, kailangan mo lang maniwala sa sarili mo. Tandaan mo, above everything else, freedom to live ang the best lesson na makukuha mo from the University. Gamitin mo ang freedom na 'yan para umunlad pansarili at para sa iba.

Survival is the key. Kakainin lang ng buhay ang mga nagpapakain.

Unprecedented

I was watching Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince the other day. And, well, something just hit. I felt it while watching Harry and Hermione's dance inside their tent.

It was one of those moments that I've learned to hate--mainly because they trigger memories. They make me remember things I've sworn to forget. They make me want to try and believe again that some stories, like the one we could've had, really can happen. That at some point, friends can turn their relationship into something deeper--better.

But then again, I know sometimes, they're also bound to fail. Like what happened to ours.

And I have accepted that, believe it or not. I have understood that we really couldn't have made it work. Maybe, if I've accepted that long ago, we needed not to go through all the pain. Maybe I needed not to hate you or her or the situation. Maybe it didn't hurt me to look ahead, knowing that I'm leaving behind everything that would've made me happier.

It's not fair, I tell myself over and over. It isn't fair that I seem stuck wherever I am right now while you have evidently moved forward. It isn't fair that many times, I still look behind me whenever I cross the street, out of habitually knowing that you're just there to look out for me. It isn't fair that in the many celebrations that I come to honor, I still expect to get even an SMS from you.

But thankfully, I was able to get over the most part. I got to realize I wasn't fair, too. I wasn't being fair to you, whose being loving enough should be known to me more than anyone else. And I wasn't being fair to myself, for adding more to the pain than what should be there.

I must admit it was difficult, though. Until now.

Until now, when I see a guy and a girl treat each other as bestfriends. Until now, when I watch movies who have the same plot as our story. Until now, when people ask me about love and life. Until now, when I come across a couple playing with their child.

I don't hate you, by the way. I guess I never could feel that toward you. I still owe you way too much to hate you. Maybe even if we get the chance to repeat things and you still do what you did--choose what you've chosen. I don't hate you, I just hate the fact that what happened has happened.

Hopefully though, time would come when I wouldn't even think of writing something like this. I wouldn't feel a pang, however smallishly sharp. And if we could help it, hopefully we bring back even a quarter of what we've had before. I'd like that, to be honest.

Really like that.

It takes time, definitely. A long, long time.

There goes the change

I've been thinking of weddings and law school these days. A wedding where people are wearing jeans and shirts and sneakers or slippers. A wedding where the bride isn't made up or dressed up, where the groom doesn't even wear a tux. A wedding where vows aren't said, promises aren't made--instead, the present is laid.

A law school where everyone knew the answer. A law school that teaches you how to make an objection that will never be overruled. A law school that doesn't live together with piles and piles of clauses and articles. A law school where innocence is objective.

These are weird thoughts. Both refers to a future that won't happen. Maybe there's the common ground for them.

A future that I once believed in . . . But one that I now know wouldn't happen.

I wish I can simply ask

I wonder how you're doing. Sometimes, I hate the thought of you. But more often, I hate the fact that you become the thought that comes to mind whenever I don't have anything else to think about. Like you're some resident of an unguarded part of my mind.

But yeah, just that.

I wonder if you're doing fine. I wonder if you're getting along well with her. I wonder if you're happy.

I wish I can simply ask you. But I know I can't. Because we both know we're better off this way.

Run-down

The following is a collection of hastily-scribbled thoughts, typed memoirs, and a number of other unclassified sentences that I've written while in the far reach of my blog.

P.S. I'm so sorry, dear blog, for not being around much.

Firsts

It's the first time someone shouted at me. And we're not even remotely related with each other. I've never seen her and before I got to pick her call up, I never knew someone as brittle as her existed. What's worse, I didn't get to shout back. I raised my voice, fine. But to have the relieving feeling of having shouted her down as much as she did to me, I didn't get that.

Resolve: Someday, our positions we'll be reversed and I won't even shout at her. I'll show her what class truly is.

I've been to my, erm, nth goddaughter's Christening last April 3. It's a good ol' collection of firsts--my friend's first time to be a mom, my other friend's first time to see the cute little kid, and our group's first meeting since graduation (however incomplete we were). It's a good Sunday, like the older days where we gather over food and many gossips. The difference of those days and that Sunday though is evident, in shorter haircuts and heartier laughter and nastier commentaries on officemates. I like those differences, though, for some reason.

Stops and Pauses

Sometimes, I can't help but feel the irony of my relationship with my paternal grandmother. She lives directly across our house and yet I seldom (bordering on rarely) see her. I feel kind of guilty, I guess.

My Lola Mama had been bedridden for around three or four years now. She had a stroke and until now, had not fully recovered. She still recognizes us, her friends, and even her dead relatives. She's still aware on what day it is or even which TV shows are new. But mostly, it ends there. She can't speak clearly, can't move the left side of her body, can't bathe herself, can't even walk on her own. When we bring her out, mostly to go to church, she panics and frantically makes us take her home.

I often wonder about how life would have been if she's still normal. Maybe she's still working, still taking care of her husband's nieces and nephews, still at the mercy of her in-laws. Maybe her only daughter wouldn't be working abroad, her youngest already a doctor, and her eldest would have found a better wife. It sucks sometimes to think about how life would be different if she were different. But most often than not, we are just thankful of what we have right now.

Because on the opposite side of those would-have-beens, there's a worse and probably more unacceptable option: maybe she wouldn't be with us anymore.

Misses

I miss surfing the Net, on limitless access (emphasis on limitless, please). I miss movie downloads. I miss SMSing non-stop. I miss YMing people. I miss Tumblr reblogs and blog-hopping. I miss Ebook-reading.

Heck, I even miss scrubbing our vinyl tiles.

I miss the kind of life I used to lead, back when I still think I'm too young to be thinking about starting the steep climb up the corporate ladder. I miss going to interviews, not knowing who or what to expect, wearing the same "business" clothes again and again with no one really noticing (except that nosy, spandex-wearing lady who chats non-stop with her neighbor on the street). I miss taking IQ tests and made-up exams and psychological Q&A's.

Well, I guess it's true that you only know how nice it was back then when you look at it from now.

People-person

Now, I am a hundred percent sure I'm not at all a people-person.

Or better yet, I'm not at all a fraud (colloquially, plastic).

I maybe a new kid on the block but that doesn't mean I don't understand implied sarcasm and underlying issues. Hey, I grew up there. And to tell you, I'm actually better at it than you.

It's somehow amusing how some things never really change. Even if the environment's new. Even if you expect the people around you to be more mature. Even if you're supposedly in a 10%-personal-only place. It's amusing how the gossips never really chooses the place where to flourish. I guess the same process and idea works for everyone after all.

That you can't be perfectly pleasing to everybody. Someone out there would really, really hate you for what it's worth.

Transitions

You know how it is when parents kind of countdowns on their kids' remaining school years? My father did that when I graduated from college: "One down, two to go." He did that again when my sister finished high school: "Four more years to go." And my mother always does that when she talks about my brother's schooling: "Hopefully, one more year to go. *BIG SIGH*"

I don't get it, to be honest. They sound like assassins taking down people in their master's list. Sometimes, I just laugh at them. But mostly, I wonder how tired they really are to be counting on those numbers. As if their (the numbers') dwindling down means the rising of the amount of rest my parents are gonna get.

Real Askals

We don't own pets. As children, my siblings and I were so used to being out of the house (traveling most of the day to and from school) that taking care of anything living had become an impossibility. Hence, we never learned how to water a plant or to feed cats or dogs.

Lately though, there's this one stray dog who seemed to have found a home outside our very door. It used to be just a roaming askal, Filipino term for a dog without an owner and that lives on the streets, eating where there's food or garbage and peeing everywhere. And then we started throwing out leftovers at him. We didn't mind him loitering about under our van or our house's window. At some point, it learned to follow us everywhere we go--the sari-sari stores, the subdivision gates, our neighboring relatives. Until people started noticing that somehow, the dog has actually started to treat us like masters. He's particularly partial to me and my father, probably because it's always either the two of us who brings out the leftovers for him.

It would have been nice to have a surrogate pet except for one flaw: he bites. And since we've never known where he's from, naturally we all sort of concluded that his bite could be lethally infected with rabies. Hence, the village's general fear of him especially when they realized he's an overly protective animal that is ready to bite anyone he sensed to be a potential danger.

We never acknowledged him, though, never affirmed when people would ask if he's our pet. Never affirmed, always denied. Which is true, practically.

And a few days ago, some drunken, ruthless, senseless excuse for a man took the unbearable liking of coming closer to where the dog was and started hitting it. Then the man would swear at us because the dog was running and barking threateningly at him. Talk about drunken stupidity. It seemed like the catharsis our other neighbors were waiting for--they asked for my parents' permission to hunt down the dog (and well, do whatever it is they would want to with it). If only they had asked me, I would have said no. But my parents said otherwise.

Two nights ago, a shot rang outside our house followed by the yelp of a wounded animal. I dared not go out and look at what that could have been.

Silly, I know, but somehow I found it difficult to allow them get rid of the dog. He was an apparently misunderstood case, an amusing animal who responded to our commands, a comfortable thought to have when we sleep at night or leave the house. It gives me the creeps to know that when I go home everyday starting today, there would be no one to greet me or jump excitedly at the sight of me.

I hate my drunk neighbors.

. . .

Small thoughts, little by little they'll be formed into bigger clouds.