Like us (humans), decisions continue to grow until they are killed by another decision, or by fate. Small things need small decisions – what candy to pick. Big things demand big decisions – which house to buy. As simple as that. But what if the thing is either small or big, or neither small nor big? What if it’s abstract, like faith and hope? What if it’s love? How do we measure that? Are we supposed to be talking size? Or length? Or size? No, not that green mind.
Taking baths three times a day was the most that happened in my second year in college. And Bordo Burgers! And silogs. Darn, it used to rain graces coming straight from…the kitchen! (*grin*)
Anyway, college life was almost entirely new since that afternoon I left Men’s Dorm, except that I was still a UPLB student and a DevCom major. And I was still the girl who loved wearing jeans and shirts; who never cared about her hair; who spoke in soft voice; who ate with “princess-y” etiquette; who never enjoyed drinking water; coffee-lover; frustrated singer; frustrated guitarist; frustrated “shopaholic” and a lot lot more. And of course, I was still far away from home, so I was still the girl who had been missing her mom and dad.
SKADOOSH! Don’t call me “poor little girl”, I swear I enjoyed the freedom. “Give me liberty. Or give me death.” Right, brother? Oh, that’s another thing: I was still the baby sister who was a big fan of her brother and her sister. Just the way they write!
And importantly, I was still with one of my first roommates. (*smiles*) Thanks to you, Boy! So, after all, life wasn’t entirely new.
I was most serious with my schooling during my second year in college, believe me. School girl, yes! “Who’s the pro?” “Yes? Anything?”
Kidding. I couldn’t be any happier for myself whenever friends told me how down-to-earth I was for being able to hold back the cockalorum, keeping the big news behind my throat, and never caring to spill’em out at all. Oh dear friends, how would you know? You weren’t friends with my parents. They endured all of my bragging. I drowned them in my loud ways of self-glorification and left them no option but adore their little daughter more and more. Yeah, classical conditioning, right Ivan P.? It worked for me in a way like I was a puppy always begging for bones that sound crunchy, like an audience’s applause every time I took a bite. But that was all okay. I worked all that for self-fulfillment, anyway. And to make my parents happy, more than proud, was the big part of that so-called self-fulfillment.
Back in first year, I almost lost myself to Math. D*mn those numbers! And x. And y! I’d rather watch old Pinoy action movies like “Papunta Ka Pa Lang, Pabalik Na Ako” than an hour with college algebra.
Oh, I see! I see. I’ve never known what I’m allergic with. Not until now. College algebra (*scratching hand*). College algebra (*scratching right leg*). Oh, amen to that!
I hated Math because it hated me. That was my way of paying obedience to the golden rule: “Do not do unto others what you don’t want others do unto you.” But of course I ended up in no fair game. I had to clip up my nose while pouring out a glassful of love potion into my mouth so I’d fall for Mr. Math because I had to. Else, I’d fail ECON 11, STAT1, and my thesis. Summed up, that would be…failing my college education. So, I placed the bulk of my attention to ECON 11, and I kind of enjoyed my choice. I could only count the times I failed to review previous discussions or do advance reading before going to my ECON class. Like…one or two. Three at maximum. No, I’m not a braggart.
It often felt awkward entering a huge lecture hall where everyone was a stranger. Well, at least later on I got to talk with my groupmates in the recitation class. “Hi!” “Hello!” “Here’s your part. Answer numbers 2 and 3. Then we meet up on Wednesday afternoon, after class. Alright?” And one more thing was that our professors prepared seating arrangements so I didn’t have to worry and bother anyone asking if someone was sitting in this and that chair. Good enough.
Thanks to the love potion, I passed my exams in the lecture class, and my exercises in the recitation class. I thought I just made a good deal with ECON 11. At the end of the semester, guess what! I got a…2.0. Told you I’m not a braggart. With a flat 2.0? Nah, never mind. But I swear that flat 2.0 was precious, like piso to make for my jeepney fare, saving me from walking my way home. And working hard for it made me look like a pro! (*lol*)
It was a long year then. Things happened. I made a lot of new friends; a lot of new favorites including Bordo Burgers and silogs; lots and lots of sleepless nights, bad hair days, eye bags…and courage…and then -SKADOOSH!- good grades.
That year, I was able to actually see and operate an audio console. I mean, an old audio console. And it was extraordinary feeling I had after I got my ‘corrected but uncorrected’ DJ’s spiel with a flattering combo remarks of flat 1.0 and “Very good!” on it. No, I’m not bragging my FLAT 1.0 and my “VERY GOOD!” Anyway, in that broadcasting class, we were each given an hour to air our music program. I compiled like eight Disney songs and went on air, with a medium pack of Holy Kettle Corn, until my signing off as the hour’s DJ. That was a lot of fun, I swear to that old audio console! So, I thought I could join the jocks. Unluckily, when it was my turn to audition: D*mn words! Why are you guys so little? -_- C’mon, grow big, let me read you… -_-
But I just immediately got over it. I just thought it wasn’t written in my fate. Perhaps. Or…
Can I just mind my own life, and you mind yours?”
That same year, I almost auditioned for official membership in SJ or Street Jazz, a famous dance group in the university. But even sooner than my second practice session with an SJ friend, I decided not to. It would require me to stay at the Baker Hall until 10:00 PM everyday. That was a no-no. ECON 11 was my thing.
Although I didn’t find myself in SJ’s late night practice sessions, I caught myself at free fall, my back landing flat on my bed, shoes untied, after an extraneous warm up and an evening-long dance rehearsal for the Loyalty Day. Cramps. And cramps. And cramps. But they paid off! The rehearsals made a good stretch to my muscles and refreshed my dance moves. I regained my winning poise, which made me look like I was on high profile.
Dancing was definitely my thing!!! Despite the paralyzing cramps, the several rehearsals and the final performance during the celebration of the UPLB Loyalty Day 2007 surely took me on a high. I was there. I danced. Front line. At first, I had to repeat it to myself that I was placed at the front because I was small. But no, it wasn’t that. The next thing I knew was that I had to stop my ears from flapping, ’cause I just heard the assistant DI said to our DI: I want her in front and in the middle. She’s effortlessly graceful. And then, I died of liver enlargement and suffocation in flattery. (*lol*)
In December, I danced again, that time for my college’s presentation in the UPLB Faculty Follies. After the program, I went out for dinner with the other performers and a few of our college instructors. At the resto, one of our college instructors was invited by his Japanese friend to his table, and not long he came back to our table with his Japanese friend next to him.
Suddenly, this Japanese man pointed at me and said: You. You. It’s you! Surprisingly, I saw myself on the screen of his laptop. It was a medium shot of me during the dance performance. Surprised, I just smiled, speechless.
I’m getting lots of flashbacks now. But this is already going too long so I should cut it here. All the rest of my 2007-2008 remain in here —> ❤ (*wink*)
Cliche is that, life is like a book, running through chapters. Words written, and then they happen. Words read, and then the story seems real. But of course, life is far more exciting, without question, and with all the fun, all the pain never surreal. Just real. Where would authors take their stories from? Life, of course. Or death. Somehow.