Okay, so about the man in the post-script of my last post.
HE has seen the ravages of war. He has witnessed natural calamities.
He
has been...
To
singles bars.
Okay, if you don't think that that was funny, well, I'll have you know I laughed my ass off for the whole day (and a bit more after that.) after reading that in our 4th quarter English exam.
We were to identify what kind of idiomatic expressions were used in different sentences and that one, if you hadn't guessed, is an anti-climax. Grammatically speaking, an anticlimax is a disappointing end to an exciting or impressive series of events. Oh, but of course, I am not here to lecture about idiomatic expressions. Rather, this post is for lamenting over the lack thereof.
Furthermore, this is not a post to simply speak of the wrong or the scarce usage of idiomatic expressions in modern day speech. Instead, it's a huge example of my own anticlimax.
Do you hear the sep anx drums beating?
People, it's officially and exactly been a week and five days since grad but what the hell? I mean, it feels like it's already been FOREVER.
The anticlimax here, is high school itself.
I mean, it could've gone on forever and ever. The monotonous lull of boredom that we faced every single day--waking up, putting on our school uniform, heading to school, school, post-school, post-post school-- had its own charm that had worked its way into us and made us feel like it was indeed just a really really long draggy adventure story.
But then again, it ended.
The silent security we had from knowing that each knew day would be about going to school, seeing friends, having a "light day" in math, listening to all the Latin stuff that always manage to get jumbled up in your brain in CLE, questioning Ma'am Chichay about her telenovela-worthy college unrequition, teasing yet secretly enjoying Tonton for his fangirling, passing around Cheetos and ducking so you can eat them with much stealth, swapping lunches, food...
Sigh.
It was a rollercoaster that went up up up up up up and dropped. Boringly into this supposed "fun" oblivion (ahem, Purgatory) that we call, SUMMER BEFORE COLLEGE.
She had been through prom drunkenness, she has witnessed Dragons get defeated in battles yet regrow their wings.
She is...
Going to college.
Meh.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Sunday, February 23, 2014
When Life Gives You Sep Anx, Swim in It Forever
Tomorrow will inevitably be another uneventful day in school. It will be the usual lectures, the usual Monday general assembly, the usual quizzes, the usual boring softball games, the usual everything.
I wish.
God, it breaks my heart, seriously (not literally) that tomorrow will be the last regular class day I spend in thecheesily nicknamed halls of Blue and White. I just--there are just so many memories in every corner of that place despite having spent only three years there.
Okay, well, we might still have around a month more before grad but tomorrow will be the last actual day that we spend, slaving away at equations, burning up in the softball dugout (a badly landscaped football field but a softball dugout nonetheless), listening to Sir Anthony rave about literature (God, this breaks my heart so much.) and all the Monday things we do in school. It's just so hard to say goodbye to something that you've been so used to for the past few years. It's so hard to let go and begin to part with a place you've called home for what felt like a tiny bit of eternity for a while.
It just hurts so much that suddenly, somebody just pulls the cord on all that stuff.
I am not a sentimental person. I don't cry easily and I'm not the type reminisce things for the purpose of intended masochism. But it just began to sink in earlier tonight that Ateneo has been to me what no place has ever been. I can't even call it a home because it's been a lot more than that to me.
It's where I learned that I could belong. People used to be so quick to judge before I met people at AdI. I mean, There was just so much tension, so much having to conform, so much hate and jealousy in my life before that I thought I'd always just be an outcast with friends that I'd have to lose in the end. But here, I met people who don't care if you like going hahahahehehehehihihihyperventilate over your favorite things because they know that despite how annoying you'd seem, they'd also have those moments too. This is where I felt like there was absolutely no judgment to people who seem like the 'brains' of the class or whatever. AdI is where I felt like I could trust. I could hand someone my secret and turn my back, knowing they'd take it with them to their grave.
I learned to love (literature, that is) Actually, this is what started my entire sadness trip tonight. I just thought about how tomorrow would be our last meeting with Sir Anthony in formal classes and I swear by all the authors he's quoted that the thought of it smashed my itty-bitty heart to pieces. I love literature now and I have to admit I am a literature noob. But AdI just has this thing for literature that takes you on a love trip. Eloquentia et Sapientia if I may cheesily quote. But really, it's been a love affair between me and literature ever since I laid my hands on The Raven. Add in Sir Anthony's careful and passionate dissection of To Kill and Mockingbird and Ma'am A's swoon-worthy reading of that other version of the story of Orpheus and Eurydice and god, the projects--the heart-wrenchingly difficult, shame-killing projects that force us to literally take on characters and actually live out a story. I feel like shedding tears right now. Literally just because of how much I'll miss English classes in AdI. I'd be lost without literature right now and I owe it all to AdI, I guess.
It's home. Cheesy as it might be, my classmates can attest to the fact that our classroom has literally and figuratively become home, truly. It's where you can sleep without getting yelled at, eat and still have someone pass you more food, bicker and still have a hug at the end of the day, cry and have someone to hold you and tell you things will be alright, tell cheesy jokes and still get a good laugh, announce that you need to take a shit and never get judged, fart and be identified and cast out (and still be welcomed after the stench is gone). I'll be with my friends after tomorrow, for sure. But it'll be a whole different thing. What comes after exam week is graduation prep. No more homework cramming, no more food hiding, no more side comments to be snide about in class. It'll just be... different.
Separation anxiety is kicking in, most definitely. It's melting the Ice Queen that's always been me and it's just ripping my heart out again and again and again. I just can't believe things are about to end. I dare not say that I cried writing this but I dare not deny it either. It's a long hell of a process that feels so quick and so evasive when we actually try to find our footing in it. For sure, AdI wasn't perfect... but it was home. And now, I'm packing up to move.
It usually really is the packing up that gets us all sad and stuff. Like, the feeling of having to lift your stuff out of the dusty corners they've been in for a while now, remembering every story about that thing and that corner, even the stories of how it got dusty there would break your heart, trying to hold on to the pieces of those events left to you--the memories. Packing up is when you see everything get dismantled until what's left is a room physically as empty as what it was when you got there but you know in your heart that it's not as empty as it seems.
Across the empty room, you still see mirages, figments of people laughing, books thrown about, lessons being fallen asleep to, lively discussions, secret Cheetos...
I should stop here.
Bah.
Eyes are sweating. Go away.
I wish.
God, it breaks my heart, seriously (not literally) that tomorrow will be the last regular class day I spend in the
Okay, well, we might still have around a month more before grad but tomorrow will be the last actual day that we spend, slaving away at equations, burning up in the softball dugout (a badly landscaped football field but a softball dugout nonetheless), listening to Sir Anthony rave about literature (God, this breaks my heart so much.) and all the Monday things we do in school. It's just so hard to say goodbye to something that you've been so used to for the past few years. It's so hard to let go and begin to part with a place you've called home for what felt like a tiny bit of eternity for a while.
It just hurts so much that suddenly, somebody just pulls the cord on all that stuff.
I am not a sentimental person. I don't cry easily and I'm not the type reminisce things for the purpose of intended masochism. But it just began to sink in earlier tonight that Ateneo has been to me what no place has ever been. I can't even call it a home because it's been a lot more than that to me.
It's where I learned that I could belong. People used to be so quick to judge before I met people at AdI. I mean, There was just so much tension, so much having to conform, so much hate and jealousy in my life before that I thought I'd always just be an outcast with friends that I'd have to lose in the end. But here, I met people who don't care if you like going hahahahehehehehihihihyperventilate over your favorite things because they know that despite how annoying you'd seem, they'd also have those moments too. This is where I felt like there was absolutely no judgment to people who seem like the 'brains' of the class or whatever. AdI is where I felt like I could trust. I could hand someone my secret and turn my back, knowing they'd take it with them to their grave.
I learned to love (literature, that is) Actually, this is what started my entire sadness trip tonight. I just thought about how tomorrow would be our last meeting with Sir Anthony in formal classes and I swear by all the authors he's quoted that the thought of it smashed my itty-bitty heart to pieces. I love literature now and I have to admit I am a literature noob. But AdI just has this thing for literature that takes you on a love trip. Eloquentia et Sapientia if I may cheesily quote. But really, it's been a love affair between me and literature ever since I laid my hands on The Raven. Add in Sir Anthony's careful and passionate dissection of To Kill and Mockingbird and Ma'am A's swoon-worthy reading of that other version of the story of Orpheus and Eurydice and god, the projects--the heart-wrenchingly difficult, shame-killing projects that force us to literally take on characters and actually live out a story. I feel like shedding tears right now. Literally just because of how much I'll miss English classes in AdI. I'd be lost without literature right now and I owe it all to AdI, I guess.
It's home. Cheesy as it might be, my classmates can attest to the fact that our classroom has literally and figuratively become home, truly. It's where you can sleep without getting yelled at, eat and still have someone pass you more food, bicker and still have a hug at the end of the day, cry and have someone to hold you and tell you things will be alright, tell cheesy jokes and still get a good laugh, announce that you need to take a shit and never get judged, fart and be identified and cast out (and still be welcomed after the stench is gone). I'll be with my friends after tomorrow, for sure. But it'll be a whole different thing. What comes after exam week is graduation prep. No more homework cramming, no more food hiding, no more side comments to be snide about in class. It'll just be... different.
Separation anxiety is kicking in, most definitely. It's melting the Ice Queen that's always been me and it's just ripping my heart out again and again and again. I just can't believe things are about to end. I dare not say that I cried writing this but I dare not deny it either. It's a long hell of a process that feels so quick and so evasive when we actually try to find our footing in it. For sure, AdI wasn't perfect... but it was home. And now, I'm packing up to move.
It usually really is the packing up that gets us all sad and stuff. Like, the feeling of having to lift your stuff out of the dusty corners they've been in for a while now, remembering every story about that thing and that corner, even the stories of how it got dusty there would break your heart, trying to hold on to the pieces of those events left to you--the memories. Packing up is when you see everything get dismantled until what's left is a room physically as empty as what it was when you got there but you know in your heart that it's not as empty as it seems.
Across the empty room, you still see mirages, figments of people laughing, books thrown about, lessons being fallen asleep to, lively discussions, secret Cheetos...
I should stop here.
Bah.
Eyes are sweating. Go away.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Inebriated, Celebrated, Humiliated--I Want Cupcake.
(Please don't tell my mom and dad)
A few hours from now marks the time and date of something I did and probably never should've done. The title explains what happened post-prom 2014. Yes, it was one hell of a night of sitting around, waiting, getting pissed at people, waiting, more waiting, forcing people to join the circle and eventually starting a game of truth or dare (Hotel tequila-smuggler version).
To cut this short, this will be another rant post--mostly regrets, complaints, a few laughs here and there but most definitely, it's a rant.
But contrary to my stereotype rant post, this is a rant whereI don't hate on anyone else but myself
So, okay, basically, this is a post about what I did post-prom and how I felt post-post-prom.
A drink or two...or seven can make just about anyone like me go completely stupid. Yes, I have to admit. Stupid. But to be truly truly honest about how I felt right then and there, they don't lie about how liberating it feels to be blinded by folly and well, multiple shots of tequila.
As long as you're with the right people, of course. My friends were kind enough to take me under their wings in my sorry state. But really. It was just one hell of a liberating feeling. It's literally just one of the moments where you can say things and never give a shit about what people would think about you.
So, to capsulize the things I said, basically it was me screaming, sobbing, being smothered by a pillow so we wouldn't get caught in an overpopulated hotel room with smuggled drinks and of course, professions of unrequited love.
Pathetic. I know.
But it did me well for the time being, honestly. All those feelings were just... bottled up, I suppose. So bottled up that I was being unfair to myself for clamming up for so long. So bottled up that it would be selfish to think that it was a selfless act to keep quiet for so long. So bottled up that I just--Well, I'll leave the details to my slurred conversation with Bea in the bathroom.
It did me well for the fact that I cleared out some confused feelings with myself. I screamed one thing over and over again in that single night of inebriation and I'm pretty much sure that a drunk's honesty after introspection would be the best way for me to determine what I actually feel and not have the conscious pride or self-abhorrence to deny the fact thatmaybe I do feel that I love a certain drunk person.
Maybe I need a shot or two again to finish this post.
But no.
So, now, sober and myself again, unable to be numb and totally capable of bottling up the hurt, I feel so... mixed up. I feel happy for having let all those out, liberated for finally knowing what I feel without denying myself of any considerations, touched by how people looked out for me when I was in that state but then again... there's him.
We're worse than before now. We can't seem to find our footing anymore. The truth is just a really big bitter pill to swallow and sometimes, the truth just aggravates things so much and so badly that it becomes a point of no return. I just...I don't understand why I still have to be the one always being patient, always understanding, always having to listen and just shut up.
I don't get why I can be some sort of a wall that has to take every single blow that's taken against me but when it's my turn to finally shatter, no one's every there to pick up the pieces and patch me back up. There's just always that nagging feeling of having to be swept underneath something to keep other people from stepping on the shattered pieces of Danielle and hurting themselves on it.
I don't understand why I always have to carry the burden and when I ask for someone to share mine, it just ends up with me looking like the needy one, with me looking like the weak one who couldn't shut up and thus ruined everything I just...
I just need Steffi to shovel noodles in my mouth right now and for Bea to give me that cupcake she still owes.
Happy One Week Anniversary too Inebriation, Celebration, Humiliation and Wanting a Cupcake.
Cheers.
(or not because anything with alcohol is revolting to me at the moment. #PURGING.)
(Still, please don't tell mom and dad.)
A few hours from now marks the time and date of something I did and probably never should've done. The title explains what happened post-prom 2014. Yes, it was one hell of a night of sitting around, waiting, getting pissed at people, waiting, more waiting, forcing people to join the circle and eventually starting a game of truth or dare (Hotel tequila-smuggler version).
To cut this short, this will be another rant post--mostly regrets, complaints, a few laughs here and there but most definitely, it's a rant.
But contrary to my stereotype rant post, this is a rant where
So, okay, basically, this is a post about what I did post-prom and how I felt post-post-prom.
A drink or two...or seven can make just about anyone like me go completely stupid. Yes, I have to admit. Stupid. But to be truly truly honest about how I felt right then and there, they don't lie about how liberating it feels to be blinded by folly and well, multiple shots of tequila.
As long as you're with the right people, of course. My friends were kind enough to take me under their wings in my sorry state. But really. It was just one hell of a liberating feeling. It's literally just one of the moments where you can say things and never give a shit about what people would think about you.
So, to capsulize the things I said, basically it was me screaming, sobbing, being smothered by a pillow so we wouldn't get caught in an overpopulated hotel room with smuggled drinks and of course, professions of unrequited love.
Pathetic. I know.
But it did me well for the time being, honestly. All those feelings were just... bottled up, I suppose. So bottled up that I was being unfair to myself for clamming up for so long. So bottled up that it would be selfish to think that it was a selfless act to keep quiet for so long. So bottled up that I just--Well, I'll leave the details to my slurred conversation with Bea in the bathroom.
It did me well for the fact that I cleared out some confused feelings with myself. I screamed one thing over and over again in that single night of inebriation and I'm pretty much sure that a drunk's honesty after introspection would be the best way for me to determine what I actually feel and not have the conscious pride or self-abhorrence to deny the fact that
Maybe I need a shot or two again to finish this post.
But no.
So, now, sober and myself again, unable to be numb and totally capable of bottling up the hurt, I feel so... mixed up. I feel happy for having let all those out, liberated for finally knowing what I feel without denying myself of any considerations, touched by how people looked out for me when I was in that state but then again... there's him.
We're worse than before now. We can't seem to find our footing anymore. The truth is just a really big bitter pill to swallow and sometimes, the truth just aggravates things so much and so badly that it becomes a point of no return. I just...I don't understand why I still have to be the one always being patient, always understanding, always having to listen and just shut up.
I don't get why I can be some sort of a wall that has to take every single blow that's taken against me but when it's my turn to finally shatter, no one's every there to pick up the pieces and patch me back up. There's just always that nagging feeling of having to be swept underneath something to keep other people from stepping on the shattered pieces of Danielle and hurting themselves on it.
I don't understand why I always have to carry the burden and when I ask for someone to share mine, it just ends up with me looking like the needy one, with me looking like the weak one who couldn't shut up and thus ruined everything I just...
I just need Steffi to shovel noodles in my mouth right now and for Bea to give me that cupcake she still owes.
Happy One Week Anniversary too Inebriation, Celebration, Humiliation and Wanting a Cupcake.
Cheers.
(or not because anything with alcohol is revolting to me at the moment. #PURGING.)
(Still, please don't tell mom and dad.)
Friday, February 21, 2014
The Tintinabulation of Bells
Cliche as it may sound, girls have this horrendously detailed idea of what they wish (need) their future wedding to look like by around the age of 18 or so. Well, I, being the above average girl, already have that zany cloud of thoughts at 16 years old and 4 months. Yup. Ask my friends, my seatmates, I'd tell anyone who'd listen about my obsession about my to-be wedding in the future.
I completely agree if you think it's insane for me to already have ideas but yes, insane is a lifestyle I shall continue to live by. Okay, to cut this post intro short, I shall proceed to a Pinterest-worthy montage that shall stand witness to my obsession.
(Btw, tintinabulation is an actual word that Edgar Allan Poe coined to capture the sound of bells in a single word. It literally just means the sound of bells)
Okay, so, let's start off with the basics. It'll be an orchard wedding.
I completely agree if you think it's insane for me to already have ideas but yes, insane is a lifestyle I shall continue to live by. Okay, to cut this post intro short, I shall proceed to a Pinterest-worthy montage that shall stand witness to my obsession.
(Btw, tintinabulation is an actual word that Edgar Allan Poe coined to capture the sound of bells in a single word. It literally just means the sound of bells)
Okay, so, let's start off with the basics. It'll be an orchard wedding.
With a swing because swings make everything so romantic. (although they are pedophilic and seek children's butts)
(See how romantic a swing is?! asdfghjkl)
Oh, and a horse. Because I love horses.
(Majestic as shizz)
Adorable save-the-dates! :D
And these little quirky idiosyncracies
(Mason jars, mason jars everywhere)
Of course, the perfect dress
(Although I'd need the perfect body first because...)
Oh, but cake.
(I crie)
And of course, a cutesy entourage
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Oh, and you guys, meet my maid-of-honor to be. She's like my best friend ever, the sweetest, craziest girl who can dole out the best advice and is killer on the soccer field (ish): Bea Nicole Leguro Leal
Isn't she gorgeous? >:) (Sorry, Bei. I know you'd still be my maid of honor despite this.)
Speaking of gorgeous things, one last thing to top the list off.
Just um, uh, er... a Harry Winston (?)
I know, I'm cruel. Huhuhuhu. :'( But look at how awesome an HW box iiiis. D: (It opens sideways!)
So, I'm a romantic--a hopeless one at that but at least I come prepared if the fates are good.
All I need now is a future groom...
And a 7-foot tall pile of money.
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