YOU ARE NOT YOUR MIND

Our friendship has been over for quite a while. We no longer speak to each other. There’s even this air of awkwardness that fills our every encounter. Yet I found myself defending you earlier when someone dared badmouth you. “She’s actually a great person. She’s very kind. They just don’t understand her or perhaps even envy her.” etc etc and although there was a certain ache when as I drowned in the memories of our broken friendship, I realized that I meant every word. I realized that although a part of me crumbles every time I remember you, I still see you as someone great, someone to be revered. What we had was a waste.

I remember how, this time last year, the Atenean grounds are but an unfamiliar territory in my consciousness. As I wandered in the huge campus that, in less than a month, was to be my school, I was held in awe by the grandeur of nature infused into an urbanized modern setting. Among the things that then amazed me about Ateneo was these tall trees that bore vibrant red flowers. How I stared at them as I made my way to the OrSem, and how I would pause on my way to my dorm simply to behold the beauty of raining red petals and how they carpeted the staircase connecting Ateneo’s hill to Marikina below.

This is why it saddens me to see that only four of the many, many fire trees in the Ateneo campus have bloomed. Some of them were destroyed by last year’s Typhoon Pedring. Others are weathering. Perhaps, when June comes, I’ll see the sky ablaze with their flowers again. I’m hoping.

Papa—

There’s something I wish to tell you, something I wouldn’t be able to tell you in person because I know that you would simply brush me off. I know that if I tell you this upfront, you wouldn’t even give me the chance to explain. So here I am, typing away what I really feel, something you should know.

I have shifted out of BS Psychology and shifted into AB Psychology; an action I know you would oppose strongly, telling me how I am risking my future away. Papa, I want you to know that I absolutely hate studying the Sciences in the academe. My heart is not into it. Now that I have shifted out of it, I feel as though a huge amount of pressure has been lifted from my shoulders.

Another thing; something much more important. Papa, I wish to double major in either AB Social Sciences or AB Developmental Studies. I have consulted with the Office of Admission and Aid, and they said that the chances that this too will be covered by my scholarship will be pretty slim, so I ask that you support me, for once in my life.

I know that from the very beginning, you have opposed even the idea of my going to Ateneo. You even got mad at me when I got a scholarship. But Papa, please, for once, hear me out and try to understand how I really feel.

Papa, I have a dream. Sadly, it may be far from what you want for me. Fulfilling my dream may mean that I wouldn’t earn as much as you want me to. I dream to help build the society, to help build the communities of the poor, those who are in the depressed areas of the Philippines. I want to see my countrymen living a better life. If not, I would like to become a journalist—not the type that money follows. I want to be the type of journalist who truly raises awareness and not simply says what the people want to hear. I want to do researches that would be relevant to the improvement of society and the implementation of justice. I want to lessen my countrymen’s ignorance at the very least, Papa—to see them aware, to see them knowing their rights, and living their lives to the fullest.

And law. Of course, law. I would still take law, Papa. I promise you that. But I wouldn’t be taking law for money. I would be taking law to defend those who most need it. And Papa, perhaps the greater understanding that this double major would give me is something I would be able to utilize as a lawyer. I hope that one day, I would be able to infiltrate the judiciary, to change it from within. The proper implementation of justice is something this country sorely lacks, and I hope that I would one day be able to help give it to the people.

I know it wouldn’t be easy, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Papa, I know that you think that I’m simply a dreamer—a youth who doesn’t know what she’s getting into. I know that you’ll tell me to be more practical, that money makes the world go round, that I should instead stabilize myself. I know that you might tell me how very idealistic I am. I do admit it. I am idealistic. But weren’t great countries founded by men who acted on their ideals?

Papa, unlike most of my generation, I will care about my nation and I will not run away from my ideals for the promise of a “better” future. I know I might fail. I know I might end up poor. Yet I will have no regrets because I know I tried my best to make a difference.

Papa, I have another dream. One day, I will have children of my own. When that time comes, I want them to live in a better world not because my income would be able to shield them from the harshest realities of life, but because I had helped make the world a better place.

I will turn 18 in a year. I ask for no grand celebrations, no grand gifts, no weekend getaways, not even a fancy dinner. I wouldn’t even mind, if, like this year and the past years, you wouldn’t even bother greeting me for my birthday. What I do ask for is something my mother also asked you to give me a decade or so ago—the gift of education.

Happy, happy birthday, Papa.

Your bunso,

Marisse

I don’t know why, but for the past few days, I’ve been shifting from happy to lonely, from apathetic to desperate in but a short period of time. The truth is, I don’t even know whether I’m lonely now, although I felt quite depressed some 10 or so minutes ago. I’m in this quick transition from disturbed to calm, from the feeling of longing for others into the wanting to detach myself from the world.

I’m turning 17 on Sunday, but I can’t even feel that I’ve grown or even managed to dent the seemingly impregnable glass covering the world. Apparently, I’m a little too small to even land a hit. But I know I’m getting there, little by little. One day, I’ll make my mark, and perhaps even break the glass that separates me from that world, from reality.

Yet there comes a time when I feel as though I’m not good enough, as though my endeavors were too huge a task for someone like me, an atom in the eye of the universe. And I feel depressed over situations I know I have no power over and thus cannot change. I have grand visions for my country, for my people, for the world. I have this… extremely moral view of justice and of human rights. I still have faith in this generation; that it will change, that it will lift its apathy, that it will put an end to the irrevocable bitter cycle that is the Philippine societal system—no, that it will put an end to the seemingly eternal and absolute cycle that governs every human institution in the world. The most stupid thing, perhaps, is that I try to fight for these hopes and dreams. I launch futile but tiring battles, shout deafening but silent cries. I keep on hoping. I keep on fighting. It’s depressing.

Often have I wished I had been born with ignorant bliss. I still wish it now. Yet sometimes, I regret wishing it, because no matter how ugly reality is, such ugliness only makes me appreciate the beauty of the world all the more. :)

My schedule for my summer classes.

*sigh* Apparently, my schedules telling me to go on a diet. No breaks for three classes? Damn. I hope my terribly short attention span can handle it and I hope my professors would allow me to eat in class. Well, I had Sir Go last sem, and I don’t think he’ll mind, but he’s my first subject prof. There’s Skilty Labastilla whom I don’t know, but they say he’s easy A and we’ll go to gay bars and a lot of other exciting places (but yes. gay bars.). And of course, Dr. Respeto. He’s one of the most sought-after professors, and they say he’s EPIC (although not as epic as Tenorio, who was my first choice). Well, it’s my last Filipino class so I’d really want it to count. :D I hope this would be my kwatro sem, kahit summer lang.

And hey, I’m simply happy I got through first year without losing my scholarship. Haha. I guess that’s what really matters. :) I guess I better start working. 

NOTE: If you hate squishy personal posts, skip over this one.

It was one of those countless times I go on facebook. I would scroll down my newsfeed and look for interesting things or update myself about how my friends are doing. Then there goes his post. It was nothing particularly notable or sensible, but it was his post nonetheless.

I’ve been remembering him for a few days now, after seeing our pictures before. Then everything comes flooding back. I even got the urge to open my box of stuffed toys—most of them, coming from him.

I remember how much he loved me so much without wavering, for almost six years and maybe more. I remember how I sometimes emotionally and psychologically tortured him but he still held on. No one has ever loved me as sincerely and passionately as he did. He began loving me when I was ten years old and he eleven. I don’t know if he has ever stopped.

The truth is, he’s one of the sweetest guys I will ever know. He’s one in a million.

Sometimes, I just wish I had learned to loved him back.

Hell week. Dafuq. Too many things to do. Too little time.

A message to my future child.

Since high school, I have been saving up my allowance to buy books so that you would have an awesome library to grow up into. I’ve been buying books with all the money my small allowance can allow, and instead of saving up for gadgets, I invest in “my future library” for you. I hope you’ll come to love books, literature, and reading as much as I do. May logic and reason be your moral code.

With all the love a rational person can muster,
Your awesome mom

It’s 6 am and I’m supposed to be cramming my paper. The problem is, I just can’t find inspiration in what I am doing. I find myself simply succumbing to the academic pressure and losing myself in the process.

I know I’ve deteriorated. I’ve lost a fair amount of my sense, of my reason. My high school self would probably yell at me and say, “Hey, Marisse, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU FORCING YOURSELF TO STUDY?!”

Simple. I’m not allowed to fail. When I started college, all the pressure just started to pile up on me, making me lose both my vision and identity.

Suddenly, there’s so much to lose once I get a failing mark. My scholarship, for starters. Since my parents don’t exactly have the money to fund my studying in Ateneo, I’d probably have to find a different, less-renowned school. With that, the possibility of my landing on a good job would take a serious plunge.

There’s the constant threat that if I fail to please my teachers (which is required to get an A) and conform to their requirements, I would lose the opportunities a lot of Filipino students would kill for. My teachers and professors hold such a ridiculous amount of power at the tip of their pens. 

I miss the joy of reading and writing. What had made me willingly stay for hours in the library long ago? What made me stay up all night reading a book, or writing an opinion? Those moments simply became buried under the pressure of having to excel. Reading became tedious. Writing became a burden. And learning? What ever happened to it? Like almost everything and everyone, it has become buried under pressure.

I’m here in the mountains until January 2nd. I’ll make it up to you guys after that.

For the time being, CIAO. :D

I lost my voice. WTF. This can’t be. I can’t sing. NOOOOOO. I CAN’T NOT SING.

Salabat marathon, I shall do youuuu.

We had our grand alumni homecoming last night. While my best friend from UP and I were talking about current issues, a La Sallian batch mate approached us and asked us what we were talking about. After finding out the topic of our discussion, he said, “I didn’t know about that.” We asked him if he knew about the other compelling topics our country is facing as of the moment. He just said, “I don’t really care. Why should I care about society when I can’t even pass my Math?”

After that, he got offended when I called him ‘apathetic’.

Like WTF.