Personal

Calculators Are Nothing Similar to Classic Novels.

Four years ago, I was decided. I was decided with everything that’s about to happen. I knew what I wanted, and very seldom had I questioned myself for wanting those things. I was in sophomore year in college when I made these decisions. I even did a new Twitter account! That was how certain I am that I’m headed to a new path—the one which I wanted, the one which I’ve always dreamed of. My papers were ready—application for scholarship programs, enrollment forms, even go-to contacts—all prepared in front of me. Okay but, what the hell am I talking about, right?

I am talking about the 17-year-old version of myself. Pretty much the hopeful, goal-oriented, ambitious, me. Everyone who knows me that well probably knew that I was a huge mess when I failed the UPCAT. Technically, my grades didn’t make it to the cut for UP Diliman, but luckily it did for UP Los Baños. UPLB is too far from where I live, and that was one of my problems. Fast forward, we did considered it, but a lot of things were just getting in the way. Expenses, transportation, and the mere fact that I am going to live alone far from my parents’ home got them really worried.

But I wasn’t.

I wasn’t that worried at all. Living in a dorm excites me. Studying in UP was what I am most excited for. So you see, I made my decision long before I entered my freshman year in college. I’ll study in PLV, and eventually, I’ll transfer to UPLB. If my grades are high enough, I’ll transfer to UPD. Just because that was the ultimate dream. All UPs are UP, but when I saw UPD’s Sunken Garden, I can already imagine myself sitting on the bench during class breaks, observing. Listening. I was ready to embark on my UP journey, and be the world’s bestselling author, but just like any other’s sob story, life happened. Sophomore year turned to junior year, and then senior year, and now I’m already a graduating student. Not of University of the Philippines, but of Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Valenzuela.

Things didn’t happen as what I had planned. I am not a creative writing student. I am not some English lit cool chic that sits in one of those benches around Sunken Garden. Calculators are nothing similar to classic novels. 17-year-old me would have questioned 21-year-old me’s life decisions.

I don’t want this to end with some petty life lessons, like some consolation in exchange of my failed plans. I’ll even admit—I still regret a lot of things I never did in the past. I may have made a mistake in picking my future profession, but life sucks in giving us the right options so, I’m taking this one as a challenge. As a matter of fact, no one ever told me that I can’t be a writer and a Certified Public Accountant at the same time. I still love UP, a part of me seem to have stayed with that university when I first entered it in 2012 to apply for UPCAT, and I love PLV just the same. Two universities, two sides of me. The other one molded my dream of becoming what I wanted to be, and the other made me the smart, independent, and strong woman that I am today.

Dreams shouldn’t remain dreams; and the future ahead of me excites me more than anything else right now. I’m off to achieving greater things, and my younger self couldn’t be more proud of me.

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Writings

Aftermath

Maybe that’s the aftermath of it all — of me, growing up as a reader. Maybe I’ve already read too many ‘I-saw-him-reading-my-favorite-book-in-a-coffee-shop’ interactions, enough for me to spend hours inside a local café near school hoping that the same will eventually happen to me. I don’t know, man. Maybe I was just looking for a man version of myself. Someone who reads books as much as I do, someone who drinks coffee atleast three times a day, someone who loves art museums, someone who hates tomatoes on hamburgers, someone who’s willing to rewatch Interstellar with me on a Saturday night.

I don’t wanna force this ‘perfect guy’ idea on every guy that I meet, because certainly no one is, but I’m still hopeful, you know. I know someday, I’ll finally be getting that clicking moment with someone — and it would be magical. Funny, but magical.

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Writings

The Human Brain

The human brain. How interesting. It’s like a stubborn little companion inside our nutshell of heads—it plays tricks on us right before our very own eyes. Ah, the human brain. Do we really own our minds, or are they just mere compilations of other people’s consciousness brushing against ours?

When we are wide awake, our conscious mind is on action. It sees what we see; the flowers, the sun, the trees, the birds—it hears what we hear; the soft breeze sound on a chilly Wednesday afternoon, the muffled Tullycraft song from the headphone of the boy sitting beside you inside the bus, the crunchy noise a dry leaf makes when you accidentally stepped on it—it feels what we feel; the sticky sweat of the athlete guy that hurriedly ran past you on the school corridor, the smooth pages of your newly-bought dotted notebook, the subtle and soft touch of skin from a friend you greeted this morning—interestingly, the human brain does nothing with all of that, but it does see, hear, or even feel everything.

Remember the last time you had a dream about someone whom you’ve never seen, talked, or even thought of, for a long time? Maybe the last single thing that will possibly make you think about that person would be a place–a significant place–you happened to see on Facebook. It was like a quick glance, a little, “Oh.” and that’s it. Not even a quarter of a second.

Yet your subconscious mind decided to make a big deal out of this by letting that person appear in your dream. It’s like a big ‘JOKE’ was stamped all over your face. The memories of that person, which you carefully buried into the deepest and farthest corner of your mind, was recovered once again to make fun of your existence.

It’s like the subconscious mind telling you, “Ha, what did you say? You’ll forget this person? Let’s see.” 

It’s funny in some ways, like how I’m imagining my subconscious mind to be these careless little workers slipping papers in and out of their little offices. One little information could trigger them and boom, they would all go crazy. Maybe because we store too much information inside our subconscious mind, and we filter only those that we wanted to think of and retain inside us as of a certain moment, that they already held too many secrets that we might never recognize anymore. The faces who were automatically tagged as ‘not important’, the names we chose to forget, the places we erased in our own maps, the feelings we’ve set aside until we finally forgot about them.

If I could have a peek inside my own mind, I would, but I guess I never will.

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August 12, 2018 // 1:45 p.m. // page 297

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‘See, I have chosen you.’

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Personal

Strong In The Broken Places

I am a person who can literally spend hours inside a bookstore without ever feeling tired or anything. Between shopping for books or clothes, I prefer the former. Don’t get me wrong, I do love shopping for new clothes, but books are irresistible. Well it is, atleast for me.

Last week, while I was killing time inside Book Sale, a little friend caught my attention. The cover isn’t the issue. It is the title of the book itself. In The Broken Places. I don’t know, the first thing I look for in books would probably be their titles. Out of curiosity, I flipped it open. The first page was so dear to me, because it was such a beautiful quote from Ernest Hemingway.

When I first read it, I wanted it to be a description of myself. I wanted to be strong in the broken places. The world is a broken place after all, but a lot of people out there are still trying to glue things back to where they used to be. I wanted to be that kind of person. I wanted to find hope even in the darkest of alleys. I wanted to anchor myself with something that never fades, something that is constant even when everything and everybody decides to change.

A professor told us before that anchors should be strong enough to keep you grounded and focused when everything seems to break and fall apart. When everything turns into a disaster, what is this one thing that you’re holding on to? I never realized back then that I will be needing her (our professor) words until now. Her words were never spoken so clearly to me before, but I finally understand the things she was trying to tell us.

I realized that it wasn’t me who’s broken after all, and that there’s completely nothing wrong with me. It is the ground where I’m standing. If you haven’t found something to help you brave your own soul, then it would feel as if you are breaking, along with the rocks under your feet.

I have found someone whom I can call my own anchor — and I never had to look for Him, because He was there with me all this time. I may sound weak at times, but my anchor is strong enough to steady me when the ground under me starts shaking.

I may be in a broken place, but atleast I’m strong in the broken places.

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Personal

All The Love, L

It’s only 5:14 in the morning and I am kickstarting my day with a cup of coffee while writing this quick post.

Amidst the little disturbances this day would give, I hope we all still find ourselves anchored to whatever we may find worth holding on to. I am trying, little by little, to help in making this world a better place by being kind all the time.

Here’s something I’ve seen on Twitter last night, and I thought this one’s worth sharing. Have a nice day ahead!

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Writings

Uncertainties

Have you ever heard a song on the radio that sounds so familiar, like you’ve heard it somewhere before — like it was a part of something significant in your life?

But all your memories seem so blurry, and the song’s almost over.

Somehow, that one thing is true. It was a part of who you used to be, before all of this happened. It was your song, before you tried to forget who you were. The uncertainty is haunting, but it’s insanely wonderful.

I have forgotten something.

Maybe the human mind can forget, but the heart will always remember.

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