Since Thursday I’ve been drinking every night. I get by with a beer each night (though with exceptions–Saturday and Sunday I drank hardcore drinks). It helps you clear things, gives you the heat you need in a summer night or the heat a simple jack-off can give you.
I’m quite sleepy.
I acknowledge these kinds of things when I’m quite tipsy:
- I’m an introvert no matter how I deal with people. Even the personality test we took in my Psychology class told me I am an introvert.
- I think of stories to write, but what sucks is that the morning after, I completely forget about that something (which I would always believe is something magnificent).
- I think of how unintellectual my mind goes when it comes to handling I-don’t-really-know-what, specifically. Critical papers? Rewriting stories? Tolerating the mush of people? Korean fucked-ups throwing garbage across you as if you’re a streetlamp?
- With Koreans I have empirical bases. Some Korean guys here in the university play soccer and these boys are just fucking braggarts. They threw garbage as if Filipinos were vassals or something. It’s disgusting, these chinks of a nation (and I’m sorry for Super Junior fans–really, I’m not generalizing). There’s another instance at Jolibee when two Korean guys were hissing at the waiter like it was fine fucking dining. It was absolutely unnerving the way these Korean guys (what Asians!) get around Filipinos like we’re filth.
- I guess I’m quite incoherent when I wrote “chinks of a nation” but I guess you guys understand that?
- When I reread number four I thought I misspelled Jolibee.
- It’s funny how people make an effort to say goodbye to people who says they’re about to go because they want people to say goodbye to them. Do they really have to say they’re going to get something decent before they go? It’s better if you–nah, it’s too mushy.
- I have this hunch I’ll be late tomorrow for my interview at the U.S. Embassy for my VISA renewal. This hunch is getting more solid with my tardy records for the past, uhh, ten years. (I started getting late when I was in fourth grade; I even bribed my teacher that my sister would make a cake for her; I lied to her and told her we have this bakeshop named Blue Ribbon.)
- Sarcastic smiles and fake hellos. Oh my god, Hale.
- I haven’t written my critical paper due Wednesday, entitled “A Critical Analysis of Haruki Murakami’s Tony Takitani (in both text and film media): Post-Colonialism Hybridity”. How cool does that sound.
I’m trying my very best to find the Publish button.
I woke up at 6:58 AM when the call time for our Laguna field trip (yes, same fucking province) is 5:30AM.
I feel hopeless. For one, it’s a requirement for me to pass the subject (well maybe my professor would ask me to report again) but I’m hoping for a refund, you see. It’s worth Php1,200.
My roommate knew last night that I wouldn’t be able to wake up. How I hate this guy. I was choosing a new alarm clock tone (in my cellphone) since I surmised my ears might be used to it. Well, it still didn’t work. I wouldn’t know if my hands snoozed it. How can my situation be predictable!
Right now, I received a text message from my professor to go to Jolibee Pagsanjan for chrissake. Where the hell is Pagsanjan!
The last field trip I had was last November, to UP Diliman, and a lot of my classmates called my cellphone to wake me up, which is really thoughtful. In this subject I don’t know why nobody called. Bullshit. Waking up earlier than 10AM is just the hardest thing to do in a body which is used to 10AM and 1PM schedules every fucking day. I oversleep for twelve hours goddamnit!
As if these rants might just reverse time. I punched my pillow out of stupidity. Ha. Ha.
Since my birthday’s two weeks from now, why don’t you guys send me an alarm clock? It’d be a big help, really. I’ve been like this since fourth grade!
Nasa isipan ko ngayon kung gaano ako kababaw pagdating sa pagbibigay ng kritisismo (in literary terms naman ito, hindi basta-bastang kritisismo). Na-reject kasi ang topic kong Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in a Marxist perspective, at naisip ko na baka bobo lang talaga ako. Hindi lang pala basta-bastang kabit dito-kabit doon ang mekanismo ng pagbibigay ng kritisismo. Kailangan daw malalim. Kailangan hindi kababawan, hindi porket anti-Ministry na si Harry Potter ay Marxist na ito, na anti-status quo siya, na may mga kudetang naganap sa libro. Kabobohan lahat ng naisip ko.
Pukingina lang talaga! Bobo ako! Wala, wala talaga. Sa buong klase namin ay ako lang ata ang hindi pinayagan (bagamat inalok ako ng aking propesor na palitan ang framework ko mula sa Marxist at gawing Feminist) sa aking naisip na gawing pagsusuri. Naisip ko tuloy na bobo ako, na kahit na ako na lang ata ang nagtitiyagang magbasa ng mga handouts tungkol sa hegemony ni Gramsci at kung anu-ano pang pag-aaral nila Althusser, Levi-Strauss at Barthes, ay hindi ko naman nailalapat ng mahusay ang mga ito sa pagbibigay ng kritisismo.
Pang-creative na lang talaga ako. Naisip ko pa dati na maganda sana ang Comparative Literature bilang pangalawang kurso! Kapal rin ng mukha ko.
Naisip ko lang magtagalog muna. Ngayon lang.
Ang dense ng mga naiisip kong topic sa ENG103 (Critical Writing). Jusko. Hindi ko talaga kinakaya. Naguguluhan ako. Magki-criticize ba ako ng tatlong istorya ni Murakami at hahanapin ang “binding element” nila gamit ang postmodernism o piliin ko na lang ang After Dark na nobela rin ng naturang manunulat at i-criticize gamit pa rin ang postmodernism at post-colonialism?
Leche.
Somebody changed my Yahoo! Mail name to Kassandra.
Fuck that guy.
Anyway, I was paying my dinner with a friend when we happened to pore over Yes! Magazines (beside a short story collection or folio of my organization entitled Something’s Eye View, which is out of topic) at the cashier counter. This week/month’s cover is Dingdong Dantes and Marian Rivera. At the rightmost part of the magazine, I quote, if my memory serves me right, an interview with Dingdong and Marian (probably about their relationship, though I don’t really give a damn about them):
“A queen will always be a queen, and she will be my queen.” – Dingdong Dantes
I almost did a cartwheel.
