I am waiting for my turn to walk that long, blue carpet. I experienced it once and it felt so damn great. And to enter last again, wow, I couldn’t be any prouder. Felt like I was in the top of the world, invincible, powerful. No one could dare touch me. Except perhaps for my mom, who’s standing beside me, trying to fix my hair and adjusting my oversized white toga.
And I did felt like on the top of the world. Already in my life, I gave two inspiring speeches, one edited by my Lola who thought I was my uncle’s replica (we do look alike though) and the other, I did with what I really felt which means bashing those who tried to put me down and never believed in me. I almost said “Die, you suckers!” instead of “Thank you for not always believing in me, thus, I proved you wrong.” Yeah, it feels so good whenever you’re on top, as if you can rule the world, as if your words are more authoritative than your comrades, as if everyone looks up to you and tell you that your parents must have been so proud to have you.
And that is exactly what I felt entering the streets of Diliman. Yeah, I can do this; I can do better than some of these people. I can even graduate with honors and well, get a great job, earn some then indulge on the marvels of the world. It’s easier said than done; so much easier said than done.
Last night, I had a fight with my parents. (Hate you Jack Black.) A major fight I wished never happened. But it happened. And I was made to hear what I’ve been avoiding for the two years. I was made to realize how messed up I am now, how my life turned into a black hole of negativity and failures. From gold, I turned into garbage, easily disposable, worthless and powerless. And I just cried and cried harder and cried until I can no longer grasp reality. I grabbed some blade and voila, marked my wrists. But I couldn’t do it really, I am such a failure. I should have been a dead man walking. Like those I see in silent, abandoned places.
And what hurts more is that I felt like my mom could have said more. That I haven’t heard enough from them, how disappointed they were in me, how they thought I could be great and instead became terrible, how frustrated they were in me that I used to be a sweet, fine boy who gave honor to our family, and how they would have wished they weren’t my parents. It hurts like hell to hear those words coming from their mouths.
Perhaps, they weren’t so proud of me after all. Aside from all those petty achievements I gave them, I am truly nothing to them, more so a baggage they could have gotten rid way before. I am and will be worthless without a diploma. And it will stay this way until I get that fucking college diploma.
I used to feel I am at the top of the world, looking over my surrogates, feeling significant and dominant. I used to be there until five years later, God gave me some barricades to hurdle. And it’s not easy to be at the trough of the wave. At the back of my mind, I somehow wished I could have died right after high school graduation when everything was perfect and wonderful. And God knows how I am suffering now. But that’s life when you’re not the first honor anymore.
P.S. To those who once told me they’ll be there for me when I need them, those who said they care for me and love me no matter what, I am in dire need of help and love and care. Pray for my soul and my enlightenment.
I have always believed that in life, everything comes in pairs - sun and moon, spoon and fork, gun and bullet, boy and girl, black and white. Opposite or not, there will always be “that” one thing which perfectly fits the other, the one who’ll perfectly complement the existence of another. Everything in pairs and that’s the scheme. But then again, is it really the case? I found myself contemplating on such idea. Until finally, like Archimedes, I reached my Eureka moment - Life is not about pairs and partners and duos, moreover, it comes in threes or trios.
For in the sun and moon, there are stars that never dared to rest a single jiffy in giving off light, though mostly unappreciated, and greatly ignored.
For in the spoon and fork, there is a knife that’ll cut the woes in dealing with chunks of meat, lending its sharp blade, and making up for the bluntness of the more likely pair.
For in a gun and a bullet, there is a trigger that’ll exert every inch of effort it has just for a innocent bullet generate a force destructive to anyone who heads in its way.
For in black and white, a gray exists to compensate for what the pair cannot classify, to define the ambiguity of an area, to offer a neutral haven for those who could not make up their mind.
For in a boy and a girl, there is that one person who’ll have to deal with a temporary pain until s/he is finally given his turn for the needed attention and much wanted love.
And the situation gets vague and the complexity worsens. For in the natural order of things, everything leads to entropy and chaos is an organized clutter.
PART I (Win Some, Lose Some)
I had always been extremely competitive ever since. I am in constant pursuit to better than myself and others. I hate losing, especially sucking up and disappointing myself by delivering a lackluster performance when it matters most. I take losing so seriously that it came to a point that I developed a fear of failing. Then, I would cry, blame myself and feel sorry for my tainted, belittled ego. And the self-pity would last for days until I would found a way to redeem myself and boost my confidence once more. And for someone who regards ego so much, having my confidence back is rather orgasmic.
Well, everything changes as wisdom and perspective progresses through time. Though I am still that overly egoistic boy, my perception of losing has changed - big time. Before, failure was a ghost I cease to recognize. Now, I see failure as a nasty vegetable you may need to eat to somehow suffice the nutrient you lacked that lead you to your letdown. Failure is a detour, not a dead-end. And we have to deal with it every once in a while.
Like how I managed to deal with my three game losing streak in university-wide contests. Last semester, I had a three game winning (not really winning, since they are all second places) streak and earned some extra breads. Now, three losses and more money spent for a chance to earn anew. You see, life is in really in threes, even my winning and losing streaks tell so!
Anyhow, I guess, this is not really my month or my year, perhaps. But I have no choice but deal with the cards life gives me, right?
I don't know where to begin, how to begin, what to do, why do it and what the f@ck am I writing?
Sh*t happens. Yeah! And if that sh*t happens to be your ex-lover showing up with your batch mate, then shut the f*ck up and don't be bitter about it. Well, remind yourself you are so much better after breaking up. Really.
Sh*t happens. And if that means you are my age and you got grounded, deal with it. You have no choice. You do what you have to do. Respect.
Sh*t happens. And if some of your batch mates failed to show up in your batch bonding, then at least enjoy the night with those who came. They have their reasons. Some are valid. And others? Cut the crap. I ain't gonna be nice anyways.
Sh*t happens. So what? You're gonna make it through anyways. I've been through the roughest and I'm not backing down.
So bring it on bitches! Die you suckers! Sh*t happens and so is luck!
It’s been weeks since I last talked to you. The last I remembered was a chat on Facebook I was supposed to ignore. Or is it weeks? Months, more so, I guess. It’s amazing to note that such span of time, when we can’t forge a day without talking to each other when we were so much together. But what the heck, everything’s done and so are we.
Well, for a guy who thinks he has something to say to everything, I was mute about our supposedly “break-up”. Yeah, I had talked to a bunch of people about my sentiments yet I haven’t issued any press release or official statement about all of the drama that is “us”. But don’t worry; I will not bother talking about details of our “break-up” here. I just want to reconnect with you through this.
In the 11th, I’ll turn 21, a year older, and/or wiser. Remember how excited we were to plan your 18th and my 21st birthday? I was ecstatic then since we get to spend our debut both in the same year. But things have changed and the course of our relationship turned into a dead end. I am turning 21 and yet I am acting as if I am a brat- not talking to you, nor even looking at you. I am trying my hardest to ignore you and convince myself that you’re just an entity there of whom I should not be concerned. Sigh. I guess, we both knew how painful it is to do so. Well, what the heck. I am lost for words right now. How will I say this? You hurt me. You hurt me so much that I am doing this to you. You hurt me so much that I acted bitter and resentful. I was so hurt that I had to reassess myself and see my worth as a man. You hurt me. But I may have hurt you too.
I decided to end our relationship then just because I thought I am fed up with you and your immaturity. I was immature, too, you see? I was more concerned of myself then that I never listened to your explanations. Had I been more open-minded, I could have forgiven you. But, shockingly, I must admit I never regret making that decision. All of the things I’ve seen and heard I decided that it was better to salvage the respect and friendship left between us. I would like to be believe that what we had was love. But we can’t live on love alone. You know that well enough, too. But why am I even writing this letter?
I missed those texts and the concern and all. I am thankful for that. But I am not going to beg for those once more. It’s time you give that to him. I heard you’re doing fine with him, steady and ready. I am happy for you, seriously. Oita. Ala mu.
Walking through the streets of the Science complex in Diliman has never been this hard. The long gray road seems to be never-ending. The blinding glare of the sun made it even harder for me to push through. I never knew the road back to that building would be so compelling, so hard, and so emotional. I have been avoiding that place for the last two years. And most of the time, I managed to succeed in doing so. Not until now, now that I think I need to do this, now that I am most ready to face my UP past.
That familiar bleak atmosphere surrounded me while I am striding alone in the “Teletubby Land”. Isn’t it ironic that a plain bumpy road as gloomy as this would get such a happy and cheerful name? Well, I guess everything in UP is just ironic so, people don’t care anymore. A funny feeling kicked in to me as I am traversing this path. I remembered exactly how my block mate fell into the water pit while he was trying to run as fast as he could. We were looking for him to catch up but he disappeared in a jiffy, only to find out he was “swimming” in that murky “river”. I wanted to laugh hard as I was recalling that “unfortunate” incident but I managed to control myself. And my balloon of fun popped out upon realizing I am almost there. I am so uncomfortably near the building, near enough to spot that lone entrance, near enough to glimpse some familiar faces I wouldn’t want to see.
As I was walking towards the entrance of the Math building, I saw some papers in the bulletin board. As if by instinct, I looked for my name in those papers like I used to do before when I still belong here. My name didn’t appear in any of those papers but all other names are quite familiar. I felt a sudden throb while walking through the entrance. I have not been here for quite a long time and my voluntary absence made it all worse. I could have visited this place and re-acquainted with the people I used to hang out with. I could have been here to see my former professors and catch up with them. I could have been here, but I chose not to. The burden of tracking back and facing my issues is unbearable then.
Just when I thought it would not get any darker, the first floor appealed to me as so. The shadows of those tall walls prevented the light from easing through. Most classrooms are locked up as if the place has been deserted. The plants in the center piece garden are in no way blooming and inspiring. Also, there are unusually few students in this part of the building this summer. We used to sit into the long tables while waiting for our teachers. We used to review and compare assignments in those hard corner seats. We used to make fun of the non-Math majors while complaining how their Math 1 exams are so difficult. Though my grades were not getting any better then, I used to have fun here in this floor. But everything’s not quite as good as they were before. It will never be, I guess.
I managed to sneak in into an open classroom in the far end of the floor. I observed how little these rooms have changed since I last saw them. The common half-chalkboard-half-whiteboard still remained the same. The dysfunctional air conditioners which go into extremes when turned on remained the same. The usual green seats are still the same – all are still heavily abused with vandalisms. I sat into one of the chairs and tried to be as comfortable as I was before. I was hoping to get the same feeling as I used to but it just wasn’t coming. I asked myself why? I left the floor blank-minded.
The second floor wasn’t any better. The faculty of the kings and queens - as I would usually call it hasn’t changed a bit. It still homes the royalties of this building, the people we would usually run after and asked for mercy just to pass our majors. Except for some unfamiliar, new faculty members, everything’s quite the same. I still saw some students doing the same thing we did before, begging for mercy. I felt bad for them, the same way I felt bad for myself then. How could these teachers be so insensitive of these students’ feelings when they themselves became students? Had they been a little more considerate, I would still pursue a degree in this college. But they just couldn’t do so. So I packed my things then, picked up what’s left on my shattered dignity and promised myself that I would be a better teacher than they were, to not come back here again and not to beg for their elusive mercy once more. And just a mere visit of this floor made all of these emotions flourished once more. And this time, I couldn’t control my feelings, water poured down my cheeks and it just couldn’t stop. I thought I am ready to face these things, but I am still not.
After a while, I managed to gather my thoughts and proceeded in the third and final floor. This floor is not really that familiar to me. Our majors classes are mostly in the first floor and all other math subjects are in this floor. Besides, this floor brought back some more sad memories. It is here when I considered committing suicide and jumping off the building after a failed exam. It was here I received the news that I am in a probationary status and should do something more to pass. It was here when I almost cried out “foul!” and shout at the teacher when she accused us of cheating in her exams. It was here where I would secretly pour my heart out after such a stressful and traumatic day. It was all here. The saddest part of my UP life was probably staged here. And once again, I felt ashamed of myself and what I had become then. I sat on one of the corner seats and reflected on what could have my life be had I stayed in this building. If I have really lost my sanity then, probably, I could have blown this building up to get back at those abusive teachers. Or if I forced myself to like math, I would have graduated this year probably with an award or two. And it just made me feel worse. I cried once more. This time, silently, more subdued, more hurtful than ever.
The trip to the Math building made me realize things I should have known back then. One, that I am not really a Math person, that I am naturally good at this but I just can’t enjoy doing it. Second that I should stand by my decisions and not be regretful about it. I made bad decisions when I was a lot younger and I would not add more by staying in to this place where I don’t truly belong. Lastly, to move on, move forward and face what the future holds. I had been extremely hard on myself especially now that I think I am a complete mess. I might need some help to fulfill my dreams for now, but I am slowly anchoring myself to the direction I think I should pursue. I would get my UP diploma with the help of the people who trusts in me. I would fulfill my parent’s dream and help them in every way possible. I used to feel that gargantuan hate and bitterness against the Math Department, but I can’t dwell on that and I should finally let go of that grudge. Because of all these hurts and rejections, I am a completely different person now than that of the boy who first walked in the streets of Diliman. Now, I realize that I am boundless, limitless and with infinite potential. As for me and my love for Math, I think that our relationship for now would be undefined and indeterminate. The pieces don’t fit the puzzle anymore, but the picture it paints remains the same. Failure is a part of our everyday life, but giving up is just not, so I will never give up.
