Finally!

THURSDAY, APRIL 28, 2011. Despite the total laziness flowing in my body, I rose up to my angry alarm and defied my own desire to stay asleep. It was just 4am after all and I haven’t had enough sleep since I went to bed that evening around 2 in the morning. But that day was different, need I say, special – at least for me and a hundred more others. Excited, as we all were, the need to be on time was of utmost importance. I rose up, went down, took a bath, prepared my things, and went to the salon as early as 5:30 in the morning. It was at times like those I hated being a woman. Imagine having the need to look beautiful at the crack of dawn. It was pretty absurd. Why need to go have your face and hair done when even without it you already look like you’re the one marrying Prince William? LOL. After I got there, saw my other friends looking beautiful in their painted faces. I tried not to stare but ended up admiring those talented artists as they were painting each faces like a canvass, turning my plain, simple-looking friends to princesses like me. Then came my turn and I soon looked like the future queen of England. Haha.

Shortly after the transformation, I left my friends, walked under the beautiful rising sun, and went to my brother’s place to change. There, I took out my dress, which, if you still haven’t seen it, looked like the curtain hanging from our living room window. Just the same, I wore it. It was my mom’s design, after all. Haha. It was almost 8am when I finished preparing, hating, and complaining about my dress and shoes; I should have hired Sarah Burton. I would have looked fab. Haha. “Issa, dream on”.

A little while later, I found myself standing inside the old library. It was, I guess if my memory serves me fine, my fourth time to enter People’s Center. Back then, I thought the place was relatively small, but last Thursday, it came to me, “Dude, it’s such a huge place. How, in the world, will I get to walk tall in these shoes?”. I was getting all sorts of uneasiness, fear, and discomfort. My shoes were quite loose and I feared, with those, I might humiliate myself by tripping. Good thing I didn’t. Okay, so I stood there for almost an hour waiting for my family and classmates to finally arrive. Took some pictures, posed for some, and took some more. It was right before the event started when I realized my feet hurt. I should have sat down when I arrived. But since it was too late, I tried to bear the pain.

As the program progressed, I felt more at ease. I became more hopeful that I’d survive the event with no major injuries. Haha. But my ‘hopefulness’ was short-lived. I almost backed out when we were about to ramp up the stage. There was, to my dismay, my adviser handing out certificates up the stage. Man, did my insides go rumbling in an instant. I was to shake hands with the person who’s single-handedly responsible for my finally being part of that event. I felt quite reluctant. I owe that person much and it felt like I don’t deserve to be there. I wanted to run and hide but there was no way of escaping. Surprisingly, though, as my name got called, she greeted me with her encouraging smile and congratulated me. I felt great relief when she said that and the only reply I could utter was a simple “thank you, ma’am”. As I went down and walked back to my seat, I felt like shouting. It was then it sank to me, “GRADUATE NA AK!”.

Yes, it was my graduation day. After six looong years of waiting, I was finally wearing an ecru dress and a SABLAY. Haha. I just hope, despite the long wait, my mom is still as proud of me as if I had graduated two years ago. Naks, drama. Haha.

Count the 'Pity'

The resemblance is there and I can see it just by looking at my own photograph. My mind is telling me that if I look a lot like her then there’s this huge chance of me ending up like her. And that thought made me feel disgusted. Not that I’m insulting that woman, it’s just the thought of ending up miserably in life and being pitied nonstop by everybody else make my stomach churn. It’s probably seeing how she’s constantly being judged and subtly persecuted by our very own relatives make me want to choke up to death and not see how’ll my own future will fail me as a result of my careless way of living. I’d tell myself repeatedly that not in any chance will I allow myself to become that woman – someone who denies to herself that being pitied is painful, that every penny she gets out of pity is still acceptable, and that, in reality, she pities herself more than other people do. But regardless of how I try to reason out to myself that I’m far from being that woman, the similarity of the path we tread or treaded becomes more visible. I can see now the worries my mom had when she saw what I was becoming. Surely she had that déjà vu moment back then. I can’t blame her. The fact that I’m admitting to myself that I can be like her is just too horrible enough. I feel so helpless being impaled by my own flaw. Having to battle myself from succumbing to my slothful self every morning makes my chance in getting a better life more skew. Gawd, I pity myself more…

I’m not like her.

I can’t be like her.

Downfall

If I fall, I fall

I think of nothing else

With my mind as empty as this hall

But with my heart almost at its full

I grasp helplessly down to the floor

As I grope, yearning for your hold

My breath would be of no respite

Like a downfall shattering my life.

Will this be my demise?

Why I Hate Saturdays

Well, today’s Saturday and when I wake up later, it would be even more obvious that today truly is Saturday. Most people would celebrate on this day because Saturdays to them mean being at home and having some rest. It’s like an escape from the busy, tiring working days and a breather to their tired, suffocated minds. But for me, it’s the opposite. I despise the idea of having Saturdays [and Sundays] for a break.

While in college, I learned that during these days [Sat and Sun] that you suffer much. That in these fucking days you will find time to burden yourself with thoughts about life – your own miserable life. You get to spend a day or two on your own, pondering about anything or everything. It’s like a hard slap on the face, constantly reminding you of the reality.

However, as of this moment, I cannot say I have the same reasons for hating the weekends with that when I was new in college. Now, it is different. Now, I am a full-time bummer who still hasn’t graduated because of a 3-unit subject; with my days spent at home doing nothing productive. I have then, unconsciously, established this lame routine of waking up late, scavenging for food, lying in front of the Tivo, and surfing the net whole day. Plus I get to sleep any time of the day I want. Guess what? I like it.

It’s on weekdays that I get to wake up in the morning with no one else at home, with no one to tell me what to do. It’s these days that I am free to do anything – max out the volume of my speakers, dance like a rock star, and even act out anything/anyone just to entertain myself. Most of which, I can’t do when my mom is around. Not that she won’t allow it, it’s just that I’m not comfortable doing it when she’s there.

So basically, Saturdays would mean no work for my mom and a torture for me. It’s not that I don’t want to be with my mom, I just don’t feel comfortable being with her. There are too many restrictions, barriers, or whatever it is that stops me from being myself around her. Please, don’t get me wrong, I love my mom [very much]. Maybe it’s just a result of how we were raised – of how we were brought up like each one of us has our own little worlds and is to remain confined in it. Locked up.

…and today is Saturday.

To My Insensitive Crowd

By the way their eyes bore through my very soul this afternoon after seeing me with Ms. Mendoza, I cannot continue on showing myself to that bunch of kids I got really fond of being with. No matter how I love hanging out with them, it is with much greater ease for me to step away from the picture and distance myself. I have long suffered the cruelty of such world I was born into where in each move I make, I am painfully and unfairly judged. This I am openly aware of: people by their true nature are judgmental. As I watched them glare at me, insulting me from deep within, I cannot help myself but to condemn them with their inhumane judgment. I must say that in no point in time did I ever think of crossing the line – of ever breaking the bond of friendship I have with those kids. Never. I am fairly aware of my own short-comings, my own personal issues, and never will I fill myself up indecently by abusing their kindness. I respect each and every one of them, for God’s sake! And for that same reason, I ask to be respected in return, not just by my friends, but by those around us, eyeing my every move. But just like I’ve said earlier, it can’t be helped – to judge me, I mean. So, from what I have learned in the past, all I can do is dock and clear myself from everyone’s view. The lesser time I spend with those kids, the smaller the chance of me being fried in the furious eyes of an insensitive crowd. I’ll just have to bid my friends, Goodbye.

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04:24;03.07.10