tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76382968353918737542024-03-13T21:34:41.370+08:00Spitting Out Wordsanna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-52041867058620453892016-05-02T08:03:00.000+08:002016-05-02T08:03:24.555+08:00<div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">It's real. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">No, it wasn't a dream that I imagined. Or a nightmare that happened over the span of twenty four hours. It actually happened. And it happened to me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I honestly have no idea if this is permanent. Half of me is hoping for some sort of reconciliation. Not closure. Maybe just a chance to get it right this time. One last time. The other half of me is expecting that nothing good will come out of this. That he won't change his mind. That it really is goodbye. That time won't heal all wounds. That we'll be one of those could have been couples. One of those we kinda were but now we're not. </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">But you know, if this is permanent and final, I guess I can't do anything to change his mind. I can't take back anything I did because I did it. I can't take back words because I already said them. I can't. All I can do is live with the fact that I pushed away the person I loved the most. And for that, I blame myself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The funny thing is that when things come to an end, I tend to play back everything that happened. And now I'm drowning in my thoughts. And I curse myself saying, "I should have seen the signs." I really should have seen the signs that something was wrong. That maybe we were not really that okay as I thought we were. That maybe I'm too harsh, too needy, too demanding, and too difficult to love. For the first time in my life, I'm blaming myself at a failed attempt at love. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I'm going to miss him. I'm going to miss how he says schedule. How he believes that you have to put salt and pepper on everything. How he tried his best to watch SHIELD. How he got along with my friends and introduced us to a whole new world of drinking. I'm going to miss his black shirt which I wear to sleep. And his slippers I borrow. I'm going to miss the new recipes we were always trying out. And his love for cheese and pizza. I am going to miss him every time I need to give my cat, Bummie a bath. How he held Bummie even when the stupid cat gave him so many scratches. Bu't more than all that, I'm going to miss the love he so freely gave which I took for granted. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">My head is spinning. I can't think. I'm not even making any sense. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Fuck. </span></div>
anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-4448867468815172412016-01-21T18:02:00.001+08:002016-01-21T18:02:55.391+08:002016<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Mom died. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Mom died last January 3, 2016. I still haven't had the time or energy to process the fact that she's gone and never coming back to this earth. We're all dealing with this in our own way. I don't know how my brothers are doing. But I know that Papa and I are dealing with it through silence. Papa rarely doesn't anything productive now. He sleeps. A lot. He watches shows on TV. He stays up late. He eats only when I remind him to. Sometimes I have to force him to. He still doesn't talk. No words. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I tried for film school.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I tried out for film school and yet I know that after this process of getting accepted, I won't actually be able to pursue this dream. I thought that when mom died I would be able to have and live my own life. I thought I would be able to work or get into film school. Or leave. Or get out of this house. But no. I'm still stuck here caring for Papa. I don't regret it. But I don't exactly love what I'm doing. Get a maid? We have one. Get a caregiver? We have that. So please explain to me the pain I feel when I leave the house to get a job and come home to find Papa sitting on the couch exactly where I left him nine hours before waiting for me to come home and be with him. Explain that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">So here we are. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">So here we are and I am so confused and unsure. I never thought that I would be this lost. I never thought that I'd lose everything all at once. Because honestly, I've lost both of my parents (mom to cancer and papa to his heart attack) though papa is still alive. I've lost my dreams because I am stuck here doing something I hate for someone I love. And I've lost my drive to. .Well, live. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Happy New Year. </span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-60877584742229641072015-12-24T14:43:00.003+08:002015-12-24T14:44:41.979+08:00Light<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">There's a light at the end of this tunnel.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">In the dark it calls out to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">To light my path keep me from falling. There's a light calling out to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">~</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">It's nights like these that get me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">When all the visitors are gone. When friends stop messaging. When family is all asleep. When I'm alone in my room. And there's no one to see how desperate or depressed I really am.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The tears start falling. The shaking begins. There are muffled sobs and moans of pain. And my own arms and hands reach out to comfort myself so I can make it through one more night.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Three hours of sleep. At the most four. And then my new normal day begins. Check if they're alive. Check if their chests are still moving. Remind them to take their medicines or force it down their throats. Carry them. Up from the bed. To the toilet. To the shower. To the table. Clean them up. Keep my cool. In and out of their room always ready to fulfill their next request. But always, to make sure they're still alive.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">But right now, to stay sane, puff a cigarette or two. Drown out the smell with some perfume. Drink some beer from my stash. And cry. Sometimes I laugh at the stupidity of this situation and what kind of bind we're all in. But mostly I cry. And I lie to myself. That somehow we'll make it through.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">And if I have to lie to myself so that I can make it through the night, I'll do it.</span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-32595887846668041462015-07-14T02:37:00.000+08:002015-07-14T02:37:17.304+08:00FYI<span style="line-height: normal;">A few weeks ago, my mom was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. I haven't had the time to process what that means and how this will affect me in the long run. All I can think of now is how to get by every day. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">After the initial shock of hearing, "Mom has cancer!" my brothers and I had to tell extended family and close friends. There are days when I find comfort in knowing that other people share our pain. Yet, there are times when I think telling people was the wrong choice. There are things I don't want to hear right now. There are times when I don't want to see people. There are days when I can't deal with the questions. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">To pass time while visiting mom, I've put together my own list of annoying things people have said and done in this difficult time. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">1. When can we visit? Can we go today at a time that's convenient for us? </span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">There are some people or families who do want visitors every day. Others, families like mine, just want privacy. It would be really nice if people asked (not told) us if they could visit and didn't just show up at home or in the hospital. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">Please, if you're allowed to visit, do so at our convenience. Just because you're free at 8pm doesn't mean that that's a good time for us. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">Also, please don't bother to visit my mom or the rest of us if you want comfort. Let us be a bit selfish. We need the comfort. Don't come expecting us to dry your tears and to tell you that our mom will be okay.</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">2. Have you considered so and so treatment? I'm selling so and so supplement that cures cancer! I'll drop by to give my sales talk.</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">Yes, we have researched all the possible treatments out there and we have decided on one already. Thank you for your suggestions, but please respect our decision. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">Oh, you're into supplements. Please know that there really isn't any cure for cancer right now. Medicine can't cure it. Supplements can't cure it. And no, you cannot do your sales talk. Do you want to make money off us or something? </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">3. You know, my so and so had the exact same cancer as your mom. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">I know you're just trying to make connections and try to understand cancer as best as you can. Please stop with the stories. Please don't even tell the story if it has a sad ending. It doesn't do us any good and we all know where this is heading anyway. We don't need to hear it again. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">4. What can we do? Call if you need help. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">The problem with this statement is that we have to think of something that you can do for us. It's not like I can ask you to pay the bills, clean the house, take care of my cat or do our laundry. I also won't have the time or energy to call you for help. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">Instead, say something specific like, "I would love to cook for the family. I'll be bring lasagna over on Friday for dinner. Will this be alright?" This kind of help is the best kind there is. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">5. Can I tell so and so about the cancer? </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">There is a reason why you know. You know because you are an important member of the family or you are a close friend. Why do you want to tell someone else? Is it so that you have someone to cry with or will that person provide much needed support to my mom and the family? </span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">See, if someone tells you they have cancer, they might not appreciate it if you go around telling others. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">6. I visited. I took pictures. They're up on social media. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">What. Just what. What?! Unless the person allowed you to post pictures of themself looking sick and fragile, then please go ahead and post the pictures. But if the person doesn't know you're posting them, then just don't post the pictures. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">7. Questions. Questions. And more questions. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">When people keep asking questions over and over again, I get really tired of answering and just shut up. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">Many some people like answering the questions, but I don't. Please know that whatever info I have about my mom I dish out on my own discretion and I expect that you don't pester me with questions. We're also still trying to figure things out. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">8. I'm praying for your mom. (And then begins to quote some Bible verse.) </span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">While I do appreciate the prayers and Bible verses, there are days I want to scream, "Your prayers and your Bible verses are not a cure for this!" </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">9. We're here for you. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">Thank you. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">I hope you know that you might need to be 'here for me' for days, weeks, months or even years. If you're not up to that, don't give me that false promise. I don't know when I'll be okay. I also don't know how long this situation will last. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: normal;">This is all I can think of for now. I might add more. Let's see. </span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-53891668708738037652014-06-16T22:06:00.001+08:002014-06-16T22:06:48.381+08:00This That Is <span style="font-size: xx-small;">"I'm serious about giving this is a shot," you say.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">You've been saying that a lot lately. I don't understand numbers, but I know you said it more than five times today. You've been telling me that since day one of this. This? Yes, this. This that is undefined and unclear at the moment. It is what it is and I am sure there are words to describe this. We just can't decide what words to use to define whatever we think we have. Funny how we love words but can't use them to determine what we are. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">"I'm up for anything," you say.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Anything? What is anything and how do you define that? What are you not up for and what determines what you are willing to do? You being up for anything scares the hell out of me. I might be leading you to hell and you'd still thank me. No. I'm not up for anything. I'm up for two specific things only. Either this ends now or we prolong this by labeling it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">"I don't know what I want," you admit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I know what I want. I want this to begin before we decide that it should end. I want us to stop being such a pussy about it. I want to look you in the eye and say, "Well, we're so fucked up now aren't we? We can do so much better than this." I want an explanation. I want to know what's going on in your head. I can't read your thoughts. I want this to end. Or I want this to begin. We can't have both. It's all or nothing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">"But I am serious," you assure me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">And yet here you are with those eyes that may have the ability to see into my soul. You assure me and reassure me over and over again that you are serious. I am beginning to think that you repeat that phrase to remind yourself that you asked for this too. I didn't. I never did. But god, am I enjoying the torture you're putting me through. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">"How serious are you?" you ask.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Serious enough. </span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-83362426446521714322014-04-14T20:37:00.000+08:002014-04-14T20:37:16.211+08:00Fine<span style="font-size: x-small;">How are you? <br /><br />Simple question that irritates me. So please stop asking. <br /><i><br />(Total tinitingnan niyo ako at hinuhusgahan ang bawat galaw ko, diba? So baka mas alam niyo pa ang dapat kong isagot sa tanong niyo.) </i><br /><br /><br />Person: Hi Anna!<br />Me: Oh hello there.<br /><br />I know what's coming next. Can we skip the part where you ask me how I'm doing? Can I smile and pretend that you won't ask? Can I turn around and walk away from you? I cannot? It's rude? It's not socially acceptable? It's insulting? Alright. So let me just stay here and put on the most real form of this fake smile of mine. <br /><br />Person: How are you?<br />Me: Uhm. . Hmmm. .Like. .<br /><br />How many more lies can I spit out to make this person go away and leave me alone? If I tell this person how I am, there will be a backlash. I do not want to deal with that right now. I also do not want to hear what Scripture verse I should be reading or what prayer I should be praying. Trust me, I've tried reading those verses and praying those prayers already. I do not want to hear that when you were my age you also dealt with a similar situation. You did not. My situation is not the same as yours. Do not pity me. I am strong enough. <br /><br />Person: Should I not be asking how you are?<br />Me: Maybe.<br /><br />Yes, you shouldn't. Unless you can take hours of me ranting, venting, crying, then please ask. If you can take my mood swings, depression and fleeting moments of happiness which I seem to ignore, go ahead and ask me how I am. Better yet, ask me about my dreams, my passions and my interests. Ask me why religion irritates me. Ask for my opinion. Ask me why I am scared of marriage or family or even relationships and love. Ask me why I cry myself to sleep, yet wake up the next day with a smile on my face. Ask me how drowning feels like. <br /><br />Person: No, really. How are you?<br /><br />I am not fine. I am not fine because I am messed up and screwed up. I am hungry and in need of food, but I don't want to put on weight. Let me starve now. I lack sleep and am crabby, but coffee will fix this for me. I am sad because I know that look on your face. You look at me and judge me. I know you hate my piercings. And my green hair. And my black clothes. I am weird and wild but I am still my mom's angel. I am bored. I am happy. And sarcastic.<br /><br />Me: I'm fine. Thank you. <br /><br />Tsss. </span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-84168771740035942872013-11-13T10:38:00.001+08:002013-11-13T10:38:14.478+08:00Live With It <span style="font-size: xx-small;">This is for that ophthalmologist who saw me last week.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I came into your clinic hoping to get a pair of glasses or contacts to replace the ones I broke. You led me into a small room and made me read stuff on the board. I could read everything clearly, but I kept reminding you that I had no grade and only had astigmatism. After you checked my eyes you told me, "You don't have a grade or astigmatism." You said it in a way that sounded like you were accusing me of lying. That was when I had to explain to you that I have optic neuritis. Some days I'll have a grade. Some days I'll have astigmatism. Some days I'll see well. Some days I won't see at all. And one day, people must find a cure to this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">While I was thinking about how doctors have not found a cure for this yet, you said, "There is nothing I can do for you but pity you." I nodded my head and forced a smile. But really, I don't need your pity or your sad looks. I don't really need a cure for this or someone to tell me that it will get better in the future. Am used to taking painkillers, throwing up and sleeping off the pain. Am used to not eating seafood, chocolates, chicken, peanuts and anything else that might make this sickness worse. Am used to the headaches and tunnel vision and the dizzyness. You are not obliged to do or feel anything for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">What irritates me however is that you told me to just live with it. You said, "Just live with it then." Isn't that what I already am doing? I have stopped hoping that some type of medicine will be invented to regulate the pain. I have stopped wishing that some other person had this instead of me. I have stopped dreaming of a day when my head will stop throbbing. I have also stopped praying to God to heal me. Don't tell me to just live with it. I don't want to hear that from you. I don't want to hear anything from you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">See, I've heard this all before. You're not the first ophthalmologist or doctor or neurologist who has told me that there is nothing you can do for me. I know the lines. I know the spiels. I know you're just doing your job when you tell me these things. But I don't need to be reminded that I've got to live with this. As much as possible I just try to block it out of my mind so I can concentrate on living life.</span><br />
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anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-73537764546325966572013-11-04T14:55:00.003+08:002013-11-04T14:55:49.903+08:00First Semester Craziness <br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l1IrKHUvR24/Unc9EwqHBfI/AAAAAAAAAtM/EIMwx7s0_8Q/s1600/i-rizal-ph-team-manila.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l1IrKHUvR24/Unc9EwqHBfI/AAAAAAAAAtM/EIMwx7s0_8Q/s320/i-rizal-ph-team-manila.jpg" width="273" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Rizal</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Was this really a Rizal class? Or was it something else? Every meeting, we would have about one hour to discuss current events. After discussing the news, that was the only time the professor would talk about Rizal and his life. The only thing I picked up from this class was that Rizal is our hero and he loved the Philippines so very much. I never really bothered to understand this class because it was frustrating to have to listen to the professor go on and on about whatever the hell he was talking about. I made it a point to show up for this class and at least not get on the nerves of the professor. I guess that strategy worked in my favor. I pity all the other students who have to take this class under that professor. </span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8tLR7FSPyA/Unc9ov7bBGI/AAAAAAAAAtU/txD-w7tAtwE/s1600/large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8tLR7FSPyA/Unc9ov7bBGI/AAAAAAAAAtU/txD-w7tAtwE/s320/large.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Acting</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I hate acting. I hate Acting. I hate the act. And I hate the subject. The real title of this subject is Acting and Directing. I was looking forward to it because I thought, "Hey! After this class I'll know how to boss people around more effectively and efficiently." But no. For one whole semester, we had to do acting activities, memorize Shakespeare lines and learn how to act on our own. On our own? Yes. I thought that the professor would teach us how to act and give us pointers. What he gave us were techniques, but i don't think those techniques taught me how to act. Sure, I knew my lines and cues, but I don't think I can act. Something has to be done for this subject to be relevant to Media Production students. In fairness to the professor, he told us on the first day of class that he did not know why we needed this subject. Really, it was a waste of time and saliva. </span><br />
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<a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/81909817/gallery-ios" target="_blank"><img alt="http://weheartit.com/entry/81909817/gallery-ios" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HvQ1KZyfXD4/UndAn5g_KyI/AAAAAAAAAtg/iolhBRMNVus/s1600/thumb.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Management</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Holy mother of God. I think my brain is not wired to ever understand Management (and Marketing). I would get so bored. Most of the time, I would end up text messaging my friends and talking about something funny with Mica. We had exactly one quiz and weird exams. I would find any excuse to skip this class. I am off to Baguio. I am sick. I have a wedding to attend. I just did not feel like it. I guess one day, I'll look back and be like, "I wish I had listened to the professor in my Management class." I really don't know if I should blame the professor, the time of the subject, myself or other factors for being so lazy in this class. </span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QG68ft88DOA/Ul0kN7CZc5I/AAAAAAAAAs8/fOphmhfJSu8/s1600/PUSH+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QG68ft88DOA/Ul0kN7CZc5I/AAAAAAAAAs8/fOphmhfJSu8/s320/PUSH+logo.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Corporate Communication </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I actually appreciated this class. At first it seemed that we weren't doing anything, but when the semester wore on, I finally got the hang of how the professor would teach the class. This class showed me that public relations is so important and it's pretty fun. Although I do not really want to go into public relations, it's nice to know that if I can't make it big elsewhere, I can get into this kind of work. Funny thing is that when the block had their finals, I was sick. So during the first week of my semestral break, I was slaving away making a campaign that the professor would grade. After submitting it, the professor tells me, "Actually, I already graded you even without your final paper. So this paper better be good." Crap. It's easier to work to get a grade than to work to prove you deserve the given grade. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Cross Cultural Literature</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">This class was a class I wanted to love but ended up hating. I love reading and I love books. I was expecting that this class would be one of those classes which I would dream about and never want to miss. The day this class started, I was wishing the semester would end already. Instead of focusing on the themes of the different novels and how they are relevant to us, I had to memorize tons of names of almost all the characters and places in the given reading material. Like what the hell. I totally flunked all the quizzes and almost failed the exam. I think this class could have been better. Am glad this is over. </span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BRuUV90iQao/Ul0gUGHw-WI/AAAAAAAAAsM/sUuBCxyGwSM/s1600/Char.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BRuUV90iQao/Ul0gUGHw-WI/AAAAAAAAAsM/sUuBCxyGwSM/s320/Char.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Marketing</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">About 80% of the tine, my brain was somewhere else during this class. Maybe it was because the class started at 2pm. Or maybe it was because I found the subject totally boring. Or because Mica was my seatmate and we would just laugh the whole time. What I liked about this class was its consistency. Vera was our professor and from the first day she set the rules. We had to shut up. We would finish one chapter of the book in two meetings. We would have quizzes on the third meeting. Consistent. Yes, I loved its consistency however there were days when it was rather dragging. We rarely had any activities (unless you consider PANA and selling stuff an activity). The only reason I got through this class was because of coffee and tons of laughter. My final grade? Let's just say that I am glad I passed this subject because I do not want to repeat this ever again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qa7EXfnHJd0/Ul0diq5ogFI/AAAAAAAAAr4/P6V9WpvTkLc/s1600/audio+arts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qa7EXfnHJd0/Ul0diq5ogFI/AAAAAAAAAr4/P6V9WpvTkLc/s320/audio+arts.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Audio Arts</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">In this class, there were eight of us who were not part of the block. We called ourselves The Irregulars. This class stressed me out! Sure, it was just once a week on a Wednesday morning, but since almost everything was group work, it was hard to find time to meet the group. We would cut classes, stay after classes and find ways to meet as a group just to finish our projects. Although I cannot say that the people in The Irregulars became my friends, they were super fun to be with and we could talk about things I couldn't talk about with other people. The professor? I liked him because he was blunt. He would give us practical advise. He told us that there would only be a handful of us who would make it big. He said it would be hard to be a girl in the media. He said to stand up for ourselves. He's a good professor. He's real. I actually enjoyed this class a lot. Can we do this again? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Movement</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I would like to forget that this class ever happened. Why? Let me explain. I took ballet for eight years. I did all sorts of other dance during grade-school and high-school. I had to stop because of my Optic Neuritis. So when I had to walk out in the middle of my final exam which was a dance, I totally broke down. Seriously? I took ballet for eight years! I did all sorts of dance for years! And then I couldn't dance! What the hell is wrong with me?! I would force myself to go to this class because after two hours of dance class, I would go home with a massive headache and throw up for hours. Instead of trying to present a doctor's certificate to get out of this class, I would show up week after week. This class just made me realize how sick I actually am and how I really cannot force myself to dance anymore. It saddens me that I cannot do what others can do with their bodies. Yet it also reminds me to take all my medicines and try my best to stay alive. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Video Production</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">7:45am class. Who goes to a class that early? No one. In this class all we did was produce videos. The professor rarely gave lectures and when he did, we would watch videos of how to make videos. Am trying to think of what I actually learned from this one. After making about three videos for this class, I realized that it is hard to operate without a budget. It also is hard to produce anything when you don't believe in what you're doing. Maybe the coolest thing that happened in this class was that I got to watch several short films at CSB. Another cool thing was when the professor said that he used to be a missionary and bring the Jesus film to the provinces. </span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nc3vAD9RUIY/Ul0h830CbyI/AAAAAAAAAsY/YKMzVvRhoDU/s1600/anna+lete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nc3vAD9RUIY/Ul0h830CbyI/AAAAAAAAAsY/YKMzVvRhoDU/s320/anna+lete.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Audio Visual Presentation 2 </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">This is interesting. Our original professor gave us so many free cuts. When we actually had a class, she wouldn't teach us anything at all, but would require us to do really hard things. For mid terms, Char and I had to ask a friend to help us make a one minute video on some animation program. We were so desperate already. I was so desperate already. After the mid terms, we found out that someone else was taking over the class. I really don't care what happened to the original professor and I really hope that no school gets her to be a professor again. Yes, that's how much I dislike her. See, this class could have been fun! If someone taught this subject well, I would be able to edit better, animate, make websites and do that sort of shit you pay people to do for you. Oh well. Disappointing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Overall this semester was such a hassle for me. What made it worse was that I had ten subjects and thirty (or twenty nine) units to contend with. Either my body is now so messed up or my school load was the culprit. I have no idea if it's because of my thyroid problems or my Optic Neuritis, but if I did not get eight hours of sleep at night, I felt that I had not gotten any sleep at all. There were days I would have to ask someone to walk to me school and back home because of my attacks. I would go home during my breaks to sleep and to pop some pills into my mouth. My attacks have gotten worse and have been happening more often. Am really glad that I have gotten through this semester. More semesters to go! Hopeful without the pain that this Optic Neuritis brings. Pretty happy that I did not fail any subject and that things are going as planned. </span><br />
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anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-19990648473872155592013-10-04T12:49:00.001+08:002013-10-04T12:49:46.135+08:00Thoughts On Sickness And Other Things<br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> My body feels sore. So sore that the only position I can stand is lying on my back in my bed while my eyes are staring at the ceiling. Urinating is a chore for it means getting up from bed and dragging myself to my toilet. I refuse to stand. I crawl. I crawl on all fours to the toilet. Finally, when I need to force myself to sit on the toilet seat, my body feels like a huge balloon that will explode when pricked. And then I imagine myself bursting. For no reason at all, my body becomes liquid and I become a pool of particles on my black floor. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I wake up. On my bed. A tray of food is before me. A voice tells me that it's been there for the past two hours. The soup's getting cold. The cold water's getting warm. I am getting hotter and hotter. I force myself to eat food I cannot taste and drink liquids which hurt my throat. They want to turn the lights on in my room. I blatantly refuse. They turn it on. I whine. Like a brat. The lights go off. I go to sleep.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> I drift in and out of sleep. Veep is on. Modern Family is on. I listen. I sleep. My phone vibrates. People from college asking if I'm going to school. I reply and say I am sick. Their next few messages baffle me. They ask if I'm in school. They ask when I'll be back. When a person is sick, a person stays home. When a person is sick, they don't know when they'll be well. I stopped replying. Catastrophe. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">My closest friends entertain me. They try to make me better. But I'm here and they're so far away. To make up for distance they call and talk while I fall asleep on them. They send me funny videos that makes me smile. They chat with me and I send them emoticons. I fall asleep and wake up to their messages reminding me why I have to get well and not give in to this sickness. They say life is good. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I'm not so sure about that. </span><br />
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<br />anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-67358023496513317792013-08-13T11:22:00.002+08:002013-08-13T12:20:52.205+08:00Shakes Head <blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: How's life so far?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: You call this life?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: College. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: Terrible.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">It's so terrible that every time someone asks me if I am enjoying college I want to puke. I see my professors and try to give them the answers they want to hear. All I really want to tell them is that in a few years everything they taught me would have been obsolete already. The dean sees me at least once a week and tells me, "Anna, I am so proud of you." I smile and say thanks. What I really want to say is, "I can't wait to get out of here!" The guards look at me and wonder, "When are you graduating?" I want to tell them I am asking the same question. My parents ask me every week what's going on in college. I give them the same boring answers. Exams. Quizzes. Reports. Walk outs. Drama. My friends tell me that I don't belong in the college I find myself in. I cry on their shoulders and they tell me things will be alright. I want to get out. I am trapped in a prison of uniforms, no hair dye, specific black shoes, curfews, rules and everyhting else you can name that has made my mind go insane. I just need art. </span><br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: You need art. You need art?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: Paintings. Words. Colors. People. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: And you don't have that there?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: *shakes head*</span></blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Dapat kasi nag enroll ka sa non traditional college</i>! And where in the name of Hades would that get me in this country? I am dying because the words here are words that have no more meaning and are just put together to form a sentence to get a grade. The words here are too structured that they have no life in them anymore. Colors are questioned or laughed at. They are viewed as rebellion or defying authority. No colors. People are too caught up with grades, love and little dumb things that clutter up their lives and then consume them. And I try my best to blend in or fit in, but I can't and they know I won't. I realize that without words and colors and people who also need words and colors, I cannot function. Been stocking up on art books. Spending all my free time online looking for and at art. Reading words and trying to come up with some. Spending more and more time with people who can breathe some life into me. </span><br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: What have you been up to?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: Contemplating life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: You confused?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: Shut up. Percy Jackson is awesome!</span></blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The only thing that made me happy after a long time of feeling nothing was when my parents and I watched Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters last Sunday. I had to drag my parents to watch it with me because my friends are not into this Greek mythology thing. Yes, I have weird and sad friends. Anyway, I was so happy that I didn't even let it bother me that there were noisy children in the theater. Fine. So the movie wasn't as exciting as the book, but it was a lot better than the first Percy Jackson movie. Thank heavens! I wanna watch it again, but I don't wanna watch it alone. So I just might bribe some people to watch it with me. I am that desperate.</span><br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: Uhm. .</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: And to make myself happier I decided to go minimalist.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: Will you shut up about it?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: No. Talking about it helps me convince myself that it's the right thing to do.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Basically, I haven't started cleaning out my closet and giving or throwing most of my things away. I don't really live where all my things are. So am planning to get rid of tons of stuff this weekend. I've been checking out tons of blogs to see if I'm on the right path. Seems that I am. I told some of my friends what am up to and they all said that if I was throwing away my books, they want them. Parents don't really care. Me? Am so excited. Maybe by going minimalist I'll forget how terrible college is right now. </span><br />
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anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-35195559792068179512013-05-12T00:23:00.000+08:002013-05-22T00:23:58.884+08:00To A Mother<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm; </style><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">To
a mother.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">To
a mother who was never there to see me grow up. A mother who did not
get to see me take my first steps or hear my first words. A mother
who did not have to drag me out of bed to get me to school every
single day. A mother who did not have to deal with my endless cries
for more ice cream and candy. A mother who did have to shed any tears
when I messed up or fucked up my life again and again. A mother who
at the time I was conceived may or may not have been a slut, a
prostitute, the other woman, a drunkard, a stoned teenager or just
one of those people who got knocked up. A mother who if I meet now
may not understand or be fluent in the language I speak. This is for
a mother I do not know. This is for a mother I hope loved me. This is
for a mother I may not love at all.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">It
may seem cruel and harsh for me to say that I may not love you. But
think about it, love can only be given and received if the person
giving it and receiving it is around somehow. How can I love someone
who deliberately chose never to see me again? I'd like to believe
however that you gave me away because you loved me. I would like to
think that you gave me up so that I could have a better future. Yet,
it could also be the other way around. You could have given me away
because you selfishly loved yourself. You could have given me up
because you perceived me as a hindrance to your own great future. I
would be a fool not to take a human's selfish nature into
consideration when contemplating these things.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">For
a long time, I could not grasp the concept of adoption in which those
who want a child can get a child from those who do not wish to keep a
child. It delighted me to know that I was chosen by people who did
not have to show affection towards me. At the same time, it was a
huge pain in the ass to know that you, a mother who is related to me
by blood, could not find it in yourself to keep me. Sugarcoat it all
you want. Truth is, I was abandoned and given up to a couple of
strangers I now call my family. Although it took my family only five
days after my birth to bring me home and welcome me into their
privileged world, it does not change the fact that I was alone for a
few unfortunate days.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">If
you were to magically appear out of nowhere or come back from the
dead to apologize to me for giving me up, I'll let you know now that
you have nothing to be sorry for. Everyone is fully aware of what
they do before and while they are doing it. And apologizing is just a
crappy excuse and a backup plan to make the one you have offended
feel better. Scratch that. An apology makes the offender feel better.
An apology won't bring back wasted time. A sorry will not change my
life. An expression of regret will not make you or me a better
person. Nevertheless, a sorry will make you feel good. So say it if
you have to. But I won't forgive you. There is nothing to forgive. I
feel nothing.I have grown numb to whatever emotion I felt or still
subconsciously feel about my situation. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I
question my choice to even call you a mother, but the word is used
for any woman who has given birth to a child. And that is all you
are. You are just a woman who gave birth to me. You acted like a
conduit. You were a channel. A channel of a fucking blessing of a
baby girl - me. You were a mother who brought me into this world to
give me to my mother. You may never know how much my mother wanted me
or how many gallons of tears my mother cried when I dyed my hair
blue. But then, I may never know how hard a time I must have put you
through while I was in you for nine months. I guess there are things
you and I will never know but will always want to know about each
other.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">So
on this very happy Mother's Day, let me tell you that this letter is
not to thank you or to condemn you for what you did. This is not to
make you feel guilty or to make you feel at peace with your decision.
This is also not a hate letter or a love letter to you. This is me
realizing that you are a mother. And for those nine months I was in
you and you surrounded me, you were my mother. Maybe that's
enough for me to respect and honor you because you were a mother. You
were my mother. I knew your voice. I heard your cries. I sensed
your thoughts. I knew you. And you knew me. </span></span></span>
</div>
anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-67012913756468279702013-05-11T00:30:00.002+08:002013-05-11T00:30:52.898+08:00Nothing<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I honestly don't know how to start this <span style="font-size: xx-small;">because I don't know how t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">his started. </span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">There is no date to celebrate. There is no specific time or moment when the feelings started to creep in. There is not<span style="font-size: xx-small;">hing to look back to that will ever p<span style="font-size: xx-small;">rove that any of this even happened. And maybe that's the problem with this whole I-don<span style="font-size: xx-small;">'t-know-what-to-call-it-relationship. It was built on nothing. Maybe it<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> was nothing. Maybe it is nothing.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span>Yet if this was all nothing, why does it suck? <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Why does it<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> - excuse my fucked up term<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> - hurt? Why do I feel that this is <span style="font-size: xx-small;">just another break <span style="font-size: xx-small;">up altoge<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ther?</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Perhaps there was something after all. It wasn't love. I'm sure of that. It was a mutual respect <span style="font-size: xx-small;">and admiration of each other that led us to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">this nothingness. Trust was involved too which was broken m<span style="font-size: xx-small;">onth after month a<span style="font-size: xx-small;">fter month. Lies <span style="font-size: xx-small;">existed to cover <span style="font-size: xx-small;">up a multitude of hurt that came about from lies also. Happiness <span style="font-size: xx-small;">was sporadic, but we both lived for th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ose precious moments. Fight<span style="font-size: xx-small;">i<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ng <span style="font-size: xx-small;">was our language<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> through which we communicated <span style="font-size: xx-small;">with a passion. There were no r<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ules. Anything was possible! </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">And that "anything" happened. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">You go<span style="font-size: xx-small;">t drunk. I got drunk. You flirted with other girls. I got drunk because you flirted with other girls. I smoked. You got <span style="font-size: xx-small;">mad. I said you had no right to be because you didn't own me. You shut up because you knew I was correct. I cursed you. You cursed me. My curses had no effect on you. Your curses to me scarred me for life. You stayed. I left. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">You didn't call me back. I ke<span style="font-size: xx-small;">pt on hoping you would. I said sorry. A lot. You always just accepted it. My pride got in the way. Your pride blocked the way<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. We refused <span style="font-size: xx-small;">to give <span style="font-size: xx-small;">way. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I hope<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. I hoped too much. You <span style="font-size: xx-small;">made me believe that I had something to hope for.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Finall<span style="font-size: xx-small;">y, I came to my senses and threw <span style="font-size: xx-small;">nothing do<span style="font-size: xx-small;">wn the drain<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> because I had nothing to throw away <span style="font-size: xx-small;">to begin with</span>. There was no us to tear apart. T<span style="font-size: xx-small;">here was no date to forget every month. There w<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ere no text messages to delete <span style="font-size: xx-small;">or</span> chats to regret. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">A relationship status change was not necessary <span style="font-size: xx-small;">which meant that no questions were asked. N<span style="font-size: xx-small;">o questions will ever be asked. There are n<span style="font-size: xx-small;">o pict<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ures of us up on the Internet that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">have to be taken down. There <span style="font-size: xx-small;">was nothing. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">There is nothing.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">S<span style="font-size: xx-small;">o what <span style="font-size: xx-small;">was that all about? If n<span style="font-size: xx-small;">othing took place and there was no relationship, what should I be feeling right now? If this was <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the usual break up<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> scenario, you'd see me walking around like a zombie for days and I'd be listening t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">o The Script. Yet this is not the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">usual<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, normal break up<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. This is not a break up. I did not lose anyt<span style="font-size: xx-small;">hing, but I feel that I left something behind. Mixed and messed <span style="font-size: xx-small;">up feelings that should not even be felt<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> are strangling my soul. Fuck. I ne<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ed <span style="font-size: xx-small;">to wake up <span style="font-size: xx-small;">from this bad dream.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">A</span>s I try my best to piece together some answer that will make <span style="font-size: xx-small;">myself be<span style="font-size: xx-small;">lieve that this<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> was worth it, a <span style="font-size: xx-small;">friend <span style="font-size: xx-small;">suddenly opens u<span style="font-size: xx-small;">p to me to share her own story <span style="font-size: xx-small;">that began with nothing and end<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s with nothing also. And she asks me for ad<span style="font-size: xx-small;">v<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ice <span style="font-size: xx-small;">while I sit here not knowing what to say or how to deal with her heartache. Her questions rem<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ind me of my own situation. My answers to her questions are answers that I need to get into my brain and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">be convinced by. I don't have the guts to tell her tha<span style="font-size: xx-small;">t <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I can't even follow my own advice. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">abruptly</span> stopped replying to her because the emotions that came along with the conversation were too much to handle. I wish her the best tho<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ugh. And i give myself <span style="font-size: xx-small;">applause for being such a <span style="font-size: xx-small;">good liar<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I began and will end now with nothing.</span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-68218103892684586302013-04-16T18:08:00.000+08:002013-04-16T18:08:12.418+08:00Divorce Just Happens<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">A friend brought a book with <span style="font-size: xx-small;">pages full of questions <span style="font-size: xx-small;">with her<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> to our church's youth overnight<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. We all took turns reading <span style="font-size: xx-small;">a question out loud and an<span style="font-size: xx-small;">swering them. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span>If you could have your own <span style="font-size: xx-small;">club, what would you name it and what music would you play? Would y<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ou help a friend cheat for an exam? If you were in a party and saw someone you wanted to ask out, how would you get the person's attention? The questions got<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> more and more ridiculous until the last question was asked. What would you sa<span style="font-size: xx-small;">y to anyone who was going through a divorce?</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The person who had to answer the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">question was <span style="font-size: xx-small;">one of our youth group leaders. Of course, her answer was<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> a mile long an<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d several feet deep<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, yet it prompted several members of the group t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">o react<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, to share and to give their own take on divorce. Some had <span style="font-size: xx-small;">parents who were going through it. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Another was a chil<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d who had to deal with a father who was unfaithful. And one just <span style="font-size: xx-small;">wanted to know when to stop praying <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">for</span> her mother and father <span style="font-size: xx-small;">to</span> reconcile<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. The<span style="font-size: xx-small;">y said that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">as <span style="font-size: xx-small;">t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">he</span></span> child, you never stop praying and you never stop hoping for that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">reconciliation. And their stories about wanting their parents to get back tog<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ether went on and on and on. <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Someone made a comment that the topic was so close to home. Well, this topic is <span style="font-size: xx-small;">what makes m<span style="font-size: xx-small;">y <span style="font-size: xx-small;">home. </span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">If divorce (or annulment) destroyed <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the families of my friends, divorce (or annulment) gave me a mother and a father plus two<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> ancient half brothers. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Am not<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> sure when I realized that my<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> ancient older brothers were my<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> mom'<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s children fro<span style="font-size: xx-small;">m her first marriage. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">May<span style="font-size: xx-small;">be I found out <span style="font-size: xx-small;">when I had to talk to my ancient ol<span style="font-size: xx-small;">der <span style="font-size: xx-small;">brothers' father on the phone. Or maybe I found out when I realized I would only see <span style="font-size: xx-small;">my second ancient older brother only during big family reunions. Actually, am pretty sure my first ancient older brother who lived with us fo<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r a few years shared some family gossip with me.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> All I know is that<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> my ancient older brothers and I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">belonged<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">o the same mom, but we had di<span style="font-size: xx-small;">fferent dads.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">And I sat there thinking<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> about my own messed up family and how we've all learned t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">o deal with the divorce (or annulment) <span style="font-size: xx-small;">in our own crazy way.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Some <span style="font-size: xx-small;">of us<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> have learned to deal with it <span style="font-size: xx-small;">b</span>etter than the others.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> But have dealt with it and continue to deal wi<span style="font-size: xx-small;">th it.</span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">My dad has a way of deta<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ching <span style="font-size: xx-small;">himself from <span style="font-size: xx-small;">everything that has to do with my mom's divorce. When she talks about it, he just shuts up<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. Maybe he thinks that just because <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the law says the marriage never h<span style="font-size: xx-small;">appened, he can pretend it never took place. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">My mom still has open wounds from that divorce (annulment) that will never fully heal. I know she crie<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s about it and still feels its <span style="font-size: xx-small;">heavy weight<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">The <span style="font-size: xx-small;">first ancient older brother has </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>pain <span style="font-size: xx-small;">we all know about but will never<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">comprehend</span> entirely. </span></span></span>The second ancient older brother seems <span style="font-size: xx-small;">to have let his pain fuel his <span style="font-size: xx-small;">desire to have a beautiful family. And I may not<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> feel all their pain, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">but their pain has affected my views on life and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">marriage</span>. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I thought<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> about how one ancient brother wished for mom and their father to reconcile and how the other ancient brother did not. Thought about all those times mom wishe<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the second anc<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ient older brother also lived with her when he was growing up. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Recalled those moments when one ancient older brother would call my dad Papito and the other one called him Uncle. Looked back on those t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">imes my mom begged God to please change<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> one ancient older brother's mind about marriage and children. </span></span></span></span></span></span>Recalled all those times </span></span>I would have to explain why our last names did no<span style="font-size: xx-small;">t match. Thought about <span style="font-size: xx-small;">h<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ow my dad loves his wife's children even if they are<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> not his own. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Tried to feel <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the regret my mom <span style="font-size: xx-small;">is undergoing for having a divorce (annulment)<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and</span> a<span style="font-size: xx-small;">lso her happiness that she is free from th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">at marriage. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Their talk went on and on and on<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">as I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">tried to make myself disappear in the mess o<span style="font-size: xx-small;">f blankets<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s and a pillow. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Because what can someone say to a person who is going through a divorce? What can someone say to a child whose parents are divorcing? What can someone <span style="font-size: xx-small;">say to a child who<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> has a parent who has gone through a divorce and has re-married? What can someone say<span style="font-size: xx-small;">? What can someone <b>really</b> say? Nothing. You can talk and talk and talk, but that may mean nothing because each situation is different and because there will never be a right or a wrong divorce (annulment).<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> You can pray and pray that reconciliation takes place, but sometimes God does not listen to prayers like those. You can question<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and beg<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, but s<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ometimes there are no answers. Sometimes divorce (annulment) just happens. Sometimes divorce (annulment) it is meant to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">be<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">S</span>o I came back from that <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">overnight</span> d<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">epressed</span> a<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s ever<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-16118181975740986242013-04-02T12:27:00.000+08:002013-04-02T12:29:19.588+08:00More Months Down The Drain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">So done with another year of college.</span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">While e<span style="font-size: xx-small;">veryone else is getting their grades, I am stuck at home<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> doing crazy things. The second semester <span style="font-size: xx-small;">ended last March 22, 2013 and I have been on vacation mode since <span style="font-size: xx-small;">then. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">What do I do <span style="font-size: xx-small;">when it's vacation? I sleep, eat, read, watch, drive my parents <span style="font-size: xx-small;">insane, scare the neighbors and play with animals. But before I get so engrossed in doing crazy thi<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ngs, I gotta review the semester that just ended<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q4uokHwCbY8/UVmW01tX0jI/AAAAAAAAAqE/IkWIeAKq19o/s1600/cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="303" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q4uokHwCbY8/UVmW01tX0jI/AAAAAAAAAqE/IkWIeAKq19o/s400/cross.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Theology<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Two - Monday and Friday 7:45AM-9:10AM</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Basically this w<span style="font-size: xx-small;">hole class was about celebrating life in a community of faith<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. Although this class was seriously boring and I would drink<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> coffee just to wake myself up, I actually appreciate<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d this class a whole lot. Imagine, I was forced to start and end my school week with prayer and praise. Of<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> course, there were times I would annoy the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">p</span>rof<span style="font-size: xx-small;">essor really bad and she<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> would roll her eyes at me. I didn't bring my Bible to class one time and was too lazy to borro<span style="font-size: xx-small;">w from the library. The <span style="font-size: xx-small;">p</span>rofessor noticed and I was like, 'Reading the Bible won't get <span style="font-size: xx-small;">me to Heaven.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">' I guess this was one of those classes I just had to attend so that I wouldn't have to repeat it. Ever.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Take Away: Almost every meeting<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">p</span>rofessor would say, 'You should live your life to the fullest!' Fullest my <span style="font-size: xx-small;">@<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*$.</span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">H<span style="font-size: xx-small;">umanities<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Two - Tuesday 10:40AM-1:50PM</span></span></span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">What kind of schedule is t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">hat? I'<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d be in the classroom on time and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> class would start at around 11:15<span style="font-size: xx-small;">AM. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">If the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">p</span>rofessor didn't feel like it, she'd e<span style="font-size: xx-small;">nd the class at like 12:30noon. We were alwa<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ys eating du<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ing this class. Am not really sure what t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">he p<span style="font-size: xx-small;">rofessor wanted us <span style="font-size: xx-small;">to learn in this class<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. The lessons were messed up<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and rather queer<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, but we could always relate to them somehow. I especially enjoyed th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ose times <span style="font-size: xx-small;">th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e professor would j<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ust rant about her ex boyfriend an<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d we were like<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, '<span style="font-size: xx-small;">We'll liste<span style="font-size: xx-small;">n to anything as long as it's not the lesson!' I enjoyed th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e final project/f<span style="font-size: xx-small;">inal exam for this class! <span style="font-size: xx-small;">My group had to give a presentation about clothes and I just put togeth<span style="font-size: xx-small;">er pictures from my Flickr days. LOL.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Take Away: 'Use your knowledge about the person to make a judgement about the situation,' the professor would always say. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">C<span style="font-size: xx-small;">lassics<span style="font-size: xx-small;">- Tuesday and Thursday 2:00PM-3:20PM</span></span></span></span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Oh<span style="font-size: xx-small;">myfreakinggawd. I honestly thought that I was done with this professor who also taught Oral Communication to our block during th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e <span style="font-size: xx-small;">first semester. I don't exactly hate<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">professor, but I don't love her. I just don't get the professor at all. This class had <span style="font-size: xx-small;">too many surprise quiz<span style="font-size: xx-small;">zes I failed, questions that had <span style="font-size: xx-small;">no answers, stories I could not relate to, grades I could not figure out and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">unnecessary</span> stress I had to deal with. I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">remember not knowing what to review for the midterm exam. All I did was scan my scarce notes and take the exam.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> When the results came out, I was like, 'Thank God for stock knowledge and for Ada who is so cr<span style="font-size: xx-small;">azy about m<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ythology.' This could h<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ave been an interesting class if. . . Never mind. </span>Looking back though, this <span style="font-size: xx-small;">class brough<span style="font-size: xx-small;">t our block together. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Take Away:<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> I want to go to G<span style="font-size: xx-small;">reece<span style="font-size: xx-small;">! </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Philosophy/<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Critical Thinking - Wedne<span style="font-size: xx-small;">sday 9<span style="font-size: xx-small;">:20AM-12noon</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">My brain<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">would go dead during this class<span style="font-size: xx-small;">! During the first half <span style="font-size: xx-small;">of the semeste<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r, I was guessing everything in this class. I'd guess the answers <span style="font-size: xx-small;">for every quiz, I'd g<span style="font-size: xx-small;">uess the answers for the reflection papers<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and I guessed for the midterm exam. I only s<span style="font-size: xx-small;">tarted getting things <span style="font-size: xx-small;">when we started the debates! I love<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d it. I guess I was lucky 'cause I was always in a grou<span style="font-size: xx-small;">p with people who knew how to work debates. I liked the professor because <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I think<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> he's <span style="font-size: xx-small;">smart. It's just that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">most of the time he was talking to himself and expla<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ining the lesson to himself. He would start his sentences with 'In a nutshell<span style="font-size: xx-small;">' and we'd<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> make fun of that. I'd make fun of that.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Mica, Mina and I would laugh <span style="font-size: xx-small;">really bad in class 'cause the professor would mak<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e stupid sounds which we wo<span style="font-size: xx-small;">uld later on copy. Char was not my<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> classmate in this class, but she also had this professor for another class. We <span style="font-size: xx-small;">would swap stories about him and we agreed that he made our brains dizzy. To get m<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e through this class, Char, Mica<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and Mina would make me laugh!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Take Away: <span style="font-size: xx-small;">All is well. </span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">NSTP<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> One - Wednesday 2:00PM-4:50PM</span></span></span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Would someone please explain <span style="font-size: xx-small;">why I need<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ed to take this class? How <span style="font-size: xx-small;">come this class is not grade<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d? How come it's just pass or fail? <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I had to drag my<span style="font-size: xx-small;">self to this class every <span style="font-size: xx-small;">freaking week<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Half of the time I did not understand the professor who taught the class in some form of Filipino. Did not help t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">hat all my <span style="font-size: xx-small;">classmates in this class were rowdy first year students<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. Good thing I had <span style="font-size: xx-small;">some friends who were in this c<span style="font-size: xx-small;">lass who were also irregular <span style="font-size: xx-small;">students like me. We got th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">rough<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> the whole semester because of food, swapping stories and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">hating the class. The best thing th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">at happened in this class was that we got to go to GK <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Enchanted Farm.</span></span> The most annoying thing <span style="font-size: xx-small;">is that there st<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ill is an NSTP Two. Freaks<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Take Away: None. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Introduction <span style="font-size: xx-small;">to Broadcasting- Friday 9:30AM-12noon</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I wanted to skip <span style="font-size: xx-small;">this class altogether! I have no idea if we were wasting the professor<span style="font-size: xx-small;">'s ti<span style="font-size: xx-small;">me o<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r she was wasting our time. I dunno if her method of teaching was wrong o<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r if we just expected something totally <span style="font-size: xx-small;">different. I dunno if she taught us anything or we just didn't listen close enough. I dunno if her De La Salle University st<span style="font-size: xx-small;">andards <span style="font-size: xx-small;">are higher or if Assumption stand<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ards are lower. I have no idea<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. It was pretty awkward when she asked the cl<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ass if there was anything <span style="font-size: xx-small;">wrong and how come we were failing. As if we would stand up and t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ell her <span style="font-size: xx-small;">what the problem was. In the end, we just sh<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ut up and did whatever we could to pass.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> When I found out that she was serious with <span style="font-size: xx-small;">her weekly reflection papers<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> on </span>TV shows<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, I made tons of them and passed t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">hem all.</span></span></span></span> The <span style="font-size: xx-small;">happiest we were during this subject <span style="font-size: xx-small;">was when we got to visit GMA 7. And then some of my group<span style="font-size: xx-small;">mates for our final project got to interview DJ Jimmy Muna. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Take Away: Being <span style="font-size: xx-small;">in media will never be easy, but it will be worth it. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Scriptwriting - Friday 2:00P<span style="font-size: xx-small;">M-4:50P<span style="font-size: xx-small;">M</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I LOVED THIS CLASS! <3 Before the profess<span style="font-size: xx-small;">or made us<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> write our own scripts<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, she made us watch tons of movies. Because I love mo<span style="font-size: xx-small;">vies, I would download all the movies she would make us watch and I'd us<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ose movies as an excuse to waste away three hours a day. I'll never forget this class because <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I got to watch a really good movie, We Hav<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e To <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Talk About Kevin.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> There was this movie about Rizal <span style="font-size: xx-small;">which was brilliant, but I g<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ot bored. And s<span style="font-size: xx-small;">o many other movies which made me go, 'Crap. I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">wish I wrote that script.'</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I got a partner when it came to making <span style="font-size: xx-small;">our own </span>scrip<span style="font-size: xx-small;">t. And we literall<span style="font-size: xx-small;">y did not sleep just so that we <span style="font-size: xx-small;">could finish the scri<span style="font-size: xx-small;">pt. T<span style="font-size: xx-small;">here were times I would really yell because things were so off and lines weren't coming out of o<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ur heads. Coffee, energy drinks and alcohol helped us along the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">way. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Take Away: "The producer is anyone who knows a writer." </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Economics<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> - Saturday 10:40AM-1:50PM</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Curses! <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Saturday classes suck. Why do I need economics when <span style="font-size: xx-small;">my course is Media Production? <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Stupid. I bought the book for this class just so that I wo<span style="font-size: xx-small;">uld not have to listen to the professor talk. Little did I know that I would not also be able to understand the stupid book which was full of numbers and graphs. Every Saturday, I would thi<span style="font-size: xx-small;">nk of new ways to entertain myself<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> dur<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ing this class. At first, I would just count the times t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">he professor would use <span style="font-size: xx-small;">his fuck finger to point at the board. After <span style="font-size: xx-small;">some time, I got tired of doing that. So I would borro<span style="font-size: xx-small;">w the phon<span style="font-size: xx-small;">es of my friends and play all sorts of weird games. When that didn't wo<span style="font-size: xx-small;">rk, I com<span style="font-size: xx-small;">posed a song. And then <span style="font-size: xx-small;">toward<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s the end of the semester I copied my<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> classmate, Michel, and practiced writing with my left hand.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Yes, that was how boring this class was. I was especially disappointed after I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">learned that the professor got all of his <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Po<span style="font-size: xx-small;">werpoint Presentations online. Like what?! O.o</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Take Away: <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Anything with numbe<span style="font-size: xx-small;">rs bores me to death. </span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>At </b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>the </b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>End of the Day</b>: I wanna say that I had such a useless semester and that most of my classes were crap, but that wouldn't be true. I enjo<span style="font-size: xx-small;">yed this semester because my friends made it awesome. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">=) </span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-90089542171923342552013-03-17T01:45:00.000+08:002013-03-17T01:45:45.147+08:00Electra<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Wo<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Agamemnon <span style="font-size: xx-small;">king of Argos!</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">It's <span style="font-size: xx-small;">been <span style="font-size: xx-small;">approximately</span> t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">wo days since </span></span></span>our class did our black light flip card presentation of Electra by Euripedes<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and I am still on what I call a <span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Classics High<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.<span style="font-size: xx-small;">" <span style="font-size: xx-small;">In late January, our professor<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, Miss Schnabel told us that we would have to interpret the play Electra<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. Our presentation would be considered our final exam<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. The first thing I did was ask Krissa, our block rep<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, what she wanted done. And she was like, '<i>Kahit ano</i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">!<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> We have 7k to spend.' The second person I talked to was Elaine who helped write the script and was there since day one. And the third person who knew about <span style="font-size: xx-small;">almost e<span style="font-size: xx-small;">verything was Tricia who <span style="font-size: xx-small;">reserved rooms, made sure we had props and bugged people. Then, after those three people knew about the plan, things got crazy.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">My number one problem was that we had no money to spend. I thought that the school would give us our 7k and we could just waste it all on props and food. Heck, we had to pay<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> for our props, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">collect the receipts<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, give the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">receipts to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Miss Schnabel and then get refunded for whatever we spent. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>My second pro<span style="font-size: xx-small;">blem was that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">our class was made up of three different blocks with three different schedules and people who could not get along<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> or come to practices on time. And my third problem was that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">no matter how hard any<span style="font-size: xx-small;">one in the prod team explained the concept to the whole class, only a handful of people could get it. Holy crap.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R_2t6hw13Mo/UUSe7ue0ZbI/AAAAAAAAAok/J_IJi3VeIEI/s1600/803295_10151453269106661_241163968_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R_2t6hw13Mo/UUSe7ue0ZbI/AAAAAAAAAok/J_IJi3VeIEI/s400/803295_10151453269106661_241163968_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">When I finally got my hands on twenty <span style="font-size: xx-small;">four illustration boards<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, I was all set to tell the class,<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> 'You have no freaking idea how hard it is to make props!' It didn't help that one side of the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">illustration</span> board was white and we had to paint that black or that the white paint would not glow in the black light. There was <span style="font-size: xx-small;">one week in which I stayed up late with Elaine, Pat<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and Phoebe just trying to get our first set of prop<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s to work. At 11PM one night, we drag<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ged twelv<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> heavy illustration boards to the bathroom of my house, plugged the black light and saw that it was working. Suddenly,<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> my tiredness vanished and I thought, '<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Wait till the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">whole class sees this!' True enough, the next day, Thursday, when they saw the pi<span style="font-size: xx-small;">cture above and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the actual effec<span style="font-size: xx-small;">t they <span style="font-size: xx-small;">found it in them to finis<span style="font-size: xx-small;">h two more sets of twelve illustration <span style="font-size: xx-small;">boards. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Finally, all (or <span style="font-size: xx-small;">90%) of our props were done. The scripts were already given out to everyone. The actors already knew their lines. My problem was the chorus. I had twelve people who could not memori<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ze lines, would come to practices late, would give me shitty excuses, would wake up <span style="font-size: xx-small;">two hours after call time and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">who gave me so many reasons to give up on the<span style="font-size: xx-small;">m. There was one Saturday<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> in which all I did was let those who showed up for practice fix the props. Another time, I waited for four hours for people to show up. They showed up<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> six hours later wi<span style="font-size: xx-small;">th a lot of apologies which I wanted to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">push down their throats. But we still practiced as a team. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">We ha<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d good days and we had bad days.</span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">There were days in which everyone was awake and cooperative. And there were days when I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">was on a yelling spr<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ee because someone was late or someone for<span style="font-size: xx-small;">got their line or someone did not flip their card on time. A good day was when we <span style="font-size: xx-small;">could use the Studio in school to practice. A bad day was when we would practice in the heat and I had to deal with the complaints of everyone. A good day was when everyone <span style="font-size: xx-small;">in the chorus remember<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ed to wear a black shirt. A bad day w<span style="font-size: xx-small;">as when people in the chorus would wear white <span style="font-size: xx-small;">when the prod team had clearly told them not to. A <span style="font-size: xx-small;">good day <span style="font-size: xx-small;">was a <span style="font-size: xx-small;">day <span style="font-size: xx-small;">that no one asked questions <span style="font-size: xx-small;">and just followed. A bad day was when they asked dumb questions which I had answers to but I didn't want to waste my time explaining. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">A good day was when they trusted the prod team. A bad day was when they did not.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Finally, I guess it kicked in that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">more than getting the presentation right or remembering lines, what mattered was that we were one as a group.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> What mattered most was that<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> those in the presentation trusted that the prod team knew what they were doing. What mattered <span style="font-size: xx-small;">was that the prod team trusted the cast to do their jobs. What mattered was that the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">chorus trusted their fellow ch<span style="font-size: xx-small;">orus members not to mess up. What mattered was that the actors trusted <span style="font-size: xx-small;">each other<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> not to forget lines. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Team work mattered!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">You never know how ready <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the team is until they perform <span style="font-size: xx-small;">on the day itself. The night before, Thursday<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, </span>we had our final practice<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. Gloves<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> still <span style="font-size: xx-small;">had to be bought. Masks had to be done over. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">So<span style="font-size: xx-small;">me <span style="font-size: xx-small;">props still <span style="font-size: xx-small;">had to be made. Last minute changes were made. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Some of us had documentaries <span style="font-size: xx-small;">to cram and exams to review for which we w<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ould be passing or taking the next day. We were <span style="font-size: xx-small;">exhau<span style="font-size: xx-small;">sted. As soon as I got home, I left my things and ran out to buy more props. Others did the same. On Twitter that night and early morning of Friday, some were still up reviewing and editing<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Because I could not sleep tha<span style="font-size: xx-small;">t night, I got o<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ut of bed and tried reviewing. When that did not work, I went to school to attend my 7<span style="font-size: xx-small;">:45AM class.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Somehow, I got myself out of my 7:45AM class and found myself fixing up the place and some props. When Tricia arrived at around 8:30AM, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I told her some changes which the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">cast would have to do without<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> even practicing it. After<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Krissa, Chachi and I fixed some stuff, we rushed to take our written exam in Broadcasting at 9AM. Hell, I could not concentrate! Right after the exam, I left the room to talk to the actors and reminded them of some small things. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Another class was already presenting their presentation in Studio. I was pacing back and forth. T<span style="font-size: xx-small;">he <span style="font-size: xx-small;">clock was ticking an<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d it was almost 11AM. What did that mean? We had to get our act together and present our bl<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ack light flip card <span style="font-size: xx-small;">presentation.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Sit down! Shut up! Stop talking! You'll do fine! <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Put your hair up<span style="font-size: xx-small;">! Wear your gloves! Stop<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> laughing! We can do this! </span></span>After yelling all s<span style="font-size: xx-small;">orts of commands at them, I was like, 'Heck, just go and have fun! But whi<span style="font-size: xx-small;">le you're at it, you might as well get us all a good grade.' As soon as they entered the Studio, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I ran to the control <span style="font-size: xx-small;">room and stayed there. I watched from behind a<span style="font-size: xx-small;">nd prayed to anyone up in heaven to please help those<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> nineteen people who were on stage performing. In around<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> five minutes, the performance was done, but we had already made a statement. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Sure, we had mistakes. But who the freak car<span style="font-size: xx-small;">es? <span style="font-size: xx-small;">We still got ou<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r point across. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>We <span style="font-size: xx-small;">had already showed everyone who watched <span style="font-size: xx-small;">who we were and what <span style="font-size: xx-small;">we were capable of doin<span style="font-size: xx-small;">g.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Everything <span style="font-size: xx-small;">is still a blur to me. I heard them clapping. We bowed. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Some professors talked. We cheered. We cleaned up. We went out to get our things and then Krissa came up to me in the midst of the chaos and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">went, 'Anna, thank you. Thank you for putting it together.' <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I was shoc<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ked. And touched. But that<span style="font-size: xx-small;">'s the p<span style="font-size: xx-small;">oint: a director just puts things together, but <span style="font-size: xx-small;">whatever is put together is only <span style="font-size: xx-small;">good if those who are on stage make it happen. And so, thank you! </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Thank you random people who made this work like Pat <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Cibucao and Char SB. </span>Thank you actors! Phoebe, Sarah and Mica<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, you were always early when you were needed for practice<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> You didn't just memorize lines<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. You guys also helped with the props. J<span style="font-size: xx-small;">T, you never complained<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> or <span style="font-size: xx-small;">made a fuss<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. I like that. Mina, you had one line. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Thanks for getting it right! Bettina and Paula, you did what <span style="font-size: xx-small;">you could when no one else was there to help. You showed up when I did not expect it. Thank you chorus! Micah, Ava, Klar and Kat<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, you guys were on time most of the time and took this seriously. Cool! Anna<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, I appreciated the fact that you always informed us if you would be absent. Chachi, you solved probl<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ems I did not have solutions to. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Elaine, thank you for being there since day one! Angel<span style="font-size: xx-small;">li and Michel, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">thank you for following orders quickly and without question. Mhean, how on earth do you<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> know how to draw and do lettering? We would not have had <span style="font-size: xx-small;">words on our props without you. Krissa<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, where do I start? <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Thank you for b<span style="font-size: xx-small;">eing you! Thank you for always caring for <span style="font-size: xx-small;">others. </span>Mica, the black lights you lent us were amazing! More than that though, you came to practice even if you live <span style="font-size: xx-small;">so far away.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Thank you prod team! Kai, for some reason, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">whenever something goes wrong, I know I can count on you. Paige, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">thank you for texting certain people to bring the things we needed. And to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Nicdao, your ability to stay cool in <span style="font-size: xx-small;">messed up situations is amazing! <span style="font-size: xx-small;">You<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> kept me sane the entire time. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">What a nice way to end the school <span style="font-size: xx-small;">year! </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">*All pictures belong to my <span style="font-size: xx-small;">block-mates</span>. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">*<span style="font-size: xx-small;">* Kinda messed up<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, but I don't really care. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-5689775145019932662013-02-12T18:06:00.001+08:002013-02-12T18:06:58.820+08:00Expectation. Reality. <br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation<span style="font-size: xx-small;">: P<span style="font-size: xx-small;">arents will want to spend time with me on the weeke<span style="font-size: xx-small;">nd since w<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e rarely see each other during the week. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Reality: Parents pick me up from my brother's house and hurry home because they have other things to do.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> When we get home, they do their thing and I do my thing. The next day<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">as a family, we spend so much time in church<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. By the time we have the day to our<span style="font-size: xx-small;">selves, we're all tired and I have to go back to my brother's house. So m<span style="font-size: xx-small;">uch for wanting to spend time with them.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation: Church is a place where people are welcoming and loving and oh so aweso<span style="font-size: xx-small;">me.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Reality: I have never felt so alone in my whole life! It<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> has been more than one freaking year and<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> I still am surrounded by st<span style="font-size: xx-small;">rangers every Sunday. I have gone out of my way to make friends, but they stick to their little world. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Im<span style="font-size: xx-small;">possible.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation: Friends will be there for you and with you<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Reality: <span style="font-size: xx-small;">They will be there for you when they have the time and energy<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. They will be with you only if you l<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ive close to each other. Schedules get<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> busy. Money gets tight. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Li<span style="font-size: xx-small;">fe happen<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s. You get through problems on your own.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation: <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">C</span>hildhood friends <span style="font-size: xx-small;">will be friends forever and ever.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Re<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ality: Shi<span style="font-size: xx-small;">t happens<span style="font-size: xx-small;">! You end up acting civil when you <span style="font-size: xx-small;">see each other in parties, bump into each other at the mall or accidentally 'like' their status or photo on Facebook.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation<span style="font-size: xx-small;">: <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Colleg<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> is an awesome<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> experience <span style="font-size: xx-small;">that I will enjoy and treasure for the rest of my life. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Reality: As soon as I make it to college, I cannot wait to run out of the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">college building. The only thing that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">keeps me motivated to go through <span style="font-size: xx-small;">with college is the knowledge that my parents will disown<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> me if I do not graduate.</span></span></span></span> Cannot wait <span style="font-size: xx-small;">to get this over with. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Seriously<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation: M<span style="font-size: xx-small;">edia Production is the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">most awesome course ever!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Reality: Media Production is the most awesome<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">All we ever do is stay up late <span style="font-size: xx-small;">shooting videos, editing videos<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, doing <span style="font-size: xx-small;">voice overs, making PSA's, watching movies, writing scripts and doing all that crap. Our diet consists of coffee and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">fast-food</span>. Our brains are working even when we're sleepin<span style="font-size: xx-small;">g. </span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation: Bookstores will have all the books I want<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> when I want them.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Reality: Walked to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">around all the malls<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> in Makati looking for a certain book I have been wanting to buy<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. Wasted around one hour <span style="font-size: xx-small;">running</span> a<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ll aroun<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d and asking those people in the books<span style="font-size: xx-small;">tore i<span style="font-size: xx-small;">f they had that certain book. They did not have <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the book The Fault in Our Stars.</span> Never really thought that the day would come when a bookstore would disappoint me<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation: Professors will teach me things I need to know.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Reality: Pro<span style="font-size: xx-small;">fessors <span style="font-size: xx-small;">have me searching for answers to random questions they ask<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Most of the time, they <span style="font-size: xx-small;">teach me 10% of the things I will need for the future. S<span style="font-size: xx-small;">heesh. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation: Community will be more awesome during its fourth season.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Real<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ity:<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> No one is really sure how they feel about th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e first episode or the fourth season. The plot is so s<span style="font-size: xx-small;">c<span style="font-size: xx-small;">rewed up. T<span style="font-size: xx-small;">he characters are not themselves. It's too weird. It's too <span style="font-size: xx-small;">different. It's new.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation: Writing will be easy! Writing will make me famous! Writing will be<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> my profession!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Reality: Writing is not that eas<span style="font-size: xx-small;">y.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Writing will not ma<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ke me famous. Writing may not be my profession. Writing may not even be for me at all. </span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation: I will be out o<span style="font-size: xx-small;">f college by the time I am twenty years old.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Reality: Got into college when I was seventeen years old because I t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ook grade seven. And then transferred into another college<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. So now, I will be out of college by the time I am twenty-two. I hate<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> thi<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s thing called time. </span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expectation: Lov<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e. Love. Love.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Reality: Friend-zoned. </span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-80841751125765156422013-01-03T09:42:00.001+08:002013-01-03T09:42:11.854+08:00Looking Back: 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">January</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">My year started out with tons of sky lante<span style="font-size: xx-small;">rns and a handful of hop<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e that 2012 would turn out a<span style="font-size: xx-small;">lright. I was in dire need of a new year to get things together since 2011 was not that awesome. If I could <span style="font-size: xx-small;">have embraced the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">new year, I would have. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I remem<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ber that on the eve of Ne<span style="font-size: xx-small;">w Year, I was jumping up and down while singing Firework. I had so much hope that 2012 would be an easy year to<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> get through. </span>Little did I know that 20<span style="font-size: xx-small;">12 would be the year when all sorts of relationships I had with people would be <span style="font-size: xx-small;">severely</span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ested. It started <span style="font-size: xx-small;">in January when my <span style="font-size: xx-small;">closest friend, who <span style="font-size: xx-small;">calls me her s<span style="font-size: xx-small;">oul sister (or something like that), and I called it quits. Although we had ag<span style="font-size: xx-small;">reed t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">o continue being civil <span style="font-size: xx-small;">with</span> each other, it was really hard to ac<span style="font-size: xx-small;">cept that we had given up on our <span style="font-size: xx-small;">friendship. This caused <span style="font-size: xx-small;">another majo<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r mess up with a guy friend w<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ho was caught in the middle of things. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">February</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">By February I had blue ha<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ir. And <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I was wearing a wig to school every day<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">My mom freaked out about <span style="font-size: xx-small;">this and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">did not let me go home to the hills for around one or two wee<span style="font-size: xx-small;">k</span>ends. It was a rather amusing punishment<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, really. </span></span></span>One Mond<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ay, I cut classes and took a bus to Las Pinas from Makati. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Isha had invited me over to her house and I willingly went. Commuting to her place was a terrifying experience since I do not know how to commute and I cannot really unders<span style="font-size: xx-small;">tand Filipino. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Yet <span style="font-size: xx-small;">that experience made me stronge<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r. I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">now know that though I am terrif<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ied of doing something new, I can do it. February was the month I learned that a person does not need<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> to depend on anyone else except himself<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. Yes, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I still was not talking <span style="font-size: xx-small;">to my close<span style="font-size: xx-small;">st friends. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Marc<span style="font-size: xx-small;">h</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">March is a month I just want to forget about if I could. If <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I could have killed the people <span style="font-size: xx-small;">who gave me chicken pox, I would have done it a long time ago. I can't. They're three little kids<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> who are the kids of my cousin. Because of this chicken pox, I was not abl<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e to atten<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> my <span style="font-size: xx-small;">cousin<span style="font-size: xx-small;">'s wedding in Bacolod,<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> I got grades that could have been higher<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and I<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> did not want to show my face to anyone<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. Because I did not want anyone to see me, I did not enroll in summer classes which I really should have taken since I am <span style="font-size: xx-small;">an irregu<span style="font-size: xx-small;">lar student. Oh, I also ha<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d my dad cut my hair out of anger and pain. Yeah, my hair kept going on the pox and making it hurt like hell<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. The first time I saw my face with <span style="font-size: xx-small;">all those scars<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> was the first time I cried over how <span style="font-size: xx-small;">ugly I looked. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I still get really angry whenever I see the scars on my fac<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e. Oh well. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">April</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Apparent<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ly,<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Leo should take credit for<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> a lot of things. I cannot remember how it happened exactly, but Leo<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span>wanted a pizza party and he invited Jani <span style="font-size: xx-small;">along. Something like <span style="font-size: xx-small;">that. Oh yes, Jani and I were the ones fighting <span style="font-size: xx-small;">in January and did not talk until April. Anyway, it was a hilarious meet up because Jani and I ended up going to Taguig to see the H<span style="font-size: xx-small;">oly Week <span style="font-size: xx-small;">blah there<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. After Taguig, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">we saw <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Leo and promptly dragged him with us to see another friend. Yet it was because of that meet up t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">hat we <span style="font-size: xx-small;">decided to go to the orphanage the next week. And then the week after<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, we all w<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ent to see Planet Shakers. I felt that April was the month when <span style="font-size: xx-small;">things were fal<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ling back into place again. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I had my friends back. I could do anything<span style="font-size: xx-small;">! </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">May</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">More orphanage visits! I also went to camp that month. For some reason, I just<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> did not want to go to camp <span style="font-size: xx-small;">last year. Church camp. My mom wanted me to go. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">My dad<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> ended up coming alo<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ng with me and having more fun than me. Yeah, the camp was for kids, teen<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s and adu<span style="font-size: xx-small;">lts.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> I actually am scared of camps. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I hate h<span style="font-size: xx-small;">aving to sleep with<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> strangers in a room. I also hate how close <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I get with the participants<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, but right after c<span style="font-size: xx-small;">amp we <span style="font-size: xx-small;">choose to ignore each other <span style="font-size: xx-small;">during <span style="font-size: xx-small;">church service. L<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ike what the freak was that all about? So I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">went through camp. My camp friends and I even got an award for being super-friends or something like that. And th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">en afte<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r that camp. .<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> .</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">June</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Back on Facebook! And<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> b</span>ack to school, baby! I was <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">overjoyed</span> when I was f<span style="font-size: xx-small;">i</span>nally put in a block. Although it was <span style="font-size: xx-small;">pretty hard to learn their names, 2B<span style="font-size: xx-small;">2 stopped me from hating college and cursing the fact that I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">was a transferee. I swear, when <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the registra<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r told me that I was in a block, I wanted to hug her<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. But I didn't because she tends to be mean to people<span style="font-size: xx-small;">! What else happened in June? Camille <span style="font-size: xx-small;">begged me to be in her <span style="font-size: xx-small;">photo shoot</span>. I told her she could use my house.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Cannot say that I had a swe<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ll time, but I missed taking pictures. Heck, the last time I posed was when I was still into Flickr. Too bad I cannot find my way into Flickr anymore. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Jul<span style="font-size: xx-small;">y</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I cannot think of anything great that happened this month. I shall just go on and on <span style="font-size: xx-small;">that </span>Char is awesome. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">We became frien<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ds because of her alco<span style="font-size: xx-small;">hol and political science. We<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> are friends because she's <span style="font-size: xx-small;">crazy! But really, she is also the reason why I finally got to know more people in college, why I always went to class and why I am always eating. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">We call each other Bud. We love lasagna. And we're planning a lasagna party. No, strangers are not invited. This is making me hungry. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">August</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Mo<span style="font-size: xx-small;">nsoon rain. It was raining for one whole week. There was no<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> storm, but it was just some monsoon rain. I was in the city while my parents w<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ere in the hills. Classes were cancelled for a week. Exams were moved<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. People were panicking. I was glued to the news. Mom was worried<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> about all her <span style="font-size: xx-small;">kids in the city. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">All mom's kids in the city were worried about her. I kept checking if my friends we<span style="font-size: xx-small;">re still alive. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">It was a really gloomy week. By the time the monsoon rains stopped, it was Ada<span style="font-size: xx-small;">'s birthday<span style="font-size: xx-small;">! <span style="font-size: xx-small;">My mom <span style="font-size: xx-small;">and dad were able to come pick me up in the city. An<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d we all had<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> pizza and pasta for Ada.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> The sun was shining and all seemed right in the world. =)) </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">September</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">So I watched P<span style="font-size: xx-small;">hantom of the Opera. My <span style="font-size: xx-small;">parents added to my <span style="font-size: xx-small;">collection of Mr. Potato <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Head minions. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Had tons of lasagna.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> School work was piling u<span style="font-size: xx-small;">p because fin<span style="font-size: xx-small;">als were coming. No written exams meant more work. I was rushed to the hospital for gastritis. And I somehow found t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ime to visit<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> the orphanage<span style="font-size: xx-small;">! This visit was memorable because the children bugged me to bring Leo a<span style="font-size: xx-small;">long and because I was able to drag new people with me to the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">orphanage. Corina<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> an<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d <span style="font-size: xx-small;">my three college friends were there! That was pretty cool. And after those <span style="font-size: xx-small;">few hours of having fun with the children, I was back to finishing projects, doing voice overs, editing videos, asking people if I could <span style="font-size: xx-small;">interview them, writing paper I knew nothing about and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">finding time to chat with friends. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Octobe<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Maybe Miss de Villa gave us that paper in Septem<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ber. I cannot remember anymore. I just know that when I got that paper, I wanted to call Char right away. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">She was my partner for our project in Journalism and I needed to tell <span style="font-size: xx-small;">her th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e good news. When I got my final grade for Journalism, I remember wanting to ask Miss <span style="font-size: xx-small;">de Villa what I did to deserve that grade. Until now, I st<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ill don't know why she gave <span style="font-size: xx-small;">me a high grade when I fe<span style="font-size: xx-small;">lt that I deserved a crappy one. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Spent my school break in the hills for three weeks without Internet. I need to say this because this is a big deal for me. By this time, Inna and I were already talk<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ing and texting. I am not s<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ure when<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> she contacted me after about a year of not speaking to each other. And du<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ring the break, Inna and I went to UST <span style="font-size: xx-small;">to do some stuff in her school. </span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">November</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">And happy birthday Jani! Started t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">he month by celebrating Jani's birthday, catching up on odd happenings in our lives<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, watching the first six episodes of Full House and flying sky lanterns. We also ate that unlimited cake which did n<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ot taste that good<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and had too much coff<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ee. The second semester started<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and I was in a to<span style="font-size: xx-small;">tally annoyed mood with college. Spent three days in line to enroll. Hated most of my professors. (Still hate most of them!) <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Got really bored with church.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Got to be friends with another awesome person, Mina. Felt like eating sushi every day. Almost ended up in Singapore. Realized that second semester is so short. Encouraged all my friends who were d<span style="font-size: xx-small;">oing the<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ir thesis and the<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ir defense. Wanted to cry each time I remembered that I am graduating in 2015<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. Damn. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Decembe<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Let's see. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Maybe I'll do anot<span style="font-size: xx-small;">her post all about Christ<span style="font-size: xx-small;">mas, but <span style="font-size: xx-small;">last Christmas was<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> great! Went to so many family reun<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ions. Ha<span style="font-size: xx-small;">d to see a ton of friends. S<span style="font-size: xx-small;">pent <span style="font-size: xx-small;">so much <span style="font-size: xx-small;">money. O<span style="font-size: xx-small;">pened <span style="font-size: xx-small;">lots of g<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ifts. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ate so much I feel fat. And blah blah blah. Christmas was happy until I found out that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">that might have been the last Christmas my gra<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ndfather would ever see. And so I ended and started my year on a somber note. No, I still am fu<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ll<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> of hope for 2013. But <span style="font-size: xx-small;">k<span style="font-size: xx-small;">nowing that <i>Lolo</i> is weak and frail bring<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s me back to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the reality that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">my time on earth is limited so I should <span style="font-size: xx-small;">make it count. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">{Such a random year end blah blah.} </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-32297454990888321712012-12-31T15:10:00.002+08:002012-12-31T15:10:49.320+08:00Conversation<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The conversation began with him asking me a loaded question. <br /><br />'Are you happy for me?' he asked.<br /><br />My mind froze for a few seconds. In those few seconds, I had thought of an answer which was not exactly the truth but which was not exactly a lie either. It was somewhere in between truth and falseness. Maybe you can say that I gave that answer to try to convince myself that I actually believed in the words that came out of my mouth. In fact, I believed in the words of The Click Five song that goes, 'If I say it like I mean it then maybe I'll believe it like it's true.' Screw that belief. <br /><br />'Am courting her already!' he exclaimed.<br /><br />I had dreaded the time that sentence would leave his lips. And it had finally happened. My whole face was smiling, but something in me was scowling the biggest scowl which no one would ever see because I would never show them. And then that sinking feeling came over me. At that time, I refused to admit that it was regret, but I think that that was exactly what it was: Regret. It was regret in its purest and undiluted form. It was regret because he had asked me out before and I casually turned him down. <br /><br />It was the most perfect form of jealousy which could make a person plan evil plans and think evil thoughts. It was the jealousy that had so many questions. Who was this girl that could just make him so brave to ask her out? What was so great about her anyway? When the hell did this all start? Why did I not see this coming? So how did this all happen? Please. I need details. <br /><br />It was blame. It was the worst kind of blame because I had no one else to accuse except myself. I knew exactly what my friends would say when I finally mustered the courage to say that he and I would never end up together. They would say, 'Why did you not tell him that you liked him?' It would always be my fault. And I would just have to live with the fact that I was the one to be blamed. What a shitty feeling. <br /><br />'So Anna, you gotta be happy for me!' <br /><br />How can I be happy for him while he is fooling around with some girl and all I want to do is keep him to myself? Those people who say that they are happy as long as the person they love is happy are just fooling themselves! You can only be happy if you share in the person's happiness. I did not. While he was happy, I was plain angry. So maybe it is true when they say that a person's happiness is always at the expense of another person. <br /><br />I had a choice. I could say that I was so happy that he finally was courting her just to end the disheartening conversation. Or I could say that I was not happy at all for him which would eventually lead to him asking why. Thus prolonging the conversation on a topic I hated. Both answers were true. Both answers were false. Both answers were doubtful. <br /><br />'Yeah, am happy for you!' I answered.<br /><br />That was the end of the conversation.</span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-43259758397609707202012-12-07T12:59:00.003+08:002012-12-07T12:59:51.781+08:00Thanks! <div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<style type="text/css"><!--
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--></style><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I
just want to say thanks.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I
want to show my gratitude to all those people who have not been there
for me when I needed them the most. They were either too busy with
school, homework, their boyfriend or girlfriend, their dead pet
or some random crap of an excuse. Other times, those people were not
busy at all but just found a reason to be busy as soon as I said,
'Hey, I really need to cry right now. Care to listen?' Their reasons
ranged from hilarious to downright outrageous sometimes. More often
than not, I did not give a damn to point out that I knew they were
lying to my face. I mean, why bother? Why force them to listen to my
random vents and rants anyway?</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">So
I thank you for allowing me to experience crying myself to sleep
which just happens to be so overrated. Oh yes, I have also tried
running out of a classroom and into a toilet just to cry because I
knew no one for one whole semester. (Fine, I knew exactly one
person.) I have climbed up on the roof of the house which overlooks a
major highway and with tears streaming down my face, I yelled into
the street which contained cars whose windows were shut tight. The
hilarious thing was, you may not have heard my cry, but you saw it
and did nothing.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Let
me remind you of those times when we actually met up, but you never
gave me time to bring up what was bothering me. Yes, you kept asking
me and begging me to tell you how my life was. I could not even get
my sentence finished for you kept butting in with a story about your
sisters, how to make awesome tasting cupcakes, explanations of why
your band is hot and on and on and on. So for so many long hours, I
shut up and listened to you and your own travails. Not that I was
unhappy listening to your triumphs and failures, but once in a blue
moon, could you by any chance listen to mine?</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Thank
you for making me look like a good friend. They say that in any kind
of relationship, there is always someone who does more than the
other. Well, sometimes can you be that someone who does more than the
other? It's getting really tiring to always pay for your food, check
your essays for class, go all the way to where you live while you
never come out to where I am staying and just going the extra mile.
It seems that without the effort I have been putting into this messed
up relationship of ours, it would just crumble and fall. Maybe one
day I should let it. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">And
yet I also recognize the fact that you have made me stronger. Without
all the crap you have been giving me, you made me realize that the
saying, 'No man is an island' may actually be false in some ways. You
made me come to the realization that I do not need you or anyone else
to survive. I do not need a person to see me cry, hear me cry, dry my
tears and pat my back while saying, 'You'll make it through this
really horrible professor you have in class.' Because of you, the
little things have stopped bothering me so much. I have become my own
person who does not necessarily depend on other people for her own
happiness. I have found out that I do not need to vent to others so
that my own problems can be solved. I can do it by myself.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Also,
you made me find friends in low places. I found people I did not
think would be there for me when I needed someone terribly. I never
thought I would be friends with a person who did not enjoy the things
I enjoyed, but I am friends with a person like that. Your never being
there provoked me to seek out new people and new adventures that
would not have happened if you did not always abandon me. I have
learned a little more Filipino (Tagalog) by interacting more with
people who are not so fluent in english. I have gone around Manila by
taking public transportation which would not have happened if you
were around. Thank you for making this happen!</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">So
although I thought I needed you during my hard times, I was wrong.
The only thing I needed was for you to walk in and out of my life in
order for things to fall into place. I just had to lack some people
in my life for more people to come along, not to fill the void but to
make the void look so small that it did not matter any more. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">And
for all of the consequences, good and bad, that our friendship
caused, I thank you. </span></span></span></div>
anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-57721171545462948172012-11-16T19:44:00.001+08:002012-11-16T19:44:53.917+08:00Under Construction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ada woke her dad<span style="font-size: xx-small;">dy up one morning <span style="font-size: xx-small;">saying, 'Daddy, my smile is under construction!<span style="font-size: xx-small;">'</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">And what a weird kind of construction it <span style="font-size: xx-small;">is!<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">In the s<span style="font-size: xx-small;">pan of about two months, she has lost five to six teeth. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Yes, I am too lazy to stand <span style="font-size: xx-small;">up and ask Ada exactly how many teeth she lost.) Is that even normal? Losing that many teeth in <span style="font-size: xx-small;">a short period of time<span style="font-size: xx-small;">? Who cares.</span></span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">She looks funny. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">She looks cute. She looks like a Hallo<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ween pumpkin. She looks like so<span style="font-size: xx-small;">meone who needs fake teeth. She looks like she has a hard time eating without teeth. </span>She look<span style="font-size: xx-small;">s like me when I was seven years old <span style="font-size: xx-small;">m<span style="font-size: xx-small;">y gu<span style="font-size: xx-small;">y friend boxed my tooth off. Sh<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e looks like she is growing up<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">For kids, growing up is when they lose teeth, get taller, gain weight or lose weight. They make friends<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and enemies. They get into stupid fights over pens and paper and books. They start throwing away clothes that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">do not fit them or they pass th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">eir clothes <span style="font-size: xx-small;">on to their younger brother or sister. They say that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">people stop gro<span style="font-size: xx-small;">wing when they hit a certain age. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Eighteen<span style="font-size: xx-small;">? Nineteen? Twenty? Twenty-one? I really need to get my facts straight<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">next time. But for <span style="font-size: xx-small;">now, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">just know that people st<span style="font-size: xx-small;">op growin<span style="font-size: xx-small;">g when they reach *insert age here<span style="font-size: xx-small;">.<span style="font-size: xx-small;">* Wait. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Do we really stop growing?</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I know I have not <span style="font-size: xx-small;">gotten any taller since I was nine years old. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">My weight <span style="font-size: xx-small;">pla<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ys around with the numbers and goes from a hundred pounds to my fat weight which is a hundred ten pounds. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">My feet have stopped growing<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. Thank G<span style="font-size: xx-small;">od! I can still wear some of my <span style="font-size: xx-small;">rotten clothes <span style="font-size: xx-small;">from high school. So I think it is safe to assume that no matter what medicine I t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ake I will neve<span style="font-size: xx-small;">r get taller. I can try to go on a diet, but I will never <span style="font-size: xx-small;">go back to what I used to weigh<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">in grade school. And <span style="font-size: xx-small;">it does not matter what kind of shoes I use because my feet wi<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ll not shr<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ink. Shoot. Yes, I stopped growing<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">. On the other hand, I know that <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I still am growing.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Expanding. Unfinished. Work in <span style="font-size: xx-small;">progress. I kno<span style="font-size: xx-small;">w this whenever I ha<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ve<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> had</span> a hard day in school and I just want to forget all about it by drow<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ning myself in chips</span>. I feel this when my dad <span style="font-size: xx-small;">ask</span>s, 'How come you only got a one point f<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ive in this subject?' I hear this when people around me<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">laud me when I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">do something they dee<span style="font-size: xx-small;">m </span>interesting. I <span style="font-size: xx-small;">perceive</span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">this <span style="font-size: xx-small;">when I see people<span style="font-size: xx-small;">'s questioning looks wh<span style="font-size: xx-small;">en I fail or <span style="font-size: xx-small;">do n<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ot exert enough effort<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. I notice th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">is when I start to doubt myself, my abilities and my beliefs. I get it a lot when my mom <span style="font-size: xx-small;">reminds me that every<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> decision</span> has a consequence<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, when my brother asks me how my day is, when my sister in law grants me some wisdom and when the three little kids <span style="font-size: xx-small;">prank me.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> I get it. I get it<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, okay?</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">In truth, we all are under some sort of construction for as long as we are alive. We may<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> never <span style="font-size: xx-small;">grow taller or get thinner<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, but <span style="font-size: xx-small;">we are all under this force that makes <span style="font-size: xx-small;">us develop<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Hopefully we de<span style="font-size: xx-small;">velop for the better. The only <span style="font-size: xx-small;">problem</span> with this force <span style="font-size: xx-small;">that pushes us to grow<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> is that no one really sees it<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> while it is happening. The<span style="font-size: xx-small;">y only notice th<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e</span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">output of the growing when a long period of time has already passed<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">By then<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, it <span style="font-size: xx-small;">is already too late for them to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">either t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ake back what they said or add on to what they have already spoken. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">And so during that long period of time of developing<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> and growing and wandering around, the person begins to let the noise of the world affect their ideas of themselves.<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> They entertain ideas that they are not good eno<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ugh, they wil<span style="font-size: xx-small;">l never be able to write or <span style="font-size: xx-small;">nothing good will ever come out of their life. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The thing is, the person on the journey knows that he is <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">getting</span> to where he is supposed to be, but those around hi<span style="font-size: xx-small;">m do not. And that is when <span style="font-size: xx-small;">those random people jud<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ge and criticize and say dumb things. And that is also when the person asks, 'Am I really supposed to be a writer? Can I really get through this horrible professor? Will I ever learn how to commute?' Yet it is also those doubts that force the person to exert <span style="font-size: xx-small;">so much effort to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">get to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">his goal or be the person he wants t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">o be to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">prove others wrong. For if no one doubts and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">they <span style="font-size: xx-small;">all just <span style="font-size: xx-small;">believe, nothing has to be proven and <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the person never grows. </span></span></span></span>Such<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span>confusing <span style="font-size: xx-small;">thoughts!<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">W</span>h<span style="font-size: xx-small;">e<span style="font-size: xx-small;">n I came home this <span style="font-size: xx-small;">afternoon, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ada greeted me with her odd smile. </span></span></span>I looked at her and thought, 'Heck, if I ha<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ve</span> the opportunity to get a tattoo one day, I<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> will <span style="font-size: xx-small;">make her wor<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ds permanent on my skin.' I do<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> not reall<span style="font-size: xx-small;">y care if other people have those words on <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ir bodies already. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">But I just need those words somewhere where I can see it always. </span></span></span></span></span>That way it will serve as a constant prompting that I am not finished. The people around me are also <span style="font-size: xx-small;">unfinished<span style="font-size: xx-small;">. We all are. And we<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> are</span> trying hard to finish up <span style="font-size: xx-small;">ourselves. We are under construction. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-22766429453558450942012-10-28T14:44:00.000+08:002012-10-28T14:45:54.868+08:00Packing My Life<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">5:28PM<br />The neighbors cannot really sing in tune. And they're drunk. <br /><br />5:50PM<br />Yesterday, mom said that in about three weeks we're moving out. Might as well pack.<br />So basically, my things are still in boxes 'cause I never unpacked my stuff which was to go to Singapore.<br /><br />6:10PM <br />So I ate all those hotdogs to get Avengers toys I now am throwing away? How messed up am I anyway?<br /><br />6:30PM<br />Leo and I have absolutely no pictures together. We have no tangible proof of our friendship. Come to think of it, he looks like Ramon Bautista. Definitely not hot. I miss chatting with him though. Must bug him as soon as I get the chance. I really want to see him angry in person. Must. <br /><br />6:45PM<br />Holy crap! I must thank my most recent ex boyfriend for getting me into collecting Mr. Potato Heads. Funny thing is that they're my most valuable things and they are so light. Speaking of that particular ex, I still have the two Mr. Potato Heads he gave me and the yellow camera. Everything else is gone. <br /><br />6:50PM<br />I am finding it easier to throw things away now. <br /><br />6:52PM<br />Inna, why do you always have rashes? Text me! Am bored.<br /><br />7:02PM<br />How could I like that guy for six years? What if we eventually get together? That would be hilarious. Good thing I am not with any of my ex boyfriends anymore. I think they were all the reachers. Sucks.<br /><br />7:09PM<br />I've got an extra Bible here which I dislike. Also got those religious books people give me. I might go to hell if I burn them. <br /><br />7:11PM<br />There's a creepy spider down my bra. Ugh.<br /><br /><br />7:14PM<br />I really want to ask Jani if her exams are done. So I have kept almost everything that Jani has given me. She went through this phase where all she gave me were breakable objects. I even have these ugly pictures of ourselves when we were in Laguna. How long ago was that? How did we become friends?<br /><br />7:21PM<br />I need a guy like Mr. Big from Sex and the City. <br /><br />7:29PM<br />King of Anything is playing. Ada and Tea would be singing along to this. Gusto wouldn't care. I freaking miss them. Am really glad I got close to them although I can never curse when I am with them. All their drawings are so precious. I cried when I saw the card they gave me.<br /><br />7:36PM<br />Oh, that best friend. Might as well keep all her letters to me. I wonder if we can ever get along again.<br /><br />7:45PM<br />I really wanna ask JM if we were on drugs while we were in grade school. For some reason we had a lot of anger in our system. Well, we still might have anger in us but we just hide it well. Crap, he sucks at writing letters! I miss him.<br /><br />7:57PM<br />So there are the letters Jhamz gave me! And the dolls. And the stuffed toys. And the random things I still keep 'cause she gave them to me. I wish I had a picture of the time she treated me out to Mang Inasal. And also the time she treated me to McDo after one break up. Holy crap.<br /><br />8:07PM<br />Bad idea. Getting asthma. <br /><br />8:15PM<br />My life is all in boxes. And I need more plastic boxes. Let's put fragile tape on all the sides of the plastic boxes.<br /><br />8:30PM<br />How could people ever like my fanfic? It sucks! I need to tell Keisi it sucks.<br /><br />8:35PM<br />Seeing all these old pictures of myself freaks me out. There were times I looked so ugly. There were times I looked human. And still there were times I looked more than human. <br /><br />8:55PM<br />I do not want to remember the time I had to celebrate my eighteenth birthday. Had some sort of Jewish celebration 'cause maybe my mom is Jewish. Threw out everything connected to it. Just kept the awesome thing<i> Manong</i> Renzo made for me, some cards from my immediate family and close friends. The rest? Into the trash bin. <br /><br />9:01PM<br />Found these old religious journals of mine. I was such a holy kid. Yuck. <br /><br />9:21PM<br />Am I lucky or what? Did not find any lizards or cockroaches while packing and moving stuff!<br /><br />9:26PM<br />Just realized that my parents do not know that I am packing. Holy macaroons!<br /><br />9:30PM<br />I think I never really unpacked my stuff which was boxed up to be sent to Singapore because I knew that I would one day move out of this place again.<br /><br />9:50PM<br />How on earth do I get all the dust off my body? I like peeing in the shower. Gross. My only problem with conditioner on my hair is that it's so hard to wash off. I end up leaving most of it there. <br /><br />9:55PM<br />HOW COULD I LIKE THAT GUY FOR SIX YEARS?! Oh. Please. Dear. God. (And just in case that guy reads this. . Every time I see you I want the earth to swallow me up because.) <br /><br /><br />10:02 PM<br />Let's get loud! Let's get loud! I still have stuff lying around my room! And I have no more plastic boxes. Lots of fragile tape though.<br /><br />10:05PM<br />Yuck. Four boxes of trash. Maybe I should burn it tomorrow. <br /><br />10:25PM<br />I should paint my room before I leave. Maybe leave a fucked up message on it or something. Must think of something witty.<br /><br />10:36PM<br />Have to text message Inna to tell her that I now have rashes also. Must not tell her that I am packing.<br /><br />10:37PM<br />None of my friends know that I might be out of this place in a few short weeks.</span></span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-52703245115081817742012-10-17T14:42:00.000+08:002012-11-08T10:39:04.785+08:00So Many Reasons<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hH_3npGD9EY/UJsbM9uzYSI/AAAAAAAAAjs/B1gy8rO3eBs/s1600/walll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hH_3npGD9EY/UJsbM9uzYSI/AAAAAAAAAjs/B1gy8rO3eBs/s400/walll.jpg" width="373" /></a></div>
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--</style><span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">I
weep as I write this.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">It
has been exactly one week since my mom cut off our WiFi here in the
hills. The WiFi just started malfunctioning after one big rain washed
the signal away. I really do not get all the technical terms they
used when they told me that the WiFi is gone and can never come back.
I guess I just blacked out or something.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">The
day my mom cut off the WiFi was also the day I made her get DSL. She
signed all the forms. She filled out an application. She even talked
to the person in charge of giving senior citizens information about
DSL. I thought our mini-problem was solved. To get DSL I must wait
for two weeks for a person to inspect our location and then another
week to install the DSL. Basically, I will have no Internet for the
whole of my semestral break.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">And
here I am weeping. I know. You're saying, 'Do something else! Read
books! Go out! It's just WiFi.' Let me tell you what I have been
doing to waste time. I have read more than twenty books already. I
have watched How I Met Your Mother, Modern Family, New Girl, The
Newsroom and Happy Endings. I have replayed Friends with Benefits so
many times that I already memorize their lines. </span></span>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">Yes,
I have also finished designing my surprise gift for Jani. Now I just
have to head to the store to have it printed and bound. Out of
boredom, I helped Leo shoot some video which did not turn out the way
I wanted it to. I have printed out all those random typography crap I
collect from the Internet. I even taped them to my wall just for the
fun of it. I printed some out for my parents and they did not get the
sarcasm involved in the quotes. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">I
am getting terrible headaches from sleeping too much. In one day, I
take around four to six naps. My sleeping pattern is all messed up. I
do not care. My parents ask me why I keep sleeping. Well, it's so
that I don't end up yelling my head off about our current situation.
And I am getting fat, too. I take a trip to the kitchen every thirty
minutes when I am not sleeping. I take two plates of everything. I
eat even if I am not hungry. I eat even though I am full. I just eat
because eating takes up time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">Photoshop
has been my best friend lately. It has kept me company and I assume
will have to keep me company until whenever. My books on fashion and
design have heard me crying my head off almost every day. They remind
me though to keep my tears to myself and not let anyone see me in my
ugliest state. My room must mind the fact that I am going insane
because there is no more floor to walk on since it is covered in
books, art materials, food, trash and clothes. I have no intention of
cleaning it up.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">I
have come to terms with the fact that the Internet should not be the
basis for my happiness. And there are so many people who live without
Internet and I am still lucky blah blah blah. But sometimes when you
are an only child with two ancient parents who expect you to mind
your own business, the Internet becomes your friend and your
companion. When all your friends are still in school and you are
waiting for their school to end, the Internet is someone to talk to.
When you need inspiration, criticism and praise, you go to the
Internet to find that and so much more. </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">The
good news came this morning however. My mom just said that the house
we have bought is going to be ready in about two to three weeks.
Which means that in about two to three weeks we are moving out of the
hills which has been my home for twenty years and into that house in
the city. 'So why even get DSL if we're moving out anyway?' she
reasoned. </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">I
ran up to my room and cried my heart out for so many damn reasons. </span></span>
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anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-58202028447860985662012-10-09T15:00:00.000+08:002012-10-11T11:45:04.831+08:00Around Four Months Down The Drain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'You must be pretty sad that journalism is over.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Rather sad that Miss de Villa will not be my professor again.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'You had two semesters with her.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Almost a year with her!'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Although Journalism was harder than Creative Writing, it was such a fun class! All we really had to do was write, write, write and make exactly one video. I guess the reason I totally respect the professor who taught this class was because she never put anyone down. Yes, she had comments and suggestions, but she did not make us feel bad about our mistakes. <strike>Another reason she is awesome is because she watches The Newsroom!</strike> We did not really have a last class because our room had to be used. Miss de Villa walked in and said, 'Girls, just submit your papers.' I asked her if I would see her next semester and she said, 'Most of you girls will be in my Creative Writing class so see you. Anna, good-bye. I've had you for a year already.' And I was and still am like, 'Noooooo!' =( </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'Don't you have a video of your movement dance?'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'My friend has it. Am too lazy to ask her to pass it on to me.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'So you'll just put a picture--'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Of a person who made sure that I did not drop out of that class!'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Movement class was almost like ballet! I did enough ballet to know all of the things she was teaching the class. I don't really have the body of a ballerina, but my head knows the dance steps and all those things she made us do. Knowing the dance steps still did not give me enough reason to love movement class. In fact, I used up my two cuts just so that I could stay home and not work my body to death. In the end, practicing paid off because our dance was pretty good. It was not perfect, but let's just say that I am ecstatic that this class is over! Do not remind me that there are two more movement classes I have to take before I graduate. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'And you thought that AVP 1 would be hard!'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'I really dreaded that class!'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'You did so well! How could you dread it?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Coming up with a design every week was taxing.'</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I know how to use Photoshop, but I am not good at it. It did not really help that the professor did not teach the basics. Or maybe she did and I was not listening. Almost every other week we had a project to submit. The professor would give us guidelines, we would have to make whatever she requested and hope for the best. Being the lazy person that I am, I usually just put some crap together and prayed for a good grade. And I did get a good grade! Our last class was yesterday, Monday. I got to the room early and saw my grades. I noticed that my name was highlighted in blue. 'Those whose names are highlighted in blue get an award,' Miss Garcia said. Are you serious? Fine. I knew I was doing something right when I saw my work on the mini exhibit in school. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'Describe your Political Science class.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'This was the class I became friends with Char, ate tons of food and rarely listened to the professor.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'Describe the professor.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'We called him Father Coco.' </span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'Every Monday and Friday, you ended your day with Oral Communication. How was that?'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Frustrating. I had to stop myself from running out of that class.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'You hated it? You found it boring? You did not like the professor? Or you just really wanted to get out of the class?'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'It was at a time where all I wanted to do was sleep.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I could lie and say that I enjoyed this class, but I think that would not be fair. On the first day of Oral Communication, I knew that I would find reasons not to like the class. I do like talking, but it's hard when a professor grades what you are talking about and how you are talking. When I got my grade for midterms I was devastated. It was not that low. It was not that high. It was those <i>pwede na</i> grades that professors give out. I did complain, but when I found out the grades of my classmates, I shut up. There were people who got lower than me. So yesterday, Monday, at around three something in the afternoon, I was begging God to work some miracle and get me a higher grade. I actually smiled at the professor to thank her when she gave me my grade. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'You almost had a problem with Women in Philippine Literature.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'I had a problem with it.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'Care to elaborate?'</span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Maybe in another post.' </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">This subject just required us to read, read and read. It was a rather easy subject if you followed the instructions of the professor and if you did everything her way. She was strict, but I think people need to have professors who are strict to show that you cannot get away with everything. I almost died when the professor questioned my novel analysis because another girl had the same book I had to review. But I stood my ground and she accepted my paper after some investigation as done. Today was the culminating activity. It was nothing great really and I had to pretend to know some songs in Filipino. The whole class was just clapping for we were so glad this class was over! To pass this class, all one has to do is follow the professor. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'Feeling happy about your Intro to Communication Theories?'</span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Happy that we had no quizzes, just did easy papers and had a final video? Yes!'</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'Did you learn anything at all?'</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'I loved the theories! I even got a pdf of the book the professor used. I plan to read it during the sem break.'</span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Yes, I am a nerd like that. No one really had to have the book. But theories intrigue me. I sent papa to look for the book everywhere. Mom also searched for the book. I bugged the professor to give me a copy of the pdf she had. After bugging her for two weeks, she gave me a copy. And yes, I plan to read the whole book this sem break just for the heck of it. Intro to Communication Theories was one subject in which all you needed to pass was a brain and ears. Sucks if you've got ears but your brain is missing. </span></span><br />
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anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-70657171574691881532012-09-18T14:15:00.000+08:002012-09-18T14:17:15.160+08:00Uniformity <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fb66fjd64QY/UFgMcIv8WtI/AAAAAAAAAf4/rsKxXsThW3E/s1600/DSC06889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fb66fjd64QY/UFgMcIv8WtI/AAAAAAAAAf4/rsKxXsThW3E/s400/DSC06889.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">So uhm. .</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">It's pretty weird when the professor thinks your work deserves to be read in class when all you think of it is crap. I walked into my journalism class today, copied what was on the whiteboard and heard my name being called by the professor. I walked up to her and she said, 'Anna, would you like to be the one to read your work to the class? Or would you like me to do it?' I told her she could be the one to read it. But the professor was like, 'Your handwriting is too small for me to read. You do it!' </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">They say not to judge a book by its cover, but oh that's what everyone does!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">If a guy has a number of tattoos, you assume he is part of a gang. A girl with a lot of piercings? She's into drugs. You wear all black with eyeliner? You are an emo goth. And if you dye your hair blue your parents do not care about you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">'Your parents don't care about you?' a dean from Assumption College asked me when she saw my blue hair which I later chopped off. I was so floored by that question I forgot to reply. Yet I was thinking, ''How can you come to that judgement when you are part of a religious institution which instructs us to accept one another?'</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Another time, I was walking around in Landmark all set to get on the escalator when a man called my attention. He said he was fascinated by my hair. And then he said, 'I assume you work in some graphic design firm.' I smiled and said no. I am still a student at Assumption. But what I wanted to yell was, 'Not all graphic designers dye their hair! And just because I dye my hair does not make me a graphic designer! I want to write!' </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Sad to say, my very own mother banished me from her house. She text messaged my brother saying, 'I think your sister has joined a fraternity. Talk some sense into her.' Oh, my mom text messaged her religious friends asking them to please pray for my decaying soul.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">To stop all the non-sense, I bought a wig wore it for about two months and tried to fit in. Is it not odd that media tells us to be ourselves, but society pleads with us to fit in and cover up who we really are? Is it not annoying that those who preach about acceptance are the ones who judge and want uniformity? And when you are who you are, people think you've gone bad or have become a complete monster. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">And to my classmate who clapped and listened to my crap, thank you!</span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7638296835391873754.post-58210163858083462092012-09-12T13:37:00.000+08:002012-09-12T13:37:37.609+08:00Too Awesome<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'How are the grades?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Grades disgust me.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'We all know that!'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Happy. Content.'</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I was never bothered by grades. If I got high, it meant nothing. If I got a low score, it also meant nothing. The midterm grades came out about a week or two ago. Nothing is new. I can kind of tell the grades that I will get at the start of the semester. Got a couple of one point somethings. Got one two. And got one two point five. Am I bothered that I got a two point five? Why would I be bothered when I most of the people in my block got a three? To top it all, those people who got a three went to that class from the first day and I only started going to that class in July. Those people never missed a quiz and I missed about two. So how can I complain or be unhappy with the two point five that I have? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'Tell me about the play you did.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'What's there to tell about it?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'How did it go?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Let's just say that I am not proud of it.'</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The group I was in did the play Condemned. It is about Pablo who is set to be put to death, but cannot forgive his mother. The story takes place one hour before his execution. It's a nice play! I would like to think that our group did the best we could possibly do considering the time constraints we faced and other things like the monsoon rains and blah blah blah. I say that I am not proud of it because I did a terrible job portraying the main character. Not that I did not know my lines, but because I had to pretend to be a guy. I did not do that well. Of all the plays I have done in my entire life the only thing I can say about this play is that the people portraying the characters did not fully grasp the characters' predicament. Including me. Am just glad that papa did not see me in this one. No worries though because I enjoyed my group mates and we had a heck of a time with the play. =)) </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'You went to the WNCAA game.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Had to go. Was required to go.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'For your clearance.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'It's dumb. Really dumb.'</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Oh my gawd. If I find out that there are people who are able to get their clearance without going to six hour vigils and WNCAA games, I will totally freak out. I had to drag my parents with me to watch some soccer game last Sunday. It was quite enjoyable because I used to do soccer in grade seven and some of high school. Papa just sat around reading some newspaper. And mom brought her breakfast basket and had some bread with Conti's spread. I watched. It was hard to cheer for Assumption when La Salle was playing. La Salle was good. They won. I found it a little sad that non one really watched the games. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'What have the kids been up to now?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'The usual crazy but cute things they do!'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">conscience: 'Like?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Like giving all of us heart attacks when they do headstands.'</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Gusto has now learned how to pose for Photo Booth. Every day he has to have his picture taken. He comes to me and says, 'Tia Anna! Want picture. One. Two. Three. Cheese!' And so we run to the Mac and take pictures for around five minutes. I love the fact that he knows exactly when to disturb me. Yes, he bothers me when I am busy doing something, but he is too cute so I let him bother me. Téa is now into Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. The old movie. I think she got into it because Ada read the book and their mom downloaded the old movie. The old movie? Yeah, we find it better than the new one. And the songs are just perfect! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'It was your mom's birthday.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'It was. We had wonderful food and gossip.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'You said that Téa made your life hard.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Because she did!'</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I don't want the public to see the video, but we ended up making a video for mom. See, mom just wanted some birthday cards from the three kids. But when I asked <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Téa to make one she said, 'Let's make a video!' I told her she was making my life hard. And she replied by saying that she was just making my life nicer. What a kid! I crammed the video and showed it to mom on her birthday. She loved it! Later that day, we ate out and had some ramen. We also had tempura ice cream. I think the kids made mom most happy that day. ^_^</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'Let's talk about--'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'I forgot!'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'Growing old much?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Ada lost a tooth!' </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ada lost a tooth! Yes, this is big news because this means that she really is growing up. The funny this is that she made a letter to the tooth fairy. She asked the tooth fairy for a toy. And then said said something like, 'Please also take me into the cartoons!' I laughed out loud when I heard that one! I guess she is so into cartoons because she just loves Adventure Time. When her parents explained to her that the tooth fairy had limited powers and could only give out money, Ada said, 'Oh, how foolish of me!'</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'How are your friends?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'What friends? But seriously, they are doing awesome.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'You miss them.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Terribly.'</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Jhamz does not have any WiFi at the moment. I have no been able to talk to her for about a week or two. It already feels like I have not talked to her in months! JM and I bug each other if we catch each other online on Facebook. Jani and I are constantly bothering each other in a totally friendly way. I bug her more than she bugs me. And I have to remind myself to make her birthday gift already. Ohmygawd. Camille! Camille is one highly creative person. Do not mess with her. I need to see her soon to come up with more crazy ideas. Maybe on the 22nd. Maybe. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'Well, that's all for now.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Wait!'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Conscience: 'What's up?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me: 'Miss De Villa watches Newsroom!'</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">She totally made my day yesterday! She asked the class to write some article and to submit it by twelve noon. All the other students left the classroom. Char and I stayed behind as we had to talk to her. After talking to her I suddenly blurted out, 'Miss De Villa, do you watch Newsroom?' She said, 'Yes!' And I shit you not when I say that I literally shrieked with joy! Miss De Villa laughed and said, 'I wait for a new episode every Wednesday!' And I was like, 'Ohmygawd. This is too awesome.' </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I guess that's how my life has been lately. Too awesome. </span>anna letehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01816009836835798192noreply@blogger.com0