The past few days, I was suffering from stomach pain coming from the deep recesses of my bowel. Me, a broke grad student, wanted to ignore the pain for as long as possible. Also me, a broke grad student, endured the pain for 4 days until finally I couldn't take it anymore and visited a clinic. I am now an even more broke grad student. The stomach bug that caused me pain jamming to this song (probably). While I was sitting at the clinic's waiting area, waiting for my results to come back. I couldn't help but think of the irony of me being there. About 2 years ago, I was convinced that I was going to be a doctor. I lugged heavy books of medical school entrance examination books all the way from the Philippines to Mauritius. I methodically searched for the best universities and studied what their requirements are. Heck, I survived through an overloaded semester, just so that I would have the required units to attend medical school.
And then 2 years later, I'm sitting here at the clinic. Not a medical student. A grad student, nonetheless. A business school grad student. A now really-on-the-verge-of-really broke graduate student. My bill was almost 400 SGD. Oh how the turntables.
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It's such a peculiar thing, turning legal for the second time, that is. At 18, you reach the age of consent and yet the braces that support you don't completely weather off. At 18, you're allowed to do certain things, but not everything. About three years later, you turn 21 and you turn legal for the second time. Only now are you actually legal-legal to do almost anything (provided that it's within the law). You may now go to bars. And for other people, at this age you might also be done with college and the real-real world, as they say, becomes your oyster. Unless you're of Asian descent and you don't ever really-really breakfree from your parents thrusts until you have your own family (and maybe not even then). But turning 21 in 2020 is the most peculiar of them all. In the peculiar world-state of COVID-19, being 21 (under General Community Quarantine in the Philippines) meant that unlike your younger peers, you are allowed to go out. Of course, going out in the "new normal" isn't the same-same. Nonetheless it's a peculiar addition to the things you get to be allowed to do after turning legal for the second time. At any case, reaching milestone ages such as 16, 18, 21, 50, etcetera suggest an air of mysticism about them. Whether you're supposed to feel accomplished or different or perhaps get washed over by the utter feeling of change as if magic dust were sprinkled all around you the second you turn these certain ages— I don't know. I doubt anyone would even be able to give you a straight answer when you ask them why they celebrate such dates. "It's tradition," some might say but tradition of who? Tradition made by who and for whom? Nihilistically, they're just just arbitrary dates, a single dot of time amongst the vastness of a seemingly infinite calendar that spans years. As for me, I certainly don't feel any different than I did almost 2 months ago when this whole shitstorm forced us inside our homes. Some people muse that time is irrelevant. Age is arbitrary. Laws are man-made. Milestones are just musings that make up for the truth that perhaps life is truly meaningless, and that purpose is the in-denial pursuit of the search for such non-existent meaning. If fiction was modeled after reality then I'd like to believe that these past few months spent in global lockdown, and however more months we'd have to continue in the same state, is nothing more than just a pocket of time separated from the greater scheme of reality. That these few months were as detached to the common realm as we are to each other, currently separated by an invisible enemy. I'd like to believe that once we get out of this and out our houses, literally— life could just unpause from the time it stopped from on March 9, 2020. It's a musing spoken from a place of privilege, I'm aware. It's an escapist stream of thoughts that ignore the cruel realities of real lives lost. That's why fiction is fiction and reality is reality. But after everything I said... ...Maybe I'm just bitter. Turning 21 was supposed to be fun. Turning 21 was supposed to be celebrated OUTSIDE, drinking, chatting and having fun with the type of people that nihilists hate— the people in your life that make you believe without a shadow of doubt that life, after all, is not meaningless. COVID-19 (that bitch) cleared out the dates in my calendar and made it look arbitrary when it once looked colourful, pockmarked by birthdays of friends, movie dates, coffee dates, and even those big, red, angry marks for dates of deadlines and tests that you wished just never came. Well we did get our wish, didn't we? Somehow. Being 21 in 2020 could possibly mean that you can go outside, what a peculiar permission to be granted by the law but then again, what a peculiar state the world is currently in; what a peculiar way to turn legal for the second time. For as long as I'm concerned, I'll turn 21 when I can finally, properly celebrate turning 21. This is seeming to be a regular happening each end of the sem. I go on a writing frenzy for a few days because guess what, I'm late again. But even if I'm always late, I submit/pass just in time. I'm confident, overconfident.
Just the other day, in one of my coffee-fueled writing frenzies, I was writing about the concept of egocentrism, "personal fable". It's ironic but it's almost confirmed now that I have it. No matter what I do, I won't fail. No matter what I do, I can't fail. I'm *****, I do not fail. And yet again, at the end of another sem, here I am at 3AM in the morning, slightly panicking at the submission I just sent incomplete. I'm supposed to be working on it right now so that when my prof wakes up and sees it, it'll be complete. But here I am, writing this instead. No, this is good. It's all good. I need this to calm down, Give me this, at least. I need it to calm down. I need it. You know, I texted him last night that I was slightly panicking. Of course that was an understatement because so help me God, I was panicking, and I'm still panicking-- and my body gave up on me like it sometimes does. It just doesn't understand, "Hey body, I don't care so much about you but I care about my grades so fucking shape up." Actually the deductions aren't even gonna be that bad if I submit a perfect paper but I'm panicking and I'm spiraling and I'm filled with guilt now. Can I still make a good paper? I'll cut myself a deal, I'll do what I can in terms of this paper until 8AM. Afterwards, I'll be working on HoA. After that's done, I'll work on this again. I'm tired, so tired And it's not his fault, you know, so I shouldn't even be roping him into this. He was sad, about something. He told me. I said he was gonna be okay. (I'm not okay.) That unsettled me, I asked him if he wanted to talk. He was still outside so the signal was bad. I said, okay, I'll nap. And it really isn't his fault and I can't get the things I don't communicate enough but I wanted to be comforted, you know? To be told that all this shit is going to be alright and that I'll pass this sem, somehow. I am a horrible person and a horrible groupmate. I wanna fucking k*** myself, except I don't want to anymore. It's funny how that works. I used to. I really used to. But I don't anymore. I'm just tired, oh so very tired. And I'm guilty and tired and I know that no one else would answer me this late but I fucking want someone to talk to. I want someone to tell me I'll be okay and that it's all gonna be okay. And that this shitstorm will pass and that I don't have to be perfect, I just need to pass. I just need to do what I can. But what if I know that this is not all that I can. That I can do more but didn't or didn't have time to. I'm spiraling, I'm spiraling. It's not a fun ride and I'm typing rapidfire now to an imaginary audience, and... I'm tired, oh so very tired. But I should probably get back to this paper soon and finish it before my prof wakes up and sees it. Wishing that I'll be The man that you'll touch and see I'll give my love that can't explain We will be running in the rain And I will hold your hand Hold my hand On the first few weeks when we started talking, we would talk through midnight and into the morning. We would fall asleep, not knowing how much time has passed. I know you're busy, I'm busy too. I hope you don't look at me differently. I've noticed some awkwardness lately. I'd hate to interpret it as you getting bored of me-- even as you reply with short, generic messages after I've possibly just peeled another layer of skin of my personality to you. I said I'll be your friend and I stand by that decision. So even with these feelings still lingering around, remember that I'll be here. Even if you don't ask for it. Even if you don't need me anymore. Even if I'm no longer the one you miss. I'm still holding onto the sleeve of your shirt. Give me some time to let go. I'll get over you, I promise. But that time is not now. It's past midnight again. It could be a bit of an unsatisfying feeling-- to want something more than the label of "just good friends". But adding "just" to that equation can make it sound so negative. Let's transform it to "good friends". Even then, it would still be unsatisfying because perhaps what you were hoping for was something more-- and no, not more as in "best friends" but the more that transcends the camraderie, we're talking about the "girl/boyfriend" category. And you can't deny the feelings when they come. The hugs you wished were even just a few seconds longer, especially that one that surprised you because he hugged you so tight that you were suddenly made aware of your height difference and how you had to tiptoe a little bit to properly embrace his shoulders with the same amount of force, causing the two of you to sway lightly side-to-side as you try to keep your balance. The eye contact and the faces you make while teasing each other without even saying anything. No words were needed in those moments, you've formed a deep enough bond to understand what the other person meant. The shy laughter, the awkward banter, and the way he tugs at your shirt sleeve when you have the upper-hand in a conversation that took so many twists and turns neither of you even know how you ended up in the topic of whose innocence is still more intact. The pats on the shoulder, and the silent pleads he does with his adorable brown eyes that disappear whenever he sheepishly smiles as he stretches to shake off some of the awkward tension, like a cat wakening from a nap. The way he finds your height difference adorable as he comments about how he can see the top of your head before proceeding to pet it as you pout up at him, and he smiles at you gently. The first time he wanted to call you, he was out on vacation in the place he loves, in the place he met and spent time with his first love-- which made you perplexed when he messaged you with the intention to call. He was out on vacation, in such a special place, with the special people in his life-- people he's known way before you-- but he wanted to call, you. You found it shocking at the time and reacted in a way that caused his shy self to quickly retract his request. The time you two finally talked on the phone, it was because he was having a panic attack. He asked you to distract him, to comfort him-- perhaps because he trusted you. At first, you tried your best through chat, to talk about random stuff that you hoped would help get his mind off his breathing, then, "can i... call you?" You accepted his request and you guys talked on the phone, well, mostly you. You can hear the distress in his voice so you scramble your head of a topic that might cheer him up. So, you talk about the topic that always cheers you up and brings love and warmth back to your heart-- your cat. You talked about your cat so enthusiastically that you hoped the warmth in your voice was enough to melt the cold he was feeling. You were there for him-- and you were hoping he got the message. The way you get a slight "kilig" at the little signs that probably don't mean anything. Like that time you guys went to see a movie where you were seated in between him and a guy friend of yours he didn't know yet at the time. You were making little comments throughout the movie, so did your friend, to you-- whispering and giggling lightly at each other. And with each passing remark between you and your friend, you notice him sit straighter in his seat, spread himself wider, and perch his head on his arm leaned on your shared armrest. That's when he started making comments too, ones for you to hear so you'd look at him. It could've been nothing. It probably was nothing-- but that doesn't make it less amusing to witness. The way it makes you feel slightly flustered when other people question your friendship as possibly something more. The comic artist both of you love so much who air-quoted your introduction as "friends". The friend (he was jealous of) at the cinema, who pulled you aside after the movie to ask if you were perhaps in a secret relationship. The mutual friends you both have who suspected something in the way you two act publicly on social media. Perhaps even the grandmother who sat across you both as you talked about life and other stuff on the couch at the floor where conversations just seem to flow. But just as there were good, there were also the bad. And they're hard to shut out when they come. You hate the way you feel pangs of jealousy when you're not supposed to, because why would you? Why should you? Do you even have the right to? You wait when he takes long to reply. You feel an unwelcoming sense of green when he's out with people, and wait a second, it's that girl again-- the same one who keeps posting photos of him and tagging him and stuff. You try to ignore it when he mentions being matchmade by a friend with some girl. You hate it when you don't know what to say or what face to make or if you should even look when he's interacting with his other girl good friend much in the same way he would with you-- which basically makes everything you've written above less special. He's like that with everyone. You hate the way you feel when you expect him to give the same effort and comfort you when you're sad, just as how you're there for him when he's sad. You hate how he makes you feel like you're doing too much and at the same time, not enough. You want to show him that you're there for him without sounding too eager. It bites at your self-esteem. It triggers your fears of abandonment. You hate the way maintaining this friendship with him makes you question what your true intentions are-- if you really just are being a good friend. You hate it when the doubts come in, that all of the words written above are empty; that you've attributed to them more meaning than there actually were. That none of the words above hold something special. You hate it when the voice at the back of your mind tells you that perhaps it's just because you're not special, at least not to him. You hate that you don't have the courage to just end it. That's because as much as you hate it, you have hope that all these things that you hate are just your own fear and insecurities talking. They're not real and you'd hate to not see this through just because you let fear take control of you. So at the end of it all, you decide to just accept the fact that whichever of the things you think and feel are true or blatant lies-- you will choose to be his friend. You left them all here, written down-- your feelings. I hope you're ready now.
It's okay to be just friends because... this way, it's only you who gets hurt. You don't do that. You just fucking don't. You probably know something's up by now. Oh boo fucking boo, you probably know I like you. But that doesn't give you the excuse to screw over my plans, bitch. I invited you, to hang out with my friends-- and I had the decency to give them a heads up first. You don't just fucking invite other people over like it's no big deal. Fuck you. Go to the movies yourself. Take your uninvited guests with you. I'm bailing. Peace out
There's no denying that I'm inexperienced. I've never done this romance-shmance before. I was so angry at him yesterday. I was so overcome with emotion that I'm an irrelevant part of his life. I literally told him that I don't feel special to him and his response was, "You're special like how my other friends, and family, and basically everyone he knows are special." Then the dude. The dude fucking calls in the middle of the night after a panic attack. You're the one he calls. No one else. He calls you. And then suddenly you feel all special inside. In times of vulnerability, I'm the one he calls. Fuck that. It spiraled me back to all the lovey-dovey feelings again. Fuck that. Fuckity fuck that. And then suddenly it hits. It could be that other thing, or it could be that you're entering the bestfriend zone. Remember your closest guy friend? He calls you too when he's upset.
. . . Nothing changes. He's still Summer. Think of it this way, Tom thought that Summer was the one. Despite all the red flags and despite the lack of respite, Tom thought that Summer--was the ONE.
But let's not forget the acting verb here-- thought. He THOUGHT she was the one, He THOUGHT, they were meant to be together. He THOUGHT that he was gonna be her only one. Unfortunately, reality could be a bitch in the best of times. You've waited so long you thought that hey, I deserve this. I deserve to be with her. I deserve to be loved by her. But you're forgetting one crucial question: does she deserve you? You may be the protagonist in this story and she maybe the object of your love. But in her story, she is the protagonist and unfortunately, you are not the object of her love. And hey, calm down it's okay. It was hard explaining it to her, how you worked; how you thought; your dreams and aspirations. She tried to understand but she said all the wrong words. She doesn't get you. Thus you may not be the one. She may not be the one. You guys weren't meant to be as one. So hang on in there, snowflake. Wait just a little longer. It's another year, snowflake. Maybe this would be the one. I'm experiencing deep and horrible pain in my gut, except it's not my literal gut, it's my hypothetical gut-- the one that feels things; the one that warns you of all the red flags. Ahh, red flags. There were so many from the start. I noticed them. Did I acknowledge them, though? Debatable.
Did I avoid them? Dear, no. Did I embrace them? Regrettably, yes. Do I regret them? Strangely enough, not really. A few months ago, when this tumour was still in its zygotic stage, I already warned myself that this would happen. "Don't fall," I told myself. "You'll get hurt," I insisted. But warnings, no matter how fair, when coming from yourself is just regrettably not that easy to follow. People come as packages. They come with baggages. But be careful what you're dealing with, because you might be dealing with an unseen plus one. So to start things off, I met a guy. We'll call him Box for conversation's sake. And no, it's not the same guy from the last post, and that guy, we'll call Notepad. This is a different guy. Notepad, the guy from the last post basically rejected me, and yes, I confessed to him (more about it in a future post). So Box was someone I technically knew but have not spoken to until recently. And when we actually "met", it was refreshing. It started with a comment that one of us off-handedly made that lead to a question that lead to many more questions. And the conversations that those questions opened lasted for a good two weeks. There was playful banter. There was a bit of confidence. Maybe because he was practically a stranger that gave me the confidence to say things I would seldom tell anyone without being asked. We discovered that we had many things in common. We had the same interests. And we shared a certain type of communal humour. And our conversation was responsive. It was enigmatic. For a time, it was something I looked forward to answering in the morning. For a time, it was what kept both of us awake at night. But it was too good to be true. On the fortnight of our back-and-forth conversations, I found out he was seeing somebody. And I... I felt betrayed. I didn't feel for him the same kind of romantic interest as I did for Notepad, no. But still, I felt betrayed. We were talking late to the night often. The subject of romance had come about on the first week or so but he never mentioned it. To another onlooker (a.k.a. a close friend of mine to whom I've ranted this story to), some exchanges may even be considered flirting. People,I felt like I had done a girl I don't even know, wrong. And I'll admit, I started blaming myself a little. I thought that if I was in a relationship, I wouldn't appreciate my boyfriend talking to someone else, everyday, and late into the night. Heck, I don't even know if his girlfriend knows about us talking. But as I ranted all this to my friend, said friend told me, "Stop the pity-party and move on. In your defense, you didn't know. And now, you've realised the situation you've been put in, what are you gonna do next?" I feel a tinge of guilt saying this but to be honest, I wasn't sure of what to do. I knew the same frequency of talks in the same manner could no longer continue, but I didn't want to just suddenly ghost him. He was shaping up to be a too-good-to-be-true potential friend. We liked the same things and we could both be engaged in conversations for hours. But at the same time, he had a girlfriend. I shouldn't be frequently talking to guys who are taken, especially when their girlfriends most likely don't know about it. It was a tough decision but it had to be done. First... I limited my replies to be strictly within a certain period of time-- daytime a la business hours. I did that for about two days-- but having that knowledge weighing down on me was not something I could easily ignore. And so, Second... I weaned off the conversation. i stopped asking questions. I gave replies that were less open-ended, impervious to further questioning. And finally, two days later, the conversation ceased. It's been a few days now since then. I feel like I did the right thing. Though I admit that I can't help but feel a certain amount of regret that our friendship had been such short-lived. But I tried and felt, still feel, that I no longer can talk to him with the same amount of enthusiasm and confidence as I did before I found out he had a girlfriend--- and so no matter how wasteful our friendship has become, I still think that this was the best way to go. What do you think about this situation? Anything else I could've done differently? Please let me know in the comments section below. I'm new to the dating scene. Wait, no. Scratch that. I'm yet to break into the dating scene. And as it goes with the inexperienced, I turn to the internet and to my just-as inexperienced friends when I feel like there could be, something. I turn to them when I feel a spark, of some sorts. (I'm not entirely sure, how that spark is supposed to feel either-- as I said, I am VERY much inexperienced.) (Thank you for the tips, Charisma on Command! You deserve a whole 'nother post altogether... Hmmm...) But just as I turned 20 this year, I was thinking that I could be ready. And also, when the opportunity arises, I won't sit around and wait for the other person to show interest first. Like any strong, independent woman of the 21st century, I will be unafraid in making a move. BUT I do have one condition, however, I need to know that they at least find me interesting too. I may sound gutsy, but I also don't wanna be stupid. (As a friend just told me the other week, unfortunately, brave actions and stupid actions are often synonymous.) And so obviously enough that I started talking about this specific topic, you guessed it, there is someone... This someone, I found him incredibly confusing at first. Although now, I'm fairly convinced that he doesn't reciprocate the same feelings and thus I feel ready to talk about it. Now that I think about it, however, it was probably the naivety from my part that assumed there could be something. But can you blame me? I was seeing stars, as they say in John Green-esque teenage romance books. Also, it felt nice for a while, the kind of attention I thought I was getting.
And even if you do blame me, well, I kinda blame me too. But oh well, the past is past. Onwards and upwards! My dream last night had been a haywire of crazily horrible scenarios. Not people-died kinda bad or I-got-chopped-into-pieces kinda bad but the I-was-left-alone bad, multiple times... in one dream... all in one night. It made me wonder then if I really will end up alone. In one night I dreamt about an old friend/crush who had become famous and suddenly don't even acknowledge my existence anymore. I dreamt about getting excluded from an event by friends. Just finding out about the event as it transpires, wasn't even invited to join it (actually this happened in real life recently). I dreamt about getting abandoned by parents. I dreamt about being left behind by a boyfriend with no closure, no good reason. I dreamt about being picked last or not chosen at all. I dreamt about longingly looking at the back of the person who just left me-- in each of those scenarios, multiple times... in one dream... in one night. I chose sleep in favour of studying for a test I have later and this is how my brain rewards me. Nice. I am a pretty independent person. And yes, I am guilty of micromanaging when it comes to group projects. If you've ever been a group-mate of mine and have any ill feelings towards me, I just want you to know that I'm sorry but aye, we got good grades, didn't we? But that's exactly it, I'm used to being in charge. And frankly, for the longest time, people let me. But, in two separate occasions recently, I experienced what it was like to step back and not take the lead, not really because I didn't want to. Unfortunately, I think I might have reached my limit when it comes to the amount of things I am able to juggle at the same time. Yes, I may have plateaud. Will I accept it? No. I'm working on fixing it, realigning my priorities and fixing my schedule but in the meantime, I will admit that yes, I have reached my juggling limit. Moving on.
Anyways, I submitted late, I felt bad. So, I wanted to help out in layout. I wanted to be in charge with visuals. What happened? Time difference. The person who was doing the layout sent the other articles to me late when I was already asleep. When I woke up, I thought it was way too late to contribute so I left it. In the end, my only role in the project was to write my own article. That was it. Finito. I felt so useless. I don't know if you can understand how I feel about it. And then, by the end, one of my group-mates who frankly didn't do any copywriting was named copy-editor. (Well, admittedly she passed her piece earlier than I did, so yes, I was a little annoyed but now no, not anymore.) Hopefully, I'll still get a decent grade but still, this project made me feel frustrated. At the end of the day, I do take after my dad, I am a know-it-all.
Okay, so how I fucked this up was timing yet again. The night before I had to pass this project, I was working on a project all night. Like, I literally did not sleep. I was awake for 24 hours. And so naturally, I woke up kinda late at night to work on the project. When I woke up, I had 4 hours to do it. And frankly, my job was to edit the draft and then send it. Just when I started writing the draft (I had 2 hours left at that point), I noticed that the job wasn't as easy as I had assumed. My group-mates, who wrote the first draft, didn't write it in quite the way a research paper of that style should be written. And also, they included citations that had no references-- so I had to retrace their steps and look for the sources myself. In the end, when I was already late, then I notice that we didn't cite any journal articles. So yep, just saying, not totally my fault. But the late thing was, I admit. In short, I finished the project at 2AM. And sent it then. I made up some lame excuse to somehow buffer my tardiness and it worked a lil bit because we didn't fail. But still, I felt this was on me because I sent it late. My excuse didn't work. I sent it late and we got a low grade. It's not a very creative title. I mean, for the love of everyone who has ever drunken alcohol, when is it not? . . . It's 10PM and I've just woken up from a 5-hour nap. Makeup still on, no dinner cooked, laundry by my feet, a quiz tomorrow, a recitation tomorrow, just got told off for not coming to rehearsals tomorrow, kinda wanna cry but also fuck it, fuck tomorrow. *am. I got this from the person who told me off for not coming to rehearsals tomorrow. They shared it on Facebook and I resonated with it almost instantly. I'm an okay person, an okay friend, but I'm most probably the most infuriating org member. I rarely attend rehearsals. I'd like to think I have good reasons, most of the time. I'd like to think that there are times when I'm being unfairly compared with my course-mates who have the same amount of course-load as I do because even if that's the case-- my course-mates don't have to be responsible for someone else at home, they don't have to be responsible for the home, their parents know where they are at that time while mine vaguely do because technically, I'm not supposed to be out that late and they're not as compelled to strive for better grades. They don't see that, and I don't blame them. And so why did I even join the org if I couldn't handle it? . . . I didn't know I couldn't handle it. I overestimated myself. As I'm writing this, I've just gotten back from my 1st major test for my Zoology Lecture class this sem. And in simple terms, it went not well. For this test, I actually tried to study. Emphasis on try because I didn't go overboard with it, but I did study. I read through the material, although admittedly, I didn't finish. I tried to remember as many details as I can. I even woke up twice in the middle of the night to try to study some more. That's why, this morning, I wasn't feeling very jittery. I had a great morning, in fact. I wore a cute exercise outfit for my first class of the day, Yoga. My hair was up on a high pony-tail with a concealed clip under to give it an Ariana Grande look. The exercises today were admittedly challenging but I came out of it refreshed. So, when I headed to my test, which was the class after Yoga, I was feeling great, to be honest. Then, the test was handed out...
From feeling okay-ishly prepared, I quickly realised that I wasn't prepared, if at all. Most of the questions, as fate would have it, came from the part of the material I didn't get to focus much on. But, I didn't start feeling bad(?) I know right, it's a weird reaction, even for me. I was fine. I went through the test, accepted VERY quickly that I wasn't very prepared BUT also knew that it won't stop me from trying to answer the questions as best and as thoroughly as I can. And that I did.
And so, still surprisingly in high spirits, I went home. And so here I am now, on my "bed", ranting to you in hopes of dispelling my leftover energy as I wait for my takeout lunch to arrive and time to pass by until I have to go back to school for my next class. I'm in surprisingly high spirits. I don't feel despair about probably failing that test. And let me tell you, a certain version of myself in the past would be crying while watching YouTube right now because this is not the first test I've done not-so-well in since the sem started. So far my quizzes and tests are an average of high C+ and low B-- such a far-cry from my A+ studded high school career. But I am fine. And, I found myself saying something the old version of me would've haughtily never accepted before. i said, "Well, that was not-so-good but oh well, there's next time." "There's next time." I acknowledged the fact that there is a future because there is a next time. That, my friend, is character growth. As a Psychology student speaking, that, my friend, is the kind of growth mindset that will make Carol Dweck herself, proud.
So here's the situation, I "received" a rose from a stranger but it is both mine and not mine. It is, in it's own right, a Schrödinger situation. Valentine's Day, a day I admit I dreaded a bit but have prepared myself enough to go through. I had just entered the room wherein I were to take my last class of the day then, I notice a single pale, pink rose lying on my table. Its stalk was rather short, compared to the ones I've seen around campus. And, there's no note. My friend, who sat beside me, also had one lying on her desk but hers was red and had a different wrapping. Seeing hers, I immediately assumed that it might've been from one of our mutual friends-- the same exact friend who has already ruined the surprise by informing us the previous day that he was going to send us flowers, that which I refused and expressly told him that he could save his money by not sending me any. So, I went through class, not questioning it further. Besides, who else would send me a flower? For anything, there are a very limited number of people who knew both the timing and location of my classes. They were my block class, that guy friend, and possibly one of my orgs (though the schedule that i sent them didn't contain my classroom numbers but technically if one is crafty, they could cross-reference it to the schedule of my blockmate who is also a member of the same org). Then came dismissals and luckily enough, we ran into that guy friend in the halls. The first thing I asked him was why he sent me a flower despite me telling him that he didn't have to, and that anyways, I was grateful. That's when he looked at me, confused, and with a deadpan face, said, "I didn't send you any flowers because you asked me not to." At that point, another friend of mine, started "ooooh-ing" and pointed out the possibility of a secret admirer. I, on the other hand, was thoroughly confused and could not think of any other explanation for the situation other than that guy friend to be lying and was actually the one who sent the flower even though he insists that he didn't. And it was a few moments after that when he said this: "Maybe, the person from the previous class who sat in your seat left that. or maybe, the delivery for that flower for that person came when he/she wasn't there and so nobody was able to receive it." Like dude, my man, why do you have to hurt me this way? That statement over there methodically struck down and burnt my very daintily-numbered self-esteem to smithereens like a cartoon man holding an umbrella up during a rainstorm. That statement effectively pierced through the mental shield I very carefully prepared especially for Valentine's Day with the ease of a warm knife through butter. And with that, so it stands, the mystery of this pale, pink rose. I don't know who sent it, and neither do I know for whom. Will I ever know? I'm yet to find out. All I know is that since I kept it anyways, it is both mine and not mine. It was both meant for me and not. It was both sent to me and not. It is Schrödinger's rose. It is No One's rose. . . . I'm intrigued. should i stay? a discussion on wanting to be happy vs. actually being happy in a relationship1/15/2019 I'm happy with this, why wouldn't I be? Or better yet, why shouldn't I be? I'm happy... But why is it that the more I repeat that phrase to other people when I talk about the relationship, I feel like I'm saying it more to convince myself than the other person? . . "You sound so stressed. Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure. I get to do what I enjoy. Plus, there are benefits." "But are you able to reap those benefits?" . . "I want them to accept me. I want to stay." "But what would happen if you don't? Why is it that important to you" ("for the status, for the right to wear their lanyard.") "Seriously, what's so bad about not being a part of them anymore next year?" ("you don't understand, it makes me feel cool.") . . i try so hard to be happy with them but i just am not. I'm convincing myself to be happy because i want to be happy. i hope my actual feelings start aligning with that wish though. I've talked to my sister about it extensively, and those conversations above were real conversations about the topic that we've had. Now that I'm writing about it, I decided to be honest. All this time, I've just been telling people that I'm happy because that's I want to feel about the relationship. I want to be happy with them. Being with them was a privilege, it affirmed a part of me that I've so badly wanted to be recognised before. `being with them when others couldn't because they were rejected, it made me feel special. It boosted my self-esteem. I was recognised for my skills by people I didn't know. That's why I don't want to leave. I want to stay. But I'm not happy. I'm convincing myself to be happy. But now, in this moment of clarity in which I can be honest about my feelings. I don't feel happy with them. I feel stressed. I feel overly cautious around them. I am in constant fear that I have to uphold a certain attitude and image whenever I deal with them. I feel like I'm betraying a part of myself when I'm acting that way. I feel like I don't belong, that maybe me being chosen to be a part of them was solely by chance. I'm not actually happy with them but I want to be. so why, why am i still stubbornly holding on? I still believe that there is a greater benefit to being with them, even if I can't exactly name what that is, yet. Maybe, it's only what I want to believe but right now, I still want to believe it. Also, how embarrassing would it be for me to not be with them anymore? But at the same time, how can I keep this up for four years? I don't know. For now, I'll just diligently finish my responsibilities, so that in the end, I could make a clean break for it. P.S. It's not a romantic relationship, but I guess this could apply to that, too.
I ain't no rich kid. Realistically speaking, my parents own very little property and yet my sister and I are studying at some of the top schools in the country with our tuitions paid in full directly from my parents' pockets. I also attended an international high school abroad. We travel every few years. And I go out dressed in clothes that may have been bought during a sale but from brands not everyone could afford. . . I feel like a spoiled child. . . Do I feel guilty? Yes. I overheard a conversation my mom had today with a bank over the phone. Turns out that her debt is much larger than we estimated and my immediate reaction to it was a sickening feeling in the stomach that I was part of the reason my parents' debts have blown to proportions like that. In 2016, I had the same realisation. And my reaction? I wanted to kill myself. I felt like a burden. Another mouth to feed and a brain to send to school but I didn't feel like I deserved it. I wanted to die to save my parents from spending money on something so... useless. . . I've talked about this before and I no longer think that but the concept of being a "burden" has not left me. on being a "burden"... My parents would never admit it. I expressed these thoughts to them before. I told them, "I don't want to be a burden." And in staying true to that, I don't ask them for anything. I rarely ask for my wants, just what I need. But nonetheless, my parents get me things that I would want without me saying anything. And I've since then realised that my fault in the situation is not because I ask too much but because I don't reject enough.
My parents are supportive of me in anything and everything. When I was making my final decisions about which university to attend and I was down to the final two choices, I picked the more expensive option. It wasn't to make my parents pay more as an act of spite or something. To me, at that time, it was an act of personal accountability and personal choice-- I thought I was doing something good for myself by choosing the place that attracted me more and plus, was offering me a course I really wanted as opposed to the university who was offering me a course I was only mildly interested in but offered way cheaper tuition fees. I thought at that time, "Well, they did give me the power to decide. So this time, I'll do something for myself." It's a decision that I don't regret for multiple reasons except one, one that just resurfaced at the top of my mind after I heard that phone call. Perhaps, what I've done was make a selfish choice that is continually pushing my parents back into greater debt. And it reminded me of one thing: that I'm still a burden. . . . I don't ask my parents for much. I don't ask often for what I don't need. I give them a very realistic budget plan for my sister and I's independent living back in Manila. I don't exaggerate any price but report it back to them down to the very last cent. I don't know what else I could do to help them. I could cinch mine and my sister's personal expenses more to save more money but apart from that, I have nothing to give back to them. I am currently a freshman in college with three years left under my undergraduate course, granted that everything goes well from here. And then after that, what? I expressed to my parents that I would like to attend med school or graduate school-- whichever-- but I'd like to do it directly after I've collected my bachelor's degree. They nod and they agree. They smile and they encourage me. But that phone call... it reminded me of the reality that that dream and that plan may just be asking for too much. At this point and with the debt my parents have, will they still be able to send me to grad/med school and send my sister to university at the same time? They tell me it's possible. They tell me to study and do as I must and they will take care of the finances but can they really? I feel pretty, fucking useless. To top it all off, my mom's job has been threatened just this past year and her job's current status is not as stable as it had been. I'm almost 20 years old. And yet I feel incapable of being any useful help. . . . But no, I've worked this hard to try and live again. I don't want to kill myself. Don't take me there. No, that XX does not connote something dirty. . You're smart, figure it out. And because it's a new year, the regenerative energy is in the air; and also as with every year, the challenge is staying true to those promises we make today, up to the start of the next new year. All that being said, here are my New Year's Resolutions: 1. |
Anyways, this Matt was kinda quiet-- he wasn't rowdy or noisy on the school activity that I was in with him-- which is why, to be honest, the activity was for two weekends and I only developed this "crush" on the second (and last) weekend. |
Yo, he could pass as a certain celebrity's double. He's good-looking I say. He's good-looking and soft-spoken, I didn't realise that point at the time.
Imagine this scene. He's descending from the stairs just as I enter the room, right then, we were on a perpendicular position. I see him but he is looking straight ahead. I look at him and I panic whether I should engage in eye contact or not. Then, he turns towards my direction and as he does, it is revealed to me that the space on his left was occupied by a girl who was possibly holding onto his arm. I couldn't confirm because by then, I looked away.
All I've gotten from my mini crush though, was disappointment with a hint of sadness. This is the worst, I've been duped...
Mediocre.
I am afraid of mediocrity.
" what do i do now? " | That's where it starts though. Our first pitch session is fast approaching and frankly-- I don't know what I'll write about. I feel clueless, almost to the point that I feel like a fraud. |
I really need to do something with this self-doubt thing. It is ruining my temperament.
Notes from the author:
![Picture](/uploads/4/7/4/6/47468977/editor/facebook-clipart-icon-transparent-1.png?1590595740)
![Picture](/uploads/4/7/4/6/47468977/editor/20-203688-twitter-icon-transparent-background-twitter-logo-hd-png.png?1590596092)
![Picture](/uploads/4/7/4/6/47468977/editor/download-instagram-png-logo-20.png?1590596083)
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