On High Schools and Destinies

Around a decade ago, I was in high school. (Yes, a decade ago. Bah!) High school should and could be the best and worst time of one’s life. It should be the best if you were at the top of the food chain: athlete, cheerleader, student council member, thick wallets. Worst if you’re a misfit or just plain dork. High school was, for me, well, it was more of a memory than a phase.

I kinda never gave a damn about high school, or school per se for that matter. We were taught that if we go to school, study hard, not miss classes, excel, et cetera, we will succeed in life. Elders, tito, tita, tell that to the jazillioners abroad who created this little networking site called Facebook and now owns everyone’s time and attention. Hey, doing good in school does give you an edge when it comes to the real world. And I cannot really preach about this stuff if I myself never excelled in my institution. But I did finish and graduate. That means I did something right, yes? So why am I stuck in a dead end job? Because I foolishly believe and placed my so-called fate in motivational garbage like “Everything is possible once you put your mind to it,” or “Dream big,” “Reach for the stars,” “May the Force be with you...”

Fate and destiny makes it easier for us to live. It gives us hope, blind hope. It’s a vicious circle. You want to succeed? Find a rich relative. You want to be loved and matter? Be rich.

Do I sound like half-minded bitter idiot? I probably am. Am I making a point? No, not really. I don’t even have any goals here. I just felt the need to write. I, however, was trying to connect high school life with what I’m feeling right now. That feeling of wanting to belong. And I miserably failed. Even my transitions sucked!

Now that that’s off my chest, I still feel horrible and spiteful. Yep, still got it! (--.)

Shall I Compare Thee...

"Hmm... her pancakes are much better than yours." No matter how secure we are with our present, one cannot help but think about what used to be. It's just how we are programmed. Whether we hear a song or we pass by somewhere, we suddenly remember something, no matter how obscure it is.

Comparison. This is something that I strongly believe should be included in the seven capital sins of, for the lack of a better word, love. Comparison will never ever bring you peace. It just strengthens that proverbial what-if and reminds you how foolishly happy you once was. Tell me thinking about how she used to save all the orange gummi bears for you or request for extra butter for your popcorn when you know she's figure-conscious does not make you go hmm, and smile a little. Not that the current one is a disappointment. Oh, no. She's a gymnast and takes up yoga classes. You stock up on your Red Bulls and Gatorades and Alaxan whenever she sleeps over. But like I said, the littlest and stupidest things triggers that comparison.

Here's the fun part. The harder you try to not compare, the more you do. You just gotta love the irony. But it really is not healthy. How do you think your current will feel when he or she finds out you were thinking about someone/thing else when he or she something for you and it did not meet your expectations? How would you feel if you fail to meet your girlfriend's expectations? I'm not saying you should divert all your energy on eliminating this destructive trait. You can't. It is futile to resist. But what one must do is absorb, smile then think about the reason why that thought is only a memory, and focus on what is making you happy this very moment. Provided you are happy. If you're just reminded about something without your partner triggering it, then it's not comparison. You're just sad.

This all came out of nowhere. Well, actually, a friend and I were talking about some almost-perfect-dork finally committing. But he committed to chick who is not-so-perfect. "Tagumpay," as I would like to call it. Emphasis on the almost-perfect trait of the dork. Now, my friend is accusing me of comparing that chick to our chick who has this thing for almost-perfect-dork. I, of course, denied because I really wasn't. It is not in my nature to compare, except maybe for prices. But off the record, if ever, that not-so-perfect chick is going to eat our chick for breakfast. (And what an inappropriate yet awesome image that is.)

Regardless of how not-so-perfect chick will destroy our chick in a heartbeat, if I were in almost-perfect-dork's expensive shoes, I'd choose ours without thinking twice. But that's just me, the Foolish Party God. (--,)

Needy Much?

Look, I know the odds are against me. And she ain't about to even the scales any time soon. And with my track record, possibly never at all. Call me foolish for hoping for some affirmation, but can you really blame me? Genuine appreciation will do. Not the obligatory and polite ones. Yes, one should never expect. But do sane people really never expect? So easy to say, "Never expect. That way, you won't be disappointed." Testify! And it's certainly very easy to reply, "Oh, I don't," complete with the sheepish grin. And maybe, we really don't. But is there really a difference between hoping and expecting? "Not expecting but hoping." How annoying is that statement? Especially if you believe in it.

I get it. The timing's all wrong and off. And I respect that. So I'm playing the waiting game. And for those of you who really know me, I am what you would call a grandmaster when it comes to waiting games. I know it's too much, but, I'm gonna have to ask, again, for a little reaffirmation. I'm slightly needy. There I said it. I am. But for someone who have never, ever got who he wanted, I'd think twice before throwing rocks at my direction. I apologize for wasting your time. I'm just hurt. (--.)

Banchetto

When we were exiled and thrown to what most people call Ortigas, there was only one silver lining, and that is the glorious grub-filled markets of Banchetto. Going there was easy as cake served there, right?

Wrong! They are only open on Fryday nights, till the wee hours of Saturday morning. Them creature of the nights I call my friends don’t have any problem at all sampling every cholesterol-infested goodness that paradise has to offer as they are in the office every Fryday night. And they always rub it in my face every chance they got.

30 Frydays and seven months later, take that you magnificent bastards. Hah! As expected, t’was a foodgasmic experience. My buddies Ralph and Erwin will attest to that. Although, they were enjoying the non-edible eyecandy vendors more than the monster burgers and kebabs.

Even delivered food to the office just because I am the best and most outstanding friend they have, only that and for no other reason. Really. Great stuff! Banchetto, I shall return. (—,)

The 2011 T&C Media Puerto Galera Experience: Return to Transcription

Things I brought home with me from this trip:

- “Don’t Stop Believin” by Journey will never apply to me because I have been, am, and will always be a city boy. I can’t and don’t swim, ‘kay?!

- I don’t think I’ll be riding any inflatable water contraptions for the meantime. I wasn’t trying to impress. I did it because I wanted to try out things I don’t usually do. #notaprettysight

- Fruits go well with rhum. And I think I made Professor Flitwick proud. #charms

- The people I was with are some of the best individuals out there. Already knew that, but they really are. #waitingtogetpaid

- I am responsible. #OhyesIam.

- I really hate long trips. :|

- Some things are so close but still so far. #Saklap

All in all, it was an awesome, awesome weekend. And I wouldn’t mind doing it all over again. Might tweak some scenarios here and there and bring stuffs that weren’t brought, or even the reputation-changing mishap, I ain’t changin’ nothin’. Another round, all-stars? After Holy Week, yes? (—,)