EXTREMELY HIGH EMOTIONAL CONTENT.
Proceed with caution.

Here's my nth attempt at creating a decent blogging site. I've had so many old blogs, and they're all rotting in cyberspace with memories that I'd rather not return to, so I'm starting from scratch. AGAIN.

I'm Fam. I've been around Planet Earth for 16 years and counting, though people often think I'm a lot older than my actual age (for who knows why). I love the color red, dark chocolate, bananas and breezy, sunny days.

I love dancing, singing out of nowhere, taking pictures, going on long, leisurely walks, enjoying food, writing to my heart's content, drawing, painting and indulging in crazy-sensible conversations with crazy-sensible people.

My moods swing like a pendulum, and yes, I am one of those people who overreact, over-think, and overeat. There's no better way to get to know me than to actually listen... and if you can, speak up. Don't worry, I won't bite... except if your grammar and intentions are atrocious. ;)

By post:
Just let me die.
Au revoir, Facebook... and maybe Twitter, too.
2010 Year-ender.
For Charm ♥
For Paula ♥
Buhay is life in Filipino.
Blogger: My Depository of Awful Thoughts, Full-Length
I don't think I know how to let go.
After a long time, here I come again.
It's been so long. Damn.

By month:
February 2010 / March 2010 / April 2010 / May 2010 / June 2010 / July 2010 / November 2010 / December 2010 / January 2011 /

Layout and codes by:dawnoflights
Images from: Foto_decadent
Textures: Dearest / Looks like rain
Icons from: furlights

I'll come clean and say that I have NO idea what must have gotten into my head when I signed up for the OrSem host hunt. I love hosting and I've had a lot of experience since grade school, but maybe this will be just like my blueRep tryouts: I won't necessarily be chosen but how much I love what I'm doing, but by how good I am (or they think I am) at it. After all, life revolves around a marketing ploy demeanor now. Sure, they'll look at passion and gusto too, but they won't bother unless they are convinced that I actually have what it takes. I'm up against so many aspirants, and I'm starting to run out of reasons to convince myself that I can be a good OrSem host. I can talk well, but a lot of Ateneans can do that. Sure, I can be perky, but I'm afraid that I'll look like I'm trying too hard. I don't have enough clothes OR accessories to establish the otherwise youthful and vibrant parts of my personality, and although I can sing and dance, the others would most likely be able to do that too, and perhaps a whole lot better than I ever will. Oh, Lord, MY CONFIDENCE IS FAILING. Tiwala, Fam, TIWALA.

posted on Thursday, April 29, 2010 @ 8:06 AM

I WANT

posted on Wednesday, April 28, 2010 @ 7:39 AM

When we got back to the dorm, we had a "cell" meeting (which is basically a little prayer session), and it turned out a lot better than I thought. I broke down in the middle of sharing; I was sharing all of the ill feelings I was harboring beneath the collected, "nothing's wrong and I'm all good" facade I've been putting up.

posted on Tuesday, April 27, 2010 @ 6:50 AM

Oh wow. Looks like some incoming freshmen are being toured around the library. I would know, because... well, I'm here. :)

It's the second day of summer class, and I still can't believe I'm actually in second year.

Yesterday, I applied for a new ID for the upcoming school year 2010-2011 at Xavier Hall (the administration building of the Ateneo). It's a refreshing change, since I still had my permed light brown hair in my old ID and it's pretty faded already, so it's about time I updated it to what I currently look like (and hey, who wouldn't want a shiny new ID?).

Good thing I had already paid for my summer class tuition fee; the lines were crazy! I mean, I love being around people and all, but when a relatively cramped area is filled with unfamiliar faces, it just feels really weird (and it didn't help that I was alone). So, moving on, I went to the ADSA window for my ID application, and the processing didn't take so long since there weren't many people in line. As I turned in the form and went in the ADSA office to have my picture taken, I took notice of the freshmen with their parents outside, still foreign to the environment I have learned to love for the past year.

I couldn't quite read the looks on their faces. I knew they were tired, stressed, and that they wanted to go home and just let the confirmation process fix itself. Although I didn't get to read their expressions, I was able to see myself in them with just their mere presence around me. Their aura was intense. The inner voices of "Yay! I'm in Ateneo! I can't believe it!", "What the hell is this place?", "Okay, now where do I go?" and "I wanna go home! Can't I just go back when school starts? Hassle eh" were in the air, not as audible whispers but as remnants of the voices that rang in my head when I was a freshman, in 2009.

As a freshman, I wasn't just eager. I was thrilled! Being accepted into the Ateneo is still, until now, a miracle for me; never in my wildest dreams did I even think that I would make the cut. The happiness was made more intense by the fact that my parents decided to give me a chance, just as they were thinking of not sending me to school anymore (it's a long story, but just so you know, I was by no means a problem child). Imagine my enthusiasm as I was going through the confirmation process--while everyone saw it as a hassle, I saw it as my "stairway to Heaven". I wanted change in almost every way possible, and I saw Ateneo as my chance to attain it. After all, I was stuck in two campuses of St. Paul for eleven years, and I didn't really have a positive attachment to any of the institutions. Needless to say, I wanted to start a new life, and I wanted it as soon as possible.

While my batchmates (not necessarily in my high schools) were still coping with "post-partum" depression issues, I was busy mapping out what I wanted to do. I envisioned myself returning to the experiences I have long forgotten (singing, dancing, being active in orgs, etc.). I was a teenager full of hope, dreaming of grades that soared like eagles, and hoping to get a scholarship once the dean's list-worthy grades are etched onto my transcript. I didn't worry about being away from my parents. I didn't worry about having no uniform (I rejoiced in it!). I didn't worry about anything I might encounter along the way. I was aware that college wouldn't be easy, and that it might be hard for me to fit in, what with the elitist demeanor of the majority of students in the Ateneo. I was starry-eyed with the dreams that I guess every freshman has lurking in his or her heart. For once in my life, I actually wanted summer to end. I was so excited to be in the school where I'd be staying for four years (hopefully).

When that summer ended, I found myself in an entirely new dimension. Indeed, it was a new life, and I savored the novelty. Yes, I was aware that it wouldn't be easy making it, but the thing is, I had no idea how tough the race was to stay in the Ateneo, much more actually get the stellar A-grades.

It didn't help that the upperclassmen were instilling fears on the freshmen, the frantic, clueless guinea pigs of the upperclassman bidding. Although, yes, maybe I should just get used to it, but I personally couldn't stand it when people from second year all the way to fourth year would tell us things like, "Oh, that subject's gonna be hell", "Wala, dedz na yan!", "Wag mo kunin yan! Di ka na nga matututo, di ka pa makakakuha ng mataas na grade". On one end, it's their way of helping, but on the other end, it instills fear. For example, if a freshman gets a professor and tells an upperclassman about it:

Upperclassman: O, sino ang prof mo sa (subject)?
Freshie: Si (prof's name).
Upperclassman: Ah, wala, dedz yan. Terror yan (and blah blah blah).
Freshie: :o :-s

I'm not saying that these responses by the upperclassmen are wrong. It's just that, when they tell a student about a professor, it would have been better if some of them (not everyone's similar to the example I've given) gave constructive advice on how to survive the subject instead of "scaring" the student into seeing the professor as a threat and not as a teacher. The problem with fearing the professor is that the student gets so frantic about the teacher's reputation that s/he ends up not doing well anyway, due to the implanted stress. If, on the other hand, the student knew that the professor was indeed (insert not-so positive trait), yet found that out on his/her own and sought concrete help from the upperclassmen who might be familiar with the professor in question, then that would better reinforce the freshman's performance, and in the long run, put him/her in better shape for an A.

Indeed, I turned out as an academic flop in my freshman year. Yes, I'm far from the borderline/minimum QPI requirement, but I didn't get the stellar grades, and the voices of the upperclassmen are still in my head: "it only gets harder as you go along the years" (or "it gets more impossible to get A's as you progress further into college"). Whenever this comes up, I'd rather just pay heed to my mother's advice, which I find more empowering: "kaya yan, basta ayusin mo lang ang performance mo".

Now, my excitement as a freshman is now channeled to my excitement for the incoming freshmen. Who knows what they may be going through now in preparation for college, but I wish them the best of luck. I'm not the smartest or nicest upperclassman out here, but I am optimistic in terms of their survival. I just hope they don't make the mistake of exceeding their cuts and plagiarizing. "Patay na kung ganun".

I left Xavier Hall after my picture was taken; the staff said that I could get my new (shiny) ID by Friday, April 16. I then went straight to the TNT board to check up on the requirements for the first interview. I hope I make the cut as a TNT; I want to see how the freshmen of this coming school year perceive their life as eagles. I want them to look at it with optimism; believe me, college is one of the most life-changing experiences out there. High school's great, but college makes mature people out of everyone (for the most part), and, if embraced and nurtured, can be the best four, five or six years of student life altogether. It really depends on how the person takes the opportunity.

Right now, I'm a sophie, still standing tall and preparing myself for my flight into the real world by 2013. I still have not forgotten my dreams from last summer, and I still have three years to make it happen. I don't care how hard it is. I'm gonna make it happen, and, with the experiences I've had from the last two semesters, I won't fail this time.

AD MAJOREM DEI GLORIAM!

posted on Monday, April 12, 2010 @ 7:12 PM

Tonight, I won't be writing about any realizations (better take a break from that for now). I'm just excited for summer class tomorrow :)

posted on Sunday, April 11, 2010 @ 7:08 AM

Never in my entire life have I considered myself insecurel. Sure, there would be times when I'd wish I had this girl's hair or that girl's figure, but I never reached the point of feeling so bad about myself for falling short of the ideals that these figures possess. I was never outspoken about any aesthetic trait I wanted to covet, except maybe on one occasion, when I said, "I want Ciarra's abs!" (yes, until now, I still want them LOL), and that was because I refused to feel any shame for whoever I am or however I look. Desperately, I wanted to NOT feel self-pity. I didn't want to feel bad for not being an archetype.

But then, life will always find a way to make us experience things we've never experienced before, and take on attitudes at the moments when we'd never expect ourselves to be capable of such. No matter how we avoid doing things which our "ego ideals" deem wrong, at some point, the things we avoid will haunt us until we eventually find ourselves being the violators of our own standards.

I can never forget the lecture a priest gave during one of the Marian Vigils in my province school five years ago. All the details before and after the statement, but time stood still as he said, in a bold albeit shaky voice:

"You become what you hate."

I hated the feeling of taking pity on myself. I hated the feeling of not being comfortable in my own skin. However, as fate would have it, that's exactly what I've become: INSECURE.

Why did I point this out, and when did I come to realize this part of me?

It wasn't because of the considerably large population of pretty girls in high school. I've seen pretty girls all my life, and I've long accepted the fact that there will always be girls who will be even more beautiful that I'll ever be. It wasn't because of my parents pressing me to fit into the stereotype of what a young lady should be; I would be offended, but I took everything into stride, completely indifferent to what society--in my parents' eyes and in general--dictates as to the criteria of a woman's femininity. And no, it wasn't because I found myself ugly, though I think it's normal for a girl to feel "blah" once in a while.

It happened when SHE came in.

She is a girl whom I don't think is that tall; yet, she has a slender figure that I could only dream of having. She looks petite, a perfect complement to his rather thin physique. She has long, black hair, a mane that cascades down her back into long, wispy layers. She has high cheekbones and a button nose, with eyes reminiscent of a Malay-Asian heritage. Her eyes are framed with brows with a very subtle arch, exuding benevolence with her gaze. She has full lips and a smile that can look either naive or cunning, depending on whoever looks at it. She dresses with impeccable taste and stands with a posture that sets her apart from her peers. She's a thespian, and from what I've heard, she's also an intellectual. They tell me she's sophisticated and classy, that she's everything a girl could dream of being: smart, pretty and wealthy.

I've mostly stalked my way into drawing out these traits, proof of my obsessive and insane insecurity (though some of this was shared to me by people who are acquainted with her and, yes, him himself). Yes, it is insecurity at its worst, and I am not at all proud of the extent to which this has gone. I feel like a hopeless, obsessed idiot, remembering how I'd always browse through her pictures and all that. Hell, I know you'd all be probably looking at me with looks of disgust plastered all over your faces, and I wouldn't blame you. I know stalking is rude, but I couldn't help it. Sue me for my helplessness/hopelessness.

These traits would not have mattered at all to me, had it not been for a reality that haunts me even to this day.

She has HIS heart, even after they have already parted ways... 2 years and eleven months ago.

I know that the connection that keeps him attached to her spans beyond looks. I doubt that they speak to each other anymore, but I can feel that, on most days, he still longs for her. When he told me he still liked her, in a way, I found the confession futile. It was already too obvious that he did and still does. However, I didn't have the heart to hate him for it, and until now, I can't bring myself to hate him for what he feels for her. The pain, however, needed to manifest somewhere, and the pangs of pain and longing in my heart mutated into me looking at myself in a way that I found myself wishing I were HER instead.

On some days, when I'd remember her face and feel like scratching it out of my memory, I'd look at myself in the mirror. It didn't help, though. It only made me compare myself to her.

I'm tall and fat at the same time, a total misfit to his otherwise small, thin frame and a lethal combination in general. My hair would have a different style every few months (mostly because I love playing with it a lot), but it would always bear these timeless characteristics: dry, frizzy and freshly-raped by the wind and/or humidity. My skin is uneven and my eyes are eternally weary and permanently tattooed with loneliness. My teeth, still clad in braces, are in the wrong places, thus making it difficult for me to talk and smile properly. I'm not an intellectually stupid person, but I'm weak and I falter easily, failing in common sense at the slightest reaction to anything "offensive". I'm a slacker, and although I like to be feminine at times, I am nowhere close to being "classy" and I don't want to be regarded as "high-end". Sure, I dance, but I look like a dancing hippo in high heels, uncoordinated and undertrained (because I'd fail to go to training). Sure, my parents can send me to the Ateneo, but we're not rich. I'm a representation of every girl's nightmare, and the worst part is, I'm the first person to pull myself down like this. I'm a failure, a flop in the field of self-esteem (as you can see).

I'll come clean here and admit that one reason why I feel this way is that, sometimes, I'm not even sure if he really does love me. Maybe I'm wrong here, but, who can blame me? Won't knowing that the one you love is still in love with someone else (though he claims to love you, too) make it harder to believe in the love he claims to have for you? Yes, I'm having a hard time believing that he actually loves me. It's not because I'm numb, self-centered or superficial. A woman's heart would know if she is the one inside a man's heart, and the problem is, most days, all I can feel is her presence beating in his chest. The worst part is, I don't know if I'm right or if it's just paranoia lurking in me. I have no idea anymore.

Sometimes, I wonder: what if she realizes she loves him and comes back for him? Will he come back to her? Will I be the Martha, and will she be the Allie? Am I really just a rebound here? At the height of my insecurities, I often think that, in this story, I'm the lover whom the man will end up leaving in the end. We're "together" now, but my insecurities haunt me so badly into anticipating an ending which already feels inevitable to me. I feel like I'll be left behind, that's all I can find myself thinking. I'm already bracing myself for the day he'll say goodbye, though each time I think about it, I find myself wanting to cry.

The best affirmation of love, in my case, in my opinion, would be for him to tell me--in person, with all conviction that can seep through his skin--that he loves me. That's all I want, really. He hasn't told me that for so long, and I feel like cracked desert soil with the overwhelming thirst. I often end up thinking that he's not telling me this because his real emotions--which I know--would shine through, thus proving those three words a sorry lie.

Usually, with issues like these, I would just leave a hanging ending, a hopelessness in the topic confronted. But, no, it won't be the case this time. At least, I hope it won't be.

I know that if he reads this entry, he'll abhor me even more than he already has, or at the very least, say I'm overthinking, overreacting and all that. I won't deny that, yes, I have overthought and I am insecure, and that... I've had enough of overthinking and being insecure.

This experience implants into my system the fact that a wholehearted, unconditional, and fervent love--the kind introduced into the minds of the young by storybooks and romantic movies--is nothing but fiction, a dream of the human heart that only comes true for a minute minority. In truth, love will always have conditions. I used to think that if I loved someone with every fiber of my being, that person will learn to love me as openly, too. However, I was wrong. The fact that there are TWO, DIFFERENT entities in the picture, NOT the same person, already presents the fact that just because one loves the other intensely, doesn't mean that the other will reciprocate the affections with the same intensity. The fairy tale of someone who will save me from myself has been broken. All this time, I've finally come to know and face the fact that I am alone and no one can help me from the things I'm going through.

BUT. This isn't it. This is not what my epiphany is.

What I have conceded so far are the "conclusions" I considered before. I used to think that these would already work for me, though now, although the embitterment from the above realizations still has yet to fade, I've decided to take on all of this in a new light.

I'm insecure because of one sure thing: doubt. I doubted my own abilities, and the own things that make me a person worth loving and listening to (no matter how annoying). I doubted his thoughts, when I should be trusting. I doubted his love, which I know might still be there somewhere in his heart.

This isn't right, I think to myself. I SHOULD HAVE FAITH IN MYSELF AND IN THE LOVE HE HAS FOR ME. It's about time I stopped letting my apprehensions hinder me from seeing through the other side. Maybe it feels like he's setting up a wall because I myself am setting up a wall without being aware of it. Hoping for his feelings for me to exist is not enough, and it should not even be the case. I have to believe in it. I WANT TO BELIEVE IN IT... and in him.

It may be hard to put faith in him given all the intricacies, complications and obscurities between us, but even then, now that I think about it, there already lies a miracle here. The fact that we're still together even after the storms that crossed our paths is already something I know I must, want and need to hold dear. Our staying with each other even at the point when separating seemed like the only option proves that no matter how badly we've hurt each other and no matter how vague everything seems to be, we were still in love and that held us together. If it wasn't love, what else could it have been? I see no other possible answers here. It's not despondence or neediness, although there is a need within both of us that persists and depends on the other person to satiate, though I can't exactly point it out. It's not because of something we want to escape from, or at least, that's the case with my side. Even then, if ever we're running away from something, one of us realizes it and tells the other to snap out of it. Yes, our synergy happens in a way that occurs almost so naturally and subtly.

All this thought about doubt and insecurity, then, led me to look into the mirror again, and when I did, I saw another version of the reflection of the former. Nothing has changed; I still had the same appearance as I had before (apart from a subtle slimming due to my Holy Week abstinence from red meat). However, another version of the woman I am--a stronger, "fiercer", wiser--looked straight at me. I saw eyes that knew of the worlds that both reality and fantasy offered to her. I saw a sixteen-year-old who actually wants to grow up and soar, and leave the past behind her. Right at that very moment, I saw a spirit, with all its strength and resilience, willing to take on a new route to self-perception, with a love burning in her heart that's stronger than ever--a love for herself and for everyone she cares about, especially the man to whom she devoted her heart to a sunny summer past.

She's beautiful, and she shines in a light she emits on her own. As much as I find the radiance of that stranger which is her admirable even from a distance, I refuse to dwell on it anymore. She and I have touched the same man's heart, and there is no point in comparing. The only thing left for me to do now is to pick up from where she left off: to care for this special man, who has so much in store for him if only he'd realize that he's capable of anything. She touched his heart years ago, and now, it's my turn. This man is mine to love now, and I'll devote my heart to making him feel that his staying with me is something he truly will never regret and forget.

I then put a closure on the pangs of insecurity and inhibition that I've been plagued with for far too long. From this moment on, I pray to the Most High to cleanse me of all the bitterness I hold in my heart, to keep her safe in the future she might have decided to tread on. I thank Him for giving him the gift of "me", and more importantly, the gift of "him".

When there was once discontent, I now find gratitude. For when I had once felt that I was never enough, now I feel that I am sufficient and capable of anything. I know I am strong, and that who I am is not a mere commodity to be measured or ranked. I was endowed with beauty within and without, and for that, I am eternally thankful.

At this moment, I refuse to become what I hate. Right now, I want to embrace my inner demons and take it as a part of me, one and the same. Once I have learned to love it, it is only then that I can become what I love, and give to the fullest the very thing that I have meant to impart all this time: the purest of my love. ♥

posted on Sunday, April 4, 2010 @ 6:20 AM