What A Way To Start The Mid Year

I am sick. I haven’t been sick since my freshman years. My throat is itchy, my head feels like it is going to come off my neck, my touch is somewhat feverish. I have to thank the erratic weather for whatever it is that I am feeling now.

And to add to my not so giddy feelings, my thesis is lagging in development. I have totally lost focus in this. I have always thought that being underloaded in units for the senior year is good, but I can’t feel its advantages. I go to school everyday to go to a single class. That alone makes me feel lazy. And I know I have to do something about this.

Recently, I have indulged myself into fortunetelling. My cousin lent me a book of Romany cards with a guide accompanying it. Since then, I have always consulted these cards to predict my thesis outcome. So far, the results are good. I always got to pick lucky cards, which accompany other cards that tell me to exert some effort.

If there is something that I should believe in what these fortune cards tell me, it is to work on something that I really want to have good results.

I Guess I Am Now A Powerhouse Student

I am holding a new position in our university. I was elected as the assistant chief executive officer for internal affairs of the mother organization of the accredited college organizations of our university. I am now starting to think that I am no longer a student. I think I am more of an organizer now.

I was hoping that my name wouldn’t come out in the secret balloting. But as the fates may have it, I was even nominated for the highest position. Instead of feeling powerful, I felt doomed. I haven’t even settled matters at the university student council and my community service organization, so this new position is more of a burden now than it is a blessing.

I haven’t forgotten that I am already holding a lot of responsibilities. I should have declined the position, but I didn’t. Why? Because I remembered a speaker at a leadership seminar that the right person is whoever is it that comes along. And I am that person.

I need lots of time and stress management.

OK, I Know I Was Being A Brat, But I Want It To Happen Anyway

A friend was going to give me a copy of “Gone With The Wind” but changed his mind and asked, or should I say forced, me to change my mind for another obscure book.

Actually, I told him not to give me any more books since we are both competing for similar choices of books at bookstores, which I am secretly and sometimes openly mad about. Truth is, I accused him at some occasions for copying me. People around us had started to see us as the same person when we became closer, and it pisses me off. If it were just by chance, it would be OK. But it isn’t. There are evidences that he has been slowly stealing not only my identity, but also others.

This is not a mere accusation. There is a person who was a victim of his identity theft. We met through a common close friend, and when I saw her, I remember seeing her back in my freshmen years around campus. She was someone whom I used to talk to during my breaks, since our classes were just next to each other. She related to me in utter disgust how this friend stole her identity by claiming her personal things and copying her penmanship. Mind you, they both lived under the same roof for almost a year, and up to this time, she is still shakened with such an experience.

Upon hearing this, I couldn’t help but feel the same. When I first met this friend, he wasn’t a bookworm, or at least the bookworm that he is right now. And when he learned of my once semi-exclusive hobby of collecting critically-acclaimed and multi-awarded books, he followed my trend. He even went to the extent of wearing non-prescription eyeglasses. I believe they are so; I have been wearing eyeglasses for half my life so I could tell if eyeglasses are real or just worn for pretense.

When I confronted him about his copying issue, he denied it, of course. I can stand the competition for the collection of books, but he also stole my idea for a short story. Of course, I got mad about this. He explained that the stories are just similar, but completely different, but could he explain the same settings, the same natures of the protagonist, who was a mentally-challenged woodcarver, and the timing that he had in writing his story, which was just about right after I shared him that idea?

But being a person who treasures friendships, I learned how to deal with this. I shunned the thought of his plagiarism out of mind, and asked him not to make books a topic for discussion. But it really is true that when the little things pile up, everything would explode in the slightest of flickers.

So I have completely ticked off with this indecisiveness of his, which he already did before and asked forgiveness for. But I hate it when people keep repeating the things they were sorry for, however big or small they are. So I made a big deal out of this issue, which was just through text messaging. He told me that he respected my decision, and I replied that I hope he knows what respect means.

People could be so dense. They deny things that they do to you and share the same things to you that they also do to others. If this friend had not told me the story behind the English poem of a panelist in a creative writing fellowship, I wouldn’t have any suspicions of his Filipino version of this poem, and of his open and insensitive stealing in general.

Wild Worshipping

I was invited by a schoolmate to attend one of their church gigs. I am not a church person, but for the purpose of chancing at reliving my once religious life, I decided to give my adamant nod.

I was with two friends, so I didn’t think I would have problems fitting in. We were a bit late, so the activity had already started when we arrived. And to my surprise, the church gig was really a gig, with the lights down low in the cramped venue and with a live band performing Christian rock music.

In my old religion, although I am not saying that I have a new one, we were taught the value of serenity in praising God. There was only an organ that accompanied our hymns, and a choir donned in white togas. Our services were totally peaceful, quiet, and sleepy. So upon entering the mini-concert hall, my old faith was relieved, instantly detesting the thing going around me.

But the people in the room were members of the youth. It kind of makes sense. The gig must some sort of a technique to entice people to attend the gathering. Also, the sermon was tailored for the youth. It was not the usual sermon where several biblical passages are lambasted at the people’s faces. Instead, it was more of like a casual seminar, with a lot of jokes going around, which proved to be effective in maintaining the audience’s attention.

I must be wrong after all. But still, I could not feel a knock in my heart. Yes, I was singing and dancing with the congregation, but when I raise my hands to God, I couldn’t. I just can’t do anything that I have no intention and sincerity of doing so. But for the sake of not being noticed, I raised my hands, full stretched, in comical pretense.

I was really hoping that something could melt the icy crusts in my heart. I am trying my best to open my heart, but I could not feel God. And every time I do so, the issue of homosexuality is always a part of the pastor’s sermon. It has now happened twice, and it coincides with the moments that I am seriously considering the reconstruction of my faith. If this has an implication, I want to know what it is. Is it a way of telling me to leave or to go on?

If it is the former, then it is telling me that to God really created me this way. If it is the latter, then I must adhere to the notion that homosexuality, or should I say homosexual acts, are bad for spiritual life. But I can’t. I cannot turn away from who I really am.

I know I have been this way since my brains could make imprints of things that I see, hear, smell, taste, and feel. I always profess that I have been gay all my life, and it is true. I never felt straight in my whole life, al though I felt what it was like how to make things straight and act straight. It feels weird and bad enough for people of my feather to deal and go through such, and having additional religious brouhaha on homosexuality would make me want to wish for hell or high water.

But maybe I will give this thing another shot. There must be some faith out there who wouldn’t mind my long hair and purple nails. After all, my old religion told me that God is loving and forgiving.

A Sudden Rush Of Something

I was reading a book and was about to sleep when I had this itch to get up and turn the computer on. I didn’t know why, but I sat in front of it right away.

There was a train of thoughts loading in my head while waiting for the computer to complete its initial operations. And once I was able to open Notepad, I was lost, staring at the letters of the keyboard and waiting for my reflexes to pump my fingers away.

During that fleeting moment, I thought I experienced what professional writers must feel. I felt like I needed to write at that instant. I felt like I had something substantial to share with the rest of the world, waiting to be transformed in some tangible, readable matter. And just a minute later, everything that I intended, or so I thought, to write were gone.

I remember that the words forming in my head to be a bit pompous, jumping from one topic to another. It was a very philosophical experience for me, but I lost it. I am now forcing myself to finish this up with a decent number of words. And I am running out.

I don’t know what happened, but maybe I should ignore it the next time it happens. What do you think?

The Beginning Of The End

I am now officially in my senior year. I don’t know how to feel, and I don’t even know what to say. Still, I am glad that to be back in school, after all the summer drama that I have just related a few weeks back. And now what?

There isn’t really a lot of excitement going around. Sure, there is a new yet tacky uniform for the freshmen, but it is still the same old buildings and faces. There are new ones to come along, such as the thousand-seater chapel and the new building for our college, but I will never be able to see and use them in my last stay at the university, unless I decided to take a master’s degree at my college Alma Mater.

But no. I am actually starting to think of not taking a master’s degree, with all the pre-horror that i am going through with my undergraduate thesis. I don’t think I would want to go through it again. But who knows? I am sort of fickle-minded; I might change my mind in a few years.

But it really feels good to be back, knowing that not many of us make it this far. I am still lucky, with all those horrible shifting thoughts going on my head.

The Game That Trains People To Master The Art Of Deception

During the drinking session of our team building among the university student council officers, we decided to play a game. The returning council officers suggested this game. They taught me how to play this game. And I enjoyed this game so much.

The game is called “Mafia.” The participants include a banker, a number of “citizens,” and members of the mafia, whose number is decided based on the players’ discretion and numbers.

It is fairly simple. You draw lots as to pick your role, whether you’ll be a citizen or a mafia. If you are a citizen, kill the mafias, and vice-versa. So the object of the game is to outnumber each other. I hope I am clear at that.

I am not writing this to explain the game mechanics, which sound really bad and confusing, even for me. But the thing in here is that there is politics in this game, which isn’t surprising at all since we, the players, are all members of the student council. It’s funny that we assume the role of student leaders and play a game of lies, betrayal, manipulation, and deception at the same time. It really isn’t a matter of discourse. It is just a game after all.

Or is it?

After the game, which ended at around 5 AM thanks to the lack of beer, we decided to have an informal meeting. I don’t know, but I was hoping that the game was really over.

Publicly Naked In Private

If there’s one thing I am really insecure about, that would have to be my physical construction.

I am superbly thin, I have veins crawling under my skin, my complexion isn’t attractive, I have dry skin and dark spots, my legs aren’t straight (there must be a term for this), and I am scoliotic. So even if the team building for the university student council officers is set on a resort, I resolved not to take a swim, one reason being inept at swimming and the other one being scared of exposing my physical flaws.

But one activity asked me to shed clothing after clothing with every mistake of my group’s answer. The activity was basically a guessing game, where you are thrown questions out of nowhere and answer them, the choices being the members of the opposing team. For the “guessing” members, there really isn’t anything at stake, except the gradual exposition of one of the members’ more private parts. And as luck would have it, it was me who played that part.

I barely take my shirt off at the comfort and privacy of our house. The only times you could see me half-naked are the times when I change my clothes. So to take off my clothes in front of other people, of which some I don’t have a good connection with, is too much to handle.

But I did it anyway. I am a good sport after all, with all my physical insecurities under the scrutiny of the participants of that steamy activity. I was down to my underwear, and I need not shed more, thanks to my groupmates’ skill at guessing.

Our facilitator told us that he would explain the rationale of the activity afterwards, but he forgot to. And I didn’t bother to know what it was, for fear of reliving that moment of being almost stark naked in front of people probably laughing surreptitiously at the body that I live in.

The Face That Makes This World A Better Place To Live In

He sat beside our booth. He was in charge of the freshmen’s registration. He was so quiet, with a stern look that further mystified his silence. And he had a gorgeous face.

I shared such thoughts with my friend. We both agreed that this guy was hot. He was tall, he had a shaved eyebrow, and he just exuded with masculinity. And what do you know? My friend told me that he wasn’t the type of guy who could make you feel horny. On a deeper note, this friend explained that he was the type of guy who could make you appreciate the world as it is.

And oh, I thought she was overreacting, with my wilder hormones and all. But we agreed on calling him our inspiration.

After all, this friend might be right. I never dared to ask him to sign up for our community service organization. But he did. He could be an inspiration after all.

I Already Know I Look Like A Decrepit Comedian

The least thing that someone you couldn’t budge to join an organization is to shut up. But some people are just too dense. They just don’t know when to think.

We’ve been hoarding freshmen in our community service organization for the second day now. We weren’t doing very well, compared to last year’s set of officers. But we are trying our best. I know that we are getting on others’ nerves, but we have to do it just to keep the organization teeming with active members.

Instead of joining, one girl gave me a rather nasty comment. She didn’t even attack our endless pleadings for people to join us, but she did a rather uncalled for thing. She said that I looked like some comedian, and laughed away like a witch taking off on a broomstick.

I wasn’t offended with it. But what made me rant about this is the fact that she could possibly be a person who judges people based on face value. The way that she spilled the comment head on without considering others’ feelings or other people hearing is enough, and it saddens me that such people are already in college. There are other people who deserve better than this lady, but unfortunately, you really can’t teach manners in school. People may not be good-looking, but people are capable of something.

Honestly, with a community service organization, I don’t think that this lady would fit in. And I’m actually glad that we weren’t able to persuade her.