And this is exactly what I'm going to do this year. :)

Captured

Most likely when you are born and raised in the metropolitan Manila, you think you can never see yourself at another place in the country anymore. But what if one day—let’s say, the day after your high school graduation—your dad drops the bomb on you: “Hey Kiddo…you’re going to Dumaguete to study.”

What?

Dumaguete? What in the name of Batman have you ever done wrong? Dude, their so-called malls close at 7pm. And they have lunch breaks! The so-called malls close during lunch time! What the fuuuuuudge. I so pity you. :(

So anyway, you start complaining, looking at the the paper bags full of dresses and shoes you happily accomplished after one whole day of shopping at Greenbelt. Being the bratty daughter that you are, tears start streaming down your face. You know that whatever you do, once you board that plane to Negros, there was no more enjoying of the material things the metropolis has to offer.

You thought it was going to be such a My Super Sweet 16: Exiled kind of horrid experience.

But to your surprise, it wasn’t.

Over the years, you have come to realize that there are tons of things a person can do in Dumaguete City that no one can ever do anywhere else after all. And you actually weren’t being sarcastic when you said that. You were pointing out what makes Dumaguete unique—with all its unpredictable pedicab drivers, its ukay-ukays, its restaurants that close during Sundays.

You still don’t stop whining so much. But you have to admit that you have learned to love the City of Gentle People.

Yes, you’ve been captured by its serenity. Its simplicity. Its beauty.

And that’s the reason why for the nth time, you so can’t wait to go back. :)




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For My Mass Com Loves. <3

This has previously been posted on my Tumblr account. I'm kind of just recycling this thing. Haha.

It was June something of 2007. Everything was new. Everything was strange. Everything was, well, scary. But no sir, amidst the shaking legs and the I-kinda-wanna-barf feeling, I actually wasn’t—gulp—lost. Walking along the corridors of the tallest building around (with the fascinating mystery elevator), I saw those struggling to carry their brand new Batman and Hello Kitty binders and yellow pads whilst holding their printouts with their two hands, not to mention having a big fat question mark on their faces, and I thought to myself: HAHA. Bleh! (The place was just so scary, I hope you understand)

Anyways. Because although like them, I was also sporting my new purple Precious Moments binder that I proudly bought from Lee Plaza all by myself and the yellow pad that I later on cried over when I found out professors all required intermediate pad (My explanation: one day when I was little, my mommy told me that yellow pads were used by college students, that’s why ever since then , I so waited for the day of graduation from grade school and high school and pad papers with red and blue lines…), I did know the location of my first class of my first day of my first year in college.

Ahh. Com Room 1, Guy Hall.

I walked inside. And from that moment on, everything about my life changed forever and ever and ever.

You know, I used to hear people say things like “I had the best years of my life in high school.” Or, “The most unforgettable guy for me is my high school sweetheart.” Whatever. Nobody dares, so I’m making myself the exception.

Yes, with three years of being under unpredictable professors and instructors, of experiencing those sleepless nights that gave me moments of bonding with the coffee mug and the little girl underneath the study table that nobody else could see, of staring at my locker for an hour or so every morning, chanting like a primitive person: “what to wear, what to wear” as if the gods would actually give a to die for outfit that would miraculously make me look like Meagan Fox, of encountering group mates who either don’t show up at all or purposely don’t adjust their watches that happen to be three hours late, of eating green eggs (it’s a specialty, a delicacy probably) during breakfast, of stopping myself from riding a pedicab to Ceres terminal during those I-can’t-do-this-anymore moments, of falling in line until forever at one corner of the library for piles and piles of photocopied materials, of required activities that I need to attend or else it’s buh-bye 100 bucks, and of stupid—stupid—encounters with those of the other species (aka as boys), I can say that I am having the best years of my life in college (don’t worry, my high school friends already know). And yeah, maybe, just maybe, the most unforgettable guy for me is yet to arrive here in college too (Don’t laugh; I still have three semesters to go, excluding this semester).

College is crazy. College is hard. College has full of drama. But it is from these same reasons that make College such a memorable part in each person’s lifetime. For those who don’t agree: YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. Get up on your feet, dive at Apo Island, play Frisbee with a stranger, jog at the boulevard at 5am and witness the unbelievable sunrise, eat kabayo (I just realized recently how stupid I am for taking the place’s name literally), ride a bicycle, shop at an ukay-ukay, hang around with people you’re intimidated with, sing Jai Ho(with matching dance steps please) in front of the class while waiting for your scary-strict teacher to arrive, buy pizza for the kids at the boulevard and play tag with the kids at the Early Education Department, say Hi to that pretty girl at the front row for the very first time, run naked in the middle of the night—the sky is the limit. This is college. College in Silliman, if I may add. Okay, but don’t forget to not wear rubber slippers during your major classes. And I was kidding about the run naked in the middle of the night part. Also, please take the New Vehicle Policy seriously.

One of the things I like about college is that changes are constantly at hand. And you know what’s funny? I actually hate changes. I can be a person with a boring everyday routine, but because of the many unexpected events of college, I am forced to get my sorry behind moving.

Every semester, we are given a new set of subjects with a new set of classmates and a new set of teachers. I realize it’s actually cool. Who would ever want to take the dreadful Calculus something subject for every semester of your four years (or more) in College anyway? Also, different teachers means broader knowledge—because you can really learn a lot of things from them, if you just stop thinking for once about what to give your uyab on your fifth monthsary or how to defeat your friend at level 36 of what on-line game do you call that one again, during discussions. And having different classmates means more people to wave hello to when walking around with your ultimate crush—trust me, it’s a major turn on. Every day is a new chance to try something new. Every day is a new chance to learn unsinkable lessons and absorb that Silliman-ness that we can truly boast of in the oh-so-near future. Ahh, I just heart college. College in Silliman. I can never imagine being anywhere else but here.

I still think about my first day in college. Most of the faces I first saw inside the room have already gone, leaving the rest of us hanging on as we pass piles after piles of news stories. I took up MassCom because there’s not much Arithmetic. It’s true. But sometimes, I feel like I’d rather solve nosebleed Algebraic problems than write. Don’t get me wrong, though. I love my course. I love my college. I love writing. I can’t imagine doing anything else but this one. What I’m trying to say is that—and this is a big shout out—I’ve had enough people asking me whether or not my course is hard, because IT IS HARD. It’s just as hard. Please stop doubting; it just so happens that we know the beauty regimen for eyebags and horrible breakouts.

But still, I’m halfway there, I think. I’m kinda almost at the finish line of college. I still feel scared sometimes. But not because of the same reason I had some two and a half years ago. I am now scared because I know that it would be so awful—heartbreakingly awful—to leave all of this behind someday. I am so having the time of my life that it’s painful just thinking about the fact that I have to say goodbye too.

I wonder how the batches ahead of me, whom I now see enjoying their professional lives—thanks to Facebook, were able to make it. I like to experience work, but not now. Let me savor college first; the joy and pain of it. And hey, why not join me, friends? Come on. Stop complaining so much. You’re missing a lot. Let’s all start enjoying our life here. Must love college.



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