Saturday, August 18, 2007

Remember Me(i)

My relatives call me Mei. It's a nickname. It used to be Mei-Mei but I don't tell people that. I bet some of them don't even know my full name. Anyway, when I got into college, I wrote Mei (or Mei-Mei whatever) beside the "Nickname: " part. I could've written otherwise but lo, first day of OrSem (freshmen orientation in our school) I couldn't find my seat. There were nametags placed on chairs and when a facilitator (an upperclassman) asked me my name, I said my full name. She was looking at her list, didn't find my name and told me, "I think you're in the wrong block."

Great.

Then I saw a nametag with the name "Mei" written. I told her, "Oh. No, I found my name. It's Mei, sorry." End of story. That's how Mei got circulated. Atleast not Mei-Mei. I remember telling my blockmates, "Don't call me Mei, you're not my relative," and got "Why not? We're blockmates and we're family," as a reply.

I've been thinking about a lot of things, or not. (I prefer pondering about life rather than do my homework or study for my midterms.) I heard before (I forgot which class) that when you die, people would remember you with what you have left behind. Yeah I know it's cliche or something but if I would die sooner (because we'll all die eventually), how would people remember me? Or would they even remember me? Would I be remembered as someone who asks random questions? I don't want to be remembered as the hypergirl, or uhh, the one who made other's life great (not miserable). I'm not sure. I think before I die I have to write something people would say 'serious'. Hmm, I always tell people I'm serious, but heck, no one believes me. And I don't lie, a far cry from the boy who cried wolf. I'm not pumping irony here.

I also thought of how I would die. From a terminal disease which I would get from being a vegan? Or from lung cancer because of second-hand smoke? From an accident? What kind of accident? Would I have butt cramps like Spongebob Squarepants and Patrick Star then drown? Would I be the victim of a drive-by shooting (instead of a real gun or a bazooka, in the Philippines it would be a sumpak or an improvised gun)? Would a Ford E150 run over me when I cross the street (I'm not good at crossing, that's why I love the overpass)? Or when I finally get the chance to backpack across Europe and reach Slovakia, I would be trapped inside Hostel (like in the movie) and get my body mutilated. Or when I get the chance to watch live tennis, a ball would hit me in the head then develop brain tumor then die.

How about my funeral? I told my mom if I die, I'll be cremated. In my wake they have two options. One is that my body (not yet reduced to ashes) would be hanged from the ceiling. There would be a live band and buffet-just vegetables. Then spotlights would be directed to my body from the top. A wall would be full of pictures, not necessarily pictures of myself. Or I told my mom my body would stand slanting from the wall. Then the spotlights and the buffet and the band would still be there. The second option is when I'm already cremated. Everyone would be drinking the special fruit punch. Then they'll play a short clip I made wherein one would see me saying, "Everyone, I'm now a part of you. Thanks for enjoying the fruit punch with my ashes." Cool. Or I would make a video of myself - The Ring style wherein you have to pass it after watching it. Even better.

Seriously. How would people remember me?

I think I can answer this question after our Psych paper. (WHAA!! I suddenly remembered we have a Psych paper to finish!)


MORAL: Do homeworks and study for your midterms to avoid thinking of things like these. That reminds me, today is 19. Eli must be doing something to me.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Flooded

That's Quentin Tarantino braving the flood with a bike to go to MalacaƱan Palace and get his award. If I would get an award and meet the president of a country, I think I would do the same. Just not wearing jogging pants with a Barong Tagalog.

This is madness. And we're not in Sparta.

I can't remember the last time we had classes. Was it uhh, I can't remember well. I'm having issue with my memory. As a matter of fact, I scored 14 out of 14 for our short-term memory test in Psychology class. I remembered the 14 words our teacher said and was able to write them all. He said the average score would be 7 + or - 2. I'm not abnormal (ABove Normal).

What's the point? Well, I changed my laptop's admin user password that day after going home. I used to use European names as my passwords and then this one time, I was engulfed with tennis and things-I-can't-remember that I completely forgot about it. I told my sister, "if you want to use my laptop, the password is... Shoot! I freaking forgot!" I rushed down and sat face-to-face with the screen. I was typing everything I thought I remember, even Ulaanbaatar. I went back to bed at 3am, hopeless. I have PE by 10am and I was in no mood to talk, kick, run, tease people, and even to smile. I was just thinking I would remember it when I catch the ball with my head or when I run a lot and all my blood goes to my head. (My PE is futsal and it is fun.)

I have the memory of a goldfish.

Curse passwords. Although my laptop was fixed already, since my ever-reliable cousin had a CD which can reset passwords, I am still not happy. For the first time in my life, I want to go to school, wholeheartedly. And I am not faking it. Senior year in high school, I only go to school because of allowance and uhh, yeah, allowance. First year college, I really don't want to go to school. Sophomore year, I want to go to school. Yeah, allowance still ranks second under "What I Go To School For:" with not wanting to have make-up classes as the third.

Oh, I am so bitter today. No classes. A not-so-long weekend. This is not good. I bet there is a catch here. Midterms, programming project, long tests (pluralized), critical papers, reports, more papers, and orals. This is the life.

When it rains, it pours.

And until now I wonder, whenever classes are suspended, the sun shines brightly. Otherwise, it rains cats and dogs and leopards and all the animals you can think of, even prairie dogs.


MORAL: I love rain. I'm not kidding. However, I don't like suspension of classes. Have you ever heard of the "you cannot fold a paper more than 7 times equally"? That myth was busted by (tadah!) MythBusters and they folded a paper the size of a football field (poor trees) 11 times. They used a forklift and a big rolling pin to flatten it out. Don't do rain dances anymore. Enough already. Leptospirosis and dengue fever would be a fad in no time (but I pray that this won't happen). Don't eat too much. Especially now, they said rainy season makes people depressed and makes them eat a lot. I am amenable to that.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Mellow Cab

I have never been late for class. Seriously. I always wear a digital watch and synchronized it with the school's exact time, even to the exact second. The latest I have been was last Tuesday (August 7, 2007), for my PE class. My class was at 10AM and I arrived at 10:09AM. We have like a leeway of 10-15 minutes before you'll be marked as late or something (like Dunce or Useless). Anyway, our teacher usually checks attendance while we do the mandatory warm-up jog. Well, they weren't jogging anymore by the time I came. So I just waved right in front of my teacher's face and told him I am present and still not officially late.

But why was I late, almost late I mean? My dad isn't the fastest driver around, and I didn't have the time to wait for him to start the car, comb his hair, and all. So I just went straight out of our house, ignoring our dog who constantly barks at me to scratch him (or her, since we are not sure if our dog is a hermaphrodite), and luckily saw an empty cab. I thought I was so lucky, not having to wait for so long until I have deep-vein thrombosis (the next level of varicose veins) just to get a cab. The instance I came there and said, "Katipunan po," he retorted, "Hija, cleft lip ka?" I do not have a cleft lip palette. I have a hare lip, but nevermind.

Then the life story of his child started. He was talking nonstop, I tried to listen to my iPod to ward off his voice, but I don't want to look rude so I didn't. I think I must've used my iPod, it would've done wonders and saved me from the stories. Anyway, he was always talking, even looking at the rear view mirror. He was talking again. Then I said, "Kuya, green na po oh." Still after speeding away, he was talking again. From the time his son was conceived, until the kid was a toddler, until at present. He talked until the kid turned 5 years old, and I turned 90 years old because of his nonstop story. Did I mention he was talking all the time?

I was like a psychologist there, about to tell him, "How do you feel about that?" Except that I don't want to extend his stories and hear him talk more.

Argh, it was SO annoying. Then add the power windows. At times I ride a cab, it is rare to find power windows. And when I addressed his car's windows, ding ding ding! I hit the jackpot. He changed the topic from his child, to the windows. While we were along Boni Serrano Avenue, he was controlling the power windows at the back. He was rolling them up and down, up and down until the passenger at the back would cover his/her face from shame and irritation. Plus, he let pollution in, with some mosquitos as well. Ahh, complete package. I can't wait to get off the car.

I arrived at the covered courts annoyed and irritated. I think I had a taxi trauma. Nonetheless we won our game and I scored my first goal, so it was fine with me. I learned my lesson, to use a music player or pretend to read to avoid an unwanted conversation.


MORAL: Avoid having a conversation with a taxi driver when the topics are about politics, family, show business, and education. Mind those about politics, especially when you both have opposite views. You don't want to ride a cab with a mad driver. You'll pay for it.

Friday, August 03, 2007

The Devil Loves Balloons

My mom had a dream last night, or morning, or midnight. She wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or what. She was with her sister on a bed. Her sister was praying, and my mom noticed that their bed was shaking, The Exorcist-style. She asked her sister about it and her sister was signalling like she knew what was happening, and just continued praying. Suddenly something was coming up, they both knew IT was the devil. However, balloons were flying and coming near them. She was saying "in Jesus's name!" while trying to stab the balloons. More balloons were coming and they won't even burst. And then... And then...

Then our helper woke my mom up. End of story. She came to our room and told us about it. She also told us of the conversation she had with her cousin (who was her godchild and also my godmother. If you didn't get it, my mom's cousin = my mom's godchild = my godmother. There.). She was brushing her teeth for some time already and noticed that there were only 3 toothbrushes. They were four living at home. She noticed she was always suffering from tonsilitis and sore throat with cough. It was then when she realized her dad was using her toothbrush as well, for almost 2 weeks already. My mom just told her, "Ang sweet niyo namang mag-ama, pati toothbrush share kayo."


MORAL: Keep your toothbrush in a safe place. Also, when staying in the hotel, keep it away from disgruntled housekeepers' sight. You'll never know when s/he had a fight with his/her loved one and s/he decides to vent out his/her anger to you by using your toothbrush to clean the toilet.