Ang Alamat ng Mirasol

(To my friend who has the same name, it is not about you, haha.)

The latest legend I have ever read. I read the short(est?) version of this in Mr. Alvin Yapan's Ang Sandali Ng Mga Mata (nice book). (I even got my copy signed by him, oh yeah.) It was just mentioned there. Ang Alamat ng Mirasol. I'll just type some parts of it.

" Katulad nga siya ng mirasol na hinding-hindi na matuturuang ibaling sa iba ang pagsamba sa araw. Si Bino ang araw para kay Selya.

Ayon sa alamat, lalaki ang bulaklak na mirasol: isang lalaking namatay sa araw-araw na pagtitig sa bintanang hinihintay niyang pandungawan ng dalagang binawi ang pangakong hinding-hindi magmamaliw ang pag-ibig sa kaniya. Nang mamatay ang binata sa paghihintay, tumubo ang kauna-unahang mirasol sa kinagawian niyang hintayan sa hardin ng dalaga. "

Emo. What if the girl lives in a condominium? And the guy strains his neck at her (who lives in the 35th floor of the building) window, waiting for her to look at him or whatever. Good luck for him. Sad story. I think I'll write a novel or a short story soon. However, it would probably be a tragedy, horror, or crime story. If it would be a love story, it'll have a sad ending. Nah, too negative. I'll just write a fairy tale, full of gore and violence. Hmm, fine, I'll just make a picture book.


MORAL: Promise is a very powerful word. If you have plans on waiting, tell the person that you'll be waiting for him/her, so that when something goes wrong s/he won't tell you, "I didn't know you were waiting for me," or something like that. So that you won't die and become a flower, or a fertilizer. Also, it would bug his/her conscience (if s/he has one) to know someone is waiting for him/her. And then, all would be well until someone snatches your loved one's necklace or bracelet along Katipunan, or some stranger points a knife at you and says, "I have a knife, if you don't give me your things, I'll make sure this would make you bleed".

Not Just Once, or Twice, but Thrice

When would they stab me or something? Freaks. Get a life. I'll steal your lungs or I'll push the four of you and let the smoke-belching jeepneys kill you all with carbon monoxide.

Ateneo won against La Salle (AGAIN)! Yay, happiness! I should be happy. I was ecstatic while leaving school. I walked with Ken (6'4 very big boy) and looked like a midget beside him. Anyway, walking along the same spot in Aurora Blvd going to the LRT Station, I saw three women who dressed similarly. I noticed the woman who opened my bag and stole my phone. So I told Ken, "Ayan 'yung kumuha ng phone ko, oh. (That's the girl who got my phone.)" and I said it loud enough so that they would hear it. Then, I saw the rightmost girl (if they stood beside each other and their formation was TOX, T = thief, X = eye contact girl) looking at me. I stared back at her.

After some time, I noticed from my peripheral vision, the 3 women walking towards us. I saw them looking at me or us, and they saw me looking at them. When I faced front, there was a guy all of a sudden. He was the one who stalled us from before. I don't know what they would do but I don't want to know it. My phone was in my pocket (pants) and I have nothing inside my bag's front pocket because I really don't put anything there except my hand sanitizer, alcohol, tissue, and the like. It was just that one time I placed my phone there, and tadah, I'm a lucky girl.

Anyway, I noticed that guy from before. I knew it was him. I'm sure of it, I really am. With his gold-dyed-feeling-cool-hair, who would forget him? Even passers-by would get annoyed just seeing him. Then I went to the other side and walked ahead of him. I told Ken that they were following us, and I made sure that they heard it. Then after noticing that we were already far and near the guards, they went back. Gah, my heart was pounding by then. I hoped they go somewhere else, because it seemed like they were still following us until we reached the station, where there are security guards who would open your bag, put their sticks inside.

I know how they look like, they know how I look like. Now I'm pretty scared, because I don't think they're that dumb to open my bag again or even try to snatch my PE bag from me or something. I think they're up to something. Just don't kill me, I want to live until I get the chance to travel the world, to help humankind in my own ways, to see the effects of global warming decrease, to know the cure for AIDS and diabetes, and to make the world forget about eating animals.


MORAL: Don't steal things. Sell your body parts (skin grafting) instead or your internal organs (I heard livers are the most expensive). Or beg for money, instead of doing those. Snatchers, hold-uppers should do something productive instead. Send them to war. They'll steal the enemy's guns or use their, "Hold-up 'to" skill to go pass through enemy lines. Or make them run human-hamster wheels to produce electricity to solve future energy crises.

Hail Week and the Snatcherette

I don't really seem to find anything special with the "hell week" in Ateneo. I think things are way tougher in our high school. It's just that this is college, and your fate in the future greatly depends here, so well, that's the only thing I can think of. We have stricter deadlines and, exams before were way longer in items and coverage (how about 250 items for an exam). They are more difficult as well. So they say graduates of our high school find college easier. NOT FOR ME. I adapted quite easily and seemed like I forgot how notorious my high school was. I wish I have my high school condition with me in college.

A not so interesting something whatever today, I saw the woman, who blends in the crowd, who knows teamwork quite well, who has fast hands, who is a great actress and can be the lead character in the local channel 2's Kokey show, who can be a member of Ocean's 300, who stole my phone almost a week ago. I went home late again and I was with 2 friends. Then when we passed by a line of commuters waiting for jeepneys, she was there. SHE WAS THERE. She was there. Ok, that was redundant. Anyway, She Was There. She-was-there. She was standing behind the people, maybe waiting to attack. (Like in Discovery Channel or National Geographic, a lion who waits then suddenly attacks his prey. Roar!)

Then I saw her, she saw me. After I passed by, I tried to look back again. She was still looking at me, with her chin on her hand. I don't know if it was fear, hunger, constipation, PMS, worry, confusion, stress, wonder, or all of them, written in her face. Since I'm too tired and was carrying a lot of things, I didn't do anything. I wasn't sure if her team was there ready to beat me if I do something. I told my mom about it. She said, "Anak, kumain ka na lang. Baka abangan ka pa nila, saksakin, o di kaya'y isilid sa isang maleta kapag may gawin ka pa. (Child, just eat instead. Maybe they'll wait for you, stab you or put you inside a big suitcase if you do anything.)"
If we reverse the situation and I am the mother, I'll say the exact thing and add, "We don't want to be rich because of insurance money from you."

I just wanted to know one thing - where did they throw my SIM card?! But I could've asked, "How much did you sell my phone?" Maybe I'll ask them one time, when I get the chance to see them again. What would I do? I'm curious for myself. (Nothing violent, I hope.)


MORAL: Do not do unto others what you don't want others to do unto others what you don't want others to do unto others. Be careful of your things. I know it is tough, but a rock is tougher. Sometimes, I can be a LITTLE nonsense, but my words are true.*

*They call this condition as "sabaw" in Ateneo
**I haven't slept for more than 3 hours in days

You Snatch Me

Today is my lucky day...NOT.

To make things short, I lost my phone. Well, I was a victim of a stupid modus operandi cellphone-snatching technique. I just bought a phone last month because well, my Motorola died of old age. I bought a Sony Ericsson last August 13 and told myself that it would be the last phone I'm going to buy. Anyway, I was walking with Immil (blockmate) along Katipunan-Aurora Boulevard and I realized the street was very dark. Then one guy who looks like trash (?!) was slowly blocking our way. I told Immil that I'll be buying load and then when I checked my bag I saw the unzipped pocket. I saw the woman behind me so my instinct was to run after her while shouting, "(insert profane words) cellphone ko!!!"

I forgot I sprained my foot but still ran along Aurora Boulevard and held her arm, one of her feet was already inside the jeepney. I think I'll join the track and field team next time. I confronted her while pointing at the bulk in her pocket and even got a hold of the case. I wasn't sure if it was her or if it was my phone, but she was reluctant to show the phone to me when I asked her to (ofcourse, who would show their phones to someone). Then one guy tapped my back and said, "Yung lalaki nakita kong nagbukas ng bag mo, tumakbo roon!"

Great. Since I wasn't really sure if it was my phone, I looked back to see if there was anyone running. I didn't see anyone, then as fate made things easier for me, the jeepney I stalled sped away. I realized he was a part of it. Since it was my lucky day, there was no traffic to give me the chance to run after them. All my contacts, birthdates, reminders, gone.

The guard in the LRT station asked me what happened and what model my phone was. I told him the model and he said, "Nako! Naka-jackpot 'yung mga magnanakaw!" Thanks, guard, that made me feel better. Gah.

Please, please send me your number and birthdate. Please. Thanks.ü My sim card since grade 6 is gone. Waah.

Please, please send me your number and birthdate. Please. Thanks.ü


MORAL: Even pickpockets and snatchers have feelings. Can we just get them and make them run like hamsters on a wheel to produce energy? I want to tie them up and slowly snatch their earrings or body piercings, as well as pull their finger and toenails with pliers. I know, they have feelings. I'll lacerate them, get their organs and donate it to those who need it.

Princess Sickness

I’ve never been sick for more than a year. Ever since I got into college, I forgot how it is to be sick. (I just learned that I had vaccinations last year so I am not really invincible.) Well, I don’t consider sprain as an illness, so, no, I haven’t been sick for the longest time. That was until last Thursday (Sept. 6) when I woke up having sore throat – the same day I’ll be hosting a symposia for an event in our organization. Great. When I got home after the symposia, I had to prepare our report for Science. This report is very important because our teacher in this subject loves to butt-in and ask questions like, “What is the, the, scientific, scientific basis of that?” or even, “Explain that further, you just can’t report something, something in your opinion.” (Repetitions were intentional; because that’s the way she says it.) Morning came, and I asked my dad to drop me to school because we still had to edit our presentation and prepare ourselves for the onslaught. My voice was horrible, I had colds. The nasal congestion didn’t help a lot, it was so difficult to bend or stoop down, because all of the uhh, mucus would show themselves to the world. When I got home, I had a fever and my eyes were so watery I looked like I was crying. Yay. It was like the best day of my life, add to that, Serena Williams lost to Justine Henin.

I woke up Saturday, unsure if I can attend NSTP (Payatas is so dear to me now). I didn’t want to cut class, since we’re only allowed to have 2 cuts in NSTP or else we’ll be dropped, something I don’t want to happen. I was groggy and nauseous the whole day, I can’t even hear properly. My mom called me to ask me what time I would be picked up. I saw the traffic along Katipunan so I just told them to pick me up at the LRT station. Did I mention I have to attend a friend’s debut the same day? The party’s 6pm and when my mom heard my voice, she told me she’ll take a look at me first before deciding if she’ll let me go or not.

I must’ve cut NSTP. If I knew then it would be our last NSTP – area insertion, since we’re having the recollection next week, I should’ve just rested the whole morning and afternoon and be ready for Val’s princess-themed debut. UNFORTUNATELY, unfortunate things happen to the unfortunate. I am part of the program, one of the bequests. My dress and shoes were there already, waiting for my disposal. My mom gave me until 4:30pm, she asked me to rest and take some medicine, and if I’ll look different (this is not a magic makeover), I could come to the party. Then, she told me I really look sick, my eyes were swollen. She doesn’t want the other guests in the party to be sick (because I am a walking virus, oh yeah, I’m contagious) and feel grossed to be near me, or coughing and sneezing at the microphone or worst, at the food, gah. She told me I might really feel unwell and then sleep at the party. I’m sure I missed a lot. There were people I wanted to see there at the party, and I’ll never show myself to Val again, for missing her party. Now I’m avoiding three people in my life.

Why do bad things happen to great people? *cough*

MORAL: Take flu shots, vitamins, food supplements, exercise, and take note of your stress level. I’m so disappointed and mad. #*W$*)&^#$*&^$)$#$##@$_!*?!

Nightmare Before Class

"Serena reminds me of a pit bull dog and a young Mike Tyson, all in one. Venus reminds me of a gazelle that's able to move, prance and jump," their father, Richard Williams, said. "Venus looks as if she is really enjoying herself out there more than Serena is right now. If they get by everyone and meet each other, it will be an interesting match." - ATP

I won't be happy if my dad would tell the press or other people that kind of information. Imagine your dad or a person dear to you announcing to the world that you have the qualities of Popeye and Homer Simpson combined. And oh, Serena Williams is not the nightmare, I just read about it and found it interesting. Maybe I should stop writing about tennis, but this is my blog and no one pays me to write, so I'll keep on writing about things I want to write about, or rant. Haha.

Anyway, I had a dream, or a nightmare - depending on a person's perspective. I was happily eating and when I got to finish it, someone told me that it was beef. Then memories and vivid details of how they (animals) are mercilessly slaughtered so that insensitive people can eat them. (I sense a lot of contradictions on that part, maybe I won't publish this, but I care about the animals. Red meat is also known as murder-food and those who eat them are called murderers. The food chain is one big conspiracy and human beings just disturb the natural process.) Tadah! I felt so bad like how a human must react if s/he is reincarnated to a rock (what the?!). Then I woke up, realized I slept on our couch, and rushed to prepare for school. It was a nightmare for me, I was even sweating afterwards. Then I found out the reason why I was perspiring, they turned off the electric fans because our lovable cutie-cute-cute (haha!) helpers were sweeping the floor.

I think I must add a Word for the Moment thing. I'm making my own nonsense dictionary or something, I even invent words. I can entitle it Please Pray the Glossary but that would be blasphemous. Gah.


MORAL: Save on plastic, save the world. It can also be Save the trees, save the world. Learn to segregate your trash properly. Hmm, suggestions:

1.) Don't buy bottled water, PET (polyethyleneterephthalate) bottles are not suitable to reuse. Bring/use a water flask (Coleman, Tupperware, or those Nalgene bottles, check if they're non-toxic) instead, to save on plastic since they are made from petroleum, and this is a very limited, nonrenewable resource.
2.) When buying something like a candy bar, some gummy bears (yum) or anything, don't ask for plastic anymore, just tell them to mark the item - to save resources and so that you'll not be suspected as a shoplifter.
3.) Also when buying something and you have a bag with some more space to spare, put your purchased things there, instead.
4.) Share your knowledge about saving the environment (and animals, too! They can feel, you know.) with other people.

As I heard from a great person, though many claim to have said this before this specific wisdom-giver, "Help others help themselves. If you think you're making a difference, you are making a Big difference." - Julianne O.

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.

Flooded

That's Quentin Tarantino braving the flood with a bike to go to Malacañan 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.

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.