People don’t generally assume this about me, but I suffer from a daily dose of anxiety.
A new semester is coming. I am not ready.
I use to think that since this summer is my LAST summer as a teenager, I should really relish ever single sweet moment of dependence I can.
Adulthood is basically aunts/uncles/grandparents/other relatives asking you:
1. When are you getting a job?
2. When are you getting a boyfriend?
3. When are you buying a “proper” house?
And yet. I took the “I-am-running-out-of-time” mask and decided to hoard everything I could this summer:
1. I got a job job. I mean. NOT internship but a job. Job. With okay pay.
2. I went abroad?? That counts for something right?
3. I’m working on my thesis. It’s group thesis. But still. Thesis.
4. I’m a fourth year student; I don’t need a boyfriend.
Jesus, I don’t even have notebooks yet. Or proper pens (I have 8 pens inside my pencil case but those don’t count okay because that was LAST year.)
This semester is going to kill me.
I’ve always the biggest crush on you– and the fact that you were able to follow your dreams of going to Film school, despite the criticisms and oppositions of your family made me admire you so much. Sometimes, I’d look at your Instagram feed and think, “This could have been my experiences.” I wonder how happy I would have been.
Most of the time, I’d just play some of your short videos playing the ukulele or guitar and damn you have changed so much.
I wish I had more time to get to know you. The last conversation we ever had face to face was in 6th grade. I can’t even remember what we talked about. These days, I’d get a blast invite from you to see a film from UP. Sometimes I’d go, sometimes I won’t.
Can’t help but feel a bit mellow about this missed chances in life. Hope we’ll be friends again one day.
I haven’t written a short story in a while. The last one I wrote was sooo meh but I thought posting it here might help me motivate myself to write more!
The mere act of seeing you carry your groceries makes me glad that I exist in this world.
The way your elbows bend to support the weight of meat, greens and a carton of milk. Your palms supporting the bottom of the paper bags. You try to balance the two in one palm, your left, it’s always the left, to free your right palm and it begins its quest of finding the keys to the front door. Right palm is successful but your left palm fails you and yolks gather on a pool along with some lettuce on the pavement of the street.
Your mouth opens to a wide gap and a supply of carbon dioxide exits. I can see the change of colors in your eyes (in their natural state they are goldish- brown. A box of Crayola doesn’t have the color available) from the peaceful steady blue to the upsetting molten red.
Later, you’d tell me it’s because you feel bad about the crushed eggs; not necessarily because it was a waste of money. You can’t help but think about the tiny wings that never got the chance to test the wind, the baby beaks that never made a sound, not even a silent protest as they landed.
“Twelve chicks didn’t see the world in order to make me happy. They gave up their lives to be fried on a pan on a cold Monday morning. And I failed them of their mission. They are now rotting on the hard cold pavement. They should have been buried between toasted bread.”
We’d laugh but then I’d stop and ponder those words.
I looked at the time and realized it’s going to be Monday morning in a couple of minutes. I guess it’s time for me to leave.
The ruthless cycle doesn’t end, doesn’t it?
This year has been filled with wonderful opportunities for me. Most of the time, my year would be filled with school works (summer classes), reading books that I’ve been dying to read but couldn’t because of school work and of course, just sleeping around in my bedroom province in Calamba, Laguna.
This must be my 6th “first blog entry” and I must say that I really don’t know why I started another one again.
I have always loved the idea of blogging. To express oneself freely to a bunch of strangers or friends. If we’re talking about body parts, eyes are definitely the windows to the soul. And I see blogs that way; we see the soul of the person hiding behind these words and at the same time, we get to see how they see the world through their own eyes.
Which is why I felt the need to start a new blog. This blog is about 20 years old me. Forget 19 years old or 12 years old Ella. It’s 2015 and a fresh new leaf (or blog, hehe) is exactly what I need.
So, if my some weird coincidence you have stumble upon this baby, this is basically what you can expect to read/learn from it:
1. Psychology related readings: If you’re interested to become a psych student, then you should probably stick around. I’m already in my senior year (and hopefully, my mates and I finish our undergrad thesis on time to graduate on May 2016) so you can expect a lot of things psych related here. I also have to review for the Psychometrician Board Exam here in the Philippines. I even have my reviewers ready they are currently gathering dust because..
2. I am a bookworm. I have a short attention span so I tend to neglect the textbooks/ related literature and just read my sorrows away. Fiction was meant to be an escape and I totally live up to that saying.
3. Debate. I will not lie, after 3 years of joining debate competitions and even reaching the octos/quarters/semis/ and even FINALS once, I am still not happy with my debate skills because I am still learning.
4. Learning. I love learning. Expect this blog to contain posts about the most random things I find on the internet and would like to share with my (future) self.
5. Photo album. I will treat this blog like a photo album of my 20s. I really do think keeping memories tuck away in the internet is comforting. You know that they are always there.
There you go! Some things to expect (and what not to expect) about this blog.) Hopefully, I’ll be able to blog every day but that’s a bit ambitious, ain’t it?
I am a batgirl!!!