The World Written Away

So Senior Year is drawing to an end

2012-01-18T21:38:00.000-08:00

Just one thought, really:

I'm kidding! I'm kidding. I am, really. Although, there are a quite a number of people I wouldn't mind never seeing ever again - I admit, I'm going to miss my Senior year. High school. All the ups, downs and all arounds.

Okay, who am I kidding?

I hate high school.

Okay, maybe hate is a - no, that term is pretty accurate, yes. I don't want to come off rude and bitchy (even if I am totally doing so) - it's just, I was never that inclined to my high school experiences slash supposed to be unforgettable memories. Sure, the friends I've met over the years are beyond awesome that words fail to denote how incredibly lucky I am to have met them. Yes, the learning and the knowledge I have garnered from educators are applied in my life and everyday, I realize how essential they are to me (except x squared added to three x plus two y over n raised to the power of m - I still have yet to find purpose for that equation in my life.)

What I'm trying to convey is that, I don't know, I am aware that there are some people who absolutely love high school omg best years of my life! and actually mean it but most of the time? It's annoying to hear all these people saying how much they're going to miss each other and everything because high school is ending so we all have to reveal that deep, deeeep inside, we all love each other and that everyone has helped in changing someone's life bull.

What complete and utter bullshit.

I'll be honest, I'll probably miss some things. There are some high school moments that I know I'll treasure and cherish for life till death will end me or when I get Alzheimer's. Whichever comes first. I could probably list all those memories but this post seems rant-ish and depressing enough so I'll save that for another one.

Anyway, tldr: Senior Year is ending. I am ecstatic. Fake people are fake. I hate society. God help me.

All smiles

2011-11-30T05:28:00.000-08:00

Life = made.

So you're awake at five am and so am I

2011-11-30T05:13:00.000-08:00

So my friend, Scathen, is awake at the ungodly hour of five in the morning and he’s lecturing me on Trigonometry because he thinks it’s probably the easiest branch of mathematics! which I deem no, you insolent bastard, Geometry is the easiest! to which he scoffs at and then proceeds to help me with my homework.

And I’m impressed.

I'm very impressed, and… well, at five in the morning I'm also in awe, because… it's five in the morning.

You're not supposed to be all-knowing. You're supposed to be all-sleeping.

So he should’ve been expecting my question when I asked him, you don’t have much of a life, do you?

Really, Kongregate? Really?

2011-11-26T18:30:00.000-08:00

I spent an hour staring at it, willing it to go back to the old setting, the one I was comfortable with.

It never did.

This is what I felt when I clicked on the Kongregate site. It’s been forever (just a few days really.) since I logged on. So imagine my surprise when the layout of the sign in portion of the site is different. I think I may have jumped in my seat a little.

Okay, let me just sign- wait, something's different here..

So ah, what do we do now?

It’s weird, I guess. I’ve mentioned that I’m not the type that could quickly adapt to change but I never knew that it would affect to something so inconsequential in my life such as logging into a gaming site. After recovering from the initial shock (just staring blankly at the screen), I click the exit button, defeated.

I return moments later though, I mean, I still needed to earn that taco badge.

Cheated on my imaginary boyfriend with a nonexistent guy? Sounds legit.

2011-11-03T03:45:00.000-07:00

Okay.

I’m just going to take a moment to type out what I felt, or rather, what I said when I was accused of..

Oh dear God, this is priceless.

…cheating.

Cheating on another person, can I possible do such a thing? Because cheating on tests and the like, well. We all know I’ve mastered the art. Born with that talent, if you will.

(If you are a teacher or an educator from my school, then no – I have never cheated and I don’t plan on doing so. Cheating is bad and can get me suspended which will seriously suck since I’m a graduating Senior and I want to go to college and get a job and have a decent future. No cheating.)

I’m just… wait, what? No seriously, why on Earth would I cheat on someone?

Other than the fact that I actually have no one that I could have cheated on? Or with?

The things people construe about me. Silly people.

I don’t even know how I’ve gotten into this mess. Did I make some backhand comment on cheating? Am I getting punk'd? Is this just to get a rise out of me? Did I accidentally run over someone's dog? In their dreams? Because that can't happen since I don't know how to drive yet?

I mean, I can’t even get one guy. How the mother fuck am I going to get two?

Now that I think about it, whoever made that up thinks I’m some super awesome badass who can actually do that.

I know I’m awesome but imaginary me can get two guys? Really?

Well then, thank you.

Embracing psychological wounds

2011-10-24T22:38:00.000-07:00

Every morning, I stub my toe on the side table located near my door.

It’s always there, mocking me for my consistent fault. Maybe it’s because I’m too inebriated in the morning and my brain isn’t fully functioning but I never fail to stub my toe on it. It’s like an unwanted wake up call. Nothing like a shot of pain to jolt your system awake and get you up and running in the morning. And spewing out a string of profanity.

Fuck you.

But here’s the thing: I never move it.

Sure the idea has crossed my mind; move the table someplace else = avoid stubbing toe in the morning = happy Mia. But I never executed it. I suppose I welcome the thought of just having it there than changing it. Changing my place. Changing my routine.

I never liked change. If I could, I’d avoid it like the plague but since avoiding change is like grasping grass to save your life when you’re hanging from a cliff – it’s just that, you’re going to succumb to the inevitable sooner or later that ~~grass is really not something ideal to hang onto for your life and you’re just going to fall – fall into the deep pits of dirt, mud and well,~~ change- it's just going to happen.

That doesn’t mean I can't bid my time of giving me a few more moments of monotony, though. Such as avoiding confrontations, ignoring new plans - I sputter and grow uncomfortable when plans are changed. If someone does something impulsive, I’d probably grow so paranoid and panic the fuck out.

So I guess yeah, I’m just not the type of person to adapt to new things so quickly, someone that can handle change as graceful as that girl in Black Swan. Natalie Portman.

Just so you know, you creep me out.

And just so you all know, this never fails to crack me up.

Thus I’ll just continue living with the pain of having my toe stubbed on that side table strategically placed near my door. Every day.

One day, I’ll probably have the courage to overcome this fear of change and just move the damn thing somewhere else – but not without the mental pep talk that moving the side table is just the stepping stone to accepting the reality that change will soon dawn upon me– but that’s not happening any time soon.

The things I do just to get some food

2011-10-12T03:22:00.000-07:00

After doing this critique paper for Social Studies, I deemed myself worthy of having a snack break. As I’m going down the stairs, my mum stops me and asks me if I’m through with the report. I shake my head and try to get past. She remains persistent and for fifteen minutes, I had to listen to her lecture me about doing my responsibilities.

When my mum went back upstairs, I ran into my dad. He asked me if I had finished cleaning my room. I told him I’d do it later. He shakes his head, reprimands me for my actions and tells me to get my brother.

I do what he says and my brother slams the door in my face. I’m hungry and pissed but I manage to go to my dad and tell him that my brother’s busy. He dismisses me with a wave of his hand and I finally, finally trek over to the kitchen.

The things I do just to get some fucking Oreos.

Nostalgic

2011-10-03T22:32:00.000-07:00

My first year in High school was awkward. It was awkward times awkward. It was awkward squared.

So this one's about my Recollection.

I've had a total of one recollection experience in my whole life when I was a freshman and it happened during my grade school year. So imagine my surprise when my teacher announced that we were going to have another recollection for first year HS.

"Woah, really? Why, are we getting punished?" Not exactly.

You see, recollections are a yearly thing in our high school system (knowledge that I was not aware of during that time) and it's derived from "recollect" - which is to reminisce, remember experiences. In short, it's a date with God with everyone there witnessing said date because they are experiencing the same date and there's a facilitator guiding you throughout this date (sort of like those chaperoned meetings society underwent generations before). It's pretty cool since you miss classes. Oh and there's the part about deepening your faith, as well. Which is yeah, the essential thing.

The recollection's not exactly what I wanted to blog about - it's the moments before the recollection happened.

So I arrive in school and everyone's waltzing around - which is a pretty normal scene, nothing exciting or anything. Then this one girl comes up to me, takes my hand and pushes this piece of paper inside, smiles and walks away.

Do I look like a freaking trash can to you?

Then I notice everything is actually different. That paper-giving-girl who treats like said paper is free candy gives these papers to everyone and everyone's just hugging and squealing, acting like it's the best candy ever (which of course, it isn't because it's paper) and they in turn reciprocate and give them pieces of paper like it's free candy day for everybody and I was just left standing in one corner, staring at the little piece of paper in confusion like WTF.

This is not candy. I'm not a trash can. What has happened to society.

Turns out, that piece of paper? It was my very first palanca*.

I always thought this was a quality photo.

Junior Year.

*sort of like a letter; usually regarding on the reco, friendship between that person, etc.

Overexposure to all things house party

2011-10-01T04:08:00.000-07:00

"Is it supposed to be that color? That isn't tainted water, is it?

Because if it is, please end my misery and let me have at it."

“Give me five minutes.”

“You said that ten minutes ago, let’s go.”

“No, just… one more drink? Please?”

“…”

“For my birthday?”

“Today isn’t your bir-“

“Pleeaaase?”

“…fine,.”

“Yes! One drink, twenty minutes, yay!”

Right. One drink, a couple of minutes and that’s it. Simple things never stay that way.

* I had this saved as a draft when I was sulking in the corner of this house party in Maria Luisa. That was 10:49 pm. I'm still at said party. It is now 4 fucking o'clock in the morning.

The world is better with Xanax

2011-09-29T04:25:00.000-07:00

When Cailey's cousin from New York visited her (and me, because she loves me more) here in the Philippines, life was but a jumble of scrabble, loud drumline beats, burgers and fries and carpet rashes.

I've always liked her. She was fun, preppy although way too optimistic in the morning. She was perpetually smiling, even when we doused her with cold water ~~because we like dousing people with cold water~~ on accident. That's a feat no one can quite endure. Or a feat that can be endured but is accompanied by the offenders sleeping with one eye open - just in case.

But never her, though! She was awesome. So much liveliness, so much unnecessary clapping and a bounce to her step everywhere. She even lets me call her "Xanax" when I noticed how unusually preppy she can be and unwittingly asked if she needed one. She laughed at that, gave me one of those happy hugs and I've been calling her that in honor of the irony of it all.

So how do all these streotypical values sum up? Simple. She's a cheerleader.

We even went to this one cheerleading exhibition in Manila and after an hour of sloppy moves and rapid hip swaying, she still managed a happy disposition.

"I can't watch this shit anymore," a friend of ours, Bryan, mutters and turns his face away. "This is... are they planning on doing any stunts soon? Do they even know any stunts?"

"Sure they do!" Xanax shouts down the formation line at us. "I mean, look at that! Their asses alone are a stunt. No one can it drop it like it's that hot."

Finding out about her being a cheerleader wasn't surprising at all. What's surprising (and so incredibly epic) was her ability to carry me while jogging up and down the stairs.

She shrugs it off and calls it cheer practice. I flail my arms around and call it free piggy back rides.

So with Xanax in the vicinity, I never had to walk up and down the stairs. Ever.

My grades harbor unwanted attention

2011-09-23T21:32:00.000-07:00

My friends have always wanted free reign and control in my life. They hover, they pester but I find that I’m okay with that because it makes me feel loved – and the fact that at least someone actually cares about my life since I’m not making any point to do so. It’s just that, they’re not just the passive meddling type; they’re the I-need-to-know-whatever-the-fuck-you’re-doing-right-now-at-this-very-moment-or-so-help-me-I-am-not-responsible-for-my-actions type of meddling.

In some crazed up way, I imagine they’re the possessive, over-protective boyfriends. Or the annoyingly persistent, caring friends. Or maybe the over-bearing parents.

Over the months, they must’ve found a hobby because they haven’t been relentlessly asking about the happenings of my life. I’m grateful for that, I don’t need them worrying about all the mistakes I’ve fallen into and how jaded I am to everything and anything.

If there’s one solid connection we try to remain consistent on, is my grades. They’re always curious if I’m doing well or not, failing in this or that or asking if I’ve procrastinated long enough on that critique paper whose deadline is looming over. They have taken it upon themselves to know my grades every semester, always telling me to call/text/IM the minute I receive, no, the very second I am able to process my grades lest I want someone to get punched or bitched at. (Sorry, Andrew - 2008) I was never able to escape the Inquisition, them having this uncanny ability to predict when my grades are being delivered.

Or maybe they just have the convenient and easy access to my mum’s phone number to ask her.

Anyway.

We had the giving of report cards about.. a week ago? Two weeks ago? I’ve grown pretty apathetic to it, to be honest. Mostly because I’ve accepted my fate. They all turned out fine though. No failing marks – which is good.

Dad took me out for lunch, mum sent me a text telling me how proud and happy she was, brother nodded his head in acknowledgment and raised his glass of iced tea in salutation when I arrived home.

I had somehow, managed to smile through all the congratulatory praises, whether fake, forced or questionable, and all the “save me this semester!”s and “why didn’t you tell me you actually understood ****, you’re my BFFL now!”.

I was able to call up my grandparents and ask them about their day. Which they then rebuffed and demanded how my grades went: Hey grandparents! How are you this fine da- no, no failing marks. Yes, I’ll strive hard. No, no drugs. Yeah, thanks, no really – I appreciate the Justin Bieber poster you sent, he’s um, a swell kid. Yeah. Okay, no drugs. Gotcha.”

"No really, I loved that poster. I hung that shit up faster than a Phantom Corsair on its best day. Tell me though, who told you I liked him? My brother? Yeah, that would make sense.."

After all that though, I can’t put my finger on a nagging feeling that I forgot something. I did realise it when I put my finger on the voice mail on my phone, though.

"You bitch!" Yuffie's shrill voice assaulted me in recorded form.

And then, a second message from Cailey:

"What she said."

Yeah, I expected this.

Sibling rivalry

2011-09-18T04:23:00.000-07:00

"Oh man, they weren't kidding when they said you got toasted."

"I know."

"But you look pale, sort of? How does that even happen? How can that even happen?"

"I don't know. And stop poking me, that hurts."

"And you look sick, babe." I unthinkingly smack my forehead in aggravation because I know that damnnit, no shit there, Sherlock and then wince because sunburn hurts like.. well, like a sunburn. "And also, you look like shit."

Gee thanks, you sure know how to make a girl feel special, T.

My week can be summed up in that mere conversation alone. I feel like shit and I probably look like it, as well. And here's the freshly peppered mini sprinkles served on top of the cherry of the sundae of patheticism that is my life: I have the wicked case of sunburn. Also, patheticism should totally be a word, Webster be damned.

In other news, since my family deem me as a handicap in the household, ( I get where the ill part comes to play in this but I seriously can't grasp how my being sunburned can affect any awesome capabilities I have at chores. Not that I'm complaining.) I've been browsing through my brother's old sketchpads, watching his style go from you-can-only-understand-this-if-you're-an-artist-blah-blah sketches morph into these-little-details-such-as-the-creasing-and-the-folding-make-all-the-difference drawings to his recent apathetic-random-flicks-of-the-wrist-and-boom-insta-art-because-I-have-swag-nyah-nyah.

Well anyway, I got inspired so I pick up my pencil, magically uncover his stash of paper and use his clippy board/hard surface-y/Artist device and sketch a rather accurate picture of my drool pillow.

So my brother takes in my furious scribbling paired with my serious face and notices my work. With that, he says, “this isn’t half-bad at all (it was), you actually have some artistic potential if I say so myself (I don’t), in no time at all, I can hone your skills like the good (egocentric) brother that I am. (yeah, right.)

I poke him with my pencil and smack him with the Artist Device and he probably perceived that as a challenge because next thing I know, we're having this contest to decipher who has the most skill.

My brother drew this:

And I drew this:

Obviously, we know who won. Me.

This is well expected since mine has more passion. And Passion-fruit. Case closed.

So, what would death feel like

2011-09-06T04:43:00.000-07:00

Why can't I be terrified of dying like everyone else? I've heard that people do extraordinary things during life-and-death situations. Adrenaline has a way of making absurd ideas feasible.

I guess this is because I really don’t have anything to live for. This non-fear in death; I look in the mirror and instead of smiling and thinking, “you’re alive today” – it seems as though I’m just staring blankly at what would seem like a “well, at least you’re alive today” sign in my forehead.

I know that sounds horrible but I’ve got nothing. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to keep me going. I have friends, school work and various commitments – but they all seem so trivial, so mundane, so boring. It’s worth hauling my ass out of bed and I’m grateful for distractions and plans such as these but they don’t matter at all because one day, I’m going to die and all these little things won’t make sense in the long run. I’m going to forget them, maybe start anew, repeat process and stop trying. And then I’ll probably die.

There was this one time that can be considered as a near-death situation that presented itself to me. Camp Marina. 45 minutes past 2 in the afternoon. 2010.

Hiking’s been a good exercise regimen I used to go with my dad. Then it all stopped when June was around the corner. Long story short, don’t eat too much before a hike, know your way around the place, tiny rocks tend to make fun of you by causing you to slip and grass isn’t exactly the best thing to grip on when you’re hanging for your life.

Or maybe I’m just exaggerating. Maybe the big rocks and sharp branches of cut down trees which I would have fallen into would feel like marshmallows, rainbows and sunshine.

Yeah, maybe.

Wish I could say more on the matter, but I vaguely remember my dad pulling me up and commenting, “That was a clean break” and then proceed to clean and bandage up my wounds. There should’ve been the adrenaline rush, the life flashing before your eyes thing – but no.

I wish I could say that a gigantic earthquake greeted this strange moment, but I was too preoccupied to notice any catastrophic shaking.

The irony of that situation is not one I'm willing to face.

Then I wonder if – if not death, what? Is there any other meaningful purpose in life that would grant you that vibe? That intense woah did you just feel that funk? The adrenaline coursing through you that makes you feel... well, something?

Is that what love would feel like? Because I would never know. I just hope that whenever I fall into or out of love, it would be a straight-up slap in my face to realise that I’ve been fucking around my entire life. I hope that with love or whatever worthwhile thing I will find, it will give me the fireworks and life-altering experience they all claim it to be because if it won’t, I will be extremely disappointed. And I will be as jaded and emo as all this shit is starting to sound like, just more increasingly intense.

For now, I’ll remain content with the ever-increasing deadlines on my head – giving me reason to stay awake.

Reverse piechology.

2011-08-29T01:08:00.000-07:00

My life is that of reverse-psychology. If say, I maintain calm and assured that nothing bad will happen the next day, something will go wrong. And if I let my raving paranoia get the best of me, well, something still goes wrong. The world is against me.

The world may be against me but I love the world. Simply because the world hates me and I like denying it’s satisfaction. Take that, World.

When jokes are unfunny

2011-08-27T01:50:00.000-07:00

Someone made this joke – or okay, in retrospect, I don’t even know if I should be calling it a joke – let’s say she made a statement. It went something like this:

Why did the little girl fall off the swings? Because she didn’t have any arms.

..okay.

How do you even respond to that? I’m not going to laugh because it wasn’t funny at all – not even the slightest. Who makes jokes like that, anyway? Are there really indeed sick bastards that roam the surface of the world who create tasteless, unfunny and downright fucked up statements such as that?

Oh right, apparently she does. And of course – that much is obvious.

Do I rant to her about what I really thought? That would take too long. Maybe I should toughen up and proclaim, “Bitch, shut up” but that would take too much bravado. And also, I would be left stuttering through why I exploded in the first place.

So I gave a humorless, “heh” and went my way.

That’ll leave her guessing because I'm so clever with my retorts.

Remember, I'm the good guy

2011-08-12T06:59:00.000-07:00

Exactly a year ago, this is what happened.

August

Toffee makes me high.

I've established upon myself that I'm a ~good girl~ and I don't plan on drinking alcoholic beverages until I am of consenting age thus I stick to my levels of caffeinated drinks and an imperceptible amount of cakes.

Mmm, cakes.

Anyway, I find myself sitting beside Soda at this party held in Paseo. I'm scratching behind his ear, declining red dixie cups filled of something I don't want to know and just being really, really pathetic. Out of my peripheral vision, I see Yuffie and an unknown brunette waving me over to where they were.

"Mi! We're playing Kings, are you game?"

Note: Kings is the card game you play that gets you shitfaced.

"I'll pass."

She shrugged, pushing the bowl of untouched toffee to me (because no one takes toffee when there's an unlimited supply of alcohol right up in your face) and we sit down at this wide circular table so I could watch them.

As it progressed on, from a table of what was to be around 16 people, there was only me, Yuffie, the unknown brunette who I internally named "Maybe Sophie", two people whom I didn't bother with remembering their names, Andrew and Andrew's ex. Oh and Soda.

So me and my friends were all having a good time. Apparently toffee makes me high because I find myself having a grand time, as well. So we're now all having a great time because when you're drunk (or intoxicated, in my case), everything is just really fucking awesome. I don't hate anyone and no one hates me. Yuffie and Andrew's ex have already declared to name their first-born children after each other. Alcohol is magic.

By the end of the night, I'm straddling that confused border between waking-up-with-a-headache-phase and will-not-remember-anything-in-the-morning.

This whole experience just further strengthens my resolve that I am not going to survive actual hang-overs. I mean, who gets drunk off toffee, anyway?

Unless of course, someone spiked said toffee. Which would never happen, right? Right.

The morning after You know that awesome feeling you get in the morning, when you wake up and just know that that day is going to be amazing, you open your windows and bright sunlight pierces through and birds start chriping and unicorns magically appear and brush your hair?

Yeah. the morning after? Far from that. I have a headache, my arm is throbbing and I feel like shit. I probably look it, too. What's more, I wake up to Lady Gaga assuring me that I was born this way.

I may have had it bad but I'm 8927289739287% sure that someone in the other room has it worse. And in that precise moment, said person walks through the doors, glares at my open windows and falls down next to me on the bed, groaning what sounded like, "too mphfacking strong for the shtmsofaking morning".

"Good morning, Sunshine!" I say, smiling down at her. She growls something low in her throat before burying herself in my pillows.

"Shut up," Yuffie says, or I think that's what she said. Her words are muffled in the pillows so it sounds like "mmphshuffled trup". So there's a huge possibility she could be talking about fish sticks instead.

"Bad morning, Sunshine?"

Instead of an answer, she moans and I immediately feel sorry for her. She had it really bad this morning. Not only is she probably suffering the worst migraine right now but she's going to be naming her child, "Berbara" which is bad enough as it is. I get up, take a few Ibuprofen/Aspirin/Not-M&M-circles and a glass of warm water before laying it down on the bedside table and stroke her hair.

I may not be entirely ready for dealing with any alcohol-induced haze and those horrible puke-my-guts-out feelings accompanied by migraines in the future but for now, I'm fine with taking care of those people who are dealing with puke-my-guts-out feelings, migraines and the occasional crazy because I'm good at it. I'm good at caring for them.

I repeat this mantra over and over in my head as I hold back Yuffie's hair as she gets reaquainted with her past love: the toilet bowl.

Good times, bruv.

Anyway, this is the closest thing I could find for the toffee piece which to this day, I still have no idea if they were spiked or not.

They had caramel in them! Mmm caramel toffee.

An interesting phone call

2011-08-11T02:25:00.000-07:00

Call intercepted between Cailey and Mia, 2:45 am

“So then what happened?”

“Well, he showed me what he was reading and accidentally, he may have shown me his soul.”

“Wow, that’s deep, Mi.”

“I know.”

“Well, was it awkward? Were you terrified?”

“Well you see, at first I was afraid, I was petrified!”

“Very funny, Mi.”

Go jump off a cliff. Literally.

2011-07-19T03:49:00.000-07:00

My inner voice was screaming at me to just go for it, while my logical side implored me not to risk my life in such a reckless manner.

So of course I did it.

Free falling never felt so good.

It’s freedom. It’s sweet, refreshing, aimless fun, and its whoosh, whoosh, whoosh then you hit the water. It’s just awesome. Epic. Extraordinary. Legendary.

Freedom.

Toasters are toasty

2011-06-28T01:02:00.000-07:00

Every idea I have after two am is a bad idea but I’m never coherent enough to realise it. I also know that every moment and event that happens after two am is remarkable, legendary even.

Shame that I never seem to remember those, either.

You're getting ahead of yourself

2011-06-25T06:33:00.000-07:00

Someday, I will own an apartment.

It will be set somewhere that constantly rains because I like the rain. It will have the most amazing view of the city. It won’t be big and ostentatious (but if it will, the realtor probably thought I was claustrophobic or something), but modest yet stylishly sleek. I will install an entertainment system that might cost more than the apartment itself. I will get a puppy and call him “Waldo” so whenever he gets lost; I can be thoroughly amused every time I look for him. I will have three sets of plates: one for special occasions, one for everyday use and one for my family. The walls will be painted in soft hues of blue and gray. Things will be mismatched but everything will always be organized. There will be a lifetime supply of tea and instant noodles in the cupboard.

It won’t be the most grand thing but it will be great.

Anyway, in the meantime, look at this cat pwning some dog.

Awesome.

Faking death?

2011-06-17T02:50:00.000-07:00

There are some things you fake and there are some you don’t.

Last weekend, my parents decided to have an outing because I had a four-day weekend (Saturday + Sunday + Monday (Rizal’s 150^th year) + Tuesday (School Foundation Day).

Anyway, they decided this would be perfect because they thought I deserved a reward because my grades were high (they weren’t), my brother’s application to a job was successful (it wasn’t) ~~and they thought we needed a good change of scenery –~~ basically told us we were lazy asses and needed some fresh, outside air. (accurate.)

So they planned an outing to the beach. Because beaches totally provide the outside feel of the world.

Beaches are okay, never was a huge fan of it or anything. The appeal of beaches though is the complete 360 change of perspective you have once you’re there. Maybe it’s just me but when I’m at the beach, that curry that I would never eat when I’m in the city suddenly looks like the most appetizing thing in the world. The over-spiced chicken and Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey combination doesn’t seem so ridiculous.

Anyway, I’d still rather stay at home and stuff my face with something simpler. Like pizza. I thought I could get away with the “Mum, I’m *cough* sick, maybe I’ll tag along next time, yeah? If there will be a next time... *sniffle cough*” act but no, mum saw right through it. She’s getting better at detection.

Then moments after I figure out that my brother was caught doing the same thing. That explains it.

So we’re all strapped in, seven long hours ahead of us. Seven long dreadful hours of listening to my parents talk about their current hobbies (Mum: Oh, the new Korean drama is to die for! Dad: Maybe you can give me more pop songs? Those disco songs you kids listen to.) Seven long kill-me-now hours of having Kenny Loggins and a dash of K-pop (courtesy of my mum) blaring through the speakers to endure the trip. Seven. Long. Hours.

When we got to the beach, things were looking up. Then again, being committed to K-pop for most of the duration of the ride, anything would be better at this point. Anyway, me and my mum go into the water while my dad talks with his friend and my brother sulks in the corner.

The beach water was freezing. I’ve never experienced something so cold in my life. It was like submerging yourself in a freezer in a stormy blizzard in the North Pole at the coldest time of the year. It was that cold.

Then suddenly, there’s this surprised “woah” from my side. My mum stops moving and time stops. We’re trying to get her out of the water as fast as humanly possible – or in our case, just fast - and we’re able to lie her down gently in our camp site. My dad’s trying to cocoon her with layers and layers of towels and I’m just thinking, “Oh God, no no no. Mum, stay with us! Flower gleam and gl-“.

My dad’s barking orders like, “get more towels!”, “ask for more help!” and "no no, my other left!"

Then my mum yells, “Surprise!” and we all just stare at her.

She’s laughing hysterically and we continue to stare.

She’s stopped laughing and we’re still looking at her.

“Okay, it’s over. Stop staring at me.” We don’t.

“I understand that was not the best approach at family bonding but it worked!” WTF? Family bonding? Where is she getting all this stuff?

“Mum! You can’t just do that! You can’t fake death – oh my God, just... what.”

There are some things you can fake and there are some you don’t. In the “things you don’t and shouldn’t fake or even attempt to fake list” is death. Closely followed by things like cancer, terminal illness, cancer, mental problems, lung cancer, etcetera. The list goes on and on a special note, you really shouldn’t try faking cancer or people would start arranging hospital check-ups and funerals or something. And people will cry. For the third time that day. It happens.

Fake-death is not funny at all and shouldn’t ever be attempted even at the opportunity of being the greatest prank ever. Or a “family team building exercise”. No, it’s not funny. At all.

Okay, maybe it is a little funny. But only just a little.

I think the reason why grandparents and grandchildren are close is because we have a common enemy

2011-05-24T05:14:00.000-07:00

The first time I learned how to ride a bike was an unconventional one. I had all of my protective gear and had “Highway to the Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins accompanying my swag. I would’ve had the whole “going to feel the wind kiss my hair, smooth ride” act down.

Except I didn’t.

My grandfather guided me in my first biking experience - I should add that my bike was the coolest thing ever; it was dark blue and had a bell and a place to secure my water bottle. So basically, had everything I ever needed – décor, music and food storage.

Now, my grandfather was never one of those, “take it slow, you’ll learn eventually, patience is a virtue” type of guy. No, he’s the type who would rip off band-aids at lightning speed than carefully peeling it off. Why would you prolong pain than have it in one blast and get it over with? I guess I should’ve expected that other activities would be as unconventional as my grandfather.

So instead of approaching my bike with care, he basically put me down on the seat, no past experience/knowledge on biking, and no training wheels – and pushed me forward.

In short, my grandfather is awesome.

My granddad always sided with me. I think he’s always favoured me over my brother which is fair since my grandmum likes my brother better thus we always have this I'm the better grandchild contest so it’s all good. My granddad would always laugh at my jokes ~~no matter how lame~~ okay, my jokes are awesome so he’s cool for understanding them. Cool doesn’t even do him justice, he's stupendous. He’d listen to my rants, pat me on the back when I needed it the most and ripped off my band-aided wounds at lightning speed.

He's the best.

And he left. For Canada – which means I won’t be seeing him for two years or so. He’s not the type to call, send letters and most especially, not the type to say goodbye. I always thought that with the years and years of sermons and orders and excruciating pain associated with band-aids being ripped off at lightning speed that I would finally, finally know what kind of granddad he is – to grasp his thought process, to get used to him and be able to go, “okay, one less authority to rebel against to” when he left.

But I never did. I never will, I suppose.

What I’m trying to say is that, I miss my granddad. I could list all the regrets I have such as not spending enough time with him, not teaching him how to use his phone properly –which would have given him an incentive to contact me, etc. He has asked me plenty times of what I’d want from the outside-outside world but seriously? A proper goodbye would’ve been nice. It would have been more than nice, actually.

Well, anyway, for your swag:

Granddad, I can finally ride to this, just so you know.

Decisions, decisions

2011-05-10T05:30:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when my mum feels super awesome and happy, she’s extra generous to me and my brother. This is usually shown through the purchase of toys, clothes and games for me and food, airsoft equipment plus support for my brother.

Today it was food.

She sends a text to my brother asking what we’d want for dinner. And that’s it, no “but it can only be of the salad variety” or “think of what you’re eating before you text back, okay? Like chicken” or maybe, “anything but pizza” which basically rules out half in our list, nope, nothing. She’s letting us freely decide what we want and to you it may seem like a miniscule thing but for me and my brother, ~~it means the world to us~~ it’s pretty damn awesome to choose whatever we want for dinner.

We could have steak from that really delicious place we ate last week whose name I forgot! We could order the entire KFC list! We could have gourmet cupcakes from Cupcake or fro-yo from that appropriately named store called Fro-Yo! We could have Casa Verde whose food just ranges from om nom nom to nom nom goodness. Or we could get Yellowcab or something.

The possibilities were endless and time was ticking away. Dinner choice is one of the hardest decisions we’ve ever faced.

In the end, we sent mum a text telling her, “You decide, anything is fine.”

So now Mum has the burden of choosing. Kids (16, 22) shouldn't be given this arduous task. Ah well.

I love my brother really but

2011-05-02T06:53:00.000-07:00

"Hello? Oh hey, Mum. What's up?"

"Is Mia there?"

"Hand me the-"

"Yeah, but she can't come to the phone right now."

"Yes I can! Stop making shi-"

"Oh? What's she doing?"

"I don't know, watching some Flynn Riding Hood thing."

Oh, brother.

A Constant Reminder of Why Gavin is Awesome

2011-04-29T00:28:00.000-07:00

My last blog post was about how psyched I was for Tangled being replayed in Ayala Center Cinema. I told my mum that I planned on seeing it with a friend and had managed to convince her with my accurate speech of silver-engraved platters containing stuff of the fast food variety and she acquiesced- but only if my grandparents drove me there and stayed with me.

It's cool, my grandparents are awesome.

Then this realization hit me like a skillet on steroids. Yes, I say the skillet is on steroids rather than someone on steroids hitting me with a skillet because I don't think I know someone who hates me that immensely to hit me with a skillet. Or anyone that's on steroids. And also, I'm not that clumsy to hit myself with a skillet okay.

Nope.

And I'm not on steroids. I'm on a natural high.

Anyway, first, I realized that I had just spent all my recent allowance on last week's escapades. I'm not surprised, I'm really hopeless with money. Second, the day it was being shown, April 24, is a Sunday. And not just any Sunday, Easter Sunday.

I call up Princess since she was the person I planned on watching it with. After about three and a half rings, the polite "Good afternoon, this is Mia, may I please speak to Princess?", the phone being passed on, Princess already knew what I was getting at, I didn't have to ask, she and I both knew she couldn't go.

It's fine. I don't see anything wrong with going to the movies by myself - anyone could be awkward and shy about it but I'm going there like I rule the world.

Turns out, I needn't to be awkward and shy nor did I have the chance to turn my swag on. The Tangled screening was only for kids who had these Easter passes that you should claim before that day.

Cue the tears.

My grandparents had managed to drag me to the nearest table, stuff an apple shake in my trembling hands all the while muttering to themselves things like, "crying for a kid's movie", "like she hasn't watched this over a hundred times" and "friends deserve a reward for keeping up with her." Then they patted me on the back and told me we could watch something else.

Of course, since I was looking like a five year old who's candy was just taken away - red faced and tear stained shirt- it's only best that I act it, too. "But I want to see Tangled!"

Enter Gavin, a good friend of mine who I haven't kept in touch with in forever, who had just come out of the Gnomeo and Juliet cinema with his little cousin who I vaguely remember.

"Mia, hey! Remember me? Of course you do! Look at you, you look different! Hey, Mr. and Mrs. ____! Haven't seen you guys in awhile as well! How're Tita __ and Tito ___ doin'? Good? That's awesome. Oh us? We just watched that gnome movie - real cute. You remember my cousin, right? Before the movie, we did this crazy Easter thing they held awhile ago. Hey, we have leftover popcorn, you want some? No? Oh and - Mia, are you crying? Why are you crying?"

I think it's important to add that yes, it took him awhile to notice I was crying. Maybe he did it out of politeness. Or maybe his attention span is just short. I really don't know.

"She can't get over the fact that she can't watch that Rapunzel movie," my granddad explains. I sniffle.

Gavin purses his lips and his cousin is pulling at my shirt. "I guess you didn't hear what I said earlier, come on, let's watch it together. You can use Pip's extra ticket her friend left her, I think it's about to start."

I don't really remember what happened after that - I was instantly ushered into the theater, tub of popcorn on one hand, refilled apple shake on the other. When I did regain consciousness, we were already seated and the opening credits were just starting which means there was still enough light to see the audience ambling to their seats. None of them reached our waists.

Anyway, it was awesome. Awesome, awesome, awesome. I can finally say I properly watched Tangled in the cinemas. And it was awesome.

What made it even more awesome was Gavin's occasional commentary on the film. As an art student, he knew how to appreciate the movie for the visual effects so he'd whisper his two cents about it. Also, he fully supports me on my SW - Tangled theory.

Best part? When kids got too excited about whatever they had going on in their seats, Gavin would reprimand them. It went from, "Be quiet!" to "Shut up when Rapunzel's singing/Flynn's being awesome!" I don't think he was aware that these were kids.

I don't think he really cares even if he was aware anyway.

Again, please

2011-04-22T19:49:00.001-07:00

Pushing little kids out of the way with nary an apologetic glance making one or two cry in the process, having toppled over the stand promoting Rio in one corner, knocking over someone's fries while elbowing past people and I’m pretty sure I stepped on a few toes but those don’t matter really. No, these are obstacles that I had to face to become:

First in line to watch Tangled 3-D again in Ayala Center. YES, THEY’RE REPLAYING IT OH GOD I CAN HARDLY CONTAIN MY ENTHUSIASM EVIDENTLY SHOWN HERE WITH MY UNNECESSARY USE OF CAPITALIZATION

I don’t know why Ayala is replaying it actually. Now I regret sleeping during the first time I watched Tangled, or parts rather, when it premiered last November. Why I slept, I have no idea. I always sleep in theatres because a. usually, the seats are comfy b. I’m filled with popcorn and c. it’s cold – perfect sleeping temp. Anyway, I slept through it and never knew of it’s awesomeness until last March when my classmate for names sake I will call “Berry” introduced me to it. She first told me about it last December but I paid no mind because I was still busy reeling with Christmas party plans/How to escape Christmas party plans without being a douche. Anyway, long story short, watched it during my second day of exams, loved it, regret the fact that I didn’t watch it on the big screen and now here.

I’m just going to say that Ayala’s replaying it because God heard my persistent pleas and prayers of, “Please please let me watch Flynn Rider in HD on a big screen, please” and well, initially, that was to back-up my other wish of having an LCD TV set up in my room but having it on the cinemas works too, God. Thanks.

I tell my mum about my awesome idea of watching it with a friend, eat somewhere nice and play Timezone until we pass out or run out of money, whichever comes first. My mum doesn’t think it’s such an awesome idea because there’s supposedly some huge sale simultaneously happening on that day and she doesn’t want to get trampled on. Or die.

Um, what.

Having God work His mojo on getting the officials of Ayala think, “Hey, let’s have Tangled play again in all cinemas of all branches of Ayala but it’ll only happen on this one day because I really don’t know but yeah,” stuff like this doesn’t happen a lot and it would be a shame to pass on this rare opportunity.

I mean, Mum, look at it this way, not that you’re reading this or anything (but if you are, I have a perfectly perfect and logical reason as to why I'm ranting and venting out in the interwebs that I will deliver to you once it's safe for me to come home without you threatening to choke me in my sleep for all the insanity ensued that this might have caused, k thanks.), the opportunity God has presented me, THIS opportunity is sort of like a good bacon-cheeseburger. God offers you this said burger on a silver platter, with your name engraved and everything. Passing up this offer is not only refusing God’s symbolic bacon-cheeseburger but slamming that hypothetical silver engraved platter with all its goodness sealed inside on God’s holy face.

You wouldn’t want to do that, would you?

Rio and HOTD2

2011-04-20T14:46:00.000-07:00

I watched Rio yesterday with a few friends. It was about a bird that doesn't know how to fly then learned how to fly in the end because ~~it's pathetic and lame to be a bird and don't know how to fly, you know when that's instinct~~ he had to save his lovey dovey. There was much merrymaking. Before, during and after he learned how to fly. Oh, and there was catchy music, too.

Despite my sorry excuse for an attempt at summarising the movie, it was actually pretty good. It was visually appealing - the color palette, the characters, it featured good music and the vocal performance was projected well.

In other news, after watching Rio with some friends, we head on over to Timezone because Timezone is awesome and we had time to waste. And money as well, I guess.

Me and Princess play House of the Dead 2 much to my pleasure and to Coffee’s dislike. Coffee doesn’t like shooter games for some reason. Anyway, HOTD2 is a 2-player FPS game where you kill zombies and be epic. It’s the sequel to HOTD but with much more updated graphics and better plot development, in my opinion.

Yay Zombies!

Anyway, you have to save victims throughout the course of the game as well by carefully killing the zombies that are chasing or in the midst of killing them.

Having played this game countless times before, be it by myself or with my brother, I know when and where zombies are coming from.

“Oh watch out, there’s a zombie here somewhere.” “Wait wait, don’t let your guard down, the zombie with the killer chainsaw is here.” “The boss’s weak point is its tiny companion friend, note that the tiny fairy thing goes exactly to this part on the screen when the boss raises it’s axe. Yeah.”

“Mia, how long have you been playing this game, anyway? You have it memorized!” Princess says, eyes glued to the screen, a determined look on her face.

That’s a silly question but I smile anyway and keep on shooting. Questions like that are like asking me how many figurines I have of Snoopy, why I’m terrified of gnomes or how many times I’ve seen Tangled. Ha ha yeah.

I don’t know how many times I’ve watched it.

Coffee mentions something like, “it makes me wonder how long Mia stays at arcades” or something but I’m not sure because I’m too busy correcting my aim.

Coffee leaves when I and Princess reach the first boss of the game and it’s a shame really because that’s where me and Princess were being absolutely housin and stuff. And when our arms started aching.

Don’t get me wrong, Princess is a good shooter although she says otherwise, claiming she’s “not that good cause’ I haven’t played these in forever”, her shots come in rapid succession sort of like, doing a Rambo ala handgun style. But when it comes to saving victims, well..

“Okay, Princess, there’s a victim here flanked by two zombies. I’ll take the one on the right and you kill the one on the le- or you could just kill the victim and we have to kill them head on, yeah.”

“There’s a victim here somewhere or- okay, you found him. Yep, he’s dead.”

“Ohhh, the victims actually die when we shoot them?”

“Yep, and we lose a life when we shoot them.”

“Huh, isn’t it them that lose a life when they die?” Point taken.

Um, remember: the point of this game is to save the victims.

Not the other way around.

Overall, it was a fun time although we wasted lots of credit (and money) on the game even though we didn’t finish it. We did reach the Emperor which is the boss on the last stage and I was impressed with that.

So yeah, I’d love to do it again sometime even though that means saving both our asses again. Worth it.

You called?

2011-04-19T03:00:00.000-07:00

Andrew's answering machine:
"Hey this is Yuffie and you have reached Andrew's phone. He's not here at the moment but-"
*shuffling noise*
"Yuffie, the fuck are you doing? Give me that!"
"I'm not done yet! Wait-"
"It's my phone, I'll just delete that after anyway."
"And then I'l make another one. And another and another-"
"Damn it, it's not fucking rocket science, everyone knows to leave a me-"
"And leave a message after the beep."
*more shuffling noise*
..."Here comes the beep!" -beep-
"Is this a bad time or..? I could always call back."

Text intercepted between Mia and Scathen:
"Hey, when are we going to get on with that.. thing?"
"Or we could just get it on."
"NO OMG STOP IT YOU"
"You won't be saying that once we start."

Call between Travis and Mia:
"Du-nuh... du-nuh.. dunuh dunuh-"
"Trav, are you seriously- stop annoying me with the Jaws theme, I can hear you from across the room!"
"That's 'cause I'm literally across the room from you."
"Okay, I'm hanging up."
"Wait!"
"What?"
"Pass the chips?"

3:42 am
Cailey: We could get a bunch of Harrison Ford movies, it'll be fun!
Yuffie: My physics revisionnn-
Mia: Intimidate it.
Yuffie: With what? My logic?
Mia: No, with a shredder.
Cailey: Smart.
Yuffie: ... 'Kay, let's watch some Indiana Jones. Physics rev can wait.
Cailey: Yay!
Mia: And Star Wars!
Yuffie: Awesome, okay.
Cailey: Yep.
*hang up*
Mia: .. so nobody says "bye" anymore or..?

I know the perfect title for the first blog post

2011-04-17T04:55:00.001-07:00

So, you've probably stumbled in here by accident and now, cursing whatever it is/was that led you here, wondering what the heck this is. Well, let me answer you in the most straight forward way I could possibly manage.

I. Don't. Know. Either.

What I do know is that I was never interested in blogs before, mostly because I know I'm going to abandon it at some point in life and the fact that I never know what to blog about. Put those two together and it's the perfect combination for my disinterest in the blogging world.

But as that statement goes, "the only thing constant in the world is change", my perspective on the whole blogging fad changed. You see these guys writing like a boss about the exciting and sometimes exaggerated adventures of their lives and it made me realise that, well, I like writing and I like my life so here's me giving it a shot, I suppose.

Oh and there's also that excitement and satisfaction I get wherein I can finally say, "This is so going in my blog!" and actually have somewhere to write said blog. Exhibit A:

Barney Stinson.

So that's that. And also, for Cailey,

You told me to make a post about something seaside. This is that something.