This is one NOT-HOT summer. (Literally and figuratively)
The weather is just awesome. Ok, I’m kidding, it sucks--- big time. Scattered rain clouds, frosty winds, and dreary skies. It is utterly unacceptable that THIS, right here, is already ‘summer’.
I guess Global Warming is taking its stage now. Curse those first world countries for puffing out too much toxins in the atmosphere. Now I get rains on summer and heat waves on supposedly rainy seasons.
Dear Mother Earth, Sorry.
To add to the weather malfunctions, is the summer class uniforms. It is compromised of
Simply spells U-G-L-Y. We resemble fry cooks on a cheap fast food chain franchised in an overpopulated third world country. Or if we luckily pull it off nicely, at least we look like salesladies/men on an over-rated department store. That is as good as it’s going to get.
Just imagine the pain of walking down town and being tapped in the shoulders to be asked: “Miss, where’s the CR?” Oh for heaven sake! It’s upsetting.
And did I mention NO accessorize were allowed? No ring. No earring. No bracelet. No necklace. Just a silver wristwatch and a pair of fresh black socks.
Summer classes murdered my Fashion Sense.
MURDERED. SLAUGHTERED. BUTCHERED.
But I have to live with it. I took up Nursing, so here it goes. Choke it in.
And if you surmise that the uniforms are atrocious, wait until you get to classes. The words SUMMER and CLASSES just never seemed to fit for me. It’s too bizarre. I declare it illegal.
History + I.T + NCM = ZZZZZZZ
Good thing I’m going to Manila on the 28th, at least some escape from all the mayhem that is summer school. 10 days of shopping therapy. (This is the part where I hear angels sing gloriously under a bright ray of light.)
I see the bleak future, my 2nd year professor asking me: “How was your summer?”
And me coldly retorting: “ WHAT SUMMER?”
"He's busy looking at the red shiny balloon up in the sky...He forgot there was a melting Vanilla ice cream in his hand."
“Papunta ka palang. Pabalik na ako.” That is what we nine times out of ten hear from grown-ups as we share ideas and experiences with them. That is what my mom told me last night during a long sermon mass after trying to make an excuse of why I was five minutes late for my curfew. That is even what my ears perceive our neighbor shouts to her children every night. It spells out, “You’re still on your way, and I’m already going back.” Well, of course, that is true. With the years they have in their pockets, what do we [the younger ones] know?
Humans have tendencies, and this is one of them- the tendency for older people to act superior over the younger ones. Cain experienced it; Noah’s children went through it; and even the young Hitler had to hear the deafening hourly sermons of his parents. I am sure as sunset that every single teenager in the world has to deal with this natural tendency. They have roamed the earth longer, breathe deeper and walk slower, does this mean they know the secret to happiness? Does this mean they rule in their own rights?
I do not despise adults. I love them. We, the teenagers, cannot survive a day without them. Not only to they pay my tuition fee, phone bills, and lifestyle- they also in fact amuse me.
The adults say, “studies first, friends later”. For them, education is much more important than ‘barkada’ [friends]. I do not disagree. Good education is in direct equation to good job opportunities. This is what they say we should focus on, not the relationship and interaction we encounter with fellow men. Some adults, they concentrate on their jobs so they could earn, earn and earn- friends later. Some, however, do not practice what they preach. Amusing, is it not?
Adults consider teenage love stories the silliest of articles. They do not consider them real love. Stuff toys and love notes seem so childish and pathetic. Even the occasional holding of hands looks inane. Adults say only they know what real love is—they, who some, only see their spouses during breakfast and bedtime; some who forget anniversaries; some of them who have not understood the lines between lyrics of love songs; they who have not felt the warmth of the hug of their companions for days. Amusing, is it not?
“What on earth are you wearing?” screamed old-fashioned grown-ups after seeing young boys wearing baggy pants and untied sneakers, or girls wearing their hairs down for the wind to sway. The young generations’ fashion taste is a million mile far different from that of the older ones. Grandparents say we dress inappropriately. Our choice for clothes is indigestible. Classic is always en vogue. Yesterday, I saw a couple of teachers in the hall and I thought: don’t they look good in those rock-hard ironed suits? And those pencil skirts, just imagine how fast they could run in an emergency. Not to mention hairstyles sleeker than a road splashed with oil. Amusing, is it not?
“Children should not meddle into adult talks,” said the elderly. For they are the ones who know the rules, they are the ones who make the rules. They run the government and look over the world. May I ask, are the children the only one who breaks the rules? Are the children the ones who corrupt? Are the children the ones starting the war? Amusing, I might say.
They do deserve our respect. They do deserve our time. But they have to take into consideration that we too deserve their respect and that we too deserve their time. Their voices are just as loud as ours. Their dreams are just as real as ours. Their logics are just as true as ours. Yes, time has given them the credit to be more experienced, to be more knowledgeable on facts. But some things about them that seem to go against what they should be defined. They not only get arthritis and diabetes, they are also too vulnerable to the sad case of close mindedness.
Is it not amusing how happy adults pretend to be despite the factors that they unconsciously create that halts them from being so? Is it not just too droll that they focus on facts than real life itself so that they could say they have a life? Whose smiles are real smiles? If you are an adult or you believe to be one, go look in the mirror and see- inhale the truth. The day I will have to add digits to my age, I will not close my mind to what is real. Ignorance will not be my friend.
Despite everything, adults still rule. Literally.
Browsing through my grade school yearbook, I began to laugh. It is like the yearbook transformed into one big giant joke book, just take a glimpse of my picture- you’ll laugh for ages. I had the goofiest ugly face. Back in the day, I thought I was averagely cool. Now, I can see how I made that misconception. I remember walking down hallways with my head tilted down. I remember people shielding their eyes when I smile; the metal in my mouth never failed to amaze ignorant fools. I remember being dark, really dark. I did spend hours under the sun, what sixth grade cares for his or her dear lovely complexion? My hair was frizzy and my face was shabby. I was such an ugly duckling. I was a giant red target, ready to be shot at. I had too many flaws, in an environment where flaws must never be.
Sometimes, people take advantage of those flaws and weaknesses- these are bullies. I learned about bullies on television, they take lunch moneys and give wedgies. But unaware was I before, that I had my own personal bully. No, my lunch money was safe and my underpants were never out of place. I had a different kind of bully- the worst kind. The kind that picks on one’s inner being. The kind that bullies on one’s confidence and strengths and transforms you to be the worthless chicken that bully wants.
There was this girl in my ***** grade class. She was the ----test, I guess. I never looked up to her though for she was a bad grass. An evil grass actually. I do not want to ruin her name. Often did she brag about how great and awesome her so-called magnificent ***** was. And just as often, she pounds on my self- esteem. She despises my entire existence.
Initially, I could not understand why. She never greets me in the morning, yet she has been to all my birthday parties. She hates me but she shows everyone else that I was her friend. She treated me fine in front of others but badly when alone. She was my master and I was her personal slave. I would do all the tasks she was assigned to do, and she would present it as her own. All credits were showering sparkly on her as I strived to accomplish papers and consents for every night. I was greatly affected by her bullying.
Every action I make is like crossing the road. I check both sides of the streets to make sure no car (her) was there to hit me. She has a way with words. She never failed to make me feel bad about myself. She was really good in making me feel dumb and worthless.
But I have had it. I had enough of her. I was happy and she hated seeing me happy. And I hate her hating me for being happy! Why did she have to ruin every happy moment I have. I had enough of being plankton in an ocean where she gets to be the big fish. I know my worth and I deserve better.
So I confronted her, for the very first time, I spoke up to her. “%$&%&, What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you have to step on me all the time? Why can’t you just live a life of your own, away from mine? Never did I bother you. Never did I say anything to you. Yet you continue to make my life a living hell. I am happy. I do not give a damn whether you approve of it or not. Cause you know why? You are no one.” It was one of the scariest parts of my life. Everyone in that room that day was left in shocked after hearing what I said. And to be honest, I said more than what I have written here. (&*%*^$& all once intimidated them and they never expected anyone to ever have the courage to stand up to her and slam her doings to her face.
I stood up to someone I once feared. And I felt great. I felt free. I felt like a whale, no longer that tiny plankton in the bottom of the ocean. I was never bullied over again after that. I am ME. And no one can ever step on me ever again.
Bullies pull you down because you are above them. Someway somehow, you are better than them. Next time a bully comes up to pick on me, I will know the exact words to pound them back; or the exact silence that would surely kill them.
By the dark corner of a window I sat alone shivering in the damp foggy cold. I stared at raindrops flowing like tears in the stained window glass. The room was terribly cold, terribly sad. Silence echoed on the corners, like the screams of hell. Fragrance of dead roses filled the four murky walls. Life no longer existed.
I escaped the sight of the forsaken room and looked outside into the dimmed dank streets. Fewer souls were walking on the pavements that dreary day. And those willing ones who were out in the fog were wearing black coats, black scarves, black jackets. Black, for they mourn their identity. They hide. They all seemed so small from my point of view, like minuscule ants marching in the dirt. They seemed worthless. And more importantly, they seemed alone. At that moment, I inhaled the sad truth. I came to realization that we are indeed alone. We are just one. We are by ourselves.
We talk to other people’s ears, dance to other people’s feet, and sing along with other people’s voices. But all those are just endeavors to escape the truth that we are absolutely lonely. This is what all humans have in common. This is the realization all humans fear of.
I kept on glancing above the streets. I saw this young little boy in rugged clammy clothes, begging for food. He looked cold and pale. Men and women in black coats and jackets passed by him, never bothering. Even four storeys above, I saw the sadness in his young innocent eyes. I felt his pain. Like me, he was alone.
Now you see what I meant. We are individuals responsible for our own being. No one cared for that boy but himself. He was seen but never heard by the strangers passing by. He was nothing but another soul temporarily striving in this sorrowful world.
Loneliness eats us from within. It is like leprosy- or worse. It is up to us if we will let it devour us or not. Since we are individuals, it is we, as separate beings, that decide for our own fate. How we feel is out of our hands, but how we decide is controllable. You already know you are pathetically sad, now what are going to do about it?
If you took my words wrong, spare me the details of your suicide.
