The Bridal Shower

I have never been to bridal showers. Last Sunday was my first taste of an all-girls (naughty) slumber party. I am, of course, not the naughty type so I kind of slightly panicked when my friend Sab and Vergic informed me about the "porn star" theme of our surprise bridal shower for a college friend, Ivy. First off, I do not own any belongings you can consider pornographic. I'm really trying hard to get away from those. Wait, lemme think again... Haha! So, thanks to Nicole Kidman's style in Eyes Wide Shut, I was able to bring a long-sleeved polo. Unfortunately, an insane photographer friend named Mads forced me out of my long-sleeves and obliged me to wear a black spaghetti-strapped dress. It was quite a nightmare to wear 'cause I could see fats bulging out of the dress everytime I look at the mirror. I also could not contend with my friends. Hell, they've got the nicest curves.

I had so much fun that night. I always have fun spending time with the DreamTeam (a group of friends from college) but this time the party was exclusive for girls. Unsurprisingly, I screwed up the surprise due to my stupidity. I was hastily putting away gadgets from the table (while Sab, Irene and Marthina were already hiding on their own as a part of the preparation to surprise Ivy) when the door was opened by Vergic, Ivy and Ara. I panicked and stupidly attempted to salvage the situation by covering myself with a varnished chair. It was really stupid 'cause I was still trying to hide pathetically when the lights were finally turned on.

The party started with several narcissistic activities like recording ourselves while singing and dancing in front of my laptop's webcam. We actually looked like hyenas trying to lip-sync the songs playing on Ara's iPod. I guess this is the product of being left by ourselves without any boyfriends in sight. I was dancing and singing like crazy I didn't even care that I was not that close to Ivy during our college days and it might actually be the first time she had seen me behave like that. I didn't really care about what people would say that night. I was having the time of my life and I have never felt so free just exhausting myself like that.

The night was unbelievable. It started with games organized by Sab such as "Pinoy Henyo", charades and the infamous clay-molding. I could not stop myself from enjoying so much that I have completely forgotten every external factor which has been bothering me lately. The night was naughty, yes, but nobody ever talked about sex. Nobody ever asked who's done it or with whom. It was a crazy night but I must say, it was still a wholesome celebration. I'm not sure how my other friends define "wholesome" but I really believed we were sexy that night in a very wholesome way. :-)At first, I was quite hesitant how to behave because Ivy and I never really hang out back in college. We have lots of common friends but never really had the chance to get to know each other so I was kind of surprised that she was actually very fun and easy to hang out with. I am very happy about her getting married. I heard the groom-to-be is a very spiritual and good-hearted man.Hence, the celebration made me wonder who among my friends would get hitched next. I'm positive it won't be me so it's either Gervic or Marthina. Hahaha just a dumb inside joke! I realized that we're not getting any younger. Sooner or later, our "get togethers" would gradually include lesser attendees. Maybe Sab or Mads would be next in the wedding lane. I don't know. All I know is that I should be ready when that day comes. I have to start taking my life seriously and stop procrastinating like a spoiled brat. I will not be able to just text Irene or walk Me-an into a corner to tell her my frustrations. Sooner or later, we would all be having our different lives. I will not be able to ask Vergic out anytime or chat with Ara about our recent ramblings. I will not be able to debate with Sab about current events or joke around with Marthina. Holy crap, I'm such a worried freak. I just can't help but imagine how it would all turn out after many years. It's really hard when you become emotionally-attached too much with people. You tend to be sensitive with regard to these kinds of issues or maybe it's just me.

What the heck, this bridal shower has more purpose in my life than I have expected. It wasn't just a fun and extraordinary night. It's a night to remember and to be pondered upon. Now, it's time to sigh...

I'm getting worse each day

Last week, while unwittingly consuming carbon monoxide during our 30-minute ride from Binan to San Pedro, Laguna, Lance and I engaged into a reflective conversation which led us into agreeing how our current life activities seemed to have become unproductive and "unlike us". I haven't been coming to work on time for the past 2 months. I'm always late and I'm afraid I have consumed most of my sick leaves for the last year to cater my nocturnal habits and idiosyncrasies. I'm reaching my work quota, though, despite my numerous "undertimes" and tardiness. I also tried going to work on Sundays to make up for my half days during Tuesdays and Wednesdays because of graduate school. I'm really trying, you know. However, each day at work seemed to be dragging me down into being a lowlife. School, friends, Lance, pets, and home are the only elements of excitement in my life right now. I'm afraid I'm becoming someone I have always sworn never to be--a slob.

In our conversation, I reluctantly swallowed my pride and told Lance, "lagi ko naiisip... hindi kaya lahat ng kine-claim ko sa sarili ko puro front lang para ma-establish ko identity ko sa iba." (I've always been thinking. . . is it possible that everything I claim myself to be is merely a front to establish my identity to others?). I was looking far ahead of me avoiding his eyes. I was afraid his eyes would agree. He didn't say anything at once so I decided to elaborate more (still not looking at him).

"Lagi ko sinasabi mahilig ako magsulat. Hindi na nga ako halos nakakasulat sa journal ko, ng stories ko. Laging 'di natatapos. Sabi ko mahilig ako magbasa eh yung huling librong binili ko di ko pa natapos." (I always say I love to write. I haven't been writing on my journal. . . I can't even finish my stories. I said I love reading but I didn't even get to finish the last book I've bought.)

"Tinatamad ka na kasi, mahal." (Because you're becoming lazy). He softly responded. I was so ready for his answer that I almost nodded in agreement simultaneously. Then he shared that he, too, is having the same dilemma. He enjoys freehand drawing so much and actually has the time to perform them but he would just end up playing in Facebook or watching his favorite anime. We're both afraid that we'll lose the skills if we continue on tolerating our procrastinating habits. It's like we're having some extreme “mental block” which is severely affecting our productivity. This is why Paulo Coelho's tweet about routine is very timely for me, “Don't allow routine to transform you in[to] someone you're not.”

Indeed, I am transforming into someone I hate to be. I want to go back to my old self who always finds the minutest light in the darkest places. I know I may not be making any sense. Work is draining me--the nature of it and the management which poorly handles it. It sounds bad to blame the very reason why I am enjoying graduate school but I can't help it. So, before I start on ranting and complaining about work, I'd better publish this one and start believing again that everything will soon be alright.

frustrating goodbyes

Last September 21, I saw my 11-year old cousin, Joanne, sitting quietly on the sofa who seemed to be on the verge of crying. Mama, Papa, AJ, and I were about to leave to go back home to Laguna. Barbara, my other 9-year old cousin was sitting on the staircase staring at us as our family exchange hugs and kisses with my grandmother, aunts and uncles. Joanne and Barbara are AJ's playmates throughout our 2-day stay in Pangasinan. I gave Joanne a warm hug and said goodbye to Barbara. I could just feel Joanne's frustration vibrating on my body as she tried unsuccessfully to cover her sadness with a teary white-toothed smile.

When Jun and I were kids, our whole family would visit our grandparents house in Pangasinan once a year where we would spend about 2 to 4 days strolling around the town and playing with the pigs. It was always the same routine. Upon arriving, we would spend the first few hours ignoring Meljohn, Nineng, and Matong out of shyness. Then after some parental efforts, we would find ourselves enjoying each other's company playing patintero, mataya-taya, tumbang preso, and langit lupa. We also enjoyed fooling around our Tito Eloy's tricycle or Tito Mel's bicycle. I can even remember constantly picking the “S” volume of the encyclopedia to check out pictures of snakes and they would all gather around me to look (though they have seen them all their lives). We would even ask our parents to allow us to sleep together in one room so we could wrestle and scare the hell out of each other's wits. One of the most remarkable moments that I have with them was our beach trip in Bayambang. We kept fighting the huge waves and drowning each other for fun. I was already in college at that time yet I was having the time of my life playing with them on the shore like we always did when we were kids. I actually went home on my wet clothes. I had to go home with a huge towel wrapped around me because I have forgotten to bring the bag where I stuffed my clothes due to utmost excitement. I didn't think it was embarrassing. I actually thought it was fun.

The sad part would always be the time of parting. Just when we were getting all comfortable with each other, we have to say goodbye and end the short vacation. It was frustrating. Yes, I always missed our cousins back in Laguna every time we're in Pangasinan but it wasn't that hard to say goodbye because we knew we would be back in no time. I have always wished we could've had more time with our cousins in Pangasinan. This is why I could just relate to Joanne and Barbara's sadness. All the perkiness faded from them when the clock struck 1:00 am—it's time for the first trip back to Manila. Even AJ has stopped yelling and laughing. I saw the three of them bid each other goodbye but they never hugged or kissed. I wish I could just tell them it's okay and that we would be back next year, anyway. But I just knew how horrible the feeling is knowing that next year, we have to start over again. The next time we visit, we have to adjust again to fill in one year of distance and no communication.

Now, Meljohn, Nineng, Matong don't interact much with Jun and me anymore. I'm not sure if it's one of the side effects of all the abrupt Hi's and Goodbye's in a short period of time. Maybe we all realized that there's no use trying to build something because we are aware that it won't be long until we part again. Or maybe we are just simply growing up and having different lives. I hope it's the latter because I don't want to spoil everything for my sister, Barbara, and Joanne. I have seen how they enjoyed each other's company so much even for only two days. I hope they keep in touch.

first attempt to free verse

(I was waiting for Lance yesterday at Chowking Gil Puyat when I started writing a letter for him to pass the time. I was surprised and frustrated that I didn't have my pile of notepads with me so I wrote on my order receipt instead. It was a small piece of paper. After an hour I had to find another way to keep me busy so I could avoid getting impatient with him for keeping me waiting. I have always enjoyed tissue papers--for writing and wiping. Thanks to the tissue paper for keeping me company for 2 more hours of waiting.)



first attempt to free verse

Would you tell me of the moment
when your heart would stop beating for me?
Or would you just look at me
and let me find the signs?

Would you be cruel and dismiss me
if I try to kiss your lips?
Or would you kiss me still
and let me feel the dryness of it?

Would you stop writing love letters
when I send you one out of love?
Or would you respond with poetries
but hopes they're for somebody else?

Would you refuse my hand
if I ask you to dance?
Or would you sweep me off my feet
without the old and rhythmic beat?

How will I lose your heart?
Tell me all about it.
For now, everything looks perfect.
Everything seems woven to fit.

But What About Tomorrow?
How would I know
when you've finally given up
and gotten tired of me?

I'm asking all the wrong questions
'cause I have fears that you don't see.
But I know, you'll just tell me to have faith
that no matter what;
this is the Love Story God made For You and Me.

© Claudine F. Claudio

(OO NA CHEESY NA KUNG CHEESY!)

i know i did not do anything wrong but i apologized anyway

It is becoming a habit of mine to apologize for nothing. No, let me rephrase that--it is becoming a habit of mine to apologize for making a person feel bad for something I said or did which I honestly did not mean to. Apparently, I'm losing my grip with good communication. Well, actually it's just for this one person who I respect and care about so much. From the moment I started admiring her, she always makes me feel guilty for every mistake that I commit in my life. She's an inspiration and obviously an oblivious guidance to me. She taught me how to encourage myself and make myself better not for someone else but for me and for God. No, let me rephrase that again--she taught us. She's probably not even aware she is one of the factors of change in my life and in my beliefs. Or maybe she is aware--and she is already used to being considered as the best one or the greatest one. She probably got fed up with us, little kids, adoring her and telling her how inspiring and encouraging she is. She probably got so irritated having people requesting for her time and attention.

This is unfair. I am unfair. I don't even know her personally. I have little idea how her mind is set or how she really is as a friend. All I know is that she changed me and I can't think of a way to repay the kindness and understanding that she had shown me before. But I'm being unfair now because I am hurt. I was walking with Lance somewhere in Q.C. yesterday when I suddenly ask him to stop so I could sit on the grass. He knew I intend to take the time off to cry. I started crying my eyes out for a text message from her that did not seem right and real to me. She did not like the tone of my message. She did not like the tone of my message. She did not like it yet all the while I was thinking I was being too polite. I guess the message came out differently to her because every time I text her, I always make sure that I am polite and that I do not sound like an idiot. I usually read them twice or thrice before sending just to make sure I have no grammar lapses or wrong punctuation even if I'm writing in Tagalog. Can you see how desperate I am to impress this person?

I don't know what happened. I don't know what's wrong. But I have noticed her coldness even before this incident. I'm not sure if it has something to do with the favor I have asked from her. I'm not sure about anything at all. It's probably my fault. I don't know why it always ends up being my fault.

I realized something yesterday, though. I apologized a number of times because I have always believed in the fact that she could never be wrong. She's right. My friends are right. I shouldn't patronize her. She's a human being. I can't just allow her to make me feel bad about myself. I must stand up for myself because I did not do anything wrong. She did not even send me a response to tell me that my apologies are accepted. She just left me there waiting the whole night and wondering like a retard if she's still mad. But I need to go on. Lance said I shouldn't worry much. Besides, she's probably not even aware how the incident still drives me mad until this very moment.

i have a secret

I have a secret.
I know you have one too.
But mine seems to turn my whole life around
And God, I really don't know what to do.

I have a problem.
I know you've got loads too.
But I can't seem to get over the fact
That mine is effin true.

My secret is my problem
I wish I could simply tell you.
But it's not as easy as one would think
'Cause it's nothing you'd expect me to do.

I wish I could tell my friends
Or anyone just like you
But I fear that they might just stay away
From this wretched being they once knew.

© Claudine F. Claudio

i won't be getting married soon.

Last night, I was conversing with 2 of my best buds who have been living with me in the apartment for more than a couple of months now. We were talking about our future weddings! Yikes! :-) Nothing yikeyish about it really. This past weeks have been filled with marriage and engagement conversations that made me realize how we're all not getting younger everyday. It was a fun conversation as we try to visualize the dream weddings that we have with our significant others and the inevitable bloopers that we are most likely to commit on those special days.

I just turned 22 early this year and certainly I should not be thinking about marriage yet. Lance and I still have a long way to go. We're both the eldest child in the family and among our cousins on his mother's side and my father's side respectively. We both have big dreams and these glamorous visions of excelling in our own professional careers. We are still planning to go abroad to earn more money so we could enhance the living conditions of our parents in their old age. We have planned not to settle down yet until we haven't ensured the betterment of our parents' lives—at least financially. We would not want to leave them still struggling and working hard for money. We're both the eldest, as I have mentioned, therefore, we intend to provide them everything they need (at least financially) once their beloved children start settling down to live for themselves.

I'm not really sure why I'm writing this. I can get really boring when I try to share this kind of stuff. I usually just write about things that are triggering my emotions. However, last night's conversation left me with that same kind of paranoia that is common to surface when I am worried and afraid about something. I have been working for more than a year now and I haven't saved anything yet for myself (or for my parents). The only contribution that I have given my parents is a bi-monthly payment for my youngest sister's tuition fee. I also inconsistently give them some grands every month if I have an extra. Not that they are demanding for it. Of course not. I know it's really not my obligation to send money every month but I always feel guilty if I don't. The worst part of it is that I decided to live separately so I could lift some burden at home (I eat nonstop and consume too much electricity watching cable TV and surfing the net) but it seem to me that I have just burdened them more by borrowing money this week for my electric bill at the apartment.

The thing is I can't discipline myself when it comes to my luxuries which is eating and watching films. Right now fishkeeping has added much more to my financial worries (I can't seem to grow up and realize that fishes die and they're meant to when their keeper is a dimwitted brat). So, how can I provide them the betterment that they deserve if I can't even handle my own silly fetishes in life?

You know what, maybe I shouldn't get married. Or I should just get married and get all my dreams over and ABSOLUTELY NOT done with.

Or better, I should stop getting carried away with Mads and Sab's serious conversation about marriage and get myself some real good life. Besides no one's proposing anyway. Such a retard.

I'm a Failure in Caretaking (I'm sorry)

I recently lost one of my Red Cap Oranda I named PeeNay. My brother woke me up and broke the news last Sunday morning. She only lasted 4 days in my care. Such an incident should not have bothered me a great deal but that day has been one of the gloomiest day I have ever encountered. It surprised me that I felt so emotional about the news. I mean, how can I possible get so heartbroken about the death of a 4 day old fish which I cannot even cuddle and touch? I'm really not a pet or an animal lover. I haven't got a pet of my own for about 17 years. The last pet I have had (with my brother) was a white rat which lasted for a night after getting ambushed in his little cage by a stray cat. We were never allowed to have any animals at home so out of desperation my brother and I would end up imprisoning black ants and huge flies on table glasses.

When I grew up and started earning money, I have thought about saving up for a healthy retriever or chow chow out of a pet shop but I never really got into doing it due to my mother refusing to have any furry animals inside the house. I would not want to put the dog outside or in a cage for that would seem like an “askal” treatment. So, on Lance and I's celebration of our 37th month as romantic partners and best friends, I was attacked again by my recurring self-proclaimed mental disorder called “irresistible impulsiveness” when we started checking out pets in Bioresearch at Park Square Makati. I have only around P400 left on my pouch so when the fishes caught my eye I was hypnotized to take one home. I ordered a small fish tank, a kilo of little rocks, fish pellets, a small bundle of live plant and an air pump. I decided on taking home a Red Cap Oranda goldfish because I became smitten with its seemingly red lump (wen) on its forehead. Payment was a disaster because the store was already closed when I finally decided on what to buy for my fish. When the cashier gave me a voucher for P570, I panicked. I pulled out every penny that I have from my pouch and disorganized bag but I only came up with P400 plus something. Lance had to shell out his last P70-bus fare so we could reach the P570 amount needed but still we were around P30 short. The cashier and sales assistant had to help us out in cutting out other less necessary accessories from my order. The negotiation ended with me leaving the store only with a Red Cap Oranda, an air pump, a kilo of rocks and a sachet of tetrafin pellets. I immediately named my oranda, PeeNoy. Nothing really special. It was the first word that went out of my mouth when Lance asked me its name so we decided that it's a boy which was kinda stupid. The next day, I withdrew all of my savings to buy my PeeNoy company in his small fish tank and put some water plants for natural oxygen. It was PeeNay's day the next day. It was fun having both of them around as they would not stop circling the fish tank trying to chase and elude each other. Every morning before I leave the apartment for work, I would feed them and tell them I would be back in no time. I read and researched articles online about Red Cap Orandas so I could provide them more care and maintain their health. Every night before I shut the lights off, I would take a peek and bid them good night. I even asked them both to stay with me for a long time. I was working at home last week so I really enjoyed having them around chasing each other and distracting me from my long moments of deadpan state. It was last Saturday when I started noticing both of them resting side by side looking outside—looking less healthy each time.

When Jun (my younger brother) described to me the details of PeeNay's death, I can't help but feel guilty that I was not home when she passed away. He told me how he came to the apartment seeing PeeNay staying still on a particular area. She was not moving around but she was still alive then. Jun tried to feed her but she never came up to the surface to eat so PeeNoy took all the pellets. It was after 15 minutes approximately when Jun checked on her again and she was already floating on the surface upside down. He scooped her with a spoon and tried to revive her in a glass of water to see if she can still make it but she was already dead. I asked Jun if he had already disposed the garbage bag where he put PeeNay away and he said yes. I was actually disheartened to know that I could not see her one last time to say goodbye. Sunday was so gloomy that I decided to leave Laguna as soon as possible to check on PeeNoy. I was not supposed to go to our Makati apartment until Monday morning but knowing that PeeNoy was alone and could be floating dead on his tank was something I could not bear to think while in our home in Laguna. That Sunday night, my mother, Jun, my 10-year old sister, A.J., my aunt Tita Lily and my cousin Joy accompanied me to the apartment to get Jun's things as he was moving back home due to financial difficulties. PeeNoy was still moving around but this time less enthusiastic. I'm not sure if this has something to do with him losing his tank mate. They said goldfishes really have short term memory loss so it is unlikely that he even remembers having PeeNay around.

These past days PeeNoy's health have extremely worsened. He is not moving around the tank anymore. He stays on one spot which seems to me like he is simply waiting for his death to come. Once in a while I would check on him to see if he's still alive. He has a couple of white spots on his wen and his once glamorous fins have lost its silkiness. I tried researching online for solutions and advices on how I can treat PeeNoy's health predicament at this moment but I could not completely understand what medications do I really need to buy for him. I'm planning to stop by a pet shop to get some accurate medications but I realized that I'm not even sure if PeeNoy would still be there when I come home. He could be dead by now and I feel so panicky that I am not home. He could be floating on his tank now and no one's available to scoop him out. I could imagine him now on the surface all alone with the air pump still buzzing and producing continuous bubbles for his oxygen need. He would not need it anymore. He might even be floating on the bubbles and bumping on the tube and nobody is even there to get him out of his undignified position.

Oh God, how could such little fishes make me feel so miserable? I was planning on buying them a larger tank after a couple of months so they could have more space. I wanted to buy a small water filter to maintain their water's quality. I should have researched all of these before I bought them. They would probably still be chasing each other right at this moment while I am not distracted here at work not writing this emotional blog entry. Lance's joke is still crystal clear in my head right now:

“Malas naman ni PeeNoy, Maymie.”
“Bakit?”
“Binili mo kasi sya eh.” Then he laughed softly.

When he said that, I wanted so bad to prove to him he could be wrong—that I could take care of my fish. I realized how irresponsible I was when I allowed my irritable impulsiveness to take over that night. PeeNoy and PeeNoy would probably still be in their big well-equipped aquarium in Bioresearch—healthy and alive. I don't know why PeeNay's death and PeeNoy's failing health are affecting me so much emotionally. I guess aside from the fact that I became so indulged in taking care of them these past days, I failed to prove myself capable of taking responsibility effectively. I didn't only fail PeeNoy and PeeNay, I also failed myself. My inability to take care of them really good reflects my attitude in facing responsibilities. It is an eye-opening experience for me. Responsibilities are not all about loving or simply following rules. It's about being financially, emotionally ready and well-informed about the possible consequences and angles of one responsibility.

I'm going out on a one-hour lunch after I publish this entry. I will run off to the apartment to check on PeeNoy. He could be dead or he could still be stationary on the spot where I left him earlier this day. Last night, in the presence of my friend Mads, I told PeeNoy I'm sorry and I swear I heard my voice crack. I wanted to cry then if only I wasn't afraid Mads would laugh at my shallowness. I know she would understand but still I've got too much ego to cry over a couple of forgetful goldfishes.

I'm not sure what I want to see once I open the door in my apartment. The fish tank is located on top of my personal fridge and it is placed in full view once you enter the place. It would hurt to see it lifeless and it would hurt to see it still motionless but still trying to live. PeeNoy could have died earlier than PeeNay as I took him first to his demise when I decided to buy him last week. But he stayed 3 more days after PeeNay's death. He's trying to survive--and there's nothing I can do but try so hard to keep my emotions in control--while pushing back tears that other people might think unworthy to shed for a couple of little Red Cap Orandas...

Oh God, I'm so sorry.

raining sentiments...

The only advantageous effect of having no classes for 6 straight days (considering that it won't be raining hard on Tuesday) is that I don't have to experience the pressuring hassles of finishing my "I Don't Understand Why" and "I Understand Why" poems. In addition to that, I can tolerate my procrastinating habit and do everything on Monday including my unfinished powerpoint in Ethics.

I don't like it when I stay at home for so long. Well, don't get me wrong. I love to spend quality time with my family. I often miss them whenever school works are becoming too heavy for me. I'm usually not at home. Even when I am, the first thing I do as soon as I get home (usually at around 11:30 P.M. ) is turn on my laptop, become silently impatient at the freaking speed of my forsaken dial-up and do whatever it is that I need to submit the next day. If lucky and I have no assignments (which happens once a week) I still turn on my laptop, become silently impatient at the freaking speed of my REALLY forsaken dial-up and check my Friendster and mail. Then afterwards, I lie on my seemingly casted off bed and I get to stare up stupidly at the ceiling waiting so badly that sleep would fall from it. Unfortunately, sleep eludes me until my mother is ready to prepare my sister's breakfast and lunchbox at 4:30 a.m.

So, these 3-day vacation serves as my real REST. Not that I need rest. I mean, of course I do need rest physically. But these three days didn't relax me at all. I was chased by emotional and intellectual exhaustion. Sometimes, I'd rather be doing something physically tiring than think about a lot of things 'cause it drains my energy more. You see, I miss Lance, so I think about him most of the time. I keep recalling the things we do together like that crazy maymietalk. Everytime I imagine his face, I can't help but let out a huge smile. Even when he's texting me, I still can't help but imagine how he was saying every message as if he was telling it to me personally. I miss my friends so I also think about them. Sometimes I would even reminisce our times together. Mads' and I's mad conversations, Ara's playful countenance, Irene's funny remarks, Sab's sarcastic personality, Mon's newly-established romantic personality, Jens' hilarious blunders, Ran's unexpected modeling poses on unexpected places, Tina's absurd comments with that big toothy smile. I also miss my bestest friends in the world, Kaycee and our intellectual forums and crazy addiction to some Hollywood icons, Janice and our playful verbal fights and Zhe-Ela and our lovelife sharing. I miss my professors and their classes. I miss my classmates. Then there is Papyrus. The newsletter I am so determined to get published. My writers I so badly want to get motivated. My writing that seems to be fading its once shining eloquence.

And so the weariness swarms every section of my system. It is more exhausting than ever.

the pain that is most unbearable...

I can't remember the last time I allowed my fingers to pour my broken mind and heart in the recesses of cyberspace. I guess they're too crushed to even send messages to my once automatic and active writing hands. You see, thinking about what I'm going to write, I can already feel the weighing pain of the past events I was unable to write.


So why am I writing this now? Yes, I miss this. The feeling of knowing that anybody can read the most personal things about you but you don't really care at all. 'Cause at one point, you know you wanted to reach out to someone. Even if this someone is somebody you never expect to care about you, how much more waste time to read your blog? But I don't care. I don't care at all. When I write online, I feel free. Free from the derogatory conclusions of the world. You remain someone whom everyone can relate to. Someone like everybody else. I can feel the overwelming extent of equality. And that's saddening. For I know that once I detach this slow dial-up connection, I have to go back to my world. Never have I been so scared to go back. Just now. Never have I ever thought that cyberspace is a much better place to live. Just now. Never have I been afraid to face reality. Just now. I'd rather write a thousand tragic stories than step into the tragic feet of my counterpart at home. So let me just stay here... Just for a moment.


It was 2 o'clock in the morning, Monday, first day of classes for me when all the lights in my room were still bright (Oh c'mon, you only have one light bulb in your room!) Waiting for a bloody realization and proof that my head sucks and my heart sucks twice. I was drying myself from the incessant flow of tears. Everything around me seems to be revolving all so wrong. I had a strong desire to crush my head on my purple wall just like what I did a couple of times almost 3 months ago. But I didn't. Instead I caught a glimpse of Lance and I's uncut pictures on photo paper and searched for my pink and blue cutter on my Cose bag. While I was cutting the photos, the tears just went flowing more heavily. I missed Lance and I needed him real bad at that moment. But he was asleep then unaware of the insanity I was about to carry out to myself. After cutting all the pictures, I sat there still on my bedroom floor. I had no idea what to do next. If there's enough space I could've sprawled myself there. So here's what I did. I took the pink cutter and removed the top blade so I could have a more sharpened one. Slowly, I slid the blade at the back of my hand. A second later, a red line materialized followed by a tolerable pain that felt awfully good in my senses. I did it again harder. More pressure everytime. Then again until I've drawn 4 pararrelled red line on my left hand and 5 on my right. At last, I've finished crying. But I knew I wasn't done yet. I drew a hard and quick cut on my left pulse area. The feeling was so beautiful I can't describe it. Then again. Then again. By the time I went to bed to lie down, I had 19 bleeding cuts all in all. But only 4 of them were dripping blood. 3 on the pulse and 1 on my right hand. I laid on my bed my arms sprawled. I anticipated the idea that I would cry again. But I didn't. All I could feel was the pain I have inflicted to myself. There was still pain in my heart but the physical pain was covering it. And it feels good. The cuts were preventing me to feel the more excruciating inner cuts I have inside. It's giving me time to escape the fact that I am wounded.


It is indeed unhealthy. Like what Ma'am Jen told me. There are other ways to deal with struggles. And I know that so well 'cause eversince I was little I usually write my emotions down. But now, it's hard for me to think that way anymore. Because just last semester, some people took away the faith I have in my writing. And it's hard for me to fix that broken faith by myself. So I thank Ma'am Jen, Ma'am Mabelle, Sir James, Lance, Mads, Kristine, Ara, Sab, and Irene for giving me courage to face myself and helping me fix my once enthusiastic and hopeful self.


Most especially to my Creator...


Thank you so much for sending me these people. Just thinking about them makes me smile and now I'm changing my mind. I'm leaving cyberspace for the mean time 'cause thinking about these people I have in my life makes me feel excited about facing the challenges of the world once more.

The Excruciating Pain of Missing

Some people; they hurt you for no reason. Some people; they hate you for reasons you don't understand. Some people; they tell you they love you then betray you. Some people; they love you only for reasons that you understand.


I'm in pain at this moment. And I can't seem to find the reason why. All I know is, I feel like crying. I feel like shouting. I feel like exploding. Everything in my world is colliding. School, family, friends, emotions. Even Lance who I thought would all be the smiles that I need, no, he's part of the pain that I'm feeling right now. If you ask me at this particular moment why on earth I am feeling placidly suicidal, I'd probably just look at you blankly and, I don't know, probably cry. There really are times in my life when mild depressions occur for no apparent motives. They just come and go in random.


Earlier this evening, I had a little conversation with one of my best buds, Kaycee (my Pakner), we haven't talked for quite some time and I miss her badly! She's the kind of friend you could just call up anytime. She's more than willing to be your exhaust fan in time when your emotional restroom needs it most. In our conversation, we joked about taking suicide together. When she asked me when do I plan to, I answered, "Nag-iipon pa'ko para sa pagtalon ko sa tuktok ng Eiffel Tower... Ang cheap naman kung sa estero lang ng AdU. Kaso nagagastos ko lagi mga ipon ko." Then she replied, "Sige pag-ipunan natin ung Eiffel Tower."

It may seem like a whole charade. And yes, it is for some reason. But deep inside we both know we've considered leaving this world as an option for all the problems the world is giving us. But on the other hand, we both know suicide is all but a stupid and dumb idea. And we both trust each other never to resort to it.


I'm writing all these because I miss my pakners. In the past, these are the times, together with my other pakner, Janice, when we schedule meetings to watch films and afterwards, talk problems through. Sometimes we write them down on stationeries and send them personally on our respective classrooms. I miss the days when we cry together, laugh together and simply just be quiet together. The days when we try to make up alibis to our "original barkadas" and parents so we could stay together longer. The incessant exchange of novels. The nonstop brainstorming and plot suggestions for my freshly-thought stories. The excitement we feel everytime a new idea for a story pops in our heads. The intense involvement in Sidney Sheldon's tragic storylines. The embarrassing moments we keep experiencing when we are together. The intellectual forums about art, literature, psychology, current events and politics. The funny debates and arguments. The long waits on our meeting places. The "utangan" blues.


I miss them so much. It is sad to know that no matter how much we long to be together, it's not that easy anymore. We can't just call each other up like when we do in high school. Going to college has changed a lot of things. For some reason, it has changed us as well. We've created new friendships. A new life. Various priorities have bombarded us with new responsibilities and it is harder for us to schedule dates without conflicts. Nevertheless, like what I've told Kaycee "Matatapos din lahat 'tong mga problema na 'to. Makakahanap din tayo ng time para gawin na uling exhaust fan ang isa't isa."


Kristine Gonzaga & Janice Cuaño: I miss you real bad...

Journal Entry (07/03/06 11.32 p.m.)

7/3/2006 11:32p.m.
Subject: School Pressure
Author: Claudine Claudio

This day is probably one of the most tragic days of my life. I was actually surprised that I didn’t show any sign of depression after I went out of the media center. I was actually all smiles and laughs with my friends and with Lance. I even told him “Aba, hindi ako bad mood ngayon ah… siguro mamaya sa bahay pag wala na akong kausap.” And I turned out right. There are 4 constant words floating around my head since I got out of the media center this afternoon. I AM A FAILURE.

“You’re the worst agency… worst agency… worst agency…”

I can’t stop the involuntary ringing of my professor’s words about our presentation. I want to cry. This is bittersweet torture. Writing my emotions down. Trying to refresh the feeling of rejection over and over again. I feel bitter. And the bitterness is towards the main character of my world. ME. Yes, in objective form. I can’t feel subjective anymore. It’s as if every little opinion I have in my dumb head doesn’t matter anymore because they’re all wrong. All pretending to be right when it’s actually brainless all along. I want to cry. Cry until my eyes run dry. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel anything anymore. But I know I’m wrong. I’ve done that before and it was of no use. There’s too much held back tears kept in my system that I feel it would never run dry. I have a reservoir of tears. Tears I have long ago concealed from the public eye. But now I want to unleash them all from the chains I have forced to them. But I won’t. Because I’m in my parent’s room and I’m supposed to be finishing my Editorial paper.

I AM A FAILURE. I feel disappointed with myself once again. I’m going back to that immature stage where I felt like I can’t do anything right. This semester is becoming such a big pressure on my shoulder. I’ve been doing my best with everything I do. My assignments. My quizzes. My papers. The Defense. I thought everything was working out fine until today happened. I got a 75 and 88 in my film analysis early this morning. That alone would have ruined my day but The Defense had to add up to my misfortunes. “…worst agency. Worst agency…” I want to die. I can’t trust myself anymore. I’m losing confidence. I’m losing hope. I feel like a loser. A person meant to self-destruct.

I can’t write a story. I’m really losing it. I’m becoming unimaginative, uncreative, brainless, shallow-minded, illogical, untalented etc. I feel useless and worthless. Now I’m crying. It does feel nice. But what can it do? It won’t bring me back to my old manic hopeful self. I’m a loser. I know I must not do this. Ma’am Liz taught me never to discourage myself because what you think reflects how you act. But at this moment, these are my present thoughts and I cannot seem to control them.

Maybe I’m really not as good as how I see myself before. I thought I was really good in school. I never doubt that before. But now I definitely do. In the past, I was certain I could be competitive. But now I’m not certain anymore. I don’t want to give up. With my old self, giving up would be my last or perhaps never a resort. But now I feel like resorting to it.

“I thought you’re with God? How can you say so if you are this shallow?”
I can hear somebody reprimanding me. Yes, how dare I lose hope and happiness? Hey, I shouldn’t even be writing this! Isn’t this the place where I actually prayed to be? A place where I can be challenged. A place where I can feel pressure but at the same time enjoy the pleasure of trying to endure it? Haha! Oh my, I’m such an idiot! Hehehehe! This is crazy. Or maybe I’m going crazy. Yes I think so ‘coz now I’m laughing!

/ingenue07

In my melancholic state...

This day has been a very sad day for me. (Yes, I can hear some people saying ‘C’mon, you’re always sad, Claudine!). Last Wednesday, somebody stole 2 of my most favorite books in the world titled “Memoirs of a Geisha” and “Joyluck Club”. It made me really depressed I can hardly talk to anyone at all. Of all things that can be stolen from me, books are the ones that mostly trigger the indignation in me. On my 2-hour trip back to Laguna, I slept all the way hoping that as soon as I wake up the sadness would be gone. But it did not. Then yesterday, I was still feeling gloomy every time I passed by the comfort room where I have forgotten my plastic bag filled with 4 books or every time I enter the media center. I thought it was normal since those 2 books really mean so much to me. I woke up this morning expecting to be back to my old self again. I thought I was because I’ve been trying to look for the bright side again thinking “at least other people could read the magnificence of Golden and Tan’s novels”. But in the media center, the sullen air went over me again. Surprisingly, I wasn’t thinking of the books anymore. By the end of my Film Appreciation class, my classmate remarked, “Claudine, bakit malungkot ka? Ang sad sad ng face mo…” In my mild horror, my favorite professor asked, “Sino?” “Si Claudine po…”

I tried to walk towards the exit with my back on them then I heard my professor’s comment which really broke my heart. “Si Claudine, eh lagi naman malungkot yan eh! Gagawan ko na nga yan ng drama (unfortunately I was unable to make out the words). I was at the door when I heard my professor’s comment so I looked back at her and tried as hard as I could to give out a wide smile as if saying “that’s not true!” when deep inside I long to go back to her and say, “Ma’am, I need help.”

I spent this day trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. I’ve been experiencing alternating mild depressions over small things these past few months. This isn’t me. I know this isn’t me. When I was in Computer Engineering I was never this serious and silent. I’m supposed to be enjoying Mass Communication. And I am! I honestly am! I’ve been dreaming to be here for years! But my emotions are failing what I’m supposed to be feeling. I can’t explain it. I’m thinking maybe it’s because back in Computer Engineering, I was never serious with my studies. I was all after the fun and not the goal to excel. I was usually the loudest in the group or even inside the class. So I was the happy-go-lucky type. But here in Mass Comm. I’m very much concerned with how I’m going to excel in this field. With how I’m going to build a name for myself that will gain the respect of others. In my former course, I don’t need any respectable name in terms of academic achievement ‘coz I was lost in that course. I didn’t care even if nobody took me seriously as a Computer Engineering student ‘coz I, myself, wasn’t serious about being one. What’s puzzling me is that I’m more comfortable with my friends in Engineering more than in Mass Communication. Of course, I’m not saying I don’t enjoy my Mass Comm. friends’ company but I only have few Mass Comm. friends whom I can show the real me. Then I realized that’s because Engineering and Mass Comm. students are two different groups of people. I was also unable to start fresh and build another group of friends because when I shifted to Mass Comm. everybody seemed to belong to one. So most of the time, I still hang out with my engineering friends wherein I don’t need to prove myself.

Still, I wonder why I feel sad and look sad to people. I think my facial expression is one major factor. Many people had told me I should smile more. Honestly, I’m trying real hard. Maybe I’m being hard on myself. I keep thinking about a lot of things that’s why I’ve been smiling less. Sometimes I feel confused with myself. I’m like two different people with my close friends and not-so close friends. I’m all smiles and jokes with my close friends while I’m not-so funny with my not-so close friends.

One other thing that I blame for my apparent depressions these past months is my desperation to write. I haven’t written or finished a story for the past 4 months. Everyone close to me knows how I dream to become a writer. And these past months I’ve been losing the will, the motivation and lastly, the confidence to write the stories I long to see in print. I’m having this ultimate fear that one day I will lose my intense passion for writing. Every time I read my articles written in hand, they don’t seem right to me. They seem too amateurish. My words, too shallow. Too wrong. I’m not the same confident writer I once was. And THIS is what’s bothering me everyday. It even came to a time when I felt resentment towards my purple journal and black leather notebook every time I see them. All because I CAN’T WRITE. I’m really afraid. Really really afraid.

I remember how my friends in engineering accuse me of having MPD. I don’t have one, of course. But I believe we all have other personalities within ourselves. I pray that someday other people can see the real me. I pray that someday I could smile more. I pray that someday I could control my emotions more effectively. I pray that someday I could bring back my trust to my own skills so I could start writing again. But for now, all I can do is pray ‘coz at exactly this moment, just as I am finishing this article, I’m feeling sad again.

/ingenue07

World War 3...

Fighting.

Fighting.

Fighting.


The word seems to send sporadic twinges in my system. My head is aching. The beating of my heart is accelerating. My temper is seething. My fist are clenching. My teeth are gritting. And I'm starting to have the burning urge to shout "SHUT UP!"

This is how I feel when I hear people fighting. I find it strange too. But my entire system seems to be aggravated when people are quarrelling in front of me. I'm not talking here about small arguments. Arguments for me are mere debates; an activity for people to exercise their reasoning. It is huge fights that involve physical pain and curses that pisses me off.

Fighting is inevitable, of course. Writing this article will not make people stop fighting but I would just like to express some of my thoughts at this moment because I had just witnessed one of the worst World War 3s in my life. As usual, I served as the mediator, a role which I've always hated playing in my life especially when people I love most are on each sides. But I'm afraid I'm starting to get used to it. I have a stupid (if not noble) habit of not choosing sides (in terms of fights) even if my views match one side.

As a college student studying communication, I think the reason they are fighting is miscommunication (No, I guess even if I'm not a Communication Arts' student I would have concluded the same). They recklessly throw words at each other without thinking! And I hate it when they seem to be insensitive of each other's feelings. How I wish they use their control! I wish they could see us trying so hard not to listen to their harsh accusations and senseless reasons! I wish I could cover my little sister's ears so I don't have to see that sad eyes staring blankly at her plate. I wish they would think first. Most of all, I wish they would stop.

Sometimes I have this wild dream to bring Ma'am Lizelle, Sir James and Ma'am Jen home so they could educate them. So they could teach them how to lower their pride. So they could learn how to communicate well without shouting. So they would know how difficult it is for us love them without hating them at times. Or maybe simply because I just want them to know.

Detaching Myself from the Pain...

Some people hurt us for no reason.

Sometimes I merely want to reckon,

That they are not aware of the pains

They brought in my life's unlocking chains.


Somebody broke my wavering hope

To grip on to another good rope.

A rope to lift me up from love's thorns

and its lashing promises of scorn.


These two stanzas suck. I haven't written good rhymes since that last poem I wrote about my unexpected encounter with an X. Hmm... That was 5 months ago... Anyway, I have no plans of continuing this poem because I don't feel like reminiscing the enormous pain I've felt. Instead, I'm writing in this blog to detach myself from the emotion. Now breathe... There you go.. Let it out... Say it out loud... %#@*&@#%$%#@&%$#@!!! Hahaha just kidding!

I got hurt again while in the process of reviving the once blooming and sparkling area of my least priority in life, my lovelife. Yes, it is my least priority believe it or not. I once mentioned in my Autobiographical Essay that I felt like I'm prone to pain. Pain, generally speaking as of physically and emotionally. One of my best friends asked me in puzzlement,
" 'Ayan ka na naman, hindi ka ba nagsasawa?"
I gave out a short chuckle and replied, "Obvious ba, hinde? Tsaka hindi naman talaga ako agad masasaktan dito. Hindi ako ganun ka-involve sa kanya. Ligaw lang naman." The day these words came out from my lips was one of the most unbelievable and remarkable days of my life.

Unfortunately, January 12, 2006 had to come, one SMS from him brought me the familiar sense of dejavu. My circulatory organ that regulates the blood through my veins was beginning to feel heavy again as if a hundred cc of blood had just pour forth it. He left as quick as he had come. Explained his reason to let go as briefly as he had pleaded me for the chance to hold on. Before all of this happened, he was a friend. Now, I have no idea how we would treat each other the next time we meet in Adamson.

Heartache has always been welcome in my life as a writer. I must say it is taking my generosity for granted. I'm not complaining. I know I need these. I write better when I'm hurt. I become more determined and focused when someone makes me cry. Not that I cry easily (in movies, yes) but in real life I make it certain that I cry less in front of people and cry more inside my room or in my writings. It's strange but I just can't seem to thoroughly open myself vocally. I admit I'm not a very vocal person. But I'm not the kind of person who always keep things to myself. Well if not everything, most of the things I have in mind are written in various types of papers, journals and of course the internet. I'm just waiting for somebody who will not just read it but will understand it as well.

Most important of all, I know God is reading my thoughts even before I write it so I don't get much too emotional about things. I know all along that He will wash away the pain that the wounds had brought.

Letting Go...

There it goes, up in the sky
There it goes, beyond the clouds
For no reason why
I can't cry hard enough
I can't cry hard enough
For you to hear me now

Today makes no sense whatsoever. The hole of loneliness is still in the depths of my broken heart. It's been 5 months since we broke up, but for me, it always felt like yesterday. I wonder how I could get over it. Over the pain. I wonder when I would get over him.

Everything was perfect. I love him. He loves me. Everything was a dream. A transformation of all of those teenage daydreams into a magical reality. October 2004, a month I could never forget in my whole damned life. I met him at last and fell in love. It was like those days when it seemed like everything in your life was going wrong and then you saw him, talked to him and everything just suddenly went right. Everything changed and I was happy. Until the month of October ended and I felt like everything went back to where they used to be. To “normal”. I had sensed that he had changed and the magic between us had ended. I wonder why, so soon. The loneliness, the problems started to float from where I have tried to sink them, the dejavu of feeling rejected and unworthy once again. The unfathomable abyss where I had tried to bury all of these tribulations was hollowed out. He was the one who took it all away, the one who helped me bury it. But in time, he himself dug it out and gave it all back to me.

I wanted to tell him how much I hate him. But then, I don’t have the right. I’m only a hopeless romantic who prays every night that someday I may find the love I’ve been searching for, for years. I’m a mere desperate child craving for attention and assurance that I am loved by the people around me and I am worth loving.

I hate him. But still, I can’t, because this is my karma. My karma for being the selfish bitch that I am. I took him for granted the first time I’ve ever called him my boyfriend. I used him to carry away the solitude that’s engraved in my poor heart. I can’t hate him. I can’t hate him because I know even in that lone month, he had made me the happiest person in the world. Even in that short period of time, I know I would never regret having him to love and to care for so much. It still hurts. The pain of being left alone once again is still warm. He had left me scared and lost. Scared of being hurt once again and lost in the arms of confusion and self-doubt.

I know one day, I’m going to fall in love again. I don’t care if it’s tomorrow, the next day or the next decade. I just want to fall in love again. I’m still scared, yes, but I want to try it again. There’s still hesitation, but if love knocks on my door, I’m not going to turn my back on it. I know it’s crazy and you might think I’m crazy too, but it’s just that… I felt like I’m bound to be lonely for the rest of my life…