Last night I had a totally lucid dream, Brother Bear setting. And so I wake remembering detail after detail. I immediately surfed the net for some answers. Funny revelations, some are true and some are hard to admit. Here’s the story with the blue coded sentences to interpret them.

I dreamt of being a native girl, living in a hut in the middle of a rural area.

To see or live in a hut in your dream, represents the basic necessities and comforts. You need to simplify your life and get back to the bare basics. Accept what you already have and know that that is enough.

I dreamt of owning a mountain dog with golden brown and white color. Very loyal and very fun to be with. I remember feeding it with dog treat and it almost swallowed my hand. Huge but gentle dog.

To see a dog in your dream, symbolizes intuition, loyalty, generosity, protection, and fidelity. The dream suggests that your strong values and good intentions will enable you to go forward in the world and bring you success. To see a happily barking dog in your dream, symbolizes pleasures and social activity. You are being accepted into some circle.

While walking around a seemingly rural land, I saw a dying lady and a dead black horse. Then I saw a huge and ugly guy, like an abomination, confront the lady and struck her with a sharp knife in the back.

To see a dead horse in your dream, indicates that something in your life that initially offered you strength is now gone.

To see violence in your dream, indicates unexpressed anger or rage. You need more discipline in your life.

After that abomination killed the woman, a huge flood came. Lucky I was able to hold on to some plants and climb to a higher part safe from being consumed by the flood.

To dream that you are in a flood represents your need to release some sexual desires. If the flood is raging, then it represents emotional issues and tensions. Your repressed emotions are overwhelming you.

I dreamt of the woman and her family living in that hut, like an Indian household, gave me a shell necklace.

To see or wear a necklace in your dream, represents unsatisfied desires. It also highlights your intellect and your desire to have more influence and power over others.

After the woman gave me that necklace I left and rode a bus. A very huge bus where there are only a few people riding with me. I remember some of them were my friends.

To dream that you are riding a bus, implies that you are going along with the crowd. You are lacking originality and control over where your life is taking.

The bus I was riding on was huge. And it probably caused the traffic. Looking outside the window I saw other buses going different directions which probably made the traffic worse.

To dream that you are in traffic, signifies the frustrations that you are experiencing in your life. Things are not going as smoothly as you would like it to. You feel stuck at where you are in life.

And then in the bus there was this Dance Revo machine, and unlike in the real world, I was playing it like a pro.

To dream that you are dancing, signifies freedom from any constraints and restrictions. Your life is in balance and in harmony. Dancing also represents frivolity, happiness, gracefulness, sensuality and sexual desires. You need to incorporate these qualities in your waking life.

Finally I arrived home. I went straight to my room and did something naughty. Then to my surprise, somebody else was there in the room. I stormed out in shame.

To dream that you are in the bedroom, signifies aspects of yourself that you keep private. It is also indicative of your sexual nature and intimate relations.

This was a reflection paper our Critical Care Nursing professor asked us to submit. This is an ethical dilemma most health professionals encounter in the hospital setting. A battle between life and death in the face of paternalism. The Terri Schiavo Case.

http://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJMp058062

Upon reading the article above, certain questions made me wonder whether what happened deserved to happen.

To preserve or to let go?

Terri is a vegetable. Her incapacity to rationalize like a normal human being makes her dead beyond the aid of ventilators and machines yet her right to live remains intact. Preserving her under the aid of expensive equipment would be like a hungry dog being tied six inches away from infected food. Though the act of saving the dog from eating infected food seems noble, tying the dog in front of the food and having nothing to feed the dog in the first place, sounds more like torture. Just as Terri’s family wants to keep her from facing death, keeping her alive without the whole essence of living may seem selfish, and senseless. On the other hand, letting her go would sound a lot like murder. Which is more painful? In this case, I may have to acquiesce with John Rawls’ philosophy of accepting the lesser evil in the face of having no good option. Letting her go would seem more considerable if I were asked. Holding her back from death is like holding her back from salvation. It is selfish and by all means as the court have decided and as the husband heard her once state, she does not want to be kept alive on a machine, she wanted to die a natural death in God’s time. She had a predisposed perspective about being chained to a machine and that is good enough to view what she would’ve wanted.

Who deserves the right to decide for Terri?

The husband is a blabbing moron. Deciding for her wife and fornicating with another woman. All this cheating while his wife lives the sad life of a wood piece. He doesn’t have a right to stand up and decide for her. She wouldn’t want his say on this if only she was faking her condition on a reality show to expose her cheating husband. The family members on the other hand, as the author of the article said, are selfish. They wanted to keep her breathing because they are too weak to let her go. The Florida Supreme Court was the only competent persona for paternalism.

What would Terri have decided?

Terri due to her critical medical condition could not sign a DNR sheet nor tell everybody “Hey, keep me breathing.” But if she were awake for even 15 minutes and can fully understand her condition, what could she have chosen?

It is not for me to guess what runs in Terri’s mind, if there was something at all, seeing everybody debating over her life. All I can say is that, Death is inevitable. It is something that comes either suddenly or gradually. It’s the last thing every living creature experiences yet the thought of it as the end of everything gives more essence to living. Death is always unexpected because only God knows the time for everything. Human as we are, if we have the power to save lives, we must also have the courage to let go and trust that we’re freeing somebody from worldly pain into eternal happiness.

The other night I dreamt of climbing stairs in a huge coliseum. I climbed the stairs, just continued climbing as I tried to look for something I cannot recall anymore. And as I looked back, the path I have been trudging turned into a dark labyrinth. I then looked at the floor I stopped in. The place was like a 5-star hotel with the whole glossy wood-yellow light feel. Then it dawned on me. I wanted to go home, and there’s no other way home than to go back down. The huge crazily creepy labyrinth was something I won’t even dare enter and so I tried to ask for other directions. I wondered if there was an elevator somewhere or a switch to light the stairs. I talked to an adult woman who was wearing a business suit who came walking briskly towards the stairs where I was. I asked her for directions. She was obviously going downstairs but she told me she has no idea how she got there in the first place but she was also clueless how for several times already she manages to go downstairs, down to where certain evil entities may be suspected to be gallivanting around.

Creepy dream with an open-ended question: Did I decide to stay on that floor or go down that horror downstairs to go home? I have no idea whether anything happened after, maybe I woke up, or I simply forgot. But what did it all mean?

I told my friend about that dream and he answered me right away. The ‘climb’ represented me soaring high from the confines of mediocrity. This one final college year I decided to run for President in Women’s Club, volunteered leader of our duty group, and tried to be a better person. I wanted so much to make up for the mess I made during my last year in High school. The ‘floor’ I was in represented my dream. The high society has always been my dream destination. The feeling of ‘wanting to go home’ may be a call to go back and live in the present. It may also mean an invitation to humility that despite the wonderful place before me, I still yearned to go back home, that despite the responsibility, I wanted to live an ordinary life. The ‘dark labyrinth’ behind me represents an unwanted past, which holds me back from being consistent in the present. It may mean that instead of evaluating how much I am moving towards the future, I keep on comparing myself to who I was in the past. And that definitely scared me from going back to the ordinary Me.

The lesson here? As Mr. Robinson said, “Keep moving forward.” and as I move forward, memories and lessons from the past will continue to inspire me, my dream will continue to push me.

The greatest feeling even better than success or the climax during sex is the ability to stand smiling after being pushed, stepped on and bullied, and say, “If you seriously think your pathetic ability to annoy people made me miserable, think again.”

He’s never an ordinary guy in class. He always gets attention. He’s got girls all around him. He may be the class clown. He may even be the teachers’ favorite. But one thing definitely is not right. He’s a bully.

I’m an ordinary girl in class. I get occasionally good grades. I have a position in a college-based organization. I may have the looks to die for. I may even have the greatest friends in the world yet beneath the wretches of being ordinary, I feel bullied.

No it’s not a scene where I am punched or tripped or given a toilet facial. It’s a story about his unique fondness of making fun of others, being simply irritating and arrogantly annoying. He seems to not care about anything. It’s all fun and games to him and sometimes wanting to get all the attention every time, he tends to get into people’s nerves.

I used to date one of his friends. His friend and I simply kissed and made out a little and now he’s creating a scene calling me a non-virgin when I haven’t really given my woohoo to anybody yet. There’s a lot of crap about being judgmental when you seriously have no idea what really happened. And then the modern dance competition. The level president talked to me and asked me to start the auditions. And so I assumed the coordinator role. A week later when I happen to decide who the members would be he suddenly started laughing at me. He told me I wasn’t the assigned coordinator and that I was proud enough to assume the position. Later on I realized that president sucked because he gave me a task I wasn’t supposed to do in the first place. And what he did, it ridiculed me. And now that I’m not anymore a member of the dance troupe, because a friend chose another student instead of me during the auditions because she is so just and fair, he continues to step on my pride. Even without words, his mere presence continues to mock me. I never wanted revenge my whole life. I wanted some Criss Angel mojo to lift him high in the air and slowly tear his guts off.

I’m human. I make mistakes. He doesn’t have a right to shove up to my face the wrong I have done. Hell he has no reason to do so. I haven’t done him wrong and he has nothing to do with it in the first place. I just wonder why the hell he loves making a huge buffoonery out of people’s tragedy. It has been said that putting others down won’t get you any higher but he doesn’t give a damn. Torturing people’s psyche is like a drug to him. A day won’t be complete without someone being insulted or someone being made fun of. Since I have no capacity to step down his level and torture him back, I think it would be best to just wish him good luck. Good luck that he may survive whatever karma has for him.

Now I have reconciled with my personal frustrations. I emerge stronger with every downfall and now I understand why he tried to make me miserable. Maybe he hates his life. Maybe he’s got a family problem. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism because people won’t take him seriously.

It’s not because he’s better nor am I a loser. Maybe he’s just a sad clown.

A dream vacation in Tagaytay, a time away from the stresses of thesis-writing and the monotonous life of a student, an opportunity to go soul-searching and a chance to be independent—I couldn’t be any more excited to go on a 3-day camp in Tagaytay. I didn’t really feel pressured to study and review Obstetrics, Nutrition and all just to save the face of my alma mater. Heck, I just wanted the time away. And I’m quite lucky to be one of the few chosen ones to go that trip.

July 1, 2010. 6:00 pm we already had to board the bus to Manila but a few hours before, I was caught running to and fro the premises of the school trying to smoothen out the huge heap of tasks I’ll be leaving behind and settling an anomaly with our travel order. For one thing, the administration kept on confusing us for another pair of students also going to Tagaytay for the same reason. We thought they were from another campus. For the biggest joke of all, our travel order contained the name of my mother instead of mine. No wonder she was more excited to go the trip. Another issue I have to clear out was the photo shoot for our Fashion Show ’10 that was scheduled July 2. I won’t be around that time to facilitate things so I had to clear the activity out with everybody. I also had to enumerate certain responsibilities to my fellow officers of Women’s club: our re-accreditation, foundation day t-shirt, fee collection, etc... Finally, I had to secure an excuse letter to our level coordinator for my supposed absence for concepts on Friday and 1^st day of duty on Monday. Leaving Albay in a totally slovenly shape did not concern me as much as telling my mom we would be escorted by a professor who didn’t really exist. I’m such a liar. Sorry Mom.

The dread of riding the bus and suffering from insomnia and hypothermia along the trip haunted me. Plus the thought of going to a crazy massive place I’m faintly familiar with annoyed me. This is what I wanted. I’m in it already and there’s no holding back. Although, in the back of my mind still lies a tiny speck of anxiety despite my huge craving for independence.

So there I was merely freezing and slowly becoming another fossil from the Ice Age, my butt drained of blood, my feet numb, my mind hazy and everything about me was wrong. Finally, like a long time prisoner receiving parole, the bus stopped at the Cubao terminal. I could barely walk and move my hands but I was darn thankful that at long last, the bus-size refrigerator has released me.

My name is Lou Antonette Llaneras, born a rising star on the day of Philippine Independence 1991. I was born ¼ Chinese from my father’s kin, and ¾ Filipino from my mom’s. I’m currently living in Daraga, Albay with my family from my mother’s side while my dad’s family is in Lucena City. I wouldn’t even try to describe my family from Lucena because it’s damn huge and complicated. Anyway, my mother is a housewife who once dreamt of becoming a nurse but instead took Economics and have been regretting it ever since. My dad is one of the modern heroes who works abroad, has no vices and no chicks, well as far as I know. My brother by the way is the biggest nuisance in the world but nevertheless, he’s the best there is. We’re one big happy family.

My childhood memories are filled with happy moments mostly shared with my brother who used to be my extra super best friend in the world. We used to do everything together—wake up, watch TV, play Barbie doll, take a bath and piss off our yaya. We’ve been the worst kids there were but thankfully our yaya still lived to tell her story of misery.

My most fond childhood memory was that when we would go out and play with the neighborhood kids. That’s where I met my soul mate. That magical moment happened. Naïve as I was, I knew then and there it was him for me. Back to pissing off our yaya. Then I have to enter the world of education. Enough said I didn’t have quite a fruitful pre-elementary class as I usually hated the school I’m in either it bores me to death or every time is playtime that I’d rather play at home. I can say I only finished one year of nursery and one semester of preparatory class before I took the entrance exam for Grade 1 in St. Agnes Academy. I was too young for that level but I passed anyway so hello, Elementary!

Elementary school in St. Agnes Academy was where I realized I had quite a stupid beginning at life. Filled with wrong, immature and entirely regrettable decisions and attitude, I was deemed to be one of those students who never seemed to exist in the classroom. I hated studying, I developed friendship with some and I ruined some, I have been the most irresponsible President during 3^rd grade and I have been the snottiest bitch running after this guy, who as I would describe now, would never be as cute as he used to be. Above all, I loathed my teachers. I can say I’ve been a favorite—a favorite target of mishaps when it comes to academics and mostly everything.

Then I entered the halls of the adjacent building and became a High school student. A new tabula rasa to paint and mess with was right in front of me. I had a great high school story. I’ve been a consistent honor student, committed myself to theatre, arts and journalism, and gained the recognitions I’ve been denied of back in elementary. I met my true friends. I became one of the heartthrobs, had my first boyfriend (the one I called Soul mate) and had the wackiest stories to tell. Of course, it wasn’t a smooth ride for me. Like every story plot, I had my fair share of antagonists and storms. The climax of it all happened in my last year where I literally screwed everything up simply because I not only hated these two professors, I cursed them. And in turn my curse took a bad hit at my grades. I graduated with three service awards though, just not honors. Immaturity laid with convictions allowed me to jeopardize my academics as much as I wanted to get out of that sad dictatorship academy. Oh and by the way I broke off with my boyfriend because our families couldn’t get along well.

Now I’m in what they say the outside world. Bicol University gave me one of the worst culture shocks but it is here where I can finally say I learned to stand up for myself and build a good reputation. I learned to be wise and independent. I’ve made friends, got good grades, won Modern Dance Competition awards, drank, partied and enjoyed the freedom of College life. Above all, I’m going to be a great nurse and an awesome surgeon someday.

1. Global warming!!! Ipa-AIRCON na ang buong Pilipinas!!!

2. Sitting in the jeepney near the driver and have everybody pass their transport fare to me. It’s like I was hired to be an instant konduktor.

3. Sitting in the jeepney near the entrance. People think my feet are part of the floor.

4. Events cancelled a minute before. Save the party and execute the killjoy.

5. People doing PDA in front of me when I’m single.

6. Salesladies following me around asking me to try this and that.

7. Sales persons selling perfume.

8. Bossy nurses. Nursing students are not minions of nurses just like nurses are not sycophants of doctors.

9. NCPs, case studies and case presentations.

10. My crush tricking me into actually admitting what I feel.

11. Flying ipis and all sorts of icky things

12. I’m not gonna say it. Clue: It’s a terribly ridiculous phobia of mine. I want to save myself from anybody who likes to taunt me or freak me out.

13. Going over budget. It’s when I realize I’m still poor despite the one-day millionaire feel.

14. An item I’ve been saving money for, Sold.

15. A Mall Sale when my wallet is <. . .crickets with spider webs. . .>

16. Kokey. He’s not cute. Kids should grow up because when Kokey grows older he’ll just become a teenage mutant ninja-kokey and he’s gonna break some little a—-I said butt.

17. Barney. He’s obviously gay. And colored purple with green. Ugh. Too metro sexual to be a kiddie mascot.

18. Hang over. . .

19. Broken promises. Yeah I get that a lot.

20. Making promises and breaking them. It’s an irony of life.

Today was a fun and adventurous day for me. I went out with this old batch mate of mine from the same high school. We went to Hoyop-hoyopan cave. He was a sweet guy. It was supposed to be just a friendly first date but he introduced me to his mom and like to the whole neighborhood as we rode his motorcycle. It was flattering. I mean I really felt like a princess. He was too serious and too gentleman unlike most of my exes. I had fun. It wasn’t typical of me to date in places like that but he really made it a point to make our first date memorable, not just some park or mall tambay or fine dining. And to think he was fifteen minutes early. His simplicity and effort could indeed melt a heart.

Of course, like any other girl whose got heart broken so many times, I was a bit awkward with all the shebang. Besides, during high school, we used to make fun of him and his nerdy friends. What would my friends think if suddenly I go out with a guy we used to label Freak from Nerdsville? I’d be the laughing stock of the town especially my mom. I kept on telling her time and again I would never ever date a geek and I’ll never be one them pretty girls who’s got butt ugly boyfriends, and she incessantly told me to never put a period in my words, who knows, I might give in. And I’m the kind of person who hates being told I told you so. Now I just want to crawl into a hole and not care.

He kept on telling me that ever since, I have been his dream girl and it was a dream come true for him to date me today. I remember him dance with me at Senior Prom and telling me the exact same thing. However, considering the fact that I have a prerogative, and as much as I hate breaking hearts, I also have a dream boy. I guess this will remain a dream for him and a lifetime torment for me if I don’t give him the chance.

There I was torn between wanting to give him a chance and thinking about my reputation. It would be too mean of me to reject him for such a frivolous reason, or better yet excuse. I would seem too shallow not to be able to look beyond the physical. Most of all, I would feel guilty if I broke his heart. On the other hand, I’d be fooling myself and keeping him waiting for nothing if I go on like this. I know at this point where my standards are too high, life has been and would be too unfair to him. But his effort and sweetness is too much for me to bear.

Unfortunately, I’ve learned from my past mistakes. Love is never for charity. I don’t have the heart to tell him we won’t work out as a couple.

Since the “road to holiness must necessarily pass through the world of action”, the author’s aspirations inevitably brought her alongside the pilgrimage of the Filipino people towards the elusive “Promised Land” of peace and prosperity. It led her to a first hand view of the betrayal and treason of our national leaders and made her review historically why this was so. Her trip back to the Filipinos’ collective past enabled her to see in a different light why the masses of ordinary Filipinos are bereft of a genuine national identity today. It also brought into focus the reasons why the present system has almost collapsed and why an urgent cleansing and transformation must happen in the Philippines if it is to prevent itself from turning into a “failed state”.

The author’s priority for moral values and her Catholic standpoint are seen in the more controversial parts of the book – the many men of Gloria Arroyo and her “dance with the devil” as an illegitimate president turned dictator, a detailed recital of the treachery of all our presidents from Aguinaldo to Arroyo, how the United States veered away from the original intent of their Founding Fathers in dealing with the Philippines and the call to the conscience of the American people to undertake voluntary rectification in our country if it is to save America and finally, the imperative for all Filipinos today to choose either the path towards peace and prosperity but through civil war or maintain the status quo and become a failed state . She asserts that unless these sins are addressed we all share in the guilt. The author contends that if we are in a miserable and desperate state today it is because we have forsaken God’s directive “Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and all other things shall be given to you”. Happiness to her is “going back to our Ultimate Source”. And if as a result of this book the “first couple” decides to physically terminate her, the author believes they would only shorten her journey back to God.

The book is the author’s personal story. But it is also your story, the account of every Filipino who cares for his country, whether in the Philippines or abroad. It echoes the tale of all peoples in the underdeveloped countries, all preys and victims of the powerful governments, huge banks and corporations—the corporatocracy—and like us, each of them is also “A Nation Unborn”.

I never thought I would encounter such a book like this. It has been put on hold from further publication and reprinting. You wouldn't see any copy of this from the National Bookstore or any other book sale shop. I got it from my mother's friend which ironically is a government employee. Well, they're not all the same. Some employees hate their employer but hesitates to rant about it to keep the job and the life-sustaining salary and let's not forget, the 13th-month pay.

Of course, like any other printed item created to expose the scandals and anomalies brought about by the Philippine Government, I was surprised to know that Maria Linda Olaguer Montayre, the book's author, is still alive. Or at least for now. In these times of rampant media person killing, it would be safe to conclude that she's in the list. It's just not yet her time. We all hope she continues to live unscathed.

Why the title A Nation Unborn? To me the Philippine Nation was born the moment Negritos came and multiplied to the reign of the datus and finally to the present regime. I'd say despite the Filipinos' being born from the Motherland, it is still ignorance and hesitation that keeps us immature or in the most abstruse sense, Unborn. If I were asked I'd rather change the title to "More Reasons to Hate the Philippine Government" or "The Philippine Government Sucks: Were You Surprised?" or better yet "The Little Filipino Aborted by the Nymphoadministration". Hell yeah.

I'm gonna read this from cover to cover after I furnish my Sims 3 mansion.

Yah I remember that friend of mine I used to call Pucca. Anatomically speaking, like Pucca, you can barely see her eyes. The more it disappears when she smiles or laughs. Even when she’s mad or serious or at the height of watching a really scary movie, her eyes remain a secret unless you look her straight in the face. An epitome of a regular chinita.

Back in our Manila Summer Affiliation, especially when she’s wearing red, I’d tie her hair in buns and take her pictures like a cosplayer in Anime conventions. Here’s one of her pictures.

Meyl, sorry for the exposure. Love you! ^_^

After almost a month, I suddenly found myself going through a Pucca Funny Love episode marathon in Youtube. This cutest chinese cartoon character gives me more reasons to enjoy my youthfulness. I love Pucca so much. Her unique passion for chasing Garu around in romantic attempts is overwhelming. It's the "funny love" the sequel title was talking about. I'm no Pucca but I could tell Garu likes her too not only because she's got mad skills in Kung-fu but maybe because he doesn't want to be chased by anyone else, and even so he'd still pick Pucca as his private stalker no matter how resenting his expressions may be.

I think I've watched every Pucca Funny Love episode and I won't hesitate to watch it over and over again. She's so cute that she reminds me of a girl I used to know. Haha

I have this female cousin who just turned 10. She lives in a subdivision of another province 1 hour ride away from ours but she and her older brother is currently residing in our house for the meantime due to summer education matters. Basically, their parent’s favor was to let them stay over at my uncle’s house just beside ours. It was more spacious. So spacious that you barely see any live human being gallivanting around and even if there was, they’d be heading next door—to our house. It’s not a haunted house but a typical house of a rich family, pretty chic but dull and yeah, spacious. Unfortunately due to the lucid and irritating excuses of an average businessman, they decided to stay here in our simple yet cozy place where unlike the other house, is full of people.

They’re nice siblings. They know how to wash their own dishes and help my yaya with household chores. Her brother was like a 11-year old version of my brother, creative and gay. She was nothing like me, but she’s got some likeable attitude sometimes. They’re both taking advance classes at a review center nearby. Each Thursday my uncle picks them up and by Sunday afternoon they return.

Anyway, so I was talking about this little girl. We don’t get along well. We don’t fight but a thin sheet of awkwardness hanged itself between us. We spoke different dialects of Bicol (Me, Legazpeno and she Sorsoganon, if that’s what you call the spoken word of Legazpi and Sorsogon) but we’re both Filipinos so practically we understand each other. We have different interests and never did a thought of playing with her occur to me. We’re just plainly different. I was quite a regular ate, silent and mature and she was a regular child with a weird point of view: She thinks she’s not her father’s daughter.

I don’t understand why sometimes children despite the almost-perfect life, want some drama? When I was her age I only poured my heart out in a stupid and uncalled for emotional breakdown and got myself a short term psychogenic fugue just because I got my crush’s notebook only to see a girl’s name written for like ten times or more. Yeah I nearly died for getting heart broken for the first time. I also remember telling the DSWD speaker during one of our elementary fieldtrips that my mother tied me and a huge scandal broke out. That story of course with some bitchy teachers’ additional and exaggerated stories had my mom called for at the principal’s office when in the first place I only meant a tourniquet test for Dengue. I absolutely had no idea about it at that time and if I were to evaluate that attitude of mine eight years before, I’d say that was indeed ludicrous. As I continued to ridicule and curse my childhood nonsense, I got into thinking that somehow despite how idiotic crying over a boy and telling the world that my mom tied me was, at least the fact that people cry when they’re hurt and a naïve description of a diagnostic procedure was a bit sensible.

So then, what the hell is this kid’s basis for inventing a terribly cruel and baseless story? Even in her facebook account, she uses her mother’s maiden name. Maybe it’s because she’s the only girl among her brothers. Oh please she can’t be that stupid. But what do I know? I wasn’t there to observe her milestones and to jot down whatever happened that made her think that way. Could it be? No way.

Even so, despite the possibility of her not inventing anything in the first place, I know her dad is a good father. My uncle has been my substitute father each time my real dad went to work abroad. He has been a stroke survivor and although he’s partially incapable, I am a witness of how hard he tries to help with everything each time they visit. I just hope she sees whether whoever the sperm donor or the man she grew up with has been a real father to her. And I hope she learns to appreciate her dad more than create a depressing story to get attention.

Time has given its verdict. I'm destined with essays and the utter use of the mighty pen. Of course with the technology nowadays, I'm sticking with the easy keyboard instead (save the trees!).

Back when I was in elementary I used to say only the geeks love words, sentences and paragraphs. I never really took my time to go to the library and discover for myself what kind of magic these books have over these so-called geeks that they love writing so much. I'd rather do Math or play patintero and jack stones.

Like a normal elementary student, each Language class we were required to write paragraphs about random topics. Remember the formal and the non-formal theme notebook which is the size of a drawing book? I dreaded to write my heart out that time despite how our energetic teacher encouraged us. To make my 5-sentence paragraph look long I tried to use two lines as I drew the seemingly enlarged and exaggerated words along the page. It was a style of the typical dawdler but I was proud of what I did. That would be enough just to get my grades done. One shocking incident happened though. My teacher loved my work! I said to myself she must be crazy. She must be in her most desperate attempt to lure me into her microcosm. The next thing I knew, I woke up inside the library A PARTICIPANT IN AN ENGLISH WRITING CONTEST!

I didn't win though. My greatest competitors were the geeks I was talking about. And boy they sure loved filling up every bit of space a tablet paper has as I just sat there watching them, dazed, not knowing what to write or how to begin. For one thing, I had a really bad handwriting and certainly my dawdling style didn't work at all. The saddest part of it, due to my childhood naiveté (I actually mean stupidity) and inability to grasp or even care about the world, I didn't know what the theme is about ("What the hell is global warming?!") so basically my work wasn't as readable and essential as a competitor's work in an English writing contest supposed to be. It was a mess.

It was the most frustrating event in my early childhood years but nevertheless, as nostalgia took me back in awe I realize it opened my eyes to the wonderful world of journalism. I wanted to know more. I wanted to write with passion. I wanted to be a geek.

High school became my training ground in the field of writing. In my personal sojourn, I saw myself growing and gradually maturing into the Freelancer Geek I craved to be. I met and have been good friends with the same people I branded weird back in elementary. I helped finish a really cool short story for an English class project. I became an active writer and layout editor of newspaper-making projects in Journalism class. I formulated some scripts for group or class plays. I wrote poems, essays, and various literary pieces that finally in my senior year, from a copyreader I was appointed associate editor-in-chief with my co-geek best friend as the editor-in-chief in our school publication The Agnesian.

Sadly we didn’t produce any paper the whole year despite the relentless nights and skipping-classes-for-publication-related-and-invented-excuses days we almost lost our lives to. I guess we were bound to enjoy the antipathetic stresses of a student journalist merely for the sake of experience because after everything we did the world suddenly sucked. It was an issue between our budget for the printing and reproduction of our hard work and the new principal of our school. I wonder where it went and why it wasn’t followed up but one thing’s for sure, the world moved on and so should I. I got me a The Agnesian service award during graduation anyway.

College was a different picture than high school. Way different. I continuously forced myself to love and commit myself in the art and science of nursing. I convinced myself I needed this odd kind of covenant with medicine in order for me to go abroad and earn dollars. However, in the long tedious process of education, I failed to notice I began disregarding my other skills. I started having the most grotesque symptom of an erratic scribbler, the writer’s block.

I had the writer's block for almost three years now and it gave me quite a lag in the development of my inner scribe. Each time we were tasked to write an essay, I'd be too in a hurry and straight to the point like the average and the obvious instead of playing with words and constructing my piece to full detail and expecting a higher grade.

I keep a diary to spare that part of my brain that loves literature from ulterior deterioration. Oftentimes though, despite having a personal journal to capture my college moments, I’d be too tired to even think of an opening sentence. I’d be too mysterious and brief with my story so my brother can’t understand what really happened when he comes meddling with my personal life. And that journal remains brief in every date of every page. Almost as if I killed the world detail in my mind dictionary. I failed to tell my story as detailed as I wanted to read about it 50 or 60 years in the future.

I even missed intentionally the opportunity to join our college publication The Vital Signs. The moment the publication’s adviser announced the upcoming auditions, an inner spark of hope made me want to grab that chance and be an instant officer of that club. But then at the back of my mind, the desperate devil kept on whispering, “Additional stress…Your friends are not joining anyway that’ll be boring right?...You’re too lazy you can’t even study in advance or review enough to get exams perfect what more with another responsibility?” And the ever echoing, “Don’t…don’t…don’t” continued hovering above my head until I realized the auditions were over and a new set of staffers were declared. Oh well. Rant.

Wonder what suddenly hit my head, took over my body and commanded me to create a purple-themed Blogger blog site? Would you believe it’s Boredom? Well, believe it or tell me “Wehh di nga?” but yes, boredom over the summer vacation triggered this reawakening of my inner scribe. I’ve proven my own destiny with writing that despite the lazy moments and the three year old freakin’ writer’s block, I still have it.

And now I just finished writing my first post. I missed this so much. ^_^