Today I learned something very important. People don’t respect me. They don’t respect me as a scriptwriter; they don’t respect me as a classmate; they don’t respect me as a person and a fellow human being.

Maybe this is the reason why no one listens seriously to my suggestions. Maybe this is the reason why no one tries to take anything I try to do seriously. Maybe this is the reason why I want to be older. I want to behave older. I want to look, talk and feel the part even at the risk of getting wrinkles well before old age. I want to be with people who respect me, and I can’t stand it any longer if the same thing goes on and on. My thoughts run from trepidation to dejection to emigration whenever I realize that the people whom I’ve been with for so long don’t take me seriously.

One year, two years, three years, five years, an eternity: I’ve known and tried to know them for so long. Some of my classmates I have been with since elementary. Some of my classmates I have been with for two years. Some of my classmates I have been with the year before last. Some of my classmates I have been with for barely a year. Some of them I barely know; some of them I know enough; some of them I know well; I want to know all of them better with each passing day.

Maybe some of them respect me, and some don’t. Maybe some of them respect me at certain times and some of them despise me at other times. I don’t know. Maybe I can never know with certainty for myself who are my friends, who are my acquaintances, who are my enemies, and who are snakes hiding in the grass. Human behavior is too complex for my naiveté for me to grasp even the slightest understanding.

My emotions are not that all complex. I can feel at ease or unease with certain persons at certain times. I feel I want to know others when I am close to them, and sometimes I feel I want to get away from them as far as possible. I can love, like a son loves his parents or like a student loves his classmates. I can only start to love, like a man loves a woman, for I know that I am not yet mature or responsible enough to do so. I can hate, and I can envy others. I can feel that the world is with me, and I can feel that nobody wants to be with me. I can feel sorry, sorry for my mistakes and actions, and I can feel pity, pity for others who are less fortunate. Of course, I can feel that I have to think instead of feel.

You can know easily enough when the mind takes over from the heart. It makes me feel more measured, more reserved, more serious, and more dejected that what can be supposed from a person at my age. But then again, I do want to behave older. Only the right actions must be manifested for the proper occasions. Cold logic triumphs over warm emotions.

Maybe some of them don’t see me the way I see people think about me, if they bother to think about me at all. Maybe some of them see me the way I see people think about me. Maybe some of them think about me in a way I have not yet imagined or thought about. All I know is that when the world seems to be painted in blue and gray I can rarely go wrong with being with people like Dan, Djoskarl, Enrico, Jackie, Justin, Kristine and Treisha who make me feel better about myself.

I wonder if my actions are to blame for the loss of respect towards me. Maybe the word respect is foreign to my body. Maybe I am doomed like the Danaids, doomed to chase something beyond my reach.

No, I cannot believe that I can never regain people’s respect towards me. I have to believe that someday, somewhere and somehow, people will treat me as their equal and respect me in equal measure. I have to believe that people can respect me, as I can respect myself. Nothing less than my dignity, integrity and self-worth is at stake today. But I have to ask myself: are these the gasping breaths of a dying man, the final defiance against inescapable Fate?

But if I refuse to believe, what kind of life could I live?

Current Mood: frustrated

Today, I woke up with a start. Somehow I should have expected that occasion to happen. I have been watching adventurous shows that are not all to my normal taste. I had brooded on much of what has happened to me this year. I had let my usual dread of the house creep inside me for the several days that I have stayed here in my ancestral home. Those who know that I often stay in my aunt’s house may not be surprised that I consider it my ancestral home because ever since I was born I had been drawn to this place. My mother’s hometown, Sampaloc in the mountains of Quezon, does not hold the same attraction that this place possesses.

Today, I woke up with my heart pounding hard. I did so because I had dreamt a horrible dream. I dreamt that we were on a field trip to a distant place near Sampaloc accessible by only one road and numerous bamboo walkways when armed men ambushed us. I dreamt that all of us who were not captured immediately or slain fled by any way we can, through the road, the narrow bamboo walkways or through the way dared by the few and desperate, sliding down the steep mountainsides and cliffs. What made the scene even more terrifying was that I dreamt that my classmates were there in a setting all too familiar.

I could not remember if they were soldiers, rebels or terrorists. I only knew that they had and evil reputation and had guns, grenades and rockets with a range of 20 kilometers, all of which they quickly put to their disposal. They aimed their rockets at the narrow walkways through which many of us were fleeing. They threw their grenades at stragglers and resisters. They fired their guns at anybody who merited their attention. It was indiscriminate slaughter.

Somehow I escaped and made my way back to the school. Somehow I got through the mass of people who had gathered there and met Jobel, Maan and Djoskarl. They asked me if I had news about our other classmates. The whole scene started to fade away just as I answered them in the negative.

Watching the latest television series and telenovelas have become a pastime now that I have seemingly unlimited leisure time at my disposal. Now that the Christmas season is reaching its climax, I can feel the urgency of romance and truth, and I could not help but be saddened by the sights and sounds that have become part of my daily routine here.

It hurts when I see people on the silver screen laughing, smiling, talking, feeling madly in love with each other knowing that it feels so far away before I could experience the same things that they are having. Love and romance seems so hopelessly distant when I look at myself and gaze upon my appearance, knowing that I give to people whom I love the things that I can give to others who have given me so much in return.

Why is it that I am hopelessly drawn to one and the other? Why is it that circumstances would make me choose whom I want to be with? Why is it that in spite of all that has happened to me I am still willing to embrace both sides of the fence? Why is it that the people whom I grew up with, admired and loved are becoming both a joy and sadness in my heart? Why am I pulled this way and that? Why should I have to decide whom I would love the more when both are evenly matched in my heart? Why do I have to be torn apart in this struggle between heart and mind, between body and soul?

It seems so easy and effortless when you watch it from a distance and view it in a different light. It seems so romantic and heartwarming to see young couples matched together despite all odds in order to see each other through to the altar. It seems so exciting and adventurous while we view their lives bound in another time and space, as they face the challenges and hurdles towards their love for each other. How easy for us humans to be carried away so easily by figures and speech designed to entertain us with versions of the same old story.

Nowadays I do not know whether the cool chill air has gone not just into my lungs but also to my heart to dampen the usual Christmas cheer that permeates our lives during this season of the year. Maybe I have brooded on my troubles and sorrows for too long and too deep. Maybe I have failed to see some of my faults and some of their virtues, just as I believe they have done to me. Maybe I have failed to contemplate the goodness of heart remaining in humanity that redeems our errors. Such goodness and grace may we all continue to appreciate and contemplate as Christmas draws near.

To all that have become a part of me this year, through all the joys and sorrows of yesteryear, through all the experiences and emotions I have shared in, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from the bottom of my heart, and may God bless you.

Current Mood: touched

It feels a great relief for me now that I can play my favorite computer game The Sims again here. I have relived the moments when I experienced the thrill of building my own house, shopping mall and state fair, all better than ever before, all made through the help of numerous pirated expansion sets until The Sims Vacation. I have relived the moments when I gave to my virtual Sims real emotions that made them a part of my life once more.

It feels all too familiar of the situation I find myself in. I know that I have to prevent myself from overusing the computer since it doesn’t belong to me anyway. I know that it drains my energy when other tasks lay waiting, tasks that are more important than finding out how to save my Sim from the Grim Reaper. I know that it doesn’t help me get rid of the pimples that are appearing on my face.

Dear God, help me find the strength of will and fortitude to master myself from my desires and temptations. Help me realize and understand what needs to be done, and help me do everything according to your will. Help me accept the consequences of my actions and inaction. And most of all, may I accomplish my half of the bargain that I have made with you when I have sent this prayer to you.

Current Mood: contemplative

Today I woke up to the sound of crackling pork and pouring water from the tap. My head was still groggy from all the stress of having to fix your electric motor to make it work everytime you push it. It has been an obsession for my father and me for the last week, trying to figure out how does it work as it says in the book. My father is a very great stickler for rules when it comes to the technical aspects of things, so he would stop at nothing to make things work exactly as things are supposed to do. Not wanting to sail things so close to the wind after the recent events I was determined to see this project to the end, too. Hence I was forced to lug my unfinished motor for a week during the midyear exams desperately trying to ask my Physics teacher, Sir Mendoza, exactly how things were supposed to be, partially wrecking the motor in the process. Then I went around asking everybody in the class who knew something that may be of some help to my problem. Finally, we had to do half the motor all over again in order to improve it and learned how those retail stores are no better than profiteers. It seems that they would make me pay more than half of the price for two D batteries in the department store for one measly battery. Obviously after all the labor and hard work we had put in this motor I was determined to get a good grade for all our efforts.

Japanese visitors were going to visit our English class, so we got our Mathematics teacher Ma'am Manalo to let us use her time in order to practice our presentations and clean up our room. Obviously they came, they saw, and they wondered. Why shouldn't they - with all the acting, singing, dancing and philosophizing involved in our presentations they remarked that they thought that we had prepared the whole affair especially for them. They were mistaken, but I have to admit it's not everyday that such things happen.

For instance, Djoskarl officiates my wedding with Janica. Erika parodied Julie Andrews's Mary Poppins with her rendition of "Make Way for Noddy". Anthony gets to declare his love for Claire. Ace turns from being a gay entertainment show host into a philosopher who maintains that the king and all of his men were able to confirm Humpty Dumpty's identity as an egg only when it fell, believing it to be an ear of corn. A homosexual version of Christopher manages to interview Cathleen as Rosanna Roces and Angelica as Dr. Vicki Belo about their public feud. Homophobe Frederick incurs the ire of the visitor's gay Filipino interpreter when he said that he hated gays, How much more fun would it have been, I later said to Ma'am Lucena, if the Japanese became acquainted with the Gananas in Pajamas, the Three Bears and the excitement only a Glenda-and-Paulo presentation could give.

I spent most of Computer Science and Lunch trying to complete my notes on Kingdom Fungi. To that end, I brought along my hardbound copy of Biology by Campbell, 5th Edition. Unfortunately together with the electric motor that made up more than the usual share of the burden when bringing my things to school. As I did my Advanced Biology notebook with Antonio, Kristine and Christopher I realized that despite all the lethargy Ma'am Montenegro exudes in the subject she teaches I still had a passion for Biology, albeit half-realized. Ma'am Bunagan still had that influence carrying over from her classroom. Nowadays things are so different from what they used to, from the accent to the lessons to the notebooks scrupulously handwritten and drawn. Sometimes I feel that I lack a reason to exist in my Advanced Biology class; I can't remember when was the last time I listened to her blathering books in front of the class. It seems I have so many preoccupations to deal with that when they are piled up in a stack, they're taller and bigger than the San Francisco plant she made us bring on short notice. Add that to a whole hour of listlessness, and pretty soon you'll find me doing something clearly unrelated to the subject.

After that Ma'am de Paula left us to ourselves while she went to take a rest from all the dictating and lecturing. She said that her disproportionately sized stomach and her sore throat kept her from giving out her best effort in her Chemistry class. So, she left me and Cathleen to dictate her lesson plan that was written in a script sometimes hard for us to understand, all the while taking down our own notes. I found out that while teaching can be a lot of fun and hard work mixed together in equal parts, you had to love what you were doing, else all of a sudden you would grow hoarse and irritated reading your notes repeatedly for the benefit of your students. Still, the experience was quite fun for me, because I have never been left with a responsibility like this since I taught rather ineffectively the parts of a wave in Earth Science back in First Year. It whets my appetite even more for tomorrow, when I am hopefully due to continue my lesson in Social Studies about Louis XIV. Anybody who has known me for three days would know that I had always wanted to have such an experience.

We never knew that Physics could be sexually suggestive before we read the comic strip Oerstedland about electromagnetic induction. It's about the adventure of Mr. Magnet and Ms. Wirey who are both on the road to discovery. Though you may not see it at first, our environmentally conscious minds are always ready for new interpretations. Thus, you may see what would be the effect of the sight of Mr. Magnet vibrating up and down in order to move the free electrons of Ms. Wirey. Even Mr. Magnet’s brother joined in the action, in a manner of speaking. We had a marvelous time laughing at their antics, transformed in our minds into sensual escapades of romance and pleasure. Sir Mendoza was utterly bewildered by our reaction to what he thought was an innocent comic strip about electromagnetic induction. Apparently he never realized the boundless opportunities that lie within our fertile imagination.

By the way, he requested me to check a bundle of Midyear examinations in Research as our teacher Ma’am Villanueva was absent and the other Science Department teachers would have to take up the slack. Out of pique at being able to do what Karen as the secretary of the class normally does, I accepted his request and put them in my portfolio.

Sir Mendoza also announced that those who would have their electric motor checked would stay after classes in order to wait their turn, because he wouldn’t have them checked during our Physics class. Roddel and me were the first ones to have them checked. Unfortunately, he kept popping me the question of how does my electric motor work, even though he had already heard virtually everything that I had known and learned since I started making it. He was insistent on asking what was the proof that there was such a force that made the magnetic wire loop turn in that specific direction.

Seeing that I couldn’t answer the question to his satisfaction, I had to be contented with a grade of 92, as Jheric and told me, or 89, as Djoskarl and Kristine reported upon closer examination. I was grateful already that the electric motor worked as it should have, and that I had at least managed to pass the project on time and my grades to a satisfactory level. However, the worry wart and grade conscious personality within me kept worrying that the grades I have been receiving weren’t up to the high standards that are routinely demanded of a member of the star section and an aspirant to the Top Ten. I stayed on to watch the others attempt to answer the question he kept asking us. When we asked him at the end of the session who had answered the question correctly, he told us that things were just the way they were. Someone had answered the question correctly, but he couldn’t recall whom that person was, and even that person wasn’t too sure about his or her answer. Even though it was perfectly understandable that nobody managed to answer his question with absolute certainty, it was naturally hard to be contented with the answer of “That’s life.”

It was my good fortune that the service was obligated to leave a hour later than the usual. Under the vehicular traffic scheme imposed in Metro Manila a car with a plate like ours wasn’t supposed to be seen on the roads after 7 o’clock in the morning and before 7 o’clock in the evening. We had to be extra careful lest the police or a traffic enforcer catch us violating the rules and regulations we were supposed to follow. Meanwhile, we had a great time laughing hard at the advertisements posted in a tabloid found in the car, all of which advertised indecent and immoral sexual acts to be performed at gay bars. Even if we were already rather tired and a little hoarse from all the laughter we just experienced barely an hour ago, we couldn’t help bursting into fits as we read about the various performances homosexuals have prepared for the Christmas season.

Current Mood: giggly

Earlier the priest at Mass - I now attend the morning masses - said that John the Baptist died for his fearless views. His principled side bothered some Jews so much that Salome danced for his head in front of King Herod. All I can say is, at least she danced before poor John was beheaded. People today, especially corrupt politicians and businessmen, would shoot first before dancing. Well, at least in private. It won't do them any good if they get to present audiovisual evidences against themselves in court.

But wait, isn't there a right against self-incrimination? That detail supposedly prevents us from having false confessions being tortured from our bludgeoned bodies - and who is doing the bludgeoning by the way? - but it also blocked Maj. Gen. Carlos Garcia from testifying about his ill-gotten wealth. Well, the prosecution could get his wife to do it for him, but then again that isn't allowed, too. And even if it were allowed, would there be any chance that she would be so just as to exchange her designer shoes for prison clogs? Not likely - she wouldn't have a chance to get any Prada shoes, or bags for that matter, in one of her numerous overseas trips, like her fellow kumadre in the Armed Forces, the wife of Maj. Gen. Angelo Reyes. Sigh. For quite a while I almost thought that he wasn't corrupt like all the other officials in the government. Well, if he still isn't one of them, it looks like his wife became one.

You ever heard of the CAFGUs that protect people in the countryside, especially in Mindanao? Well, now its time for the existence of the C.A.F.G.O.S be revealed to the public. C.A.F.G.O.S. stands for Corrupt Armed Forces and Goverment Officials Society of the Philippines. It's an irony really, the fact that the two organizations, one fact and the other fiction - or so to the best of my knowledge - are nearly namesakes. But of course, you would expect that coming from the organization which staffs them - or at least fills its membership rolls along with other, more famous conspirators: the Armed Forces of the Philippines.

More famous because the snakes in the grass in the parade ground hide between the legs - though if you watched the television a few weeks back, more than just between the legs - of the ordinary rank and file soldiers who are risking their lives in the battlefield, and not those who are stuffing the AFP comptrollership organization of rotten apples and bad bananas.

Conspirators because they spend most of their time plotting how to get their hands on the Filipino treasury; defending them against civil society groups, transparency investigators and the judicial system; wondering how to get back the wealth that was returned to the government's coffers; and planning how to get their loot out of the country before it collapses under a weight of fiscal, political, economic and social irresponsibility and mismanagement. Of course, it was shown that it does not do for your sons to handcarry your money to the U.S.A. in their breifcases, ala Mafia style, for the FBI to discover. That's just plain stupidity.

Anyway, I was also wondering why Antoninus Pius had to change Roman legal code by proclaiming that from that moment, a man was presumed innocent until proven guilty. Of course, this basic legal principle has served us well since Pax Romana was at the height of its glory, but cynicism and the slow grinding wheels of justice threaten that statute here in the Philippines. Some people here - and sometimes that includes me - wonder why shouldn't the likes of Maj. Gen. Garcia be assumed guilty until proven innocent, since it appears that the allegations are not, as his family is claiming, baseless and contrary to fact. The multimillion-peso dollar briefcases serve testimony on that. Shouldn't we just shoot the - pardon the expression - shoot the general in the ass and burn him alive along with his family?

This dilemma has been solved quite a long time ago. Antoninus Pius obviously had in mind the lawless Roman mobs that threatened public security when he decreed his famous - if any of this generation could be bothered to know at this age - contribution to history. While it presumably makes it easier to convict the general for his corruption - and more besides - it also endangers society to the spectre of mob rule. Mudslinging would stick to your name even if it is not warranted or supported by hard evidence, and that would lead you to even worse ends, like having the guillotine slice your neck during the height of the French Revolution and the Reign of Terror.

Public opinion whould follow the law, not the other way around. Or better yet, the two should cooperate hand in hand, lest the people tire of those in power and put in power a new politician for his or her demagoguery. While former President Corazon Aquino is hardly guilty of this charge - as a matter of fact she just won the W. Averell Harriman Prize for promoting the spread of democracy and human rights here in the Philippines - but the same cannot be said of President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. At the most she should be given the benefit of the doubt. The recent deaths due to the typhoon in Quezon and Aurora speaks more of her ability to blather out - with the help of Congress, of course - important reform measures ineffectively than of her ability to chase after those loggers who deforested the slopes of the Sierra Madre, and her ability to prevent the Philippines from slipping down into an irretrievable debt, deficit and development situation. Now if she bungles those situations, that's just plain stupidity - for her fate, ours and that of the country.

Current Mood: cynical

After all the months and days of asking myself whether or not I'm reviving this blog, I've finally made my decision by posting this entry. That means all the entries since June are back-dated, but I do feel that I have to create a record of some of the more important events that have happened to me during the past schoolyear. I'm just too tired to leaf through dated entries in Batang Maynila notebooks and to arrange my things, which time and again have reverted to their usual disorganized identity. Kudos to my long-suffering family, particularly my mother, for having rearranging my stuff time and again to prevent the store of memorabilia from overruning the house.

Anyway, classes were suspended today for Teacher's Day. I don't know why really, since there are no typhoons hovering over the horizon. Maybe it's because they just want to get rid of all the noisy, restless Mascians hanging around on their special day. Not all the teachers have the fortune or misfortune to have their birthdays fall during the vacations.

So now I'm here in my corne eating KitKat bars and staring at my own handwriting, which varies depending on the speed, style and location where I wrote it. I used to criticize my handwriting, but gradually I have learned to appreciate the value of my penmanship. After all, it's not everyday that I write with my h's and k's looking like identical twins, and my G's and S's aren't written in the same manner.

Sometimes I wonder how do I look when I'm tall, muscular and free of those pimples, both big and small, that hide in my face. I don't know, but looks do create a favorable or unfavorable impression of people. It impresses, or depresses the soul and spirit. But then again I am good as Social Studies. Maybe it's just part of the trade-off between looks and brains. But then again look at Karen. She has the looks and brains. And look at Enrico. He too has that right combination. Even Lyndon and Paulo: they get you cracked up pretty easily, especially when they're joking and doing slapstick. It's a little bit surprising for those who do not know them that well that all of them are certified academics.

Am I eternally doomed to look like an undersized nerd for the rest of my life? That's taking it a little too far, but seriously, how would my appearance change, hopefull for the better? Do I have to take growth enhancers? Do I have to jump 12 times at New Year's Eve and pump iron to get my muscles in shape? How far could I go? How far should I go? How far will I go? Will my answers to these questions hit their mark in the future?

Current Mood: listless

Today I cursed someone, and I meant it. I told Jobel fuck you. At that moment I hated her, hated the way Yssa said that “James, o, sinabi ni Jomar na fuck you.”, hated the way she dismissed me when she said “fuck you too.” I knew I hurt her but I did not care. I was full up with anger with the woman whom I was once attracted to, “like a magnet” as I confided to her one night.

I was tired of the fact that I had to suffer indignities and indignations so many times at their instigation or inspiration. Turning me into a joke was convenient for them, and it was very popular. At least, the others didn’t think of it much when they joined in. At least though sometimes they gave thought to my feelings and tried to stop it. Not them. My life had become unbearable, unbearable as unbearable for them when they thought of me hanging around them and how much it would disrupt and annoy their regular proceedings.

I did not care if I became rude. Certainly now that I think of it, it was rude. Certainly “fuck you” would be the same response I would give if somebody told me so. Certainly the way I cut off Erielle when he was at the middle of criticizing my poem in Filipino was rude. But to that I can only say that it was wrong to judge a book by its cover. Whatever did I do that he should criticize my work and turn my hours of effort useless and to little purpose – even if he did not mean to say so? Yet I will not defend myself further. As time goes by and the memory has faded and the anger is assuaged I will come to see that it is useless to defend an indefensible position. To do so would be pointless, and to no effect.

Yet I will not have it so. The purpose of my actions was to make them see that it had to stop. The daily routine of ridicule must stop. If I had to become rude, so be it. When people would say that the means should justify the ends, I would remember the milestones – it is every bit as memorable as anything in the world today – with fondness and happiness. I will not justify my rudeness; I will not be pushed in that corner. Suffice it to say that I had immediate reasons of my own as to the purpose of my actions. With time those reasons will fall or fade away, and only the deed will be remembered, bitterly if it must come to that, and I will accept that silently, bitterly if it must come to that.

But I wanted to stand up for myself. I wanted to show them that I was there, and I was being hurt by their actions, whether done unconsciously or consciously. I wanted to show that from now on I would not be stampeded and forced to accept their will just because it is theirs.

I admit that their criticism helped me mature into a better person. Nobody can deny that except myself, and if that should be so I would not be truthful. But now I have come to realize that I too, was hurt. Too much for me to bear, and for too little. For as the days went by they had grown accustomed to their practice, trying to isolate me from the rest of society – and I will not deny that then I stood by and let it happen – but not now. I will not let them do the same things I have let them do to me since I met them. I will not stand by and let it happen. Too much is at stake: my reputation, my emotions, my sense of self-worth and self-esteem, and ultimately the identity of the person whom I will grow up into.

Now I realize that with time I must also disentangle my affairs with theirs. But to say that I should not concern myself too much with Jobel, or indeed with any other person of their group, is for me pointless at this time. For better or worse they are the most prominent, if not the most important part of the class. The fact that they could often convince my classmates into joining in on ridiculing me is enough. True, they would not join in if they had a reason, but neither will they unless they had an inspiration - or worse, an instigation. To attempt to do so would lead to nothing.

Years now, when all of this is past, maybe I would remember this things. Much may I regret then. But I am certain that more I will regret if I should not stand up and try to become the man I was born to be. I want to apologize to Jobel, and I do so now. I have extended an olive branch; would she extend the hand of peace or an iron fist? Forgiveness she may then give, and I hope so – but she may not. One thing, however that I am unwilling to do is forget. And I know that she won’t, and I wouldn’t want her to. What she would remember and know aside from those words I have neither idea nor control of. Only time will tell – and her actions. The next move is up to her. When that happens, I shall be waiting.

Current Mood: frustrated

Sometimes in your life your birthday wouldn’t feel any different from another of those days of drudgery and misery that characterize much of our existence in today’s society. How lonely and miserable would people be if that were always the case. Yet despite thinking otherwise the work remains there, piled up, waiting for you to work on it on your special day as if were any other ordinary day. Who would be there to do it if it wouldn’t be you?

Today my day started well enough. I slept relatively well, had a good, warm bath despite the chilly weather, and ate a hearty breakfast. It seemed like an auspicious way to start your birthday. As usual, I was a little late for the service, something that must irritate even a little bit the long-suffering driver, who’s also the owner of the vehicle. And as usual, we got to school on time, though a bit behind our former schedule a few months ago. Now we sail it pretty close to the wind.

I had been calling other people’s attention that it was my birthday today for well over a week now. Obviously my servicemates, Yssa, Karen, Karl, Alyssa and Delf got to greet me first. However when I first met my classmates they didn’t seem too impressed that it was a special day today, that it was my birthday. However, once we got to the room they all greeted me for the occasion. Yet even then I sensed, or imagined – depending on what was the truth of the matter and what viewpoint you wish to take – a palpable feeling of coldness in their greeting.

Obviously some had done the act sincerely, but I bet that there were also some who greeted me in a show of indifference and crocodile tears – or smiles – that we have termed as plasticity. There were even some who didn’t bother to greet me at all, like the clique – Jobel, Erielle, the usual people. That hurt me a lot. Whether they just didn’t notice, they just didn’t care, they were just too busy, they were sending the message to me telepathically or I was just too deaf I don’t know. But for one thing only Erika sent me a birthday greeting through text messaging, and nobody emailed me about the matter.

Sometimes people hurt you even when they don’t mean and know it, or when they don’t mean but know it, or when they both mean and know it. This was one of the times when people hurt me and they don’t know it.

It has happened often enough, from all their practical jokes – the ones which I don’t get at all and so they are free to say what they want to out of the range of my comprehension, if not my hearing - to their anecdotes which they very well know make me angry – pikon, as they say in Filipino – to their insults that aren’t funny - like the way Djoskarl posted a notice written in her own hand saying that I was a member of GOLTEBS, a kind of student fraternity in the school even though I firmly stated from the start that I could not imagine or want to be a member of that group – to the feeling that despite all the time and effort I spent at befriending my classmates, especially some of them, they consciously or unconsciously did not want me to become a member of their group.

It was always that way. I was always isolated from the rest of the class, partly because of my hobbies and – characteristics – and partly because they didn’t want me to go any deeper in their circle. I found out that all my efforts had done was that I was pushed away from the people who cared about me and attracted to the people who didn’t care a whit whether I was there or not.

Sometimes the case wouldn’t be true, but most of the time they were content to treat me as an oddity, devoid of any useful abilities other than being good at Social Studies and great at English Reading Proficiency and Spelling contests. I didn’t see then that the contests and learning made me into a breadwinner – not of food or money but of achievement – for a family – my classmates – whose most important and popular members wanted me not to become a member of, relegated to distant memory, old photoalbums, browning letters.

I resented that, and I was deeply hurt. For all my human frailities I was still human, same as they are. Why should they then have made me enforce a life partially – sometimes completely – segregated from the rest of the public. I was like an animal at the petting zoo to weird and dangerous for the public to touch. How hurt I was when they would simply wave me away when I was gone – as if I was someone of little worth, even if I were not so.

I wanted to show them what I was really made of, and so that drove me on to want to go to more contests and seminars, and end up with more responsibilities I could not handle at this point in time. I wanted to ask them in the future – a future which I had visualized as me being successful and they are not – what have they done with their lives when I was going ahead? Yet that question depended on the carrying out of a task by a teenager desperately wanting to become a man, and the realization of a future I did not have any control of except with the part that is my own self, my own identity.

The day passed by uneventfully, and ended with me typing a paper in my mother’s office well past hours – for our computer had conked out, at my partial fault – trying to do a task of a man while being a teenager.

As I was eating spaghetti cooked by my aunt and cake past ten in the evening I watched a new telenovela from Korea, called Lovers in Paris. I now realize how hard it was for me that throughout the day I was bereft of love from the people who were becoming the ones who would matter in my life as the day goes by. The bittersweet – the Italians call it chiaroscuro - solace from my family could not pass by the hurt that I had from my classmates, my friends, and my love.

Current Mood: melancholy

Once again Ma’am Bunagan had something up on her sleeve. She invited us three – Enrico, Justin and me – to come along to a seminar about space. Curiously, despite my penchant for attending any such meetings for the experience as well as the points bound to show up at the Star Awards, I tended to forget about the matter for almost a week until Ma’am Bunagan told me about the affair – it was Enrico and Justin who told me about it the first time around – and said that I simply must attend, and whatever was I doing wasting time when I should get hold of my parent’s permit.

So the next day I got to school early, about 6:30 A.M. and found Rodolfo, Ma’am Bunagan, me and precious little else. Eventually the others showed up and we got ready to leave the school. Then Ma’am Bunagan – would it be all right if I called her Aida? – made an amusing scene at the front of the gates when she was asking parents if we could have a ride to Quezon City. After about 10 minutes of waiting we finally got a ride and were on the road.

By the way, I should probably tell who exactly were there: for the Fourth Year, there were Rodolfo, John Paul - J.P. for short - and Arjay; for the Third Year, there were Enrico, Justin and me; and for the First and Second Years I could not recall their names, except for Percy, who had a predilection for cursing by numerous accounts, and a girl named Kenji, whom Aida had mistaken for a boy when she first saw her name on the list.

We spent the time on the backtelling stories, jokes and anecdotes and when we reached Quezon City near UP Diliman we were somewhat amused as Aida got down from our vehicle and started asking passersby where exactly was a place called SEAMEO-INNOTECH located. We managed to find the place and soon after we got down from the vehicle, thanked the parent for driving us to the venue.

We entered the lobby, made our way through the corridors and eventually reached a place that looked somewhat familiar - the scene seemed taken out of a garden in a retreat house, or something like that; the grass was all green and stretched on and on - the building there was called Pearl Hall. No kidding, I tought, since the place was as opulent as a hotel. It had exquisite wooden doors, marble floors, chandeliers and clean hallways and bathrooms. We got to sign our names and get our nametags and meal stubs for the occasion. Of course, some of us took the chance to take a look at the bathroom and take a leak.

We were all seated there in two tables - our delegation couldn't fit in only one - and we started to do other stuff, since the guests and speakers had not arrived yet. I started reviewing my TLE notes, while Arjay did his Math asignments, and all of us were talking to each other about this thing and that. Finally the guests arrived, the ceremonies started and the "Space Education Programme Lecture-Demonstration Seminar" began.

By the way, the guests were: former Senator Leticia-Ramos Shahani, UNESCO officer Yolanda Berenguer, NASA technician Dennis Stone, University of Beijing professor Li Jiang, National Space Society member George Whitesides, and astronomer Kolbjorn Bekkelund - did I get his name right? They started to talk about space education and promoting it in other countries, it being a United Nations initiative and all what with all the foundations, institutions, conferences and agendas they talked about all throughout the seminar

Obviously, I couldn't pass up the chance to take copious notes in my Batang Maynila notebook about all the things they talked about: space education, UNESCO, World Space Week, a Norwegian observatory in the Arctic, remote sensing - Professor Jiang kept having trouble speaking English and having his Powerpoint presentation work - and the National Space Society. Although I was quite ready to doze off or stare into emptiness more than a few times - as you can imagine, all the note-taking, watching and listening to arcane ideas and facts isn't much to anyone's taste, especially if it bores you - but most of the time I was very attentive and was able to keep my mind clear.

By the way, I learned that J.P. wants to become an astronomer. He brought all these books and magazines about astronomy, which surprised me - after all, you wouldn't expect it from someone who's Student Council president - and was probably the most interested about all the things that they said throughout the proceedings.

Anyway, we were served morning and afternoon snacks - sandwiches and fruit juice - while a dance troupe and chorale entertained us. I found it rather amusing that the staff conveniently forgot to take the meal stubs for the morning snacks - after all, it gave me another piece of memorabilia to add to my collection. The food wasn't that bad, and we had lunch: rice, fried chicken, vegetables - I passed those over - and fruit salad. Unfortunately the kitchen utensils ran out and for a time J.P. was forced to borrow one from Ma'am Herson, but he didn't use it - would you? - until they found some.

Anyway, we learned that after the seminar the NSS was donating three telescopes. Obviously the Principal asked J.P. if he could lobby for the telescopes to be donated to Masci. Unfortunately, it was given instead to the DepEd officials there, and we knew that there was a good chance that those telescopes would find their way into the hands of PhiSci - darn those upstarts! - so we weren't bringing any telescopes when we went home. However, we did bring home some educational materials and a NASA poster about the International Space Station for each delegate. We had the guest speakers sign it, and while they were doing so we had a chance to have a look at the telescopes that Mr. Whitesides brought. Even Ma'am Bunagan was quite taken with the guests and asked us to have her nametag signed, too. J.P. of course added some new contacts to his voluminous address book when he approached Mr. Stone and I had the chance to talk to Ms. Berenguer, as I was hoping to have an idea for the upcoming UNESCO celebrations. Unfortunately I was rather put out with her suggestion about remote sensing, and later I relaized that there was not much chance that I could get around to emailing her, so I silently dropped the notion.

Anyway, we went home at 5:00 in the afternoon, and we had a roaring good time at the seminar. Ma'am Bunagan payed all our fare back to Masci, and we eventually got back there an hour later. The only snag we hit was that she had us three make reaction papers on the seminar, so I had to stay over at Alva to finish the text.

By the way, when we were at the corner of Padre Faura and Taft we met Ma'am Vidal, who kept squeezing Enrico's arm and asking where had we gone for the day. Weird.

We found out that the others were excused because they had to make their display boards for the Science Fair, so we didn't miss much of anything. I also learned that my group in Research needed more materials to finish the display board, so I had to give out - I prefer to think lend - more money for them to buy what was needed. Finally, I went home and slept, unmindful that my uniform was still on, or that I had to organize my notes.

Current Mood: pleased

Yesterday, Ma'am Bunagan was looking around for prospective candidates to accompany her to the BioQuiz Show 2004 at UP Manila. Obviously my top picks were Enrico the valedictorian and Justin the salutatorian, both science wizards in their own right. They're great not just in Biology but also in Chemistry, Physics and Research. Unfortunately, Justin and Enrico's Research group - how lucky can you get with those two together in one team? - had to go out for their experiments the day of the contest proper, and Justin was feeling rather guilty about not going to their meetings and stuff. Thus the announcement turned into a Round Robin, with Enrico refusing, Justin getting guilty and me pointing fingers. Eventually Enrico said for what probably was the fifth time, that Justin had to go and I should come along with them. After all, Ma'am Bunagan wouldn't be happy at losing her protege in Second Year, still more at losing both Enrico and Justin, who are Biology geniuses.

I kept asking myself - and Justin - whether I had the right to go along on these kinds of trips. After all, I was usually more renowned at English and Social Studies, and I felt that I couldn't compare myself with those two. I felt that I was just a subsitute, filling in for someone else greater than me, and no amount of rebuttals from Justin and Enrico could change that, at least not in the near future.

In the university campus Ma'am Bunagan met some of her alumni - after all, Ma'am Bunagan is practically an institution in a class all by herself and Ma'am Carteciano - while Rodolfo and Azalea, the contestants, were reviewing Biology by Campbell. I wasn't too familiar with Rodolfo; we weren't getting too much of an opportunity to meet, haveing contests in separate fields, and I heard once in First Year from some Second Years - his batchmates - that he was a little proud. I wasn't qualified to give judgement on this, but I knew he was their batch's valedictorian. That said a lot.

I was more at ease with Azalea. After all, we have been together in Reading Proficiency Contests since I was in First Year, and we have been on good terms for some time. It was mainly her, and probably Arjay, too, that helped me know more about Newton - Newton the Fourth Year class, not the scientist - than I could have done on my own. By the way, James called her her Tomato Twin; I haven't had the chance, or the nerve to ask her why.

Anyway the contest started in this rather small auditorium at 1:00 P.M., after I ahd been sent repeatedly by Ma'am Bunagan whether or not the contest had started. They presented some distinguished U.P. Biology professors as judges, and the contest was pretty neat. The contestants were there on stage with illustration boards and chalk, and they had to write the answer. They gave out questions using Powerpoint and projectors, and the whole affair was pretty neat. They started with the choir singing out the doxology and the National Anthem quite beatuifully, followed with some opening remarks and the rules.

Ma'am Bunagan assigned us to write down the contest questions, presumably for review use or something like that, and we also kept track of the score. That kept me from doodling out a map of the Roman Empire which I had started earlier. Anyway, Masci got into the finals, which I had expected all along - why would I think that Masci could not win this contest? - while we were feverishly writing down the questions, the choices and the answers - some of them were pretty long and complicated, and the managers of the contest didn't allow the questions to linger on stage pretty long. To while away time we would try to answer the questions as best as we could.

The Finals were pretty cool, especially the pointing system - they had this model of the DNA strucure with their bases, and they put in por took out their counterpart bases when you made a right or wrong answer. At first we were somewhat worried, Rodolfo and Azalea having reduced their points below the intitial number, but somehow they rallied through. Azalea in particular kept raising their correct answers almost as soon as the question was read. Not even a misformatted - is there such a word in the English language? - scientific name could keep them from winning the affair, and as it turned out Masci was once again the defending champion. That keeps the pressure on Justin and Enrico to continue the legacy, but I don't mind it much. It always helps to have the favorites for the two top spots in the Top Ten to be your future contestants, and I don't have any reason to believe that my trust on them is misplaced.

Current Mood: happy