Delaying tactic number one
I’ve had this short story idea running through my mind since last week, and during the past couple of days I have been working on the character sketches, a plot outline, and some dialogue. Today I thought I’d give it a go and start writing the story itself. That was an hour ago, and so far all I’ve been coming up with is a bunch of really crappy sentences and dialogue. *sigh* All the stuff people say about me being a “good writer” just doesn’t hold true when I try writing fiction. Argh. I feel discouraged, but I’m determined to get this polished and done before the break ends. Just…not tonight.
I was looking through the messages in my Friendster bulletin when something grabbed my attention. It was a top ten list about “Signs That You Are Addicted To Friendster”. I can’t exactly say that I’m addicted to it, because I don’t think I am. Friendster is really just something I like looking at whenever I have to get something done but I don’t feel like doing it yet. However, number 5 seemed to hold true for me.
(5) People you’ve only said two words to in the past 15 years suddenly become your “friends”
I have all these people from my high school–including my nemesis–in my Friendster list. And during all those four years, I probably said nothing more than ten sentences to them. But in spite of that, we’re all a happy bunch of Friendster friends, grinning and sticking our tongues out at the people and perverts who happen to land on our profiles. And I have no idea how that happened.
There’s a zit on my nose. I feel so ugly.
Filed under entries | Comments (6)Just like way back in the days of old
I saw my high school barkada at Glorietta today for the first time since Glyka’s birthday. I’ve been texting them since last weekend about going out sometime this week, and yesterday Kristel asked if we could all meet up today cos she couldn’t make it on Wednesday like we originally planned. We all agreed to that because we only get to see her once a year and I can’t even remember the last time we saw each other.
I swear, the moment I sat down with them at the table in Starbucks, it was like I was pulled back into the past. I was a high school freshman again, cracking green jokes, checking out cute guys, oggling over my unreachable crush, only with a lot less angst and a lot more wisdom and maturity (I hope). It was great seeing Kristel again. What I like about her is that even though we haven’t seen each other in ages, it’s as if we spent every lunch period during the past year arguing about who gets to eat everyone’s leftovers. I like it when my relationships with people are like that. Sometimes it can get awkward and weird talking to someone you haven’t seen in a very long time.
We wanted to see a movie after lunch, and because of this incident two years ago when my friends wanted to watch that Lance Bass movie but me and Angelica didn’t, I expected my friends to choose a cheesy chick flick like Freaky Friday or something. But they were like, “We’re all 18 now (except for me and Kristel). Lets use our benefits as legal adults and go see something R-18!” So I watched American Wedding for the second time. Buying tickets was such a huge hassle. Because everyone else except Angelica didn’t have their birthdays on their college IDs, I had to sweet-talk the guard at the entrance of the cinema before the ticket lady would sell us our tickets. Thank God for my eloquent powers of persuasion.
Because we didn’t like the studio pic we had taken, we camwhored beside Starbucks while waiting for the movie to start. It’s a good thing I had my digicam with me! (Click for pictures.) Since the bitchy guard patrolling that area wouldn’t take our pictures for us, we decided to just grab a chair, pile all our bags on top of each others’, put the camera at the very top, and set it to timer mode. We took even better pictures than the ones we paid for! I wish this occured to us sooner.
I had such a great time today, and now I feel a little sad because we hardly get to talk during school days and I don’t know when I can see them once the sem break ends. I’m not going to say that I miss high school, because I certainly don’t. I would rather die than be sent back to the nuns and that institution of shallow, melodramatic bitches. But I do miss my high school friends. I miss the stability a barkada offers. I wish they went to Ateneo instead of UPLB, AC, La Salle, and UST. But things happen for a reason. And in any case, I’m already quite happy with the almost-friends I have at school. 
The dilemma of a would-be writer
So today is the first day of my 27-day sem break, and I wish I could say that I’m happy about it but I’m not. It’s not because I don’t want the extra days of bumming around and going out–of course I do. But I’m too worried about the result of my Math 11 finals to celebrate right now. I just know that I flunked the damn thing and the subject itself, meaning that whatever plans I had for the summer are just about screwed. 
I could probably still make it to the States after my summer classes–I miss San Francisco a whole lot and I’m dying to go there again–but not for as long as I would like. Bah. I guess I’ll just make the most out of the next three and a half weeks cos I sure won’t be getting another vacation anytime soon. Pfft.
My Lit exam yesterday was not as disastrous as the math one, but I still think I did badly in it. It had only three essay questions, each one at least four to five paragraphs long with not less than five sentences in each paragraph. What is up with my Lit professor and long essays? I really don’t get it. I mean, if I were in her place I would want my students to write as little as possible. In the first place, it would make checking them a whole lot easier. Plus, long essays tend to go around in circles and talk about something irrelevant to the question. That’s exactly what happened to me. My essays made about as much sense as a Britney Spears song–I mean, who in the world can write three, coherent essays in a span of two hours? Certainly not me.
Earlier I was looking through my Friendster testimonials, and I just noticed that a lot of them say something about me being a good writer. And that made me think, “So where the hell was the good writer in me during my Lit finals?!?!?” Then again, maybe my Lit professor would find some sense in all that crap I wrote during my finals. It’s weird because most of the time I feel like I could have done better in my papers. But when I get them back, it’s with an A written neatly on the upper right corner of the first page. I guess it’s true that you’re your own worst critic. I mean, people actually like the stuff that sounds like crap to me. The problem with me is that I think everything I write about is trite or stupid, which is why I can never come up with anything other than essays for school, journal entries, and Friendster testimonials. Maybe I could just treat those as practice before I start writing The Great Filipino Novel (ha! as if) or something.
There is that moment in a writer’s life when he/she gets threatened by the arrival of someone younger and potentially more gifted. For me, that feeling comes courtesy of Lauren.
That was coming from my English professor. Maybe there is some hope for me after all.
