Stop Right Now
I am writing this blog entry longhand. I think it’s interesting to sway back from Tope (my laptop after sleeping with him for God-knows-how-often) for a while. I remember a Jessica Zafra post claiming that a handwritten piece of a writer is a literal extension of himself, such that you can read his personality from the way he curves or slurs or crosses out words and sentences or inserts that omission mark. I believe though that this has been originaly what I wanted to do: Bowing my head, listening to my thoughts, jotting down with G-Tec, and clearly escaping from everything.
I just submitted my last academic paper in my entire student life (for now) and it was five minutes late. It didn’t matter, the cabbie was all-considerate by hitting the gas along Katipunan to make sure I arrive at CMC the swiftest. Voila, when I whooshed to the building, my professor wasn’t still in to collect our papers. Ah, the adrenaline.
And so, I assume that that seven-page mind wank was indeed my last. I can’t seem to see myelf in the college for one more semester or two. Of course, I will miss my friends and all the people I shared a glance with almost every day of my college life. I will definitely long for the college that taught me to always beam and be… gay = happy.
But I figured out really: I must move on.
I must admit– I was pretty bothered by some leaks about whatever happened between me and a friend one night, last month. And if you already suspect of it, I again must admit: It’s true… And for the questions that are more to arrive, which altogether are purely judgmental quibbles, I suggest you just keep it to yourself. I don’t wanna play it bitch. I am sick of issues and done with them. You too must move on.
Honestly, right now with the incomprehensible handwriting I am engendering, I can already read myself as a tired, lonesome, dissatisfied person. I can no longer see the confidence in myself I so had plenty in the past. I think I’ve had enough of thesis and other extra-curricular troubles. I so want to get past these and move on, for real.
But amid the pointlessness of this blog entry, I want to celebrate my young life. To you my (offlline) friends (who happen to read this but do not ever comment), I want to see you, hang out with you and be altogether gleeful with you. I want to release the tension that has been clogged in my arteries for so long now. I want to drink, to party, to maltreat the Magic Sing, to go to the beach, to have lunch, to play, to mess up… Okay, enough with your issues with me doing controversial things. Move on, yes all of us.