THEY CALL THIS A TIME-OUT

    Today is Lamentation Day. I only had two options. Either the hawaiian white polo or my peach plain fit buttoned-down collared shirt. I chose the latter. Paulo reckons it doesn’t look that lament-able. And he’s about to report me to Kish, our Executive Secretary. Fifty Pesos, that’s how much any member of the Union will have to pay for not abiding the day’s  event. God save me from my own citizens.

     Paulo is in a sour mood today. He’s been victimized by that creepy maniac whose name I cannot write here. Will investigations prosper? Haha.. whose side will i take this time around? Hmmm.. we’ll see. I wanna practice Law. But whose laws?

Attorney Segovia

Alas, I am soooo done with my Observation Classes. I wanna treat myself today. I thought of getting myself a haircut. But t’was raining so I decided to go home straight from Ateneo High. A quarter of my Observation Classes was spent helping ADZU High debaters prep for a national debate tilt this November. While I was.. er.. actively observing (in the form of adjudicating), Mark gave me ice cream. It was chocolate. Yes, yes, yes. But gahd, I was a pig to write with my right hand and hold the ice cream cone with the left. After a few minutes of gruelling struggle, I finally caught myself mutely screaming on top of my head ( er..I wasn’t able to scream the usual way  ’cause debate was still on going) - - - - Drops of ice cream spilt themselves on my French blue polo. Sweet little demons. My, what would my mom say again this time? Kuchino-mode ya tamen yo. LOL.

    The ADZU High students were nice, polite and, well, high schools students. And their school building is a clean solid monument which was a good thing because it ensures that no one will have to see me morph into something else. MR warned me that things are gonna be slightly different in the public high school. I am preparing for war.

- - - - - - -

    ADZU High should look into the case of gluttonous tricyle drivers who overcharge. Those people should be fed alive to the Abu Sayyaf.

    Imagine, it was raining today. So hard. I needed a ride. I asked the first tricy on the line to bring me home (which was just three-and-a-half kilometers away from ADZU High) but he won’t because bien jutay lang daw el P30. Dammit. The same was the case for the  second, third and fourth drivers. They all demanded P40. And I wasn’t willing to yield to those hungry vultures! Alas, the fifth driver, upon seeing me soaked, took me home willingly. God bless Manong Driver Number 5. I asked him why he took me a few minutes after I occupied that dry tricy seat. He said that he pitied me. LOL. I wanted to laugh at his reply. Did I really look that bad? But he was a nice old man. When I reached our gate, I gave Manong more than the price we negotiated. I’m a sucker for nice people.

Time to resuscitate this Blog.

     Yesterday was Fr. Moreno’s investiture. School was off limits to those who didn’t get invites. The Union did not so we paraded instead towards Ebenezer Beach, Paulo’s place, to have our Saturday debate practice. Imagine how odd it was. We were literally debating in the beach! Boy, Joy commented that the ambiance switched her to "emo-mood". Tsk. The Union is against pop culture. But we like Friendster. But let’s go back to my story….

  So we debated. Two rounds. There were nine of us. I wish I brought my swimming trunks. I wish I wore slippers when we went there. I could have had wet my feet. Ihra did! Lucky her. Myser annoyed me when he poked my tummy. During the second round, I was also irked when Emman and Espi made me laugh while delivering a rare whip speech. Ihra, the adj felt appaled; Paulo, my partner, thought it destroyed my speech. We were CG. Al who partnered with Keeshia butchered me in his speech. Damn, he won first over me this time. They were CO. Motion: THBT the globalization of the bakla is a step back to the gay rights movement. Old motion, but just as hilarious.

  We went home around half past five. We took the jeepney. (Haha.. talaga?) Friday this week is "Lamentation over the Mystery of Poverty" Day. Union members will exercise a self-imposed one-day fasting program. Plus, we’d wear plain clothes bereft of any accessories, etc.. Keeshia, Ihra and the rest of the Union girls are banned (yes, banned) from dolling themselves up on that day. (Imagine the humor of Keeshia and Ihra fretting over this dare-policy).

  But Saturday, yes Saturday, is Triumphant Day. By then, everyone is already allowed to show off. Can they stand my dare? We’ll see.

  Debate next Sat will follow ala Congress mode. We’d occupy the Student Congress Center for our practice.

HENRY - UNION PRES

This summer I’ve learned tons from people, friends especially, from circumstances I’ve been in, and from brief moments of reflection. When I was in fourth grade, my classmates and I would do role-plays where we fancy studying in big schools once we reach college, Ateneo included. Eight years later, I would find myself writing this entry, remembering how it was all like when we were younger, thinking of the many others I’ve left behind, and wondering why the rest couldn’t be as lucky as I am. Yes, I made it to college. However, most of my mates from grade school may have never been able to feel the crisp pages of an old college textbook.

        I’ll graduate this March. One more school year to go and the world is mine to conquer. Maybe I’ll be rich, or, who knows, even famous. Maybe I could be in control of my own life by then. No parents to ask me what I’m up to lately. No teachers to please. Nothing which I don’t want to do I’ll have to do once I’ve already graduated from college. Or maybe it’s just because I’m twenty.

       Who knows if I don’t make it big time after all? What if college is an illusion? It makes you believe that you’re in charge, but are you? When I’m done reading all the books I’m suppose to devour, does that mean that I’m already smart and ready to take off? But what if I’m just one of those guys who brag about doing big things, but take off on a tangent once their dreams are almost within reach? Maybe it’s because I’m twenty that reality seems harder to appreciate. Or maybe not.

  If I had Book Seven right now, all to mah self, on the condition that I couldn’t share it with anyone, I would look at one page because I couldn’t help it. Then I’d look at a second
page. And a third. And then I’d be reading the whole book. And then dance in the streets of Guiwan Highway like a madman, shouting:

     "I KNOW HOW IT ENDS. YOU DON’T!"

      I’ll just start saving for the last book. Fine.

Could you believe this? Guys will have to wear the freakin’ uniform come school opening this June. This is the craziest proposal I’ve heard so far and nobody seems outraged by this blatant display of administrative dictatorship.

       Dammit, and Sanggu, the school’s ever-reliable student organization, seems to be egging on the idea that everyone is numb and would comply wholeheartedly. So much for their damned (not to mention crappy) survey on this issue whose results haven’t been released yet for reasons only them know.

       But imagine looking like a bunch of government employees used as propaganda material - we aren’t your freakin’ dolls for display. And security and decency aren’t even valid reasons at all for imposing a uniform policy. For one, if I go out in that uniform, I’d probably get mobbed by a bunch of hooligans who harbor anti-Ateneo sentiments just because I study in a school that flies. Second, even some of the girls who DO wear the uniform prescribed for them still look indecent in my schema. It’s a matter of interpretation. And it’s time for a petition.

!!!

     That darn worn-out Lit teacher who reaped generous praises from me in my past entry might have felt so good butchering me infront of everyone this morning. Dammit, it’s the last day of class and I get awarded with a bizaare commentary.

         "I’m disappointed that Mr. Segovia doesn’t talk much in class the way I expected him to be. You’re a future teacher and I was expecting you to lead the class into a discussion," he said in a cracked voice a could barely hear. He’s old and worn-out, remember.

         But that’s not the point. The thing is he had friggin’ expectations that he had to made public, for whatever damned reasons I dunno, on the last day of summer class! It was suicide. No, murder. How entertaining can things get. At least, er… well, at least something good happened. She wasn’t in class when Sir decided to be blunt and went public with his ancient sentiments about wasted talents like mine. Gahd, If it wasn’t for that unexpected intervention of fate, I would have died in a collosal avalanche of humiliating comments.

         After class, I marched towards Brebeuf Gym and knocked out three players one by one in a singles badminton match. I lost on the fourth game.

  Not that it matters. But I want to remember. And so I thought of writing my first voting experience here.

     I didn’t really want to exercise my freakin right to choose. My sister, however, is so excited about it that she coerced, dragged and eventually made me think for five minutes who to vote for and, presto, we paraded towards Guiwan Elementary School and were awarded with this strange blue indelible ink on our right point fingers.

     Before I proceed, lemme write about this ink. I er… think it’s mutating. When it was poured on my untrimmed nail, there was a shy streak of yellow or gold in it. And the ink was just lingering in one corner. But as the hours have passed by, four hours and counting, it’s gradually devouring my entire right point finger. It looks bruised, no, dead? actually. How do you get rid of this? I need tips. Send me.

     Going on, I penned five names for senators.

  1. Alan Peter Cayetano (yes, the entire freakin’ name!) because he has to be rewarded after going through the hell that was COMELEC.

  2. Chiz Escudero because he is smart. And witty. And seems honest. And all the good things you could attach to a potential future-president.

  3. Benigno Aquino because er.. honestly, because I think his dad was nice.

  4. Sonia Roco because er.. his husband was nice, too.

  5. and Antonio Trillanes because he’s brave.

     I know what you’re thinking.

     Oh my, I haven’t really given this much thought, have I?

     Could I be one of the many Filipinos who, according to several studies, are uneducated and politically immature? I think I know now what the political maturity blah blah really means. I’ve been using that line in several debates but only now has its genuine meaning dawned on me.

     What could I do? I did watch almost all of ANC’s Forum where senators fence funny logic on issues but, gahd, how could I come up with so low a standard in choosing a candidate?

     I dunno really.. but I do hope my bets win. My dad likes sabong. Hehe… I like betting. It’s not relevant.

     But here’s more:

  Congressman: Erbie Fabian because, even if I dislike his local shows, I don’t know the two other candidates.

  Mayor: Monsi because tiempo ya para cambio.

  Vice Mayor: Capt. Bayot (that’s his real last name) because I heard my dad mention before that he used to personally carry salvage victims to the nearest morgue. And he doesn’t wear slippers. Interesting.

     I left the spaces for councilors empty. Because aside from our relative whom I totally can’t vote for becuase he’s on the other district, there’s no one I know in that list.

  Party-List: Anak Mindanao because we’re neighbors with their reps.

     My sister and I walked home.

     That was barely a kilometer-walk.

     Voting isn’t that bad afterall. In fact, it was educational. At least, I learned something - not to go to precincts in nice clothes because it ain’t a damn party!

     Remember: Drunk driving is dangerous.

     Not that I’ve tried doing it. In fact, I can’t drive. I don’t even know how to start a car. My Uncle Modi tried teaching me and my younger brother how to drive when were in grade school but I ended up not learning anything but that rule.

     Oh, my friend Rai got her driving license already. And I’m so sad for her. (Rai, haha! I read your Blog.) Cause now she’ll have to drive for herself. It’s weird though cause I never really fancied driving my own car. When I’ll get rich (and that has to happen so soon!), I’ll probably just hire a driver. Driving, like Math, is so hard to learn. I can’t even ride a bicycle without experiencing this utmost fear that I might fall. Hahaha… Barok, time for you to get a legal one, too!

     I never really saw myself in any of the Ateneo Senior Summer Program kids today. Back then (which was four years ago), I was President of the 11th Batch of ASSP-eans. I was the snobby class leader who was always afraid of the group. I still am. In fact, after I graduated from the said program, I kind of told myself that I don’t wanna go back and see my mates anymore. Heck, some of my mates then gave me one heck of a summer, I thought, and in no way will I want to see them ever.

     Then again, I was never bogged down by this massive-crowd-discomfort disorder. Every year, I always return to ASSP. It’s like a home. Regardless of whatever happened before, I know ASSP has been family and I always have a place in it should I need and want one. How could it not be? Sir Emir, Admission Office’s big boss, opened the most important door of opportunity for me. In the ASSP, I found the two people I disliked the most - Ems and MR. After ASSP, both became two of my best-est friends in this planet and we still hang out up until now!

     This year, for example, Sir Emir gave me a chance to talk about peer mediation and debate separately with the ASSP kids. What can I say? These kids are so fun I half-wish I’m with my batchmates again. For a moment, I remembered Jeni, Marco, Cindy, Bahjin and a lot more people I met during my shining moment in the ASSP when my mates and I were the ones on the spotlight. In the deepest recesses of my heart, there formed a feeling that I want to re-live my ASSP experience all over again.

     I didn’t know it but I actually missed most of my mates (no matter how some of us mutually disliked each other before) because all those cute kiddy fights, tampuhan, iyakan and cockiness were the ones that made everything so difficult and at the same time memorable.

     I love ASSP. This entry goes to all those from the 15th Batch.

     In the ASSP, I hope you will also find a home.

more pics:
http://asia.pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/k_abastar/album?.dir=/3e8bscd&.src=ph