The Writer Within The Journalist

There are a lot of things that I am not sure about, things that are arbitrary and confusing--but there is one thing that I am sure of right now.

I'm sick.

For some reason, I really didn't grew out of my asthma and it is mostly triggered by my allergies to dust and some irritating smells (like strong perfume). So here I am once again, breathing like a cat with its larynx undergoing surgery. It's not a pretty sight, I tell you. Whenever my asthma acts up, apart from the fact that I can't breathe very well, my back hurts a lot. I tend to hunch my shoulders whenever I walk because straightening up hurts a lot.

And God, it hurts so much more when I cry. Please make it stop.

It takes a lot of courage to face one's fears.

Everyone has their own defense mechanism. Mine is to inwardly scream. And then overthink. And then confront the problem. But for some reason, I think I should be doing something else. Like...

I don't know.

Sometimes I need a push. From someone else? Nah. More like from myself. I need to push myself into believing that I am strong enough. I am not giving myself the push I need, though.

Oh dear.

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I think I need to push... someone. Into not doing something I don't want this person to do. I don't know what to do about it. I am trying. I swear. I am trying to stop this person from doing something that I don't want this person to do. I am frightened. I don't want this to happened. Vertigo sweeps me away and then I collapse into nothingness. When I snap back to reality, I realize a numbness has overcome me and I couldn't think, nor much even speak. I wasn't given the opportunity to.

This person is such a good friend. I don't know how to stop it.

I am so sorry. I am. I am. I am. Please. Someone help...

***

Once upon a time--there was a little girl. I know some things about her, but I don't know her name. So, I apologize, dear Reader--but you won't know her name either.

She was a good little girl, I suppose. Or perhaps we can say that she tried to be a good little girl. Of course, I don't think the King and the Queen noticed. They locked her up in the highest tower, and told her that she needed to be a good little girl before they feed her or ever let her out again. She tried to be a good little girl, but--I don't think the King and Queen considered that she was being a good little girl. It wasn't good enough for them.

In fact, I suppose... that it wasn't good enough.

This little girl, she loved books. If there was one thing that can at least take her mind off the miserable things in life, it was books. The highest tower in the castle was the library, so even though this little girl was locked up and hungry, at least... at least there were some books to read.

One day, this little girl looked out the window and saw a little bird resting on the windowsill. There was nothing special about this little bird--except.

Except that it could fly. It could fly. Away. From everything.

This little girl smiled. It wasn't just the King and the Queen. It was everything around her. It was... nothing. Nothing was around her.

And then she jumped out the window, soaring. Soaring. Soaring. Soaring.

I am so sorry.

***

Except for the barking of a puppy and the trickling of the overflowing water in the DPWH tank, it's a particularly quiet Sunday afternoon today.

It makes me think of things.

Take the notion of eating one's feelings.

According to HelpGuide.Org, binge eating disorder is characterized by compulsive overeating in which people consume huge amounts of food while feeling out of control and powerless to stop.

I, admittedly, eat my feelings most of the time. It's interesting--and largely satisfying. Usually I do it with a friend, so that I won't be just eating my feelings, but I'll be talking them out, too. My comfort foods are ice cream, pizza and chicken. Other people like eating fries. Some eat rice. Some, well, I don't know, but they eat whatever they like to and I have no problem with that.

Some people say I need professional help. Some say I just need to control myself. Some say it's okay, since I don't do it all the time. Some say that I just need another outlet. Like screaming. Maybe I'll go for a killing spree.

To be truthful, I don't want to do this anymore. But I do it. And for heaven's sake, I don't know when it'll stop.

I don't think that it's so quiet anymore.

As I was browsing bookstore websites in search for a new book, I came across a rather annoying conclusion: vampire books are now a main hit.

Not that I have anything against the whole theme, but it has become a fad, much to my chagrin. Vampire books here, vampire books there -- all because of Twilight by Stephanie Meyer. I have read the four books in the series and although I can pretty much say that she seems to be a rather phenomenal writer to the teens of the world, I only like books 1 and 4. The beginning and the end, thankfully. And I have no idea why this book ought to overshadow Harry Potter -- while Stephanie Meyer seems to be this phenomenal writer, I don't think they ought to compare her books to J.K Rowling's.

Really, now.

But anyway, I've seen some interesting books I would like to get my hands on.

• Remember Me? by Sophie Kinsella
• The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch
• The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga
• Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces that Affect Our Decisions by Dan Ariely
• The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
• The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart, and --
• The Tales of Beedle the Bard by J.K Rowling

Interesting, indeed.

Sometimes, I just have to be really, really stubborn about things.

I dropped by the clinic today--I have colds and coughs and a fever. I, unfortunately, have the flu. And I am having palpitations. And I don't drink coffee, mind you. Or coke.

And yet, here I am, in front of a computer, surfing the web.

I have to go home.

This is the worst semester ever!

Of course, it still remains the best semester ever.

Seriously.

Don't bother figuring it out.

For the sake of explaining my oxymoronic life (everyone's life is [wink]), I'll just have to say that there are things that make it worst and best. But of course, it won't be over for me till... let's see... Tuesday. Or Wednesday.

There're still lots of things to do. Wish me the best.

The problem with today’s youth is either that they are phony punks or they are emo-kids – it is just disturbing to see that these kids feel that they can translate into the future.

The University of the Philippines (UP) has always been a haven for the student activists who rise to the challenge whenever a threat is posed upon the masa (the proletariat, as they are called) and the rest of society. Due to experience with various issues regarding student-activism, I am beginning to sense that student-activists largely define this threat to be the government and its allies.

I won’t be hypocritical and say that student-activism is not good – because it is. The youth of the nation is aware of their role in the society and they are working to become the future leaders of the downtrodden masa. But then, since I already am under the impression that I shouldn’t be hypocritical, I would also say that it is not completely good. I think I should go to the extremes and say that nothing is perfect – to be precise, nothing is near-perfect, even.

Although activism is defined as an “aggressive action pursuing a political or social end”, I don’t think that it is safe to assume that activism is well on its way to releasing society from all forms of “restraints”.

To be able to understand what I mean about the imperfection of student activism, it is, therefore, important that I go back to our phony punks and emo-kids who, by some chance, happen to believe that they can translate into the future of the Philippines.

By punk, we refer to a youth movement of the late 1970s, distinguished by their loud aggressive rock music, confrontational attitudes, body piercing, and unconventional fashion sense. By phony-punks, I refer to teenagers who happen to believe that they are punk, sans the music. Their most prominent trait would be that of having confrontational attitudes.

As for the emo-kids, they are those who happen to find it that life is out to get them and they had better run for it or kill themselves. Their definition of angst is bound to curl Martin Heidegger’s hair if he were alive. To the emo-kids, angst comes in the form of teenage angst which is a “profound and deep-seated spiritual condition of self-obsession and utter fatuousness” (this definition is from Uncyclopedia.org, whose sarcasm has gained my respect). They’d scream f*** it over and over again until someone stops them. The long string of obscenity and profanity that falls from their lips would be considered unfounded to one who considers obscenity and profanity forms of self-expression.

It is unfortunate to see that these teenagers have infiltrated the alliance of the student-activists, producing havoc and wrecking the name of good student-activism. While we do have student-activists who know what they are fighting for, there are those who remain blissfully ignorant of student-activism’s role in the Philippine society.

I have written an article a few years back with the title Pseudo-Activism, wherein I discussed how student-activism in the UP Baguio has turned stale because of the reason that a lot of those who are participating in it don’t understand what they are doing. A lot of them act like they understand societal issues or the logic of the fight they are in. In reality, however, they don’t understand anything.

It took quite a while for me to identify that these teenagers who act like so are the phony-punks and the emo-kids. They are those who skip class so they can go to a rally they have no idea on; those who brag about them being Iskolar ng Bayan (loose translation: Scholars of the Nation – this is a usual tag for students of the UP, for the masa pay taxes for their education) and yet let their grades slide down dramatically; those who complain a lot and scream that there must be something down about the problems in society and yet can't even solve their own problems.

To the imbeciles who scream that they are Iskolar ng Bayan: How dare you uphold yourselves as such? The masa you claim to be paying taxes for your education are being shortchanged because you don’t put it into your heads that you have to study apart from being politically and socially active!

About two years ago, Alex Magno, columnist of the Philippine Star wrote about UP student-activists throwing eggs at a visiting military officer. My eyebrows knitted in horror that time. To be a UP student, I believe, is to hold honor and dignity. That stunt, of course, reduced the UP student to a mere barbarian, uneducated, maladroit. You don’t throw eggs at anyone. Even those from the medieval ages throw rotten vegetables and rocks at those they detest – not fresh eggs. Besides eggs are a staple food, and throwing them at someone you hate is wasting good money. How decadent.

The last thing the Philippines needs is the proliferation of the student-activist who doesn’t know how to properly confront the political and social challenges of the country. Remember George Orwell’s Animal Farm? In the story, revolution against the humans (in this case, the ruling class) was futile in the end because the pigs (they would be those who are ridiculously ignorant student-activists) put their interests first.
In the end the phony-punks and emo-kids who are all in the circle of student-activism will be the downfall. Someone in the alliance ought to do some cleaning.

Of course, “dumb people are always blissfully unaware of how dumb they really are” (and yes, I quote Patrick Star from Spongebob Squarepants, who probably is of higher intelligence than the rest of the pseudo-activists in our country) and, indeed, this country is going, not to the dogs, but to the pigs. Speaking of pigs, the time when they set aside their interests is when pigs fly. Let me translate that: never.

I can't believe I cried at school. It was called for, but it felt... I don't know. And all the hugs intended to make me feel better did make me feel better. But now that I am not with my close friends, I am struggling to assure myself that everything will be fine even though I know that I'm about to crack.

It's not merely anger - it's disappointment. One emotion I hate having. Given the right attention, disappointment will eat you up and send you into the unforgiving throes of depression. I have to say I am putting up a good fight, controlling it and believing that I can win it; but there's a little voice at the back of my head, nagging me, telling me that in due time, I will crack and start screaming at anybody who dares test my patience.

Damnit. This is the last thing I need. Given the disappointment, I feel nauseated now. I just want to go home and throw up. And then I'll sneak off into the night and drag a freaking 3.0 G-TEC pen on my tormentor's neck.

All it takes is a little encouragement, a little... push.