Grad Pics

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Major Major

That Miss Universe competition brought us just about enough hope, frustration, laughter and insert-other-emotion-here to last us a couple of months. Specifically for me, it brought me a minute of stardom worthy of some retweets, including Alessandra de Rossi doing so. It has been a long time since we last cared about the Miss Universe, right?

There was just something about her that made us (or at least me) feel confident of her, at the very least, being in the Top 15. Which she did, with flying colors so I've read somewhere. Her practicing in the pilapil backstory, her illegitimacy as a daughter, her win, dethronement, eventual re-crowning - everything was just building up perfectly, as if leading to a very beautiful and expected and-she-got-the-crown-ever-after ending.

But it did not. She just had to have her all-time wit low with that question. Major major is the new bonggang bongga. Everyone has been using it and has been laughing about it since this morning. Just today, I've been to Mang Inasal, Jollibee, McDo, UP. Everywhere I've been today, everyone was talking about it. Or was using major major like crazy. And yeah, look at your Twitter. It's trending, for crying out loud!

That question (which I bet PNoy will ban from being asked anywhere in the Philippines. Yes, I just have to include him and make him look stupid, as he is.) was the root of a lot of my conversations today. Most people I've talked to had their answers. And I compared them with my answer, and I think I'm getting the crown.

My biggest mistake is falling in love and I made it right by falling in love again.

I will never know how it exactly feels to be answering that question. But for sure she could do better than that. I will not go as far as mocking her IQ because I can remember her saying these lines about her dethronement case, which I believe is wisdom:

My fight is now more than just chasing a dream. It is about clearing my soiled reputation. It is about standing up for people who are poor and born out of wedlock. It is a fight for acceptance.

Not taking anything from her, she will always deserve our gratitude for bringing happiness to a just-recently-slumped-I-don't-have-to-tell-you-again-why nation as attested by the uproars of the whole of my barangay. Mind you, this is a beauty contest, not a friggin' boxing match.

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Peel Banana

I hate Saturdays because they always make me down. I remember diagnosing myself back in high school of a 'Sad Saturday Syndrome' mainly because I don't get to be with my friends on that day. Not that I get to be with them on Sundays, there's just something inexplicably sadder with Saturdays.

College isn't any different. It's just too plain, too bland. But I'm thankful for Saturdays for rest. But sometimes the rest part of the day ruins your plan. Take for example what happened to me just today: I slept at 2PM only to wake up at 7PM and miss dinner/party With Ms. Eiffel Tower aka Tina Bargo. If you have pasalubong for me, I'll just get it from you some other time. /wink

Btw, before I don any acads shizz tomorrow, I'm cleaning out my closet. Literally. I will be boxing those shirts and pants I no longer use as a prerequsiite to my planned closet and styling overhaul. I wish my money inflow will permit. Or at least my Mom will! Not that I'm rushing coz it will be a constant recreation, I bet.

The picture on the left came from the best evening (to  next-day-morning) this week, and one of the best so far in my college life. I realized how much I've missed being with these people without the premise of planning for an event or doing any other stressful chores. Yes, acads, it's you.

You all are irreplaceable. I love you guys to death. Let's do this again soon, but not there coz I don't want my face and balls to itch like that again.

Peel banana! Peel peel banana! 

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Write Up

I'm not into mandatory first blog posts anymore, because this has been my nth blog. And basing from my experiences in my past blogs, there will come a time wherein  I will no longer be enthused to update the crap out of my life. I can't promise that this time it'll be different. This might be good for three mere updates, then the phase where I'll be bored with updating shall enter the picture. Really, who knows? Anyways.

Last year of college, aside from the hell that is plant design and thesis, is the season for yearbook as well. The worries of graduation pictorials, of trying to come up with a hit creative shot, of writing oneself that impeccable yearbook writeup, all connive to stress the already stressed pretty creatures of college. But we do succumb to all of it as our framed graduation pictures will be our parents' ammunitions to the pataasan ng ihi with the kumpares andkumares, testament of our faux accomplishments. Them write-ups will be our butt of joke come some time when we sit with friends in our coffee tables, thus must be witty.

For now I've given up on trying to think a creative shot for myself, mainly due to the necessary abs in most ideas I gathered through the net. As for my write-up, I've tried to seek help from my high school yearbook only to laugh about the fact that I'm certainly not that person anymore, if ever I was that back then. To sum it up, I was sweet and nice says HS write-up; now I think I'm more aligned towards being too cynical and/or acerbic. Either I ask myself what four years could do to a person or I simply ask my friends who wrote the crap, what the hell were they thinking back then.

Lesson to be learned: never believe in yearbooks. Most likely, it's the only instance we looked good, and the only time our friends told us something good about ourselves.

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