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.
