At some point, I knew that I would inevitably engage myself in conversations about making crucial life-altering decisions. By now, I have helplessly acknowledged the fact of actually having reached that point or just almost. And the two straight unusual coffee sessions could perhaps attest to that.

Dearest folks, I might just have a non-serious case of graduation jitters.

Little miss sunshine as I consider myself, I never fully grasped why people get way too scared of the future. I constantly remind myself that the future is full of bright hopes, full of immense possibilities but also full of provoking challenges. And whilst that was my faithful line of positive thinking years ago, it all hastily faded away not until two weeks back when reality gradually dawned on me that I am actually graduating in college. And voila! It was another story for little miss sunshine doubter! It is truly in these kinds of times that I have finally understood where those afraid people are coming from.

Indeed, the future is pretty scary.

Its daunting capabilities are even worsened as we (admit it or not) choose not to acknowledge earlier some of life’s important questions desperately begging for our answers or just even only our mere attention.  Nevertheless, those questions that we often set aside in the past are now slowly surfacing, hauntingly demanding the fullest of our attention. And you cannot just simply flee away as life poses to you the greatest question it has set for you at this specific moment: What comes next after college?

I am not quite sure if there’s an exact universal answer to this but I reckon the answer is simple. Too simple perhaps that we tend to doubt its simplicity. In our deepest innards, I know that we all know the careers we want, the desires of our heart and our guts are yelling at us to go there, follow and live those dreams. BUT! There’s a big but like a huge wall that appallingly stands in our way as if making these simple decisions really complex. These intoxicating buts that are lurking around the corner are in the forms of the doubts of our capabilities, the uncertainties of what lays ahead, fears of failing expectations, and significant familial circumstances that cripples the power of the simple and honest answer that we have for ourselves.

Shamefully, I don’t have the answers right now for myself and I don’t have the answers for you either. Blame it on my indecisiveness, my lack of self-awareness and self-belief, my lack of self-vision and all other things I don’t know of myself that contributed to this dilemma that I am currently in torment. At this point, I declare that all of this over thinking is too much to swallow. And I’ll hang you a bit.  So I stop. Here. I stop –

And get back to the theoretical framework of my thesis that patiently stands by on the other window waiting to be perfected.

Ciao!

I swore by the minutes I spent writing this could be the productive minutes I could have wisely used even just to flick through the endless chapters of my pdfs of my three stacked major prelim exams and on queue to that are movie and I/O critiques, business letters, two major class reporting and thesis proposal that are creepily lurking around the week.

And although the mind is preoccupied with tons of school works, there will always be this dead air moment. And this exactly, right now, is a moment of dead air.

Whether by chance or not, whenever there are significant things to finish right in front of me and deadlines to beat; my mind just carelessly wanders away. But I must say, it drifts to things of more density.  

And I would’t deny how these thoughts have been meandering on my mind lately. They’ve been caged in this mess of labyrinth, eagerly finding their way out. It has been withheld for one knows too long. It could be bursting at the seams.   

Dead air now takes over: ON

I was a freak of originality before. I love underground things - underground music, underground clothes. I have a satisfaction of things that are under appreciated by most people. I value novelty and honestly not a fan of whatever popular or mainstream is out there. I don’t hate what is popular or mainstream. I just simply dislike it. 

And these past few weeks, I may have been having a change of heart for reasons I don’t know. Before, whenever I see someone wearing similar apparels that I have, whenever I hear someone is spreading my all-time adored music out in the ears of pop people, whenever someone tells me that she/he was the first one to unearth or start this music or fashion trend, I just cannot help but be completely annoyed. It irks me. It’s like a day ruined. 

But yes, I’ve had a change of heart.

This moment of dead air allows me to lead these thoughts out of the labyrinth. I have understood that this dear self must not be selfish not to let other people discover and enjoy the underground stuffs as much as I do. Everything is meant to be shared. Especially great music.Great things must not be left unappreciated.  It deserves to be valued by a better and greater population. Share! Although, I have been a bit hesitant to allow myself to contemplate on these things lately, the gradual realization of these thoughts makes this dead air a worthwhile one - for the record. 

At this moment of bleak afternoon, the heap of rain fell from the dark cloudy skies. The wafting smell of the washed away soil in the air and the sound of rain heard upon its descent to the tin roof is a major bliss. The thirst for rain to fondle my skin even just a hint of it would be such joy. What more with this burst? I loved the rain much as I love the sunshine. But hold that thought, I honestly loved it more.  

How to put it?
When words with which is spoken or written
Either would fade sooner
Like a wisp of air; like a whisper
So fragile 

How to put such felicity?
Of a heart that speaks with such abundant delight
An approaching stranger, a hazy beautiful image 
That utters thee such honest admiration 

But oh!
The rays crept into the windows
And she knew.

Elusive as it might be still,
A paint of smile on her face for a moment
And it stayed some little more
With these last verses that she writes
And with the infinite hope that she forever carries.

Bottled Up. Boiled Over. Cracked Up.

Never have I failed to believe in the goodness of people. Always something good is left. Consider calling me an eternal optimist. However, just recently, it was way beyond the pale. It seems Stephen King’s words got it right, “Monsters are real, ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.” Might as well call me overly dramatic with the next few lines but here fit in my shoes, spare me the benefit of the doubt, and let me get you a good glimpse of what these itching buckets of thoughts are.

Get this all straight.

Could there have been any worse than after being secretly euphoric on how you aced a 100-item exam, someone actually had long been brewing thoughts, implying and indirectly accused thyself in front of the whole class of being involved in a conspiracy and a suck up to the ***** for the sole basis of the current position I hold as Society President. It was more like being over the moon and instantly shot back to earth. Mood Breaker. Scene Stealer. But that never really got me much affected. It was not even the provoking factor of how I seemed to lose a grip on the goodness of people. Consider it a prologue.

The main point is this.

Could there have been any worse than after doing everything and being extremely excited to volunteer and do extension and psychosocial support in some far away mountain, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named played a trick on us, a cunning deception which somehow half-bakingly assured us that the school minibus will still get us back for it already reached its full capacity. And so, eternal optimist as I am, I believed in that half-baked assurance but deep inside, we felt it would never come back for us considering how we know She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Indeed, my phone beeped once with the text message that confirmed what we all felt. It will not come back for us. I don’t feel bad at all about the school minibus not getting us back because I do understand the time and cost it would take. It is not practical at all. The worst part was hoping that she was not as bad as what we thought her to be. To hope was the worst part. What really caused me to become upset was on how She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named cannot tell us on our faces; even spit a mere sorry that we can’t come for now but we can still have it next time. Not like acting and making us hope that she would make the minibus comeback for us. Damn. There was neither a teacher nor a mother instinct shown. None at all. Not even a mere sorry look. It was more than feeling betrayed. It felt so bad that it even led us to tears because personally I made efforts to disseminate the activity, hastily make the letter, and everything else unaccounted for. I know its not as if I sweated bullets for that but the fact is, efforts are present. I know it is bad to count for whatever you did but damn whatever. Never expect too much of your mentors. I guess many emotions on She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named have been long withheld and I just have to accept the fact that some people are just that. Make peace with my feelings over She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And just maybe, bury the hatchet.

I’m an idealist. I want to believe in Utopia. And just as much as I wanted to still get a grip on this belief of mine, its slowly slipping with how people whom you looked up to was not at all how they turned up to be.

I believed in the goodness of people once. And I will not allow one person to steal that belief from me. Stephen King was right but more so my belief. I believed in the goodness of people once and I will eternally believe on it once again.

Dear self might perhaps just bury the hatchet.

Thanks random outlets.