Sunday, February 04, 2007
Well, so it ends... My blog, I mean.
I'm really thinking of going defunc, given that I rarely update, and nobody reads. The only thing keeping me from deleting my blog is the fact that it's lasted me two years already, and I don't want to delete all those memories. But I don't know... And it's not like anyone can comment, given the blasted format of my blog layout. >_<
So, it is most likely that while my blog shall languish on the Internet, holding the fragmented memories of two years within its HTML coding... The skyline angel has moved on, leaving these feathers free to float on their own.
Thanks to everyone who cared enough to read my blog. I'm not so sure if I can update it anymore, though. Thanks anyway! Love you all!
-- the skyline angel is taking off for the last time.
p.s. continue finding her feathers at Even Angels Fall
Monday, December 11, 2006
While basking in my RENT addiction (yes, naadik na naman ako! Nuuuu!), I found a song that really shook me. It was sung by the character Mark Cohen, an aspiring film director. The words of the song were like the thoughts that spun in my mind many many times. It sounded just like... well, me. Me, a lost little girl who cowardly hides behind the lens of her battered camera.Halloween -- Rent SoundtrackHow did we get here? How the hell... Pan left - Close on the steeple of the church How did I get here? How the hell... Christmas Christmas Eve - last year How could a night so frozen Be so scalding hot? How can a morning this mild Be so raw?Why are entire years strewn On the cutting toom floor of memory When single frames from one magic night Forever flicker in close-up On the 3D Imax of my mind?That's poetic That's patheticWhy did Mimi knock on Roger's door? And Collins choose that phone booth Back where Angel set up his drums? Why did Maureen's equipment break down? Why am I the witness? And when I capture it on film Will it mean that it's the end And I'm alone?~~ Eruannecurrent mood: lonelycurrent music: Halloween -- RENT Soundtrack
Friday, October 20, 2006
I finally have an internet connection. Yay. :DPost-perio week has left me with lots of worries, angst, and depression. I always feel so left out and unwanted. I know I should be more grateful for what I have, but... I don't know... Why is it that the people who act undeserving of their blessings still have them?so, just to make myself feel better... i'll post some stuff that made me happy this week. this blog is more than just an outlet, more than just some site where people can laugh at a little girl's ramblings... this blog is also what i like to call my gratitude box.7 THINGS THAT MADE ME HAPPY / THAT I AM THANKFUL FOR THE PAST 7 DAYS:1. I have a pretty good standing in Soc Sci 2. A+ for the TXV, A for the major essay, A for participation, and B for the perio. Not that great, but all right for a stressed pathetic sophomore.2. I passed my algebra perio, and I passed my first quiz of the third quarter. Ang shallow ko, noh? But given that this is my warning subject, and my weakest one, and the one that I put a ton of effort in to just pass, getting a passing grade is something I should be grateful for.3. I passed all my periodicals. 'Nuff said. I'm a low aimer, I know, but I can't afford any higher.4. A very good friend of mine trusts me. Nothing makes me feel better than knowing that someone can trust his feelings and secrets to me, confident that I won't reveal them. And I won't.5. I'm isolated for the TXV Project. It sounds bad, but it means that my writing and artwork are good enough that Sir Martin thinks I can get through it on my own.6. My Pandora's Box was locked up and stilled. It was shaking and struggling at me for the better part of the week. With the help from friends and God, I was able to push it away and lock it with a stronger lock.7. Someone cares. I don't know who, but I can feel that there is someone. That's all I need to know.At least I'm succeeding, somewhat, in my quest to be more grateful.And just a preview, in Soc Sci we made some sort of code of honor. When I finish revising and cleaning it up, I'll post it here.Take care!~~ Eruannecurrent mood: gratefulcurrent music: Wham -- Wake Me Up Before You Go Go
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Gwah, I barely have time to update... Ang daming kailangan gawin e! They clearly
weren't kidding when they said that sophomore year being loaded with work was an understatement. We have major requirements in almost every subject, most of them due on the same week. God! What are they trying to do to us? Kill
us?? Kasi kung ganun, malapit-lapit na... >_<
Things aren't all up and great with regards to my schoolwork. Despite passing four out of five quizzes in Algebra, I still flunked both long tests. Chemistry is murder. And do I have to elaborate just how much work I have to do in all the other subjects??? God, it's bad enough living through them once.
Not that it's all work and no play. Things are still fun. I celebrated my 15th birthday last Tuesday, September 19. I didn't do any party-ish whatever-ness (not even a pizza delivery), but it was still memorable, in a weird way. I got hit by soccer balls on my head and nape more than once (third time lucky, huh?), and Ingrid nearly drowned me in the 10-ft pool during P.E. (I know I resemble that stick that Sir Duliesco uses to pull out the beginners in swimming, given my stature and body shape, but honestly, she totally treated me like it, including shoving me under the water repeatedly), and other such experiences.
I've become closer with Camia, particularly the dormers. I absolutely love my roommates: Kate, Ingrid, and Inna. I've also become better friends with the other members of the Belsha Fan Club. I've become fond of some of the guy dormers, namely Jasper, Tram, Raymond, Dem, and Richard. They're so fun to hang out with! They're my soccer buddies, math tutors, and good friends. I've also become good friends with DR, Gian, Je, and Carmel. Yes, to those Woodrose people who still check my blog, Carmel
. She's not bad anyway. :P
However, that doesn't mean I've forgotten my old friends. I still keep in touch regularly with Sir Joey, Mike, Yana, Patti Cor, etc. I miss spending time with them every day, but seeing them once in a while keeps me happy and sane.
Good luck to me. Hell Week has just finished, and I now know I am so accustomed to all-nighters that I can go for two days without sleep and still debate with Jasper on whether "sphinx" can be spelled as "sphynx". :)
current mood: STRESSED!
current music: Skyline Pigeon
- Elton John
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Long time no post, huh? Gah, I am so tired... I just got my grades and I feel like killing myself na... That is, if all the pressures and requirements during [in]Humanities Week haven't already offed me already. >_<I received my card na... RAAAAARR. 'Nuff said.
Here are my stupid grades:
Biology 1 - 2.00
(I can't believe that I got this low... Bio was my best subject in Woodrose! >___<)Chemistry 1 - 2.25(Ditto with Chem... I used to be really good at it! But of course, math just HAD to rear its ugly head in the form of dimensional analyses, and pull down my grade. And stupid lab reps. Aaaagh. Kaninong kasalan kaya yun???)Physics 1 - 2.00(Whoa, I got higher in Physics than in Chem?? Still low, though, thanks to math...)Mathematics 2 - 2.50(YES THANK YOU LORD, I PASSED GEOMETRY!!!!!! ... 'Nuff said.)Mathematics 3 - 3.00(Stupid *bleep bleep bleep* algebra. And to think that if only I had gotten 1.6 more points on my periodical, I would have passed. 1.6 POINTS!!!!! AAAAAAGH!!!!)Computer Science 2 - 1.50(I'm very surprised I got this high in Com Sci... It's programming, after all, which I suck at...)English 2 - 1.25(My remaining bit of bragging rights... At least I'm not going down in the subject which is practically high-grade-compulsary to any self-respecting ex-Woodrose student...)Filipino 2 - 1.75(Another wow, because I have never gotten higher than a 2.00 in Filipino...)Social Science 2 - 1.50(Wow, in Asian Studies... It's actually a pretty good grade, really... Thank God...)PEHM 2 - 1.00(My one and only 1.00 for this quarter... Thanks to my being badminton champion in the girls...)Values Education 2 - 1.75(Obvious why... Caught in the transistion from essays to objective chuchu...)Art 2 - 1.25(Gwah, personally, I think I deserve higher than this... That blackboard-sized 3-D mural of Monet's Water Lillies was not at all easy to make...)Environmental Science 1 - 1.25(The one subject where I'm too lazy to take notes... Which is why I got this durn grade...)GWA: 1.7857I couldn't even reach my goal of 1.7 and above... I am so pathetic. And now, I'm stressing myself out for Humanities Week... I don't know why Camia even bothers to listen to my instructions for the English and Filipino presentations; I am such a pathetic, low-class-standing reject. Maybe it's because I have to scream to get myself heard.~~ Eruannecurrent mood: pathetic, inferiorcurrent music: sad chords I'm currently strumming on my guitar...
Friday, July 14, 2006
Mahabang post 'to! Wala lang, this was the result of a big-time inferiority complex when I was completing my English project. i just really felt that my writing was horrible. After talking to a whole lot of people about it, I changed my mind and I was really inspired to write this down. Yes, I know it sucks, but I cannot be blamed for things I write in my moments of inspiration. Get used to it!
This is dedicated to all those who helped me grow as a writer: my family, friends, and schoolmates. Many thanks and lots of love especially to the following: Gushi, for being my best friend and standing by me always, Kate, my "wife", Usagi-chan, and writer companion who always gave me support in my writing, and Sir Joey, Kajoey-kun, my English 1 teacher who guided me through writing and through life, and still continues to.
Okay, on with the stupidity! ^^
~~ She Continued To Write ~~
There once was a girl who wanted to write. Ever since she was little, she wanted to write. She was young and hopeful, so when she decided she wanted to write, she did. She wrote everywhere; on yellow pads, tissue papers, and receipts. She wrote everything she felt and everything that entered her mind. Her parents cooed with pride over her whenever she showed her work, and they told all their friends that they had a brilliant budding writer for a daughter. And the girl was absolutely happy.She continued to write.
Her writer's spirit grew with her writing.
The girl grew older, and she went to kindergarten. She began writing more stories and poems, and her teachers were very proud of her. They put little stamps on her stories, tacked her poetry to the classroom wall, and hung blue ribbons on her work. Her classmates loved her, and she was treated like a princess when it came to writing. And the girl was very happy.
She continued to write.
She continued to open new doors in her soul as she wrote more and more.
The girl grew older, and she went to primary school. She wrote more and more. Her teachers were still very happy with her writing, but her classmates were not. They sometimes criticized her work, and made fun of her when she made mistakes. The girl was taken aback and rather confused with all of it, for it was the first time someone had not liked her writings. But her parents and teachers explained to her that she was still a good writer, and criticism was given to her in order to help her grow into a better writer. The girl took it all in, understood it, and accepted it. And the girl was quite happy.
She continued to write.
Her maturity as a person as a writer increased as well.
The girl grew older, and she went to elementary school. She wrote more and more and more, but this time, her teachers did not show such pride and joy in her works. There was a lot of competition, and there were many more experienced writers. Comments by her teachers became a common thing on her papers, always scrawled in bright red ink. For the girl, seeing that bright angry ink scrawled across her painstakingly written words was like having her own pen stabbed back at her. Also, this time, her classmates did not like her work at all. Their criticism was harsh and often. The girl struggled to believe that this was all to help her become a better writer, but it was difficult to do so. Sometimes, when the criticism was just too much for her to take, in the silence of her heart and of her room surrounded with her papers, she would weep bitterly for her wasted words, words that no one appreciated any longer. But she kept writing nonetheless. And the girl was fairly happy.
She continued to write.
But not really.
For the first time, the girl began to force herself to write the way she always had. For the first time, writing was not for her pleasure anymore. The girl saw the works of her peers, and she began to feel inferior to them. Their works were brilliant and unique, and the teachers adored them. But her own works were viewed as dull and typical, and the teachers ignored them. The girl now struggled to keep up, and made herself write. She tried to write on yellow pads, tissue papers, and receipts again, whenever she felt like it, but she threw these out in her anger at herself. And in her heart, the feelings of inferiority began to grow. After a while, she could not enjoy writing anymore. And the girl was no longer happy.
She continued to write.
Or tried to, anyway.
The girl grew older, and she went to high school. She fought to keep writing, but in her mind she felt that she was fighting a losing battle. She was surrounded by so many writers, writers who were good at their skill and were praised for it. Feelings of jealousy, competition, and even more inferiority tangled themselves in her heart like poison ivy, and her writing spirit was poisoned with it as well. She began to hate her own writing, and would crumple up her work in self-disgust. She fought to be just as good as her peers, but somehow she believed that she could never be. In vain, she thought, she read countless books and attended advanced creative writing classes. Her professor was great and her classmates very skilled. She would have found them an inspiration, but instead she felt low and stupid. She cringed whenever she was called to read out loud her work. She hid her feelings behind a facade of aloofness and loud humor. But she wept tears of frustration late at night, in the lamplight gloom where she sat with pen in hand and paper on desk. Her tears dotted her words and made them blurry and strange, much like the darkness that was slowly seeping through her. And the girl was very much not happy.
She continued to write.
But not for much longer.
After a while, the girl stopped writing altogether. She could no longer feel joy at the soft scratching sounds of pen against paper, at the ability to give thoughts and ideas and feelings form on a physical level. She felt lifeless without her writing, but she felt lonely with it. She was tired of trying to be the best, pushing against a wall that she felt she could never move. She no longer shed tears nor struggled. She had given up the fight. And the girl was clearly not happy.
She no longer continued to write.
Her soul felt cold with apathy and her heart froze with indifference.
The girl grew a few days older, but in her eyes life was long and dreary. There was no feeling in her life without her writing. But on one fateful day, a thought entered her mind, as all her other thoughts did. But this thought was different. It was a thought that needed to be written down. The girl felt a strange feeling coursing through her tired soul. It was a feeling she felt long ago, when she had still happily scrawled on yellow pads, tissue papers, and receipts. But her stubborn mind commanded her not to pick up her pen and get her thoughts down. She was afraid to be hurt by her own writing, like she had been so many times in her past life, a life where she wrote. To pick up her pen once more was to return to that life. She wanted to take the risk, but was afraid that she would fall. And the girl was not happy.
She no longer continued to write.
But feeling, thoughts, and doubts persisted.
The girl could not stop the feelings coursing through her being. She felt like she was being burned from the inside out, but the burning felt warm. It was like a welcoming flame melting the protective ice she built around what used to be her writer's spirit. And so, after days of battling within herself, the flame burned through the ice at last. She picked up her pen, touched it to paper, and wrote. Feelings of uncertainty and fear flooded through the cracks that the flame had burned, but strange joy came with it as well. And the girl was a bit happy.
She slowly but surely continued to write.
Time started to pass more quickly as her pen fluttered over the paper.
The girl was learning how to write all over again. She learned from her past, from her parents, friends and teachers who stayed with her all the way, from her life. Her fingers shook, her paper was rumpled from constant erasures, the ink spattered over the paper due to her shaky hands, and her handwriting was almost illegible. But she was learning. And the more she wrote, the more she learned. She realized that her fears and her comparisons to others had stilled her writing spirit, and her writing with it. She thought, if only she had overcome her fears earlier, perhaps she would not have been this lonely now. When she lost her love for writing, her ability to write had been lost as well. When her writing became forced, her writing was no longer what it was. It was harsh and strange, learning all these things once more. But the girl had been awoken from her slumber, and she resolutely scrawled her resurrected words onto the paper. And the girl was kind of happy.
She slowly but surely continued to write.
Her writing spirit returned, and so did her courage.
Finally, she dotted one last i and crossed one last t, and then she put down her pen. She had filled several pages with her words, and feelings of relaxation and satisfaction crossed her heart. She smiled at her words for the first time after many a full moon. Her fears were gone at last, and she could write with joy again. She wrote everywhere once more: on yellow pads, tissue papers, and receipts. She wrote down everything she felt and everything that entered her mind. But she always returned to the first story she wrote after her slumber. It was this story. As she reread her words, her writer's spirit seemed to soar, and all her past demons fell away, leaving only freedom. And the girl was finally happy.
She continued to write.
As I continue to, until now, and as I will forever.
current mood: thoughtful, inspired
current music: I'll Remember by Madonna (don't ask me why... biglang the song just popped into my head)
Sunday, July 02, 2006
This is my 69th post! Hahahaha... wala lang....
I've been finding it so hard to find a time to update my blogs... I've just been so busy kasi e... Ang hirap.. Gaaah, they weren't kidding when they said second year was damn hard...
Not that it's all work and no play. Camia 09 is great, and we have lots of fun together. We seem to have a great amount of class unity, and we don't have much divisions between us... It's a welcome change from the stereotypes of last year. One of the really great things about Camia is that we share everything... it's disturbing sometimes (think green here), but it's cool... Cuz while we're all struggling with schoolwork, we find a way to make it funny anyway. Neat, huh? I hope I don't do anything stupid to mess things up.
See what I mean? We can make anything bearable, be it wet (yes, WET) Biology work in the creek or truckloads of difficult homework *coughMATHcough*. We can even make it more than bearable, as evidenced in English storybook writing ("Donde esta el sanitorio?"), Filipino discussions on Jose Rizal for the umpteenth time (Harharharr...), and so much more. I love my class! Thanks so much, Camia!
Given what I just wrote here, I can conclude something now (wehh, geom inductive reasoning...). With classmates like mine, I think I can get through second year with my grades intact.
I'm not too sure about my sanity, though. ^^
current mood: tired but happy
current music: that Sesame Street song that Sir Martin used in Soc Stud! ("Who are the people in your neighborhood? In your neighborhood? In your neighborhood...")