Let Down

Parents can be a lot of things that you expect of them. And it's fine because these things are very... "parent-y".

They can be strict, they can be naggers, they can be very close-minded. They can be very generous or tight-fisted, whichever way you may have it. And they may totally be way over your head.

At times, they may not understand you. But that's the beauty of understanding their not understanding you. You kind of expect it of them because their your parents, and a lot of times, they've never been on the same wavelength as you.

But the worst is being disappointed by them.

Not to be misunderstood, my parents are cool folks. Really cool.

It's just that at times, they go about their life without any thought to anybody else who might be railroaded by their plans.

And as much as I respect my folks, I can't help but feel rather disregarded since I'm affected. But I doubt if they ever considered that.

But I guess it's just in understanding them, no matter how much they don't understand you.

Even if they may have been the first people you thought could do no wrong, they're human still. And parents. So I guess that's expected.

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Wasted Nights

Wasted? Talk about smashed. But then again, that was the intention all along so it was fine.

It was the perfect setting: a summer cottage on the shore of Laguna Bay in Jalajala, Rizal. Oh, incidentally, that resthouse was used for the shooting of Diana Zubiri's "Itlog".

We got to the house around 9 P.M., after a series of delays. A provinical cottage situated in the middle of nowhere, without a cement road leading to it isn't exactly the easiest thing to find in the dark.

The 10 of us actually provided the perfect setting for a Teen Horror B Movie. Imagine: college students going on an out-of-town trip to a very out of the way location. It was very TGIS: The Movie.

It did not help that my friend who owned the house said that since the house was really out of the way, we could be massacred right there and no one would know about it for days.

Oh, and he also mentioned that there was a manananggal encounter there once.

The house was very eerie when we got to it, and even if the group was composed of 3 girls and 8 boys, well, we all refused to be separated from each other. Hey, it was a remote province-- anything could happen.

After dinner and a short trek along the shore, the climax of the trip began. Out came the liquor. Within 30 minutes, the alcohol had taken effect.

This was no thanks to Ace, the guy who owned the resthouse. He was with us when we bought the nasty Hombre Tequila last Monday night, and he was pretty amused with the effect it had on everyone. So he deemed it just right to buy 2 bottles of the foul stuff for everyone to enjoy.

Aside from this, we had beer, vodka and this beautiful drink called Jaegermeister. I don't consider myself the connoisseur on hard drinks, but that Jagermeister was beautiful, smooth stuff.

I have always believed in the power of alcohol to bridge gaps, open communication paths and break down defenses and barriers. Last night was no different- we were a very diverse group coming from different factions within the block. And yet we were able to just plain have fun, talk about anything and everything under the sun and what have you.

Under the influence of alcohol, anything is possible. It was pretty much no holds barred.

In fact, at one point, to counter our inebriation, we decided to play games. Namely, er... Doctor Quack Quack and Pepsi Seven Up. It was a very messy game, if you can imagine.

It was also there, being drunk and all, that we came to the conclusion that Pepsi Seven Up is a very mindless and silly game.

All throughout this time, I was having one drink after another. Since we were through with the nasty Hombre Tequila, I was generally consuming beer and shot after shot of that Jagermeister. At this point, no visit from any white lady or manananggal could affect me. I was floating!

Also, in my drunken state, I had a very looooong conversation with T, whom I haven't spoken to in months. Although for the life of me, I can hardly remember what we talked about, which is good because I might die from sheer embarassment of what I might have revealed.

I stayed up all the way to the break of dawn. We saw the morning in, and then I retired for some shuteye, crossing my fingers that I wouldn't wake up with a nasty hangover. At least that came true.

We spent the morning just kicking back, relaxing and winding down. It's funny because from all my fun experiences, the morning after is always "synthesis time". This is where everyone just hangs around recalling the previous night's events. This was done while playing cards (an hour of Bluff, can you believe???) and just sitting on the patio overlooking the bay and talking.

It's over now, and what an experience it was.

No, I don't regret the hedonism involved in last night's activities. It was all clean fun among blockmates who are getting to know each other on a deeper level.

I don't regret getting drunk also. As Pao said, "These are the times where you inebriation is sulit". I couldn't agree more.

I was in the company of great people, and we learned a lot about each other over the course of 24 hours. It was bonding in its truest sense. It is an experience shared by none but the 10 of us.

And since the place was pretty much isolated, we were away from civilization and all the problems that awaited us back in Manila. We were just there to relax and have a blast.

It was the perfect experience for a much-deserved summer vacation.

* * *

Hehehe! I came home to a very clean room today.

Apparently, my helper couldn't take the mess as well and decided to take matters into her own hands. That is one chore for the summer off my shoulders!

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Pendong!

I've gone and done it. After a month of mulling and pondering over it, I went out and got my head shaved.

Not exactly shaved, but close enough. A "quatro" to be precise. I made a promise to myself to do it when classes were through and so here I am, with 90% less hair on my head.

I have a feeling the thinking about it was more stressful that the act itself. Ever since I first had a semi-kalbo do, I've been pretty adventurous with my hair. I've gone through the whole lot-- long hair, relaxed hair, skinhead, 2 x 3s and all that.

But it's been 4 years since I last had a real close cut like this, and all the while, before actually making the trip to the barbers, I've been agonizing over whether to push through with it.

It was a lot of worrying, I must say. As in "What if I look like a dork?", "What will people say?", "What if my hair grows even curlier than it is now" and a whole slew of other questions. I'm glad I'm skinny so I don't look too much like Mr. Clean...

The walk to Bruno's in Amber was actually something tantamount to a death march, for all the anxiety it was worth.

But now it's done. The feeling of having my curly locks (yak!) shaved was actually very refreshing.

I took my new 'do to school awhile ago, just to gauge the reactions of the people. And the general consensus was... nothing much. Other than a few "Wow, new hairstyle!" or "Uy, your hair is straight na!", my new haircut didn't garner much reaction.

I am crossing my fingers that the lack of reaction was more because it is not really worthy of comment, and not because it was so bad that people just decided not to comment on it.

And I know for a fact that it is hard and very tiresome to grow back hair.

But what the heck. It's temporary, I looked cute as a bald baby so I must look decent as a bald grown guy, and yes it will grow back.

At least my head is a whole lot lighter, and I feel a whole lot cooler.

* * *

I'm feeling a bit guilty. The choice was a medical mission in Unisan, Quezon versus a hedonistic trip with Comm blockmates to Jalajala. My bag is ready and I'm raring to go!

I picked the latter. The trip is deemed to be one night of drunken carousing and bacchanalia. This, as opposed to helping out in the med mission of my org.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm going on this trip to free myself of responsibilities (since I'm an officer for the org of the Med Mission group) and also because SOMEONE is going. And she asked me to go... I said yes in an instant.

My priorities need a little re-adjusting.

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Esta Verano!

Eventhough my paper was still due on the 12th, I passed it today just so that my summer could begin. Talk about motivation.

And the very moment my paper left my hands, 6:35 P.M., I just knew that summer has began. No more homework, no more obligations... it's vacation time.

Or like that old school rhyme goes, "No more classes, no more books, no more teacher's dirty looks!"

Temporarily, this brain is out to lunch. No more wrestling with Dante Aligheri, no more jolting my mind for Philosophy, no more thinking about the right target market. It's time to enjoy the summer!

Well, whatever is there of it, anyway. I've got 2 weeks to live up before summer classes begins (it's a pre-requisite) and another 2 weeks after summer classes. There's not much really, but I'm going to squeeze in as much as I can.

I always love this interim period- it's the time when classes are done and all requirements have been submitted and the grades aren't released yet (although they're simmering somewhere), so there's nothing to worry about yet. Ignorance is bliss, I like to say.

It's funny because summer strikes a chord of sentimentality with me when it comes to teachers, especially with all their goodbyes. Sometimes it's hard to end the sem when you really had fun in one class.

So at this point, I'm making plans for my hardly-existent summer break. I want to do as much as possible, and yet rest as much as well.

Right now, I'm geared for an overnight in Jalajala, Rizal and there's a dinner with SK friends this Monday night. And somewhere there, I want to cram in an outing with High School friends as well.

Oh, and clean my room. This I gotta do. Badly. I'm not a neat freak, but God, my room is really driving me crazy!

More than anything I guess, I just hope to play everything by ear.

No more scheduling, no more planning for the next 2 weeks. I'm done with O/C-ness of others for now. Actually, I like to call myself the O/C person's worst nightmare, but that's another story...

Either way, I'm officially no longer 3rd year. I should be getting scared because that means facing a very crucial year ahead... but as of now, that can wait. I'm going to enjoy my summer!

* * *

One of the older people in our province died. He was one of the alalays who has been with the family for ages.

The funeral was today and my parents went. I would have come had it not been for the paper. After my dad's story, I am pretty interested in what transpired.

For the funeral, one estranged branch of the clan hired a marching band as part of their contribution to the funeral. That was fine.

The marching band arrived, dressed in shiny, royal blue dress costumes complete with plumes on their hats. When the funeral march was beginning, the band began playing...

ASEREJE!!!

So you can that people were somber and all, crying and marching a slow pace to the tune of Asereje.

According to my mom, it was a bit unnerving since children onlookers would start dancing whenever the band passed by.

When my mom told the band to change it, they started playing a cha-cha song. When my mom complained, one of the band members explained that the person who called them told them to play happy songs.

Sometimes, warring relatives can be an amusement. Swear, if I had been there, I would have burst out laughing.

Reminds me of my aunt fixing up the band for the funeral of a grand-uncle 3 years ago.

She was meeting up with the band manager and he was giving her the prices for their services.

When my aunt settled on one package, she asked the manager, "May kasama nang marjorettes 'yan?".

The band manager replies"Ah mam, wala hong marjorettes pag funeral procession..." I honestly don't know how he kept a straight face, because in defference to my aunt, I was trying to hold in my laughter.

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MORE Adventures of a So-Called Party Animal

Eventhough the whole party was a blast, I don't think I've been making the soundest of decisions these past few days.

Decision # 1: To attend the party.

The party was held Monday night at the condo unit of my Marketing teacher. Time was 3 hours after our Marketing finals and the night before the last of my final exams.

Understandably, the Marketing test was the last test for a good number of my blockmates so the party was a good excuse to let loose after weeks of stress. I came along for some quality time with my blockmates.

Of course, quality time with blockmates meant quality time with SOMEONE. We weren't exactly alone, but hey, she was with me and that mattered a whole lot.

The agreement was to meet up with several blockmates at Mcdonalds Eastwood, have dinner wherever, go to Shopwise Libis for drinks and then proceed to our teacher's condo. So destiny, here I come- I pick up SOMEONE from her house at 7 and we make our way to Libis.

After parking, she and I sneak off to the Eastwood Night Market because she was in the mood to shop. We spend a good 30 minutes there, ignoring the texts and calls of our blockmates who were already looking for us. When we finally met up with them, our excuse was "parking".

With dinner and shopping for drinks, we make it to the condo at 9. Warning bells were already ringing in my head, since I had a self-imposed "goodbye time" of 10:00 so that I'd still have time to study when I got home.

The best laid plans of mice and men. I should know better by now that it's not exactly that easy to tear yourself away from a party in full-swing.

I thought I could simply drop by, eat a little, shoot the breeze a little and then make my exit. Big booboo.

Decision # 2: To drink.

There was liquor a-plenty.

Since drinking isn't a stranger to me, I'm pretty much confident that I can carry myself and hold my own in the face of hard drink. Ho boy... was I ever wrong.

It wouldn't have been so bad had I stuck to my beer and my glass of Bailey's. I was there on a loaded stomach and I ate some more when I got there (our teacher prepared a whole smorgasbord of food), so generally, I was immune. Had I stuck to those drinks.

But the games began. You know, those little drinking party games wherein the loser has to take in a shot of tequila. Unfortunately, the tequila we used was this "Hombre Tequila" brand that was more Isopropyl Alcohol than tequila. Man, that stuff was rough and really nasty.

And a traitor too, I might add.

I was pretty gutsy in drinking since I wasn't feeling any of the alcohol's effects, even after 4 shots. I was pretty assured since my liver is pretty... sturdy. I overestimate myself.

The alcohol hit me all at once. And suddenly, I was really, really disoriented. I was smashed. And I wasn't the only one.

One thing I can say is that ever since the first time I got really drunk, I have been good at gauging if I am tipsy, drunk or what have you. And at that time, I think I was beyond drunk.

I was walking really slowly, and I could't do so in a straight line. I stumbled from room to room in search of water (there was none) and I don't remember half of what was going on. No amount of washing my face could take away the daze that I was in.

Yep, I don't think I presented my best side to SOMEONE. But she was looking out for me, that much I can remember. Really, that nasty drink took me by surprise. No cheap tequila for me ever!

Decision # 3: To drive.

This was insanity at its highest, and I couldn't have been more irresponsible.

But then, I would rather have risked going home in my state rather than sleep it off somewhere and come home at a later hour but having to explain to my mom that I got drunk. That would have cost me "pogi points" and probably my car privilege. Plus a lot of trust and leeway.

I have driven home tipsy loads of times, but this was one time when I was really drunk as a skunk and I am so relieved I came home in one piece.

I swear, there has to be some guadian angel who looks over the drunk drivers of the wee hours of the morning, but I absolutely cannot remember my trip home. It was that bad.

All I remember was getting in the car and praying, "God, please let me get home in one piece", rolling down the window and that's all she wrote. Next thing I know, I was at home.

When I got home, God, I felt like all 150-pounds of me was crammed into my cranium. And it didn't dissipate even when I slept. Thus, I took my test today with all that alcohol swirling around my system. Thankfully, I was in the right frame of mind.

The rest of the day, I was also a plain mess. It was the grand daddy of all panget days. But I think this was from fatigue more than the alcohol.

The whole night last night was one wrong decision after the other. Good, clean fun does not come at the cost of injury, and nobody should have to pay for my irresponsibility.

I am just thankful that I was lucky enough to live to regret it.

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Left Behind

At 21 years old, I am beginning to believe that I have been spoiled by the comfort zone that is my life.

I have a feeling that I have been too comfortable with my life that I am starting to stagnate. It's in the sense that while I am busy coasting along life, many of my peers are out there conquering worlds that I have yet to reach and explore.

I just got off the phone with Kenneth. Kenneth took a leave of absence from school to be an exchange student in Singapore. More than just the added knowledge, I presume that it was a whole new experience living alone and existing in a culture very different from ours.

To top it all off, he had a great time. I think his joining the program was what spurred my erstwhile ex-girlfriend cum best friend (yet another overachiever at U.P.) T to give the program a try. She had her interview last week and I don't doubt that she'll get accepted.

So there you have it: one of my closest guy friends and my girl best friend are "growing up" in a way. Theirs is that experience of stepping out of their comfort zones, being dependent on themselves and living away from home.

So where does this leave me, who has never spent more than 2 weeks away from home and is used to basically being dependent on my parents for most of everything.

Compared to Kenneth and T, I feel immature.

I mean, it has never mattered that they got much, much better grades than I did. Or that Kenneth was EIC of our High School paper at 3rd Year and T was the EIC of her High School paper, also at 3rd Year.

It doesn't matter that Kenneth was the EIC of our yearbook also back in High School and T was Student Council president. Or that she is concluding her term as the Debate Society president this year. It never did matter.

But now, with school stuff behind them, they are moving on to worlds other than the common world of school, that we used to share. Never mind that I am a month older than T and 9 months older than Kenneth.

Kenneth now works for Unilever and T will probably be going to Singapore. As for me, I will be going on to Comm 4th year. Whoopee.

Maybe I'm jealous. I'm jealous that they have the chance to step out of the box and prove something to themselves. They have the opportunity to go and do something new and different. And in that sense, mature.

My life will most probably revolve around the same things again. But there has got to be more to life than guzzling beer, going to the gym, studying, buying clothes and thinking of the next gimik.

At this point, I believe that my world is still so narrow and shallow.

I regret passing up the opportunity to go on that exchange student program. I already had the application form with me but I didn't give it in because I believed that taking a year off school, losing momentum and working with a whole new set of classmates would jeopardize my chances of making it into 5th year.

Ah well, I settled for the easier alternative. That is opportunity cost. Though really, things are what you make of them.

I have always felt the need to "grow up" in one way or another. I need my defining moment where I get to realize that I am no longer the kid that I was.

Because as of now, life as I know it is still the same as it was when I was say 14. And I don't think my parents see me as anything older either. I think I don't see myself as anything older either, because I've become too comfortable.

Really, it's not the studying abroad that makes them more mature. It's not the action in itself.

It is the thought that they have the opportunity to stand on their own 2 feet, with the knowledge that they can make it away from their comfort zone.

Perhaps maturity is really a state of mind, but more than anything, making it by myself is that defining moment wherein I can prove to myself alone that I am ready to stare adulthood in the face.

It is proof to myself that I can make it- that this "kid" is ready to grow up.

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