heartshape

how I ranted about the first hours of my birthday...

the day went quite well actually...
my friendster was filled with testimonials from special friends, my indox got flooded with cheers, and verna was greeting me every chance she got.

this is just one busy birthday, that's all...

and the most important moment of today was:

I got to attend the SU Church's Midweek Service...
I feel so blessed already...

Thank you Lord!!!

I am so freaking angry at the freaking world - sorry Lord, you know I can't be mad at you - and I don't know why.

It just pisses me that I have to do so many freaking things on my birthday! Can't I have a stress-free birthday for once? I mean, I can't even sleep without dreaming about my overdue research paper or wonder about my fucking INC in Econ 21.

I am just so furious at having to do everything!!!

12 am

It's officially my birthday
Can't sleep
Because of that fucking music and blinding florescent light
Couldn't understand why in hell
I cannot sleep with distractions on the side
I cannot sleep with the lights on
I cannot sleep with any form of noise on

Final exam in Econ 22
Wasn't able to study
because I was so irritated
(I welcomed my birthday with a grumpy face)
(Sorry again Lord)
(But I'm really thankful for this day)

The exam was a breeze
Now I have to work on my Ethics paper
More pissed off moments
Netopia's computer won't run
And I've wasted precious minutes


Perfect, just perfect...

Mess-merized
Claudine M. Lim
Obcompfreak


I hate mess – from untidy lockers and junk-infested drawers to confused dispositions and disorganized lives. While most college bums prefer the ordered chaos of their rooms, I find myself rooted to a spot where I could write my to-do list (with notes to self and proposed budget for the month), fix my things, and wipe away dirt from the nearby end table.

People will never understand my unusual aversion to unattended dirt. Candy wrappers left on the carelessly painted floor, or clothes crawling out of the hamper, closet, or drawer, piling up to outstand Mt. Fuji, are my primary sources of eye strain. Dust forming animals in dark corners, gaining profit from its zoo business at unreachable, taken for granted areas (under the bed, at the back of lavishly decorated cabinets, or near the shoe rack) will never give me the clean, healthy fun I know I deserve.

Who am I kidding? I’m just like any normal human being (my friends doubt it but hey, this is my column, and I’m free to write anything I want) who practices hoops with crumpled papers on the trashcan, who loves writing notes on clean textbooks, and who sometimes leaves empty junk food wrappers on one of Sted’s tables.

But I really hate mess.

Can I say that everything gets messy? And this isn’t even about politics. In a blink of an eye, people get zapped and dumped on a big heap of mess – things that transcend literal mess, going beyond the outmoded garbage on the sidewalks or the accumulated dust in our living rooms.

Sometimes it bothers me when I listen to people whine about messy grades or messy relationships. How much more if I get involved with their messy lives? Trust me; playing audience to a litter of tall tales is definitely not one of my reasons for living. I throw my own wrappers, dust my own furniture, and clean my own space. It is as simple and as figurative as it sounds. I bear my own burdens, nurse my own insecurities, and solve my own problems.

But then, I do have to admit I get disappointed when I complain about anything under the sun; “anything” being the contributors of my messy state of being. I mumble about plummeting grades and chronic absences, distracted colleagues or unfinished projects, and condemn the world.

It seems so easy to spot the mess other people make and the racket of filth they leave behind, but when it comes to our own rubbish, we refuse to acknowledge it and end up yakking about the injustices of it all. We busy ourselves trying to muddle with other people’s mess that we fail to reprimand ourselves for creating a junkyard out of scraps, for stacking problems instead of sweeping them away immediately!

But come to think of it, life would be utterly boring without the presence of the undead, the unstoppable, and the inevitable grime. There’s nothing more exciting than the occasional Filth Festival that provides a little exercise to the brain, body, and soul. Nothing beats the tremors that run through your spine upon encountering an unexpected dilemma, and the victorious feeling after finding its solutions.

There’s nothing more intimate than helping a friend cry and curse over an estranged loved one; there’s nothing more jolting than a failing mark or a broken nail. There’s nothing more fulfilling than helping people tidy up their lives despite promises of not meddling. There’s nothing more reassuring than looking at the faces of those who are willing to support you no matter how disgustingly chaotic (or freakishly neat) you are.

It dawned on me that my friends and I often bond over the mess we’re in - various circumstances that disappoint us, or just things we want to change, things that need dusting. It amuses me how we complain, curse, and cry over dirt. Because in the end, we simply sweep them all away.

Pride in mockers' paradise
Obcompfreak
Claudine Lim

We love Silliman.

We all do. Anyone who thinks otherwise may step out of this institution.

But then again, those who declare that this campus by the sea is nothing but a sprawling reason for an allowance or a laid-back respite from mind-boggling complexities may have not yet realized the value of this 105-year-old university. They probably haven't had the chance to appreciate Silliman enough to defend its glory, or at least, stand proud when the school gets scoffed at.

But being Sillimanians, we don't often stumble upon Mockery's guile. Perhaps we are not as exposed to these negative feedback as those who actually eat them for breakfast. After all, we belong to a prestigious institution and we often get recognized. No student usually graduates without someone believing him or her lucky for being a Sillimanian.

Usually.

I had no clue as to where Silliman's influence extended or how illustrious it was until I joined the Corps of Campus Ambassadors and started guiding university guests around campus. As student frontliners, we introduce outsiders to the sights and sounds of the Silliman campus, and advertise, promote and persuade them to experience the vitality of the Via, Veritas, Vita that we privileged Sillimanians enjoy. We tap their curiosity by sharing a part of Silliman while seeing that they feel at home. And most importantly, we tell them (without getting paid, mind you) why we love Silliman and what makes us proud to be here. Now that requires a significant amount of pride.

Telling visitors how we thrive in this 56-hectare haven, and bragging the school's achievements in the name of Silliman Spirit might seem effortless. But facing different people from all walks of life requires flexibility to adjust to various interests and personalities, uncalled-for circumstances, and impulsive (and sometimes deliberate) criticisms. It is not easy.

In our past tours, we have been bombarded with phrases like "56 hectares lang?", "It's not really that big" or "Ang liit lang naman pala ng boulevard n'yo" after we just showed off Silliman and the rest of Dumaguete's treasured spots.

For the love of this institution, we dare not taint its name by retorting, even if its critics go overboard in mocking Silliman and making fun of our attempts at telling something about our school.

Before, I would wince at every nasty remark (who wouldn't if somebody announces to the group that the spotted deer at the Center for Tropical Studies are your cousins?). If those alone made me feel like I got stabbed at the chest, how much more with heavier comments like "Hindi naman talaga magaling ang Silliman" or "Okay lang, nothing interesting" after a wearisome two-hour campus tour?

I was not used to hearing snide comments about Silliman, I wasn't experienced enough to just overlook those who deride our endeavors, and clearly didn't have enough grace to handle pressure. That was then.

I realized that we can't help encountering know-it-alls, be it students or professionals, who always have something to say; intimidating and pointing out mistakes, never tiring of joking around. We would always come face-to-face with bullies who seem to live for watching anxious people squirm. Unfortunately they're everywhere, but it's just through practice that indifference to these creatures becomes an art.

In time, maybe you'll have your chance of standing proud, of finally appreciating Silliman amidst the criticisms. Sooner or later, you'd have to defend its honor, and doing it while keeping your cool is never easy.

But since most people say Sillimanians never turn down a challenge, perhaps someday, you could surprise a few detractors by subtly (and wisely) making them regret why they ever mocked Silliman University.

February 8, 2007


I'm really not enjoying this.

The frustration, depression, and stress that comes after assigning as many campus ambassadors, finding out no one will ever show up, and leaving me no choice but to guide the visitors myself suddenly became part of my routine for the school year 06-07.

Most of the shit happens to the chairperson and no one in this organization knew better than him/her. I guess my future started crumbling since I took the position. Xavier was able to pull it off, being the ultimate tour guide and campus ambassador of the year, and Michelle, being Michelle, simply had to relentlessly push us. Still, that doesn't mean they didn't sacrifice as much as I do now. At times when nobody shows up and I am left with at least 50 students on educational field trip, I hardly envision an exceptional future, everything becomes bleak, and I start focusing on the wide-eyed graders and the type of information that suits them.

I am getting tired of filling in for these people, sacrificing my class hours while they get to attend classes. Is it karma? Sometimes I want to shout at them, bombard them with insults loud enough for their ears to bleed. Sometimes, I want them all to skip classes and just feel what I'm feeling right now. Sometimes I want to whack my own head and die.Why am I suffering for something I love so much?I never asked for this. If this is the price for fame and prestige then bring it on. But not to the point of bruising my future and letting them get away with it.

I'm sometimes exasperated by motherly heroine with a deadly tongue. She books all the tours and assigns us (through me, of course) anxiously almost every time, and doesn't rest until she gets informed of the situation - the number of CAs that will serve as tour guides and everything. She's one hell of a secretary and Aiken hates her. Honestly, I'm not closing my doors on the HATE option. I just wish I don't burst my bubble on her.

October 15-17, 2006


I never thought our Dipolog trip would be such a blast.

There were only twelve of us, and out of the 24 Campus Ambassadors (on my list), only a few were able to join the first (as far as I'm concerned) educational field trip of the Corps of Campus Ambassadors. Three days of interesting, informative, and intellectual fun matched the Silliman University frontliners' wits as we not only engaged in different laag moments but also visited several high schools in the area.

The first semester ended with initiations and acceptance ceremonies, mock swimming competitions, and a breathtaking trek to one of Dapitan's hills, the Rizal shrine, and few of Dipolog's revered spots, among others. Gino, Ian, JR, Karen, and Carlo were officially accepted, alliances were formed, and the bonding was simply priceless.

Put simply, I'm glad it happened.

YET...

Waking up was the last thing on my mind that cool Sunday morning. It didn't even cross my peculiar brain to get up at 5am, shower, get dressed, review my packing checklist then dash to the pier. I wasn't even concerned about not being able to make it on time, or even afraid the ferry might leave us.
Why would I be when the same mind that pored over the smallest details of the trip got knocked down by rum four hours before the assembly time? How it happened? I have no idea.

Why it happened? Probably because I was oozing with confidence to the point of being really, really stupid. I was even prepared to give up the trip and just let Michelle lead the team. All I wanted was to sleep to cure my throbbing head.

I was the leader for crying out loud but at that time, I was an intoxicated chairperson.

God knows how I was able to stand up, how I suddenly smelled of soap and Palmolive shampoo, how I got into my red sleeveless top and Bobson jeans, how several things that appeared to be mine were already in my duffle, and how I was able to cross the street, and ride a motor cab only to throw up (again) to the baffled early morning expressions of the people we passed by.

When Mich and I finally got to the pier, tickets were thankfully distributed, and pissed souls were gradually pacified. Had I been sober, I would’ve minded the text messages flooding my inbox or the missed calls spelling anger in every beep. When I got into the boat, my cot looked like a bed of roses as I lay me gently down to sleep. Amidst the excited voices of my fellow campus ambassadors, Ate Rose’s sermons, and Cokaliong’s signature chatter, I treated myself to one of the best sleep I’ve ever had.

I woke up to the nasty blaring of the ferry’s horn. So, this is Dapitan. Wasn’t this the place where Rizal was exiled for four years? Where he spent most of his time studying about life, love, and liberty? I noticed my companions getting ready to disembark so I hastily cast away my dizziness and tried to join the land of the living, even if I was feeling partially dead. The ride to Dipolog was, for lack of a better word, uneventful. But at least I enjoyed every minute of our 3-day stay, come rip-offs or hang overs.

What would I have done had I missed the trip?

1. Lifetime supply of reading materials from the cheesy ones to the metaphysical booboo.

2. Lifetime supply of choice movies and music (non-pirated of course)

3. An all-expenses paid trip around the world especially NEW ZEALAND, SPAIN, ITALY, EGYPT, and EASTERN EUROPE.

4. An all-expenses paid trip to any Philippine destination

5. Shopping spree worth *kaching-kaching*

6. Franchise and investments worth *kaching-kaching*

The things mentioned above are just material and completely useless trifles. I can live without them but a girl can dream right?

But there are actually two gifts that I wanna receive from very special individuals. I don't know who they may be but trust all creations they'll never ever be forgotten.

MUSIC BOX with a dancing girl or a rotating object

I know its probably the most useless object on the planet but if heartily given, and especially with profound reason, a simple music box (with rotating thingie) goes a long way.

GLOBE - huge, updated and definitely not inflatable

Another worthless thing you might add. How would you like to travel to an unfamiliar place with no recollection whatsoever on that area's topography? I've been a geography buff (not that exceptional though) and touring world through a big round metal globe is a major stress reliever.

Now that my birthday's in three days, let me spare myself from having to be humble while everybody else asks what I want for my 22nd year. Oh yeah, I 'm getting old. I'm 22 but still in college. While most of my original batchmates are busy counting their salaries or happily engaging in talks about their latest company excursion, I'm stuck here in the campus by the sea, forcibly waiting for the end. The end of my life as an undergrad. With my grades down the drain (I got my first and hopefully my last 1.8 last sem), the feedback I've been hearing, and my habitual procrastination, I wouldn't be surprised to see myself punching cards in dilapidated buildings in a small unchartered town.

I'm not really worried, just concerned. About anything that could happen from the very anniversary of my birth to the moment when I finally conquer the Luce Lobby with 200 or so other aspiring members of the labor force. I'm slightly disappointed that at age 22, I'm still thinking about paying my dues and completing an INC when I'm supposed to be yakking about postponed meetings with bigshot clients.

I'm getting old, with no specific goals. Goals will always be there but finding the right directions is becoming a problem. No matter how Gabriel Garcia Marquez states that Aging isn't how old you are but how old you feel, I feel ancient and useless, drowning in a shallow pond with partly myself to blame.