"Those who can, do; those who can't teach. Like most sayings, this is only half true. Those who can, teach; those who can't -- the bitter, the misguided, the failure from other fields -- find in the school system an excuse or a refuge." - Bel Kaufman, UP THE DOWN STAIRCASE
This wasn't her dream, yet it came true. She never thought of becoming a teacher, yet she is one now and has been for years.
Her long lost friends, plus some fair-weather ones, and her former classmates might drop their jaws in disbelief if they found out that she is now connected with the academe, with their former alma mater to be exact. They probably couldn't imagine her encased in four walls with a stick in hand and hair in a tight bun. She just wasn't the type to waste her time erasing the blank stares of students and cajoling them to mouth more than monosyllabic responses to thought-provoking questions. Nor was she the type, as the cliche goes, to mold young people's minds, the way a potter molds clay. She wasn't even known for patience in high school and in college. Having tantrums when Plan A didn't push through, blowing her top when a group member forgot her I.Q. on her pillow, and throwing writing instruments at whomever she thought deserved it were what she had been known for. Hardly the qualities one expected from a member of the most noble of all professions.
How did she end up a teacher anyway?
She isn't sure exactly how it happened. She used to write copy for an ad agency but couldn't take her boss' breathing down her neck every time there's a deadline or being surrounded by creative but weird cigarette-smoking and foul-mouthed creatures of the advertising world. She had to quit before she wound up in a looney bin.
The teaching job landed on her lap by pure chance. Feeling low one April morning, she decided to pay her old college a visit. Her Chair was there, and discussion turned to careers. Learning of her disenchantment, her Chair popped the invitation for her to teach. She wasn't given a chance to reject the tempting invitation because schedules for demo teaching were shoved in her hand. She could only acquiesce and ponder her luck.
Her intellectual capacity and ability were challenged once again. They stopped when she got no welcoming committee in the real world. Now, her mind went into its previous analytic mode, with a green light all the way. She hungered for knowledge and was eager to apply it in her new world as a professional. She devoured great heaps of information, gobbled huge amounts of data, including trivia from the works of the learned, and swallowed everything her mind could take in.
Her first day of teaching was quite memorable. She didn't quite know how to establish rapport with the freshmen, but she found herself blurting out, "You may not call me MOM because I am not your mother. You may not call me MUM because I am not a deodorant. But you may call me MA'AM." It wasn't her intention to come up with her version of the Ten Commandments but she said: "ONE, you are not allowed to sleep in class. Neither dreaming nor snoring is allowed. Failure to keep this commandment would mean a trip to the washroom and back. TWO, you have no right to remain silent...when asked to recite or report in class. Anything you say can and will affect your grade. THREE, you may raise any questions regarding the subject matter to clear any cobwebs you may have in your brains...assuming that you have one." Mixed reactions -- amusement, apprehension, apathy -- followed her pronouncements.
Her love for Bel Kaufman's book Up The Down Staircase should've jarred her into the realization that she would become an English teacher. Sam Levinson commented that the book was the kind of funny that hurts, referring to the book's satirical undertones. That comment hit her too. Her students considered her a funny teacher, and it hurt to teach English.
Teaching English as a second language is no ordinary task. Being a freshman in the profession, she assumed a lot. She assumed that her students knew simple subject and verb agreement -- I am, You are, He/She/It is, You/We/They are.
She assumed that they knew the difference between a phrase (Macaulay Culkin in "Home Alone") and a clause (who was the child actor in the movie "Home Alone") or why a fragment (Macaulay Culkin in "Home Alone") is not a sentence (Macaulay Culkin played the lead in the movie "Home Alone.") She was wrong. She assumed too much.
The results of her students' quizzes and exams confounded her. Why did a third if not half of the class sometimes fail? Had she not explained everything clearly? Did she not always ask them if they understood, and say that she would not think them stupid if things weren't clear? She could not always accept the fact that the reason was the "teacher factor." She once gave them items for a quiz which they reviewed and encountered again in the periodical test. Why did they still write the incorrect answers?
Although she felt that she lacked the qualities of a perfect English teacher, her students believed in her, respected her, and even liked her. Evidence, grammatical errors included, made her want to cry in frustration as well as in amusement.
- "YOUR cool and friendly. I like YOU'RE approach to us."
- "You make your lessons VERY UNDERSTANDING."
- "The only thing I can say is that you're cute."
- "Having a smiling face MAKE us feel calm."
- "You are not a bookish type of teacher. I hope this will be continued not like other teachers who concentrate THERE lessons in the book."
- "One good reason was the humor...as if YOUR the life of the subject."
- "I like the way you speak because YOU'RE voice is like a baby or a cat."
- "I thought you were just a student the first time I saw you. I was SUPRISE to know that you're our English teacher. But you sound as if you've been teaching for years."
- "I can't criticize you because so far, you're one of the best teachers we've had this sem."
- "There is only one thing that I don't understand. Why are you still single?"
Her first journey into the real world of education as an educator wasn't exactly a bed of roses. A thorn sometimes protruded here and there. Yet some rosebuds had bloomed too.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Monday, December 19, 2005
A Message Board Is A Place :
1) where you can have fun with friends (or make war with fiends), engage in pseudo-intellectual talks with geeks and freaks, and be nasty with flips and drips;
2) where you can unwind, do a rewind, come forward, play around, pause for a while and stop (Hey there, what's that sound? Everybody look what's going down.) … before you contract Carpal Tunnel Syndrome;
3) where you can be honest and let your guard down or play around with your guard up; (Guards on the side will be waiting in the wings though.)
4) where you can snag a temporary boyfriend/girlfriend while your real significant other's attention is somewhere else;
5) where you let loose of thoughts you probably won't be able to get away with in real life if you verbalize them.
2) where you can unwind, do a rewind, come forward, play around, pause for a while and stop (Hey there, what's that sound? Everybody look what's going down.) … before you contract Carpal Tunnel Syndrome;
3) where you can be honest and let your guard down or play around with your guard up; (Guards on the side will be waiting in the wings though.)
4) where you can snag a temporary boyfriend/girlfriend while your real significant other's attention is somewhere else;
5) where you let loose of thoughts you probably won't be able to get away with in real life if you verbalize them.
Patches of Insanity
The chickens are on fire! And the ceilings are laughing at me! Stop ittttttttt! I’m okay. I’m okay. Now, deep breathly. Shoot! I meant breathe deeply. Dang it! Reading five books one after the other and not finishing them in one sitting because of too much daydreaming is muddling my already muddled mind. A mental plunger – that’s what I need in order to get rid of this paranoiac gunk. But cheez whiz Louise, it’s like a mental leech that sucks all my cheers, grinds my tears, regurgitates my sneers and spews out jeers.
Why do I love alliterations that much? Because they prevent me from writing clichés, such as being in cloud nine … which I just did. Aaaaargh!
Go on. Keep ignoring me. I do have a strange way of showing it but … I just want you to like me. Haven’t you realized that by now? I may be losing some screws – although winning some would bring temporary ecstasy – but I’m serious. I mean this from the bottom of my feet. Really! With all my heart, my liver and my lungs. Slurrrp!
Writing is about getting something down, not about thinking something up. - I forgot who said this.
Why do I love alliterations that much? Because they prevent me from writing clichés, such as being in cloud nine … which I just did. Aaaaargh!
Go on. Keep ignoring me. I do have a strange way of showing it but … I just want you to like me. Haven’t you realized that by now? I may be losing some screws – although winning some would bring temporary ecstasy – but I’m serious. I mean this from the bottom of my feet. Really! With all my heart, my liver and my lungs. Slurrrp!
Writing is about getting something down, not about thinking something up. - I forgot who said this.
Ssh...
"If language were liquid, it would be rushing in. Instead here we are in a silence more eloquent than any word could ever be."
- "Language," Suzanne Vega
SILENCE stays in a corner. You don't realize it's been there staring at you for quite some time now. Without any warning, it grabs you by the shoulders and hurls you to the ground. You're bruised and bleeding.
You look up to meet its eyes and ask, "Why?" SILENCE ignores your question and kicks you in the face instead. You try to get up but SILENCE, this time, aims for your gut. You hug yourself and lie fetal position to protect yourself. You close your eyes and cry yourself to a dreamless sleep.
SILENCE retreats to a corner and smiles.
- "Language," Suzanne Vega
SILENCE stays in a corner. You don't realize it's been there staring at you for quite some time now. Without any warning, it grabs you by the shoulders and hurls you to the ground. You're bruised and bleeding.
You look up to meet its eyes and ask, "Why?" SILENCE ignores your question and kicks you in the face instead. You try to get up but SILENCE, this time, aims for your gut. You hug yourself and lie fetal position to protect yourself. You close your eyes and cry yourself to a dreamless sleep.
SILENCE retreats to a corner and smiles.
Para kay carabao_ english ang ABC story kong Taglish
ni arnivorous arnimal
Ang mamang kalabaw sa taas ay kaaararo lang
Bakit ba inaasar ako at saan po nagkulang?
Cute pa rin naman ako pero hindi na niya type
Dikdikin ko na nga lang para wala ng Grabeh hype.
Ewan ko kung ba't biglang nagkaganito kami
Fafa ko daw po siya dati na hindi mapakali.
Good news na rin at kami ay muling nag-uusap
Hindi ko nga lang alam kung mata niya'y kumikislap.
Idol ko po ang kalabaw na ito sa pagpapatawa
Jologs sa tingin ng marami pero sa aki'y naiiba.
Kulang daw ako sa pansin kaya siya ay hinahabol
Landiin ko ba naman hanggang mapilitang pumatol.
Memories namin ay tunay na katawa-tawa
Naghaharutan parati sa kung saan-saang hibla.
Okay naman kay BLISS dahil busy siya kay kiks
Playing on the field ako at doing it for weeks.
Quaint at strange ang feeling paggawa ng istoryang ito
Really mind-blowing daw po at makukulta ang isip mo.
Sana ay dumami ang mag-aambag ng istorya
Titingnan ko rin kung aabot sa Sabado de Gloria.
Uulitin ko pa rin po ang mga ganitong posting
Very, very persistent makasama mga praning.
Wala akong magawa at gusto kong matapos na
Xciting naman siguro kung ikaw ay nagbabasa.
Yo, tumatango ka ba bilang pag-sangayon?
Zee, natapos rin ang aking istorya sa ngayon.
Anak ng kuwagong puyat
Nakakahingal magsulat.
Ang mamang kalabaw sa taas ay kaaararo lang
Bakit ba inaasar ako at saan po nagkulang?
Cute pa rin naman ako pero hindi na niya type
Dikdikin ko na nga lang para wala ng Grabeh hype.
Ewan ko kung ba't biglang nagkaganito kami
Fafa ko daw po siya dati na hindi mapakali.
Good news na rin at kami ay muling nag-uusap
Hindi ko nga lang alam kung mata niya'y kumikislap.
Idol ko po ang kalabaw na ito sa pagpapatawa
Jologs sa tingin ng marami pero sa aki'y naiiba.
Kulang daw ako sa pansin kaya siya ay hinahabol
Landiin ko ba naman hanggang mapilitang pumatol.
Memories namin ay tunay na katawa-tawa
Naghaharutan parati sa kung saan-saang hibla.
Okay naman kay BLISS dahil busy siya kay kiks
Playing on the field ako at doing it for weeks.
Quaint at strange ang feeling paggawa ng istoryang ito
Really mind-blowing daw po at makukulta ang isip mo.
Sana ay dumami ang mag-aambag ng istorya
Titingnan ko rin kung aabot sa Sabado de Gloria.
Uulitin ko pa rin po ang mga ganitong posting
Very, very persistent makasama mga praning.
Wala akong magawa at gusto kong matapos na
Xciting naman siguro kung ikaw ay nagbabasa.
Yo, tumatango ka ba bilang pag-sangayon?
Zee, natapos rin ang aking istorya sa ngayon.
Anak ng kuwagong puyat
Nakakahingal magsulat.
Istoryang di ABAKADA
ni Ate arni na bruha
Ang thread na ito ay para sa mga creative.
Bagito man o batikan ay very receptive.
Charming o pa-cute posts ay puwedeng-puwede.
Dedmahin man ng iba ay hindi na bale.
Ewan ko ba kung bakit ang kulit namin.
Forward ko nga ito sa mga sipunin.
Gentle o gago ay very welcome dito.
Hubo man kung mag-post ay pipikit ako.
Inihaw o roasted man ang iyong feeling.
Join ka lang magnakaw kay gin_bulag ng saging.
'Kala n'yo siguro ay confident ako.
Limutin ko na lang ... mahiyain kamo.
Magsaya tayo sa pagkabuo ng tropa.
'Nak ng aso ko, pangalan ay Coca.
Oops, pasensiya na at ako'y nag-digress.
Para kasing feeling ko ay damsel in this dress ... at stressed.
Quid pro quo ay isang kasabihan
Rayuma ni BLISS aking naiintindihan.
Susme, nawala na po ang aking train of thought.
Tingnan n'yo at sumakay yata sa tren na buraot.
Uy, malapit na matapos ang aking "istorya."
Very incoherent nga lang, pahingi ng pasensiya.
Wala yata ang maggot na uod ng aking utak.
X-ray ang kailangan ng ulo kong may biyak.
Yesssss, patapos na ang post ko ngayon.
Zo, pakisampal lang please nang ako'y huminahon.
Magsulat na po ang mga sira ang ulo! Samahan n'yo ako at nalulungkot ako.
Ang thread na ito ay para sa mga creative.
Bagito man o batikan ay very receptive.
Charming o pa-cute posts ay puwedeng-puwede.
Dedmahin man ng iba ay hindi na bale.
Ewan ko ba kung bakit ang kulit namin.
Forward ko nga ito sa mga sipunin.
Gentle o gago ay very welcome dito.
Hubo man kung mag-post ay pipikit ako.
Inihaw o roasted man ang iyong feeling.
Join ka lang magnakaw kay gin_bulag ng saging.
'Kala n'yo siguro ay confident ako.
Limutin ko na lang ... mahiyain kamo.
Magsaya tayo sa pagkabuo ng tropa.
'Nak ng aso ko, pangalan ay Coca.
Oops, pasensiya na at ako'y nag-digress.
Para kasing feeling ko ay damsel in this dress ... at stressed.
Quid pro quo ay isang kasabihan
Rayuma ni BLISS aking naiintindihan.
Susme, nawala na po ang aking train of thought.
Tingnan n'yo at sumakay yata sa tren na buraot.
Uy, malapit na matapos ang aking "istorya."
Very incoherent nga lang, pahingi ng pasensiya.
Wala yata ang maggot na uod ng aking utak.
X-ray ang kailangan ng ulo kong may biyak.
Yesssss, patapos na ang post ko ngayon.
Zo, pakisampal lang please nang ako'y huminahon.
Magsulat na po ang mga sira ang ulo! Samahan n'yo ako at nalulungkot ako.
Rants from the Past II
Tsk-tsk, bad move A. You shouldn't be doing this. You promised yourself you're not returning his calls nor answering his letters ever again. So what gives? Why are you breaking your promise? No amount of extra-strength 3M scotch tape could make the broken promise whole again. Yeah right! That excuse again. What's that? Oh, it's the Christian thing to do. Tsk-tsk. You're such a softie. Don't you think you've been treated like a doormat for the nth time. He pops up every now and then, doesn't even ask forgiveness for that awful thing he proposed you both do years ago and acts as if everything's back to normal. Grow up, A! Oops, I'm sorry you can't do that anymore since you've reached your peak. Well, at least, open up your eyes, girl! Get a new pair of specs or contacts if you wish! Wake up!
That's my alter ego speaking, R. May be it hurts you to read it, but it's part of what I feel about you. I don't want to hide under anyone's skirt anymore other than my own. (Oops, make that pants. I hate skirts.) This time, I'm not dodging from my feelings. I want to meet them head on the way I did when we were still in college.
So what is this letter all about? It's not exactly something that'll make you feel good while in a strange land. Talk about adding insult to injury. Naah, not really. Consider this as an outpouring of pent-up emotions, a letter of clarification, a page from my diary perhaps? (Weren't you my diary back in college?)
Well, here goes nothing. I hope you'll drop all "pretenses" and tell me how you really feel after reading this.
I really liked you, you know. Of all the pen friends I had, you're the only one left. Our friendship has also been a part of my growing up years in college. You've also helped me during those times that I felt insecure about myself especially when most of my classmates were against me ... which was most of the time. I remember you writing and reacting to my credo "I humble myself by humiliating myself" ... short of doing a lobotomy on me yourself. You're one of my cushions during my college life. And I didn't even thank you by sharing with you the honors I've received.
Years passed by and we joined the world of the professionals. I thought you've totally forgotten about me. Who would've known we'd start going out together? And that's when everything started going haywire.
Maybe it was my fault. I assumed and presumed too much.
Maybe I should've asked right from the beginning what the real score was. Was it plain friendship or was it more than that? Did the hand calisthenics and the limited oral explorations confined around the face mean anything? Or didn't we just have nothing better to do or talk about then? Was it because of the night, the draft beer we drank or the pizza we ate?
I thought for a moment that there was something. I gave you hints, but I guess we weren't riding on the same wavelength. Maybe there were times that we shared the same frame of reference but you just weren't ready to widen your frame to overlap with mine. You were either silent, changed the topic or plain humiliated me. I hope you felt how confused I was then. Was I sending the wrong signals or couldn't I decipher yours correctly? And to think that we both have degrees in Communication.
Your recent card said, "I'm here for you." I'm sorry but I can't feel your presence. No matter how I try, I just can't feel it.
I thought for a moment that there was something. I guess, I'm wrong again. So, what else is new?
That's my alter ego speaking, R. May be it hurts you to read it, but it's part of what I feel about you. I don't want to hide under anyone's skirt anymore other than my own. (Oops, make that pants. I hate skirts.) This time, I'm not dodging from my feelings. I want to meet them head on the way I did when we were still in college.
So what is this letter all about? It's not exactly something that'll make you feel good while in a strange land. Talk about adding insult to injury. Naah, not really. Consider this as an outpouring of pent-up emotions, a letter of clarification, a page from my diary perhaps? (Weren't you my diary back in college?)
Well, here goes nothing. I hope you'll drop all "pretenses" and tell me how you really feel after reading this.
I really liked you, you know. Of all the pen friends I had, you're the only one left. Our friendship has also been a part of my growing up years in college. You've also helped me during those times that I felt insecure about myself especially when most of my classmates were against me ... which was most of the time. I remember you writing and reacting to my credo "I humble myself by humiliating myself" ... short of doing a lobotomy on me yourself. You're one of my cushions during my college life. And I didn't even thank you by sharing with you the honors I've received.
Years passed by and we joined the world of the professionals. I thought you've totally forgotten about me. Who would've known we'd start going out together? And that's when everything started going haywire.
Maybe it was my fault. I assumed and presumed too much.
Maybe I should've asked right from the beginning what the real score was. Was it plain friendship or was it more than that? Did the hand calisthenics and the limited oral explorations confined around the face mean anything? Or didn't we just have nothing better to do or talk about then? Was it because of the night, the draft beer we drank or the pizza we ate?
I thought for a moment that there was something. I gave you hints, but I guess we weren't riding on the same wavelength. Maybe there were times that we shared the same frame of reference but you just weren't ready to widen your frame to overlap with mine. You were either silent, changed the topic or plain humiliated me. I hope you felt how confused I was then. Was I sending the wrong signals or couldn't I decipher yours correctly? And to think that we both have degrees in Communication.
Your recent card said, "I'm here for you." I'm sorry but I can't feel your presence. No matter how I try, I just can't feel it.
I thought for a moment that there was something. I guess, I'm wrong again. So, what else is new?
Rants from the Past
My world has been calm for almost six months and here you are with a phone call to return call and a belated b-day card to rock my world. I'm tempted to scream "What do you want from me?" Haven't you humiliated me enough?" Pardon me for my stupidity but if that card was a peace offering (a "so-sorry letter" reminiscent of the one sent by FVR to Danielle Mitterand), I fail to see an apology even under that veneer.
Uh, was there a message to be read in between the serious message? Your literary effort has got me stumped, pal. Oops, did I write pal? Wouldn't the terms best buddy who's someone special be more apt? Touche'.
My background in Communication failed to prepare me in decoding messages resembling your recent creative genius. Aside from that, two things prevent me from deciphering your version of the Rosetta Stone:
1) It's impossible for me to lift myself;
2) I can never see beyond the horizons because I'm a myopic forever.
I could go on ranting and raving but I won't do that. I'll just pray for you like I do every night.
Good night. I wish you'd tell me what you want from me without hiding behind a cloud of words.
Uh, was there a message to be read in between the serious message? Your literary effort has got me stumped, pal. Oops, did I write pal? Wouldn't the terms best buddy who's someone special be more apt? Touche'.
My background in Communication failed to prepare me in decoding messages resembling your recent creative genius. Aside from that, two things prevent me from deciphering your version of the Rosetta Stone:
1) It's impossible for me to lift myself;
2) I can never see beyond the horizons because I'm a myopic forever.
I could go on ranting and raving but I won't do that. I'll just pray for you like I do every night.
Good night. I wish you'd tell me what you want from me without hiding behind a cloud of words.
Delivered to you
Nope, I haven't gotten tired of you. Nope, I haven't forgotten you. Nope, I haven't thought of ignoring you. I just had a lousy week at work and have been fighting a bout of bronchitis for days now. I called in sick today and went to my primary care physician to get antibiotics because gulping Sudafed tablets nor downing almost 1 and 1/2 bottles of Robitussin aren't helping me ease this terrible nose and chest congestion. If you call me right now, you probably would just waste your money because you wouldn't be able to understand my "ngongo" voice due to this darn congestion. Aaargh!
I apologize if you thought I misunderstood what you misunderstood. I don't want to go into details again but I'll just bury the hatchet and forget about where I buried it so I wouldn't be able to dig it up again if the mood strikes. Being a veteran of pen pal writing and now cyber-friendship with the dawn of the internet, I've learned the hard way not to dwell on hurtful words to preserve my self-esteem as well as the other party's self-esteem. (I wonder what my prof in Psychology would say about me now.)
So you like me. For some weird, unfathomable and unexplainable reason, I do like you too. Now wipe that stupid grin (again, your grin is stupid not you so don't think I'm insulting you) off your face and read on if you can still stomach this cyber-ramblings that are automatically and uncontrollably pouring out of my fingertips to be absorbed by the keyboard and sent via cyber-osmosis to you. Ahihihi. What the heck am I talking about about? My Critical Writing prof would probably rise from her grave and kick herself out of the coffin just to slap me for writing some pseudo-intellectual gobbledygook nonsense. Ahihihi.
Anyway, do I have anything to report to you during my cyber-absence from your inbox? What can I say except that I'VE BEEN ALONE SINCE FRIDAY AND WILL BE ALONE UNTIL X-MAS EVE. (Now, why am I shouting? Ahihihi. I think the meds I just took have a narcotic effect and I'm really high right now. ) All my relatives from the cities of Pinole, Vallejo, Stockton, Whittier and here in Hercules left last Friday for a 7-day cruise to the Caribbean and Puerto Rico. I didn't go for numerous reasons: (1) my boss won't let me since there are already two people going on vacation this week; (2) I have no more moolah for a vacation since I spent most of it last May in the Phils; (3) I don't like to go on vacations with my family. No kidding.
And may I repeat what I said a few paragraphs above. For some unfathomable and unexplainable reason, I do like you too. I think the fact that you're the most different of the ones who've befriended me is one thing that makes me spend writing a very rare kilometric epistle. Befriending you and learning about you through e-mail are unique experiences for me. Because if I were still my former stiff self (way back in college), I probably would be wary of people like you and wouldn't care about understanding what makes you tick. Being a teacher opened my mind to welcome different kinds of students and to seek out the needy, the ignored, the average, the problematic and the strange. Hmm...did I say unfathomable and unexplainable reason? I think I've just given you the reasons. Ahihihi.
I could end with "keep the faith," or "keep it real" but that wouldn't be too original. So let me just end with this ...
It is I .. no one to get excited about,
Arnivorous
I apologize if you thought I misunderstood what you misunderstood. I don't want to go into details again but I'll just bury the hatchet and forget about where I buried it so I wouldn't be able to dig it up again if the mood strikes. Being a veteran of pen pal writing and now cyber-friendship with the dawn of the internet, I've learned the hard way not to dwell on hurtful words to preserve my self-esteem as well as the other party's self-esteem. (I wonder what my prof in Psychology would say about me now.)
So you like me. For some weird, unfathomable and unexplainable reason, I do like you too. Now wipe that stupid grin (again, your grin is stupid not you so don't think I'm insulting you) off your face and read on if you can still stomach this cyber-ramblings that are automatically and uncontrollably pouring out of my fingertips to be absorbed by the keyboard and sent via cyber-osmosis to you. Ahihihi. What the heck am I talking about about? My Critical Writing prof would probably rise from her grave and kick herself out of the coffin just to slap me for writing some pseudo-intellectual gobbledygook nonsense. Ahihihi.
Anyway, do I have anything to report to you during my cyber-absence from your inbox? What can I say except that I'VE BEEN ALONE SINCE FRIDAY AND WILL BE ALONE UNTIL X-MAS EVE. (Now, why am I shouting? Ahihihi. I think the meds I just took have a narcotic effect and I'm really high right now. ) All my relatives from the cities of Pinole, Vallejo, Stockton, Whittier and here in Hercules left last Friday for a 7-day cruise to the Caribbean and Puerto Rico. I didn't go for numerous reasons: (1) my boss won't let me since there are already two people going on vacation this week; (2) I have no more moolah for a vacation since I spent most of it last May in the Phils; (3) I don't like to go on vacations with my family. No kidding.
And may I repeat what I said a few paragraphs above. For some unfathomable and unexplainable reason, I do like you too. I think the fact that you're the most different of the ones who've befriended me is one thing that makes me spend writing a very rare kilometric epistle. Befriending you and learning about you through e-mail are unique experiences for me. Because if I were still my former stiff self (way back in college), I probably would be wary of people like you and wouldn't care about understanding what makes you tick. Being a teacher opened my mind to welcome different kinds of students and to seek out the needy, the ignored, the average, the problematic and the strange. Hmm...did I say unfathomable and unexplainable reason? I think I've just given you the reasons. Ahihihi.
I could end with "keep the faith," or "keep it real" but that wouldn't be too original. So let me just end with this ...
It is I .. no one to get excited about,
Arnivorous
Sunday, September 25, 2005
My Sister's Wedding
I didn't think I'd like weddings but this one I liked. The scenarios I've been concocting for months just went down the drain. No locking myself in the bathroom until the bouquet throwing part; no jumping off the hotel window to swim with the ducks at the bay; no bringing of Jessica Zafra's Twisted books for additional ammunition aimed at people who kept bugging me with the question, "When are you gonna get married?"; and no changing my off-the-shoulder-see-my-cleavage purple long gown into a respectable black sheath dress and a black blazer. I just kept mumbling the sentence "THIS IS MY SISTER'S DAY AND I'M NOT GONNA RUIN IT FOR HER" like a mantra and things fell into their proper places.
The snags I thought were snags weren't really snags. Me dancing after nine years of being a wallflower surprised most relatives. Marunong daw naman pala ako sumayaw ay bakit ko itinatago? Blame it on my favorite uncle (Uncle Butch) and favorite cousin (Kuya Boyet). They were the ones who literally dragged me to the dance floor and wouldn't let go of my arms lest I danced with them. One relative Kuya Gener was really adamant that I got paired with someone I didn't know (Prospect ba?) that when he introduced this guy Archie and left us on the dance floor, I couldn't do anything but dance with him. Bagay daw kami at dalawang nerds with some UP background. It turned out that the guy once courted my sister. Pero di ko siya type. Kasi hindi malaki ang dibdib. He-he.
I also danced with my brother-in-law. He taught me how to waltz. The best man Dave, who's my brother-in-law's brother, danced with me for a while but he couldn't wait to go back to his American girlfriend ... a Karate instructor. Mahirap na. Pero takot sa 'kin ang mokong. Mike kasi kept building me up telling his brother how "intelligent" I am. The two of us had to make a speech for our respective siblings. I thought mine would turn out dramatic as in heart-wrenching and Dave's would be funny. Pero nagkabaligtad. I made the audience laugh with my speech and he made them cry!
By the way, my sister and my Mom rode a Rolls Royce on the way to St. Patrick's Chapel. Muntik na raw maraming naaksidente sa streets of San Francisco because most people were rubber-necking so that they could catch a glimpse of the vintage car. The bridesmaids, the groomsmen, the best man and I rode a limousine loaded with two TV sets, a CD player, two bottles of champagne and different kinds of sodas. Nakakatuwa kasi we kept waving at the people outside eh hindi naman pala kami nakikita kasi tinted ang car windows. Tanga 'no? O siya, I have to fold the clothes I laundered.
Ahihihi.
The snags I thought were snags weren't really snags. Me dancing after nine years of being a wallflower surprised most relatives. Marunong daw naman pala ako sumayaw ay bakit ko itinatago? Blame it on my favorite uncle (Uncle Butch) and favorite cousin (Kuya Boyet). They were the ones who literally dragged me to the dance floor and wouldn't let go of my arms lest I danced with them. One relative Kuya Gener was really adamant that I got paired with someone I didn't know (Prospect ba?) that when he introduced this guy Archie and left us on the dance floor, I couldn't do anything but dance with him. Bagay daw kami at dalawang nerds with some UP background. It turned out that the guy once courted my sister. Pero di ko siya type. Kasi hindi malaki ang dibdib. He-he.
I also danced with my brother-in-law. He taught me how to waltz. The best man Dave, who's my brother-in-law's brother, danced with me for a while but he couldn't wait to go back to his American girlfriend ... a Karate instructor. Mahirap na. Pero takot sa 'kin ang mokong. Mike kasi kept building me up telling his brother how "intelligent" I am. The two of us had to make a speech for our respective siblings. I thought mine would turn out dramatic as in heart-wrenching and Dave's would be funny. Pero nagkabaligtad. I made the audience laugh with my speech and he made them cry!
By the way, my sister and my Mom rode a Rolls Royce on the way to St. Patrick's Chapel. Muntik na raw maraming naaksidente sa streets of San Francisco because most people were rubber-necking so that they could catch a glimpse of the vintage car. The bridesmaids, the groomsmen, the best man and I rode a limousine loaded with two TV sets, a CD player, two bottles of champagne and different kinds of sodas. Nakakatuwa kasi we kept waving at the people outside eh hindi naman pala kami nakikita kasi tinted ang car windows. Tanga 'no? O siya, I have to fold the clothes I laundered.
Ahihihi.
Writing Then and Now
Writing means a lot to me. It's one of the few activities in which I can feel free and be myself. It doesn't matter if my output turns out to be a letter, an essay, a poem or just some crazy imprisoned thoughts wanting to be released from their confines. If I didn't write at least once or twice a week, I would feel incomplete...as if some part of me were missing. There are even times that I find myself itching and reaching for pen and paper at midnight when I should be on my way to Dreamland with or without Krueger-influenced dreams. I feel as if I have to write what's on my mind right at that moment, lest I forget the words in the morning.
It's funny though because when I was in grade school, I hated compositions. The dread of seeing my theme paper returned all covered with big red marks (circles, comments and grammatical corrections) was something I want buried in memory. I never got a grade higher than 85%.
There were three things that got me interested in writing. The first were high school journals in English. For us to hone whatever writing talent we had, our English teachers from sophomore to senior years requested us to keep a journal. In it, we could write whatever we wanted -- deep or shallow reflections, violent or controlled reactions, an even adolescent attempts at poetry. We could even accompany our essays and poems with drawings and pictures. Creativity was what they were trying to draw from us.
I enjoyed the exercise very much because of the informality. Because no one was dictating what to write and in what format, I felt at ease. I found myself taking the exercise seriously to the point of regarding my English journal as a personal diary. I remember writing about myself, my insecurities, my disappointments, my crushes, my fave bands and yes, even my pets. Teenage angst, in short. It was very cathartic.
Second was my sudden interest in reading whatever my hands could get a hold of. Mysteries, short stories, poems, labels, signs, ads and even the backs of milk cartons. The discovery of new words to add to my then meager vocabulary, and the idea of astounding and amazing classmates who had never read any book from cover to cover, spurred me on to write, to try them(new words) out for size, and yes, I humbly admit...to show off. I was very sarcastic.
Third was my being an outcast in class. I didn't have any body odor nor bad breath. I smelled okay -- My Mom said so. She wouldn't lie, would she? -- but my classmates never flocked to me nor did I light up their world when I came near them. The reason? I was not in their league. I was from the wrong side of the tracks. I was not from Ayala Alabang, nor was I from any of the plush villages near our school. I was from Alabang Gilid. "Who needs people like you when I have the twins, Pen and Paper, for company?", I thought. And that's when I began writing furiously -- day and night, noon and midnight, dusk or dawn. All the writing paid off when I surprisingly bagged the First Prize in a Poetry Writing Contest. It was very therapeutic.
Moving on to my college days, I still dabbled in the printed word. Writing weird essays in English 2, dissecting a classic novel in Literature, making a one-page personal reflection paper in Philosophy or handing in attempts at satirical feature articles for the school organ, excited me. On our Graduation Day, I received a Certificate of Recognition for Creative Writing as well as a Silver Medal for Campus Journalism. It seems that The One Above never forgot me for I always got rewards even when I wasn't expecting them. Now, I hope I'm not getting melodramatic.
It's been years since I graduated from college. Now that I'm back into writing but in a different venue and media, I hope I'll feel the way I did once in a writing class ... euphoric.
It's funny though because when I was in grade school, I hated compositions. The dread of seeing my theme paper returned all covered with big red marks (circles, comments and grammatical corrections) was something I want buried in memory. I never got a grade higher than 85%.
There were three things that got me interested in writing. The first were high school journals in English. For us to hone whatever writing talent we had, our English teachers from sophomore to senior years requested us to keep a journal. In it, we could write whatever we wanted -- deep or shallow reflections, violent or controlled reactions, an even adolescent attempts at poetry. We could even accompany our essays and poems with drawings and pictures. Creativity was what they were trying to draw from us.
I enjoyed the exercise very much because of the informality. Because no one was dictating what to write and in what format, I felt at ease. I found myself taking the exercise seriously to the point of regarding my English journal as a personal diary. I remember writing about myself, my insecurities, my disappointments, my crushes, my fave bands and yes, even my pets. Teenage angst, in short. It was very cathartic.
Second was my sudden interest in reading whatever my hands could get a hold of. Mysteries, short stories, poems, labels, signs, ads and even the backs of milk cartons. The discovery of new words to add to my then meager vocabulary, and the idea of astounding and amazing classmates who had never read any book from cover to cover, spurred me on to write, to try them(new words) out for size, and yes, I humbly admit...to show off. I was very sarcastic.
Third was my being an outcast in class. I didn't have any body odor nor bad breath. I smelled okay -- My Mom said so. She wouldn't lie, would she? -- but my classmates never flocked to me nor did I light up their world when I came near them. The reason? I was not in their league. I was from the wrong side of the tracks. I was not from Ayala Alabang, nor was I from any of the plush villages near our school. I was from Alabang Gilid. "Who needs people like you when I have the twins, Pen and Paper, for company?", I thought. And that's when I began writing furiously -- day and night, noon and midnight, dusk or dawn. All the writing paid off when I surprisingly bagged the First Prize in a Poetry Writing Contest. It was very therapeutic.
Moving on to my college days, I still dabbled in the printed word. Writing weird essays in English 2, dissecting a classic novel in Literature, making a one-page personal reflection paper in Philosophy or handing in attempts at satirical feature articles for the school organ, excited me. On our Graduation Day, I received a Certificate of Recognition for Creative Writing as well as a Silver Medal for Campus Journalism. It seems that The One Above never forgot me for I always got rewards even when I wasn't expecting them. Now, I hope I'm not getting melodramatic.
It's been years since I graduated from college. Now that I'm back into writing but in a different venue and media, I hope I'll feel the way I did once in a writing class ... euphoric.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
A One-Sided Love Affair with an Ex-Man of God
I never thought he'd be my regular lunch mate. In fact, I've never even dreamed that we'd end up as, ugh, pals. It was June 9, 1992 - a day before I bade goodbye to the double two. Anxious to get in the teaching program, I observed Ruby, a giggly girl being given the third degree.
"What's your grade point average?"
"Are you sure?"
"Why do you want to be a teacher?"
"Is it because you failed in your chosen field?"
"Describe yourself."
"Any teaching experience?"
As Mrs. Domanais was busy making Ruby and the rest break out in cold sweat, I tried initiating small talk with this lanky guy wearing horn-rimmed glasses.
"What's your number?" asked the arnivorous.
"Number 27", said Googly Eyes.
How friendly can you get? That's hardly a sentence. Obviously, my effervescent charm failed (or was it something that I imagined I had?). Okay, if that's the way he wants it, fine. I'd just compute my grade point average quietly.
He-hey, what's this I'm seeing from the corner of my left eye? The guy's peeping at my transcript! Well, read it and weep, buster! If my charm failed to catch his attention earlier, my transcript surely made his eyes dilate. Bulge out? Tsk-tsk. So, he thinks he's the only voyeur, eh? Let's see. Now, move your right hand to the right … no to the left, you idiot! Hey, what do we have here? A runaway from San Carlos Seminary? Sure fits him to a T. Ooops, that's my number. Later, dude.
I hardly thought of him after that. It was two weeks after school had started that we got to talk to each other for real. One Saturday morning, he startled me by dragging me to his seat and begging to see my answers to our second learning task. (Okay, so I exaggerated a little about the begging part.)
"Sige na! Ikaw kasi ang standard ko eh.", said the dude while winking.
Uh, well, duh, okay. Sheez, I'm such a sucker for compliments. I allowed him to peruse my not-exactly-one-of-the-best works and discussed with him things in the hand-outs which were clear as mud. Nothing mildly exciting happened after that.
The week that followed started it all. I became over-excited with their group report that I made an outline of it. I dunno what attracted me to sit next to him and show him my effort. I guess, I amazed him so he borrowed my outline since their group had no visual aids. Second-time sucker, arnimal! Everything went smoothly in their report, thanks daw to me. My reward? Free lunch which amounted to P10 but hey, it paved the way for more than small talks. After that Saturday, we arrived at an unwritten and an unspoken agreement: we'd be lunchmates till the end of the semester.
We played hookey once. We scoured the pier, stayed somewhere similar to a Navy Country Club, traded stories from my college days and his seminary years and binged on junk food. (Quick, why did he get out of the hollowed halls? He wanted to imitate his Dad - have a son who would one day be a priest!) We headed back to PNU, ate a hearty lunch and exchanged philosophical tidbits kuno. Before we finally parted after the first "tryst", he started teaching me Greek. I didn't have the chance to wonder if he'd all of a sudden chant in Latin 'cause the one o'clock bell rang … or did I imagine it? No bells in this university but classes start and end.
Then came The Doomsday (read: finals in Educ. 1). I changed seats -- from the third row to the front row -- under the guise of poor vision so that I could obtain better visibility of the ex-man of God. Our prexy, who was seated on my left, moved to a less conspicuous location to snooze. Seeing that the seat next to me was vacant, he plopped down noisily as if bored to death with all the reports of the members of Group 6. He started a barrage of queries, oblivious to the baleful looks Domanais was throwing at us.
"What's your NCEE score?"
"Why did you leave UP?"
"Can I apply at St. Paul?"
"Won't I create pandemonium among the girls?"
"Do you have any idea how underpaid and overworked I am?"
He nonchalantly asked all these questions while casually holding my hands and touching my arms. Forty-nine pairs of eyes observed the show. I was soooo embarrassed.
Time for the F word … finals I mean. I couldn't concentrate that well because he didn't return to his original seat. He was glued next to me till the end of the period. He finished first and pestered me to hurry up. (I'm talking about finishing the test and not finishing a quickie, okay?) I got annoyed for the first time with the guy. I mean really, just because he's got a cute pair of teasing eyes, a nice profile, soft and kissable lips, a spiky head and a penchant for Neil Simon witticisms and Woody Allen non-sequiturs, did not give him the right to mess up my "academic curve."
Naturally, I forgave him. Boy, I'm in too deep.
THE CONTINUATION
It's been almost three months since I've been subtly angling for a date from the erstwhile seminarian and perennial Saturday lunch mate of mine. Finals week in Educ. 3 was just around the bend and I was getting desperate. I sought the counsel of a married classmate who advised me to take the initiative and ask the guy out somewhere. I approached a daring friend who handed me a Cosmopolitan feature article, the thesis statement of which went something like, "If you don't ask, you don't get." But hey, wait a minute here! Nice girls don't ask men out. Nice girls wait to be asked. But then, whoever said I was nice? Not even my Chairperson would nod in approval. Then I thought, if I don't ask him out, at the age of 70, I'd probably be speculating still on what might have been -- whether there had ever been a chance of a relationship developing.
One October afternoon, I nervously picked up the nearby pay phone and dialled The Guy's number. My plan was to remind him to bring my Up The Down Staircase and easily slip the question, "Will you marry me?", er, I mean, "Care to go out with a bespectacled midget?" :D Do you know what he did? He turned the tables on me before I could even pull out a chair and sit. He popped the question and saved me from embarrassment! "Will I marry him?", er, I mean, "Would I like to go to the much-raved-about Malabon Zoo?" Heck, I'd go with him anywhere, but naturally, I didn't tell him that. I got so flustered when he unconsciously reversed my well-laid plans that I blurted out something vague about going and not going. We ended the phone conversation with me reminding him to bring my book and he telling me that he found my voice cute. I already know that. Sheez, why hasn't anyone told me that my voice was husky or sexy or bedroom-voice-like? He-he. :D Dream on, girl. His sister even thought that I was one of his infatuated students pretending to be his classmate! After analyzing my mediocre performance as a modern woman of the world, I called back one Friday afternoon and asked if he was still free to accompany me to the animal sanctuary to visit his relatives. Affirmative so off to the zoo we went after wrestling with our Educ. 3 finals.
At the zoo, we had a great time watching two exotic birds bark instead of chirp and a lion cub named Luningning tear an Abante tabloid to bits. (Got disgusted with Xerex probably.) The ex-man of God was fascinated as I observed him look intently at two tigers doing the X-rated thing in public. A myna bird almost decapitated his fingers because he kept poking the poor fowl and forcing it to say "hello" even if it was busy with an afternoon snack.
Then we went to Pizza Hut and had a heady conversation about anything under the sun -- films, Woody Allen, Neil Simon, my former job, his students, parents and (Gasp!) masturbation. The guy was riveting! There was never a dull moment with him. He's definitely got brains and not maggots in between his ears.
Of course, I didn't like the day to end, but we eventually had to part. I was prepared to go on a Dutch Treat but he insisted on paying for everything. We wouldn't be seeing each other anymore, he said but he'd keep in touch. That I still have to see.
I'm really gonna miss everything about him. His admirable guts in dozing off even beside a prof, his booming voice when he recites or reports in class, his attempts at mimicking Doc and that faggot Chris and even the way he laughs when he catches me slapping my face three times when I get sleepy in the afternoon sessions.
He's no longer interested in enrolling this coming semester. I tried changing his mind for weeks but to no avail. He said he couldn't handle teaching eight sections and still be saddled with a study load of nine units. Instead, he's going into body building to avoid being branded as a deadringer of Woody Allen. Frankly, I think it's an insult to compare him with the nebbish genius. The ex-sem's mug is much, much cuter.
It's time to swallow the bitter pill. Enough of this seemingly short-lived one-sided never-had-a-chance-to-take-off love affair with another myopic. Ahihihi.
"What's your grade point average?"
"Are you sure?"
"Why do you want to be a teacher?"
"Is it because you failed in your chosen field?"
"Describe yourself."
"Any teaching experience?"
As Mrs. Domanais was busy making Ruby and the rest break out in cold sweat, I tried initiating small talk with this lanky guy wearing horn-rimmed glasses.
"What's your number?" asked the arnivorous.
"Number 27", said Googly Eyes.
How friendly can you get? That's hardly a sentence. Obviously, my effervescent charm failed (or was it something that I imagined I had?). Okay, if that's the way he wants it, fine. I'd just compute my grade point average quietly.
He-hey, what's this I'm seeing from the corner of my left eye? The guy's peeping at my transcript! Well, read it and weep, buster! If my charm failed to catch his attention earlier, my transcript surely made his eyes dilate. Bulge out? Tsk-tsk. So, he thinks he's the only voyeur, eh? Let's see. Now, move your right hand to the right … no to the left, you idiot! Hey, what do we have here? A runaway from San Carlos Seminary? Sure fits him to a T. Ooops, that's my number. Later, dude.
I hardly thought of him after that. It was two weeks after school had started that we got to talk to each other for real. One Saturday morning, he startled me by dragging me to his seat and begging to see my answers to our second learning task. (Okay, so I exaggerated a little about the begging part.)
"Sige na! Ikaw kasi ang standard ko eh.", said the dude while winking.
Uh, well, duh, okay. Sheez, I'm such a sucker for compliments. I allowed him to peruse my not-exactly-one-of-the-best works and discussed with him things in the hand-outs which were clear as mud. Nothing mildly exciting happened after that.
The week that followed started it all. I became over-excited with their group report that I made an outline of it. I dunno what attracted me to sit next to him and show him my effort. I guess, I amazed him so he borrowed my outline since their group had no visual aids. Second-time sucker, arnimal! Everything went smoothly in their report, thanks daw to me. My reward? Free lunch which amounted to P10 but hey, it paved the way for more than small talks. After that Saturday, we arrived at an unwritten and an unspoken agreement: we'd be lunchmates till the end of the semester.
We played hookey once. We scoured the pier, stayed somewhere similar to a Navy Country Club, traded stories from my college days and his seminary years and binged on junk food. (Quick, why did he get out of the hollowed halls? He wanted to imitate his Dad - have a son who would one day be a priest!) We headed back to PNU, ate a hearty lunch and exchanged philosophical tidbits kuno. Before we finally parted after the first "tryst", he started teaching me Greek. I didn't have the chance to wonder if he'd all of a sudden chant in Latin 'cause the one o'clock bell rang … or did I imagine it? No bells in this university but classes start and end.
Then came The Doomsday (read: finals in Educ. 1). I changed seats -- from the third row to the front row -- under the guise of poor vision so that I could obtain better visibility of the ex-man of God. Our prexy, who was seated on my left, moved to a less conspicuous location to snooze. Seeing that the seat next to me was vacant, he plopped down noisily as if bored to death with all the reports of the members of Group 6. He started a barrage of queries, oblivious to the baleful looks Domanais was throwing at us.
"What's your NCEE score?"
"Why did you leave UP?"
"Can I apply at St. Paul?"
"Won't I create pandemonium among the girls?"
"Do you have any idea how underpaid and overworked I am?"
He nonchalantly asked all these questions while casually holding my hands and touching my arms. Forty-nine pairs of eyes observed the show. I was soooo embarrassed.
Time for the F word … finals I mean. I couldn't concentrate that well because he didn't return to his original seat. He was glued next to me till the end of the period. He finished first and pestered me to hurry up. (I'm talking about finishing the test and not finishing a quickie, okay?) I got annoyed for the first time with the guy. I mean really, just because he's got a cute pair of teasing eyes, a nice profile, soft and kissable lips, a spiky head and a penchant for Neil Simon witticisms and Woody Allen non-sequiturs, did not give him the right to mess up my "academic curve."
Naturally, I forgave him. Boy, I'm in too deep.
THE CONTINUATION
It's been almost three months since I've been subtly angling for a date from the erstwhile seminarian and perennial Saturday lunch mate of mine. Finals week in Educ. 3 was just around the bend and I was getting desperate. I sought the counsel of a married classmate who advised me to take the initiative and ask the guy out somewhere. I approached a daring friend who handed me a Cosmopolitan feature article, the thesis statement of which went something like, "If you don't ask, you don't get." But hey, wait a minute here! Nice girls don't ask men out. Nice girls wait to be asked. But then, whoever said I was nice? Not even my Chairperson would nod in approval. Then I thought, if I don't ask him out, at the age of 70, I'd probably be speculating still on what might have been -- whether there had ever been a chance of a relationship developing.
One October afternoon, I nervously picked up the nearby pay phone and dialled The Guy's number. My plan was to remind him to bring my Up The Down Staircase and easily slip the question, "Will you marry me?", er, I mean, "Care to go out with a bespectacled midget?" :D Do you know what he did? He turned the tables on me before I could even pull out a chair and sit. He popped the question and saved me from embarrassment! "Will I marry him?", er, I mean, "Would I like to go to the much-raved-about Malabon Zoo?" Heck, I'd go with him anywhere, but naturally, I didn't tell him that. I got so flustered when he unconsciously reversed my well-laid plans that I blurted out something vague about going and not going. We ended the phone conversation with me reminding him to bring my book and he telling me that he found my voice cute. I already know that. Sheez, why hasn't anyone told me that my voice was husky or sexy or bedroom-voice-like? He-he. :D Dream on, girl. His sister even thought that I was one of his infatuated students pretending to be his classmate! After analyzing my mediocre performance as a modern woman of the world, I called back one Friday afternoon and asked if he was still free to accompany me to the animal sanctuary to visit his relatives. Affirmative so off to the zoo we went after wrestling with our Educ. 3 finals.
At the zoo, we had a great time watching two exotic birds bark instead of chirp and a lion cub named Luningning tear an Abante tabloid to bits. (Got disgusted with Xerex probably.) The ex-man of God was fascinated as I observed him look intently at two tigers doing the X-rated thing in public. A myna bird almost decapitated his fingers because he kept poking the poor fowl and forcing it to say "hello" even if it was busy with an afternoon snack.
Then we went to Pizza Hut and had a heady conversation about anything under the sun -- films, Woody Allen, Neil Simon, my former job, his students, parents and (Gasp!) masturbation. The guy was riveting! There was never a dull moment with him. He's definitely got brains and not maggots in between his ears.
Of course, I didn't like the day to end, but we eventually had to part. I was prepared to go on a Dutch Treat but he insisted on paying for everything. We wouldn't be seeing each other anymore, he said but he'd keep in touch. That I still have to see.
I'm really gonna miss everything about him. His admirable guts in dozing off even beside a prof, his booming voice when he recites or reports in class, his attempts at mimicking Doc and that faggot Chris and even the way he laughs when he catches me slapping my face three times when I get sleepy in the afternoon sessions.
He's no longer interested in enrolling this coming semester. I tried changing his mind for weeks but to no avail. He said he couldn't handle teaching eight sections and still be saddled with a study load of nine units. Instead, he's going into body building to avoid being branded as a deadringer of Woody Allen. Frankly, I think it's an insult to compare him with the nebbish genius. The ex-sem's mug is much, much cuter.
It's time to swallow the bitter pill. Enough of this seemingly short-lived one-sided never-had-a-chance-to-take-off love affair with another myopic. Ahihihi.
The Meaning of Arnivorous
arnivorous, from the dictionary entitled Bookbarni means capable of being an arnimal. It is an adjective, a nerdy friend coined, referring to someone who sits on a corner and munches a C. Hecklers would chide that definition and declare it as bull. What they fail to see is the irony in my nick/handle. arnivorous is really a VERBIVORE: someone who devours words on sight. Ask my sister egetarian and she'll tell you that I'm always hungry for punsters and would always gobble pundits to taste if they're palatable. What a feast, eh? Ahihihi.
I wonder if there's someone out there who could be my Attila the Pun or Conan the Grammarian. Ahihihi.
I wonder if there's someone out there who could be my Attila the Pun or Conan the Grammarian. Ahihihi.
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