Concrete Girl

Flamenco

Fisheyes

Green Eyes

Supergirl

Anonymous asked: oh nuthin. sarreh fr being creepy btw :))

RAYE I’M GONNA KILL YOU!!!

Anonymous asked: hi po! ask ko lang po kung kaano-ano niyo si Tags? ...

what? hehe.. why?

Anonymous asked: Hi po! May I ask if nag review center kayo noon for UPCAT? Thanks po! :)

Nope. My classmates and I had ourselves self-reviewed and some time with our teachers.

     My heart and mind was really fixed on BS Biology, but I also felt I needed to give Fine Arts a try since I have dealt my whole existence through craftsmanship and artistry. In school, I can’t get through a notebook without three quarters of its pages  filled with a spread of doodles, random thoughts and songs. In my room, my walls are surely  ears and eyes at the same time. I am delinquent in my own little world. Everything I feel is reflected in my sanctuary, how music gets me, and how I get in reality. It’s everything that is connected and beautiful. In Bio, I feel this part of myself will fleck off, but it’s what I want, to be a pediatrician, to care for kids. In Fine Arts on the other hand, I get to keep this part me.

Metro Manila roads were as hopeless and as traumatic as a dry desert. The traffic, the heat, and people. Not to mention, the fear I have been carrying during the whole trip down from Paranaque to Quezon, end to end. There I go, with thoughts and doubts of my half-empty portfolio. I saw other applicants carrying their truckload portfolio, dictionary-thick. Breathing in for luck, I lined up and registered myself. Unequipped and unprepared, my name was called for the interview. Another breath for luck, and I went inside, fear and people nearly suffocating me. I felt that I flunked the Interview from the very moment I figured out I didn’t bring a ballpen. My interviewer had me signed something before everything started and I didn’t bring my ballpen with me. I asked him if I could borrow his ballpen, another Enya-wth-scenario. He looked at me and asked where my ballpen was and I told him I left it in my bag outside. He requested me to get my ballpen in my bag outside. He was very serious, and that scared the hell out of me. I ran outside and got my ballpen. That ballpen moment started my stuttering, and incomprehensive thought flow. I didn’t know what to say and can’t exactly express my thoughts  or I don’t know if I was even thinking. Then he saw my grades and mentioned how my English was extremely low. Believe me, I know my English, It’s just that…I don’t know what. So he asked for my portfolio, browsed through it. I didn’t look at him. He just emotionless said it was good and placed on my application form Eligible for Talent Determination Test. And I was like “I’m done? Yay!” inside. I walked out and nearly cried. How my portfolio was half-empty, how I didn’t have my ballpen, how my interviewer was such a terror, and yet I was eligible for TDT. I comforted myself with a California Maki, and struggled through Manila’s hopeless and traumatic roads.

There was this huge naked sculpture in front me. And as what everybody was expecting, we need to draw that javelin-thrower as realistic as possible. Everyone was preparing their art materials, and I sat there thinking I only brought a pencil with a very limited eraser and felt-tip pens. Help me, God. I wore my eyeglasses and started with his eyes, as I always do. And then the face, down to the distinct details of his body. I really don’t know what I was doing. My mind was really noisy, so noisy that I wonder if my neighboring seats had heard it. It was saying things like, Enya, you need to do good, and it answers back, I know. And several things like, You can’t end up in Visayas after all those stupid things you did, and it answers back, I know again.I stood up satisfied with the outcome of my work. The proctor said the results will be out on April 23.

Flight back to Iloilo. Inaj finally giving her FHNotebook. Strolling on the Beach. Graduation. Timezone. April 23.

April 23, that extended agony felt after knowing the releasing of results were moved to April 24. PLUS, the pressure of my angels posting status updates in Facebook about it. The whole world will know I didn’t make it.

April 24, I woke up. I went to the computer and kept refreshing UPDFA’s page. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. 2012 TDT Results. Oh my God, this is it.  I clicked the link and with all the suspense and drama, it took a while for it to load, or it’s just me. I scrolled down to see countless blinding names. Finally, that disappointment I felt when I didn’t see my name. I was on the verge of accepting the fact that I wasn’t accepted when my hands were still scrolling up and down. Frustration, Fear, Fuck. Then there it was. 21 Anas, Enya Lou. My name. I screamed. I was shaking and ran to my mom, cried a bit, and screamed a million more. I just can’t believe it. All I wanted was to pass the TDT, but to be ranked 21 was really out of my expectations barrier. I hurriedly texted my angels, my sister, and my dad, my hands still shaking, I nearly dropped my phone. Thank you so much, God. :)

But I’m still having Bio as an option.

The major major truth is I do not know you. I do not know what you are capable of doing, your evil background (all people just have the evil in them, mighty or weak), or how you stand academically or whatsoever. I do not know you. But, hey, my pheromones seem to work. Look, I always get attracted to good-looking, with slender physique and with nice sense of fashion (or not so really, just fairly attractive) guys, anywhere, even in the jeepney. But I can simply get off with no other thoughts about them. But you, you seem very compelling. I do not know.My type: not you.  For a fact, and stupendous record, you are a guy who wallows over bags of screaming girls. Really, I still can’t get over the thought that I’m one of them. 

For months now, I have been diving on sweet euphoria which was, I guess, never mutual. My heart just beats on really fast, my hands shake (honestly), tremble, and feel weak, every single moment you sit on your usual favorite tambayan. As far as I could remember, it all started when we were down practicing for the Acquaintance Party. It was very comical and unreal when I saw sparks flew. I mean, really, when people say that for exaggeration, I now believe they’re not crazy after all. So, there was you, sitting lazily, your face at an angle which achieved a very god-like figure. After that, I can’t stop thinking about you.

You walk like a king. Your huge built and soft expressions were really attractive, I must say. I sit down ever so often at the mushroom just to see you. I always wanted to see you. I remember that you would always buy Banana cue at the Punta. I made checkboxes of very random things, like the very acute instance that I’ll be able to see your Identification Card. I made lots of them, one after the other, and I never seem to complete them. I finally felt like a complete, obsessed stalker when I started to secretly take pictures of you. But just so you’d know, I watched “A Crazy Little Thing Called Love”, and just found the idea of capturing you with my camera would be a nice thing. I also made an Art Journal. It was supposed to be my doodle notebook, but it ended up to be a portfolio of your name in different fonts, lyrics of clever bands, and flames candle. What a laugh.

I did lots of stupid things, too. If I were to make a list, it would go on forever. But if you remembered hearing your name while buying le-og at Ybiernas, and saw a figure near the parking lot at the other side of the wall, that’s probably me on my toes, on a blue dusty car, just right after I screamed “TAGS!” at the ends of my breath. I also happen to send you “Hi nong” in Facebook, but you should know that that was meant for somebody else. I even wrote a letter that you probably haven’t read, to say sorry, explain my side, and stuff (it’s on my blog). I was hell of a paranoid that time. I even caged myself in our classroom for half a day, and eventually, got over it.

You mean, poor, clueless little creature. You never knew, and what should I expect? You heartlessly deleted me on Facebook, but not because of the Wrong Send Issue. It was months away after it. I concluded that you saw my profile picture with you on my background and a little heart between us. You probably were thinking that I’m an immature, flirtatious, KULANG-SA-PANSIN high school girl. You obviously got annoyed, and boom! Enya Lou Anas was successfully deleted from your friend list. It felt really heavy. So heavy that I was about to cry but my father entered the dramatic scene and I was forced to pull back the accumulated water in my eyes.

I got over (maybe, I do not know, I accepted it, I guess)of  you deleting me on Facebook, but you should know that the day you befriended me in cyberspace was one of the monumental days of my life.  Epic. Epic. Epic. Anyways, I carried on with my life. I gradually drew back to being comfortable walking around you again. I go to the cafeteria to buy nothing, wear fashionable outfits, and got my hair cut. 

I just want to let you know that my SP is telling the truth. Your signature was the grandest Something Nakakilig gift ever. If you think your penmanship was diagonal, it was totally fine, just as long as I know you took time with it. My friends are really sweet angels. They were drop-soaked in a heavy rain just to give me the ultimate gift. Thank you, too, for abiding with that really sweet treasure.

Really, I don’t know what’s up with you. You accepted me on facebook again. I also tried to block you before, but it only lasted for hours (haha). So we were friends again. And I did another stupid thing. Again. You should know that I shouldn’t be at that meeting. The Career Talke thingy. I became the instant secretary, trying to appear so cooperative and dilligent. I am permitting you to laugh. But during the career talk itself, I am really the photographer, FYI. That thursday, was the first time you smiled to the cam, so I could get a decent photo. My hand was slightly shaking, my was heart irregularly beating, my palms sweating. I was so jealous of my friends who were with you up there on the platform, side by side. But I hope you remember me as the one taking the picture.

And now, my dear, you know. When I gave you my art journal, it was your birthday. I don’t know what went into my mind. really. Every word there paints a very naive picture of me. It was all funny remembering. I should have given it during graduation or something. It was supposed-to-be a letting go act, too. But then you texted. And I just can’t help but dive into fluttering butterflies again. It’s like those butterflies appear like a soft and safe cushion, enticing you to jump. And when you do, they’ll all fly away, leaving you with a nice piece of dry land. Your thank-you was a very lenghty text message that almost sent me out of class. I read it when our teacher was giving instructions. I screamed. She just looked at me, and I just said sorry, wearing that oh-my-gosh-enya face. I replied with a very OA explanation of everything, which sent me to hell times two. I really don’t know why I’m making all the wrong decisions. I really don’t know. I always end up overthinking everytime you don’t reply. I know I’m so annoying, or I seem like.

So I casually pass by your tambayan again, and hanged out at the island, even though I know you’re there. I really don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything I did was worth burying my face six feet under the ground, and yet I’m still walking on that ground. You know what I hate, is the fact your friends have read it, because they don’t really understand, unless they read it thoroughly, or they were the ones given with that “diary”, as to what they would like to call it. Now, it’s not your fault, because I should have given it to you privately, not spontaneously in front of everybody. Everything is just my fault. If I haven’t showed up with that notebook, you wouldn’t have anything to think about (assuming you sometimes you think of it, or me, haha, whatever), or me to worry about. So all in all, that was really embarrassing. Just kill me now.

And just this valentines’ day, I gave you a card. That day, too, I lost my cp. I got what I deserve. One thick line farther. You texted with enthusiasm (I think. I decoded that an exclamation mark after a Hi, well, is just so enthusiastic). But I couldn’t reply, the universe’s signal that everything’s wrong.

Everything doesn’t stop there. Because, dear little Enya here, is very sentimental. Yes, I am. I requested you to let me see that notebook again. I am so numbed. You agreed. We’ll meet 3pm. But you didn’t show up. Let me break the truth with you. Expectations: Plan is, you leave the notebook in one of the windows of the main building. I’ll just get it there, and you’ll just get it again afterwards. (Why am I making things so complicated?) Reality: Plan is, you’ll hand it personally. Expectations: I walk slowly towards you. You spot me. You hand the notebook to me, and I walk away. Reality: My friends got it for me from your tambayan, because you were busy, and I was too damn shy to get it myself, too damn disappointed, because my expectations were so grand. You know, almost real. Just a grasp. Almost there. Gone. You know what, it was really okay when you just stuck with my plan. Really. It hurts to expect too much.

So I browsed once again to the familiar feel of the pages. My ink. My prints. My words. All for you. Silly me. And I saw the outline of your hand. Your note. Your sorry. Your very rare smiley. I slipped in my mixed tape, which I suppose you haven’t heard yet until now (3/30/12). And my last letter. All my efforts are effortlessly wasted. Actually, I’m not really asking for anything in return. 

I just hope we’ll find serendipity in this. I am now finally letting go, for real, no holding back. Goodbye. Thank you. Sorry.

Wow, this sure is long. I don’t even know if someone will finish reading this. But if you have reached this point, kudos to you.

I am Enya. I am sixteen, and I just did a social norm crime.

Last January 26, I did the most impulsive deed a girl can do. I gave him my art journal full of songs, doodles, rants, and him. I watched too much romantic films and I can’t help but align my expectations with the sweet euphoria movies seem to give off. 

Today, I borrowed the journal again. (What in the hell was I thinking?) I am pretty much impulsive, I guess. Truth be told, I never wanted his friends to know this, but what the hell, i’m leaving. So anyways, he told me just to get it in one place. Because I’m so damn shy, my friends took it for me (Heavenly angels). I read it again. and again. and again. How could I possibly be so stupid? I wrote like a million I Miss You’s there that don’t even seem real.

While going through the notebook, I saw something. I remembered how I traced the outline of my hand on that page. My hand here.On the page right next to it was a supposed-to-be blank page. But today, it’s not. Your hand here, initially written, is now, traced with an undeniable boy’s hand. Huge hands. I can’t help but recall Tarzan and Jane. Anyways, it’s not just that. There was also a note below it. My smile was stamped permanent for this day. I hope he was the one who wrote it. Isarado ang page para ga-holding hands kita. :) <3 Ang babaw talaga ng kaligayahan ko. Pramis.

Beforehand, I have made a mixed tape for him. Actually, I should have done it months ago, but I have no time. And just this weekend, I did. I placed it in the pocket of my journal. I stuck on Hush, a hint that tells him that I want no one else to know about it. I also left a really long letter, explaining everything. I have figured out it might just be the last crazy thing to do before high school ends. So there it goes.

     Look, I won’t really be bragging here, but this blog happens to be my emotional outlet. So if you are not interested and find me essentially boring or think of me as an egocentric and naïve woman, you may now stop reading this and close the tab of my blog. Thank you very much. And as for you who has reached this point of my essay, hello there. Now, I know I have been posting a lot of undeniably sad stories here, but you should know that my life’s not just sad shit. I may be one person who they refer to as “ang babaw ng kaligayahan”. So here goes my story.

     Earlier this morning, I woke up a bit late. 6:20. Consider that late because our classes start at 7:20, thirty minutes in the shower, ten minutes to wear my clothes, put on lotion, blablabla, and ten more minutes to fix my things. Now I live thirty minutes away from school, that is, if I take jeepney. Consider the heavy traffic and the stop-by’s and the karag-karag jeep itself. We UP students, passing through the Infante gate, have been cursed with dread looks by other late passengers because the traffic under the fly over is always packed. I know, those people do not pay their taxes to subsidize my education just for me to get tardy, but they have to admit the rain that morning glued them to their beds, too.

     I came in while our health teacher was discussing about graduation stuffs. I found out I missed the quiz. And I forgot to tell you I was studying inside the jeepney the whole while, making the looks of the other passengers more dreadful. I sat there worried listening to our teacher talking about this grand phase of our lives. Worried because I missed the quiz, and also, thinking if I will be able to graduate because we haven’t finished our research study yet and we barely have twenty days. If you happen to read my old post about how my January drifted, then you will understand why at this point of our class discussion, I’m also worried about college. So, now, you may conclude that despite of my happy-go-lucky state, I am still composed at worrying.

     Terrible as it may seem, like any of my stories, Equilibrium takes place. After the class, while waiting for the next teacher, our Health teacher (also our Homeroom adviser) reappeared with white envelopes.

     The point at which the envelopes were known to be the UPCAT results: Once again, people, I stood their worried of my UPG (University Predicted Grade). We decided to open the envelopes together. I received my envelope slightly shaking.

      The point at which I opened my envelope: I removed the staple wire neatly. My heart beats just like when I see Jonathan, skipping, scared, WORRIED. I opened the envelope and it revealed four significant digits that have, I think, and indeed, changed my life. 2.574. Hamakin mo ‘yan. So if you don’t know why and how those digits turned the tables, let me tell you this. No, it is not his jersey number, nor the value of pi. It indicates that I have passed the cut-off score of quite a lot of UP campuses, which includes Los Banos. In other words, I may have been qualified, but wasn’t accepted due to the ranking. Therefore, I may appear waitlisted to those campuses. Meaning, I made it to UP.

     I know I overconcluded. But WTH, 2.574? That’s like higher than the cut-off score in Visayas. I cried and screamed when I saw it. I hugged my friends. To the most OA extent, I kissed the letter. Thank you, God for granting my wish.

                Hands Down, this is the best day I could ever remember, always remember. This song was almost coming to life. Every night we walk, and talk, and walk, side by side, dreaming. I can’t even remember what we were talking about. I was just happy, and you just sang with me. Everyday could be the best day, a Hands-Down moment, spontaneous, real. I can’t help but feel sad that January’s got to end.

                I wish of so many things. First, I wish I didn’t let my ipod die. I imagine days when we would be sharing my earphones and listen to songs and watch each song come to life. I remember your red headphones on my ears and you made me listen to a song about life. I wish everyday could be like that. You know that songs can always fill out the words you can’t directly say. Believe me, my ipod’s full of unsaid shit. Now, my second wish is that, January lasts forever. All those fun nights will never end. I wish that on ordinary days we’d be those wild children set free. I don’t know where they could be now. Where are we? Everyday we watch fireworks. Everyday we’re on top of a jeepney, and at times I’ll be drunk, with your arms my support,  so that I could steadily stand.  We won’t get tired of walking and hanging out in Jollibee. Everyday we’re sardined with a crowd, your hands on my shoulder, trying to get through. Everyday you’re beside me and they’re five minutes behind us. The feeling of being safe, unaware, and stoned, every single day. Everyday we’d look funny in pictures. That’s my third wish, that those people in the pictures won’t ever change. Funny-looking, grinning, happy people. And… I wish, that our college plans synchronize, that you’ll never have to apply for MAAP, and that I’ll never leave for Manila. We’ll never miss each other, never ever be doing the same things we’re doing to another person. We will never be far, no jet lags, last hugs, baggage-full-of-love, no new life.

                I don’t know why every time you offer your hand to help me, I’d refuse to take it, when I always wanted to hold your hand. I don’t know why I’m so fond of wrong-timings. I don’t know why we’re too late. I don’t know why we’re still stuck with the wrong persons, knowing we could be right. And most of all, I don’t know why you’re letting all these slip and fade away. I can’t believe January’s over and everything will stay there and won’t be carried on for the rest of the year, or our lives. I can’t believe the first month felt like a year.

Honestly, not being able to pass the UPCAT is a torment. At the eminent day of releasing of results, you scroll down to find out your name’s not there. Where did it go? –Down at the bottom with the thousands of others who did not make it. It’s a grief. It’s my loss.  I was imagining glorious things before then, fashion, freedom, friends. It’s the UP life I lived for four years. It’s home. I don’t want to be any place else. Now, where will I go?  Truth be told, I still don’t know. I don’t have any better plans.

Almost half a year ago, I was cramming for the application form of the most prestigious UPCAT. Sixteen years, and I still don’t know what I want to be. I want to do so many things. I want to be somebody, but there are only four blank spaces to fill for my choice of courses, and only one will I get. I traced my penciled dreams with a permanent ball point pen, and there’s no turning back, que cera cera. But, because I didn’t pass the UPCAT, I’m back to stage one which is What Do You Want to be When You Grow Up? So kindergarten, I know, but it’s the most serious choice one’s got to make, definitely a serious pain. I wonder how I found it so easy when I was younger to say “I want to be salesclerk someday!” or “I want to sell halo-halo!”, and totally believe like any other kid. Now, it’s different. I have bigger dreams. Why can’t I just be contented selling halo-halo?  Now that I get another dandelion to blow, another chance to make or break, BECAUSE I DID NOT PASS THE UPCAT, I’m staring at my dream cloud. It’s crazy screaming like hey enya, why don’t you drift a car, travel to Africa, attend to Brand New’s gig in Louisiana or something. Wake up, Enya. You need to earn something big before getting to do any of those stuffs. So going back to reality, I did not pass UPCAT. It’s the only college entrance exam I took. They say not being able to pass the UPCAT is the not the end of it, but wouldn’t it just feel better if my name was on that maroon list and skip all these heartahes???

Seriously, I feel sad, self-pity, down to the earth’s core kind of sad. I’m recovering, I really am. I’m sorry too. I failed not only myself, but my parents who believed in me, my teachers who were ever supportive, my classmates who were as hopeful as I am, who definitely did their best. My feelings are all jammed up. I just have to be thankful that God gave me another opportunity to detour to some place better. Maybe, it’s not UP. Maybe it’s not Fine Arts. Maybe it’s not the fashion, freedom and friends that I want. Maybe it’s something big, enormous, way better, laid out for me outside the comforts of my dear UP.