Here lies the posts of an anonymous blogger.

Apparently, you can’t write using a calculator.

Old folks always say these are the days of our lives. These are the wonder years I would also one day recall with a sense of nostalgia. And it’s frustrating knowing that will never happen, to me, that is.

Here’s the story:

Just like every hopeful fresh undergraduate, I started college expecting a stressful yet thrilling ride. I was looking forward to a different kind of learning environment, to meeting new people and to legendary experiences. The thought of finally being able to make up for the hell I had to put up with during high school and being granted the chance to rebuild myself made me want to rush to the first day of classes.

Fortunately enough, my expectations aligned with reality during the first semester. I met awesome people, had an awesome time and got relatively awesome grades. I was even thisclose to being a dean’s lister. “A little more hardwork next sem should do it,” I thought. Everything was really going great. Plus, I love how I still had extra time to kill.

Come second sem though, I began struggling with our first major subject. It felt really dry and the days somewhat became monotonous. I never thought it was possible to develop a strong aversion to studying something I never intended to take up in the first place but I did. And it sucked all my happy hormones. I wanted to give it up and shift to another program but, given my circumstances, I thought it was best to finish what I started and to just take things from there. It’s not like I couldn’t sit through job interviews that are not entirely geared toward exercising my major, right?

Still, whenever I see my schoolmates stressing out yet still loving what they do, whenever I see high school and facebook-bound friends chasing after their passions, I start feeling the ounce of jealousy in me gradually grow to self-pity. I can’t help but think of all the possible factors that turned the reckless dreamer within me to a social ghost, apathetically crunching numbers by the sidelines. Everyone else gets to play the game while I can only experience it second-hand, for it is all my antisocial sched permits.

Just imagine getting that remorseful feeling you get after turning a year older, when you feel as if the potential brought forth by youthfulness has been dragged another mile away. Now imagine feeling that way every single night; that’s what it’s like from where I’m currently standing. I could only hope for that one morning when I’d wake up and realize that these are all overstatements; that it’s okay to waste the “wonder years” fighting for something you don’t even love.

I know regrets are never easy, the grass is always greener on the other side and all I can do is just look at the bright side. But these are all clichés. And there is a reason why most people roll their eyes whenever they hear one. And it’s because clichés are no different from the three magical words that when routinely told, start to lose their meaning. Sort of like accounting work.

Here’s to three more years of student burnouts.

Dead Poets Society (via jamesethered)

cinnamonandcigarettes:

What do you fall in love for?

Is it because of her dazzling eyes? Is it because of the sweet touch of her skin? Her lips that softly pillows yours?

Or is it because of the book that she reads? The things that she sees? The songs that she sings? The things she believes in?

What I know is, people fall in love in different ways, in different reasons. People fall in love in different ages, in different eras of life. What I know is, that love comes in different colors, in different timing, in each and every one that lives.

 

Read More

Ang kahapong naiduyan

ay muling nagising, sa

pagpundi ng ilaw at

pagkagat ng dilim.

Kinalabit      siya

ng nakalipas

at     itinuro

ang kama,

kung sa-

an siya

ay dati

niyang

ihinihiga.

Doon , doon  na  naglaro

ang    mga    imaheng,

nilikha ng damdam-

ing   ‘di  mapakali:

Kandila   sa  me-

sang katabi ng

higaan, siya

na ipinag-

papaypay

kasabay

ng kwen-

tuhan. At

sa bawat

kaway ng kanyang pamay-

pay,   sa   bawat  haplos

ng   kanyang   hinga,

kanyang    naram-

daman ang lamig

ng     pagdapyo,

at  ang  init ng

pagdampi   ng

kanyang pang-

angalaga.

Umihip

ang hangin,

sumayaw

ang    mga    kurtina,

kisapmata  , imahe

ay nawala. Ngunit,

sa kanyang pag-

mumuni, siya

man ay

nangulila,

mahimbing

pa ring

nakatulog,

sa yakap

ng alaala.

Two hearts long kept apart by Fate

Unknown of what the night awaits

In the sea of strangers they did meet

Away they went, escape they did

Two souls lost in the city lights

Both unaware of love’s first bite

They wished upon the stars above

One hoped for friendship, the other, love

Two minds misled by different notions

Not knowing the roles to which they auditioned

Two scripts were written, two genres there were

One held on to love, one chose the other

Two cues, two lines, missed and unsaid

Over tragedy and bad timing, cried Kismet

To Lachesis, he begged for more time

To reverse the events, to press rewind

Two chances, a retake, there should have been

But the show must go on and roll went the film

A play to make up for, a cast to be reshuffled

So concludes the story of two star-crossed lovers

Paolo Coelho