Life is a strange, strange thing.

So much has happened in these past couple of weeks. I've done things I only ever dreamed of doing. And it's still my reflection in the mirror, but I don't even recognize myself anymore.

The last post was an impulsive vent. And I'm still sorry I lashed out like that. I'm not usually that reckless. I never swear--not because I can't, but because I don't want to. It's just, at the time, the sting of defeat was looming over me like a bloody, hanging sword, and that final scolding from my mother just did it. I can take everything, anything, now--but I can never bear to be criticized like that by people I love. It's one of the few weaknesses I have left now.

Anyway. Teaching summer school has been really fun. It's becoming slightly monotonous now--but of course, that was bound to happen. However, I will never forget my first week of teaching. It was like a dream. A beautiful dream, in which everyone loved me and looked up to me. It was then I realized that's all I really want from life. To be loved, and respected. Nothing more.

I was paired with two other people to teach English. There is a guy, and a girl--whom I shall call Zaire and Jay, respectively. They're both from the same group of friends--and although I'm pretty well acquainted with their other friends, I'd never really seen them around the college before. Or maybe I had, in passing.

The first day started off rather haphazardly; but we expected that, since after all, we were just a bunch of eighteen-year-olds (on an average--not including me) setting out to manage an entire school, with absolutely no experience in teaching little kids--and underprivileged kids with possible genetic low IQs at that.

We--Jay, Zaire and I--were given half of the first grade. Our class consisted mostly of bright, eager students and only a couple of mischievous troublemakers--a fact I was devoutly thankful for, especially when I heard a lot of the third graders had brought gutka into the classroom, and were only attending the program for the sole purpose of making our lives miserable.

There were some kids I got attached to right away. In fact, I grew attached to most of them in just a couple of days--even that one little imp who seemed so relaxed when class began, but almost started crying when Jay patiently took him to the board and asked him to read out the alphabet written on it.

I grew attached to Jay and Zaire too--pretty fast, I might add. I'll admit I was a bit disconcerted when I first found out they were going to be in my group, because they both seemed rather dumb--especially Jay. But later, I was surprised to discover the knack she had for kids, with her incredible patience and equally incredible sense of authority. Even Zaire was great with them--although he overdid it a bit in the beginning. He was a bit too strict at first. When I pointed the fact out to him, he occupied himself with the melancholy task of escorting the children to the bathroom and the water-cooler every forty five minutes or so--and when you have around fifty children, most of them small, it's a very cumbersome task. It ended with Jay and I calling him 'bathroom boy' for a couple of days, and him groaning, "I hate kids." He still does it, although now it's more of a joke. I never believed him from the start, though.

As for me, I didn't even realize what I was doing. It felt like a blissful dream, to be there in that fan-less classroom with its low-quality blackboard, graffiti on the walls and untidy children gazing intently at me. Now that I think about it, it sort of felt as though I was separated from my body--as though I was an entirely different person--completely sure of myself, my persona presenting itself in its true, raw form; probably for the first time in my life. I probably did some crazy things too, which I don't remember now. But regardless, at the end of the day, I received affectionate smiles from my pupils, and triumphant ones from my fellows. "You were on fire today," Zaire told me. I felt my face color and looked shyly away. For a split second, I wondered what it must be like to have a boy tell you the same thing more literally.

There were a few mishaps, though. One child toddled in holding for dear life onto his mother's clothes. The poor woman had to sit through at least an hour of basic English, for her son would start crying as soon as her clothes went out of his tiny grip. At first, Jay and Zaire were almost about to give up in despair. But I told the mother to be very quiet, and got Jay and Zaire to leave him alone while I resumed teaching class. Eventually, he got so interested that he didn't even notice for a while when his mother left. And by the time he did, he didn't really care.

Then there was another one. He seemed pretty innocent and sweet to me--but that was until lunch time. Apparently, the child--who, of course, was not used to preservative food (ie things like the packets of chips that were distributed)--was too hungry for his own good. He ended up puking right in the middle of the classroom, dirtying his clothes, as well as his desk. It was a mercy the children sitting in front of him had the good sense to bound out of their seats. It was almost miserable for me, however, because of that putrid smell. I have never gotten used to my own puke, much less that of others. But since Zaire and Jay ran out of the room--Jay in a rather childish fit, and Zaire towards the principal's office to get help (now that I think of it, I think he really enjoyed being the man)--I was the only one left to look after the flabbergasted children. Thankfully, I was able to control myself enough to stay in the class and maintain order.
The next day, I told the person who was distributing the food and drink not the give that particular child more than half a glass, and just one packet. He grinned jovially at me, and I grimaced good-humoredly.

A couple of days later, the first child (let's call him Sully) had almost gotten used to being in school without his mother, when the second child (I'll call him Jam) burst into plaintive sobs, crying desperately for his mother. Nothing, not even stickers, would pacify him, and in the end he had to be taken out of the class and sent home.

The problem, though, arose from the fact that he had been sitting with Sully. And Sully began to cry. Quick to learn from Jam, stickers wouldn't placate him for more than ten minutes. Jay took to ignoring him, and Zaire kept muttering, "I hate kids. I hate kids."

Eventually, I desperately tried a method that dawned on my head.

I watched Sully for two minutes. Then I started mock-crying with him. "Mommy, mommy," he cried, and I imitated him. "My mommy isn't here either, so I shall cry too!" I wailed. The rest of the class began to giggle.

Sully stopped for a second, then hesitantly began again. But he soon subsided into small giggles with the rest of the class.

Later, we were making the class practice writing the alphabet. Jay had made worksheets, and I was helping Sully with one. "I donno, I donno," was all he kept saying. Of course, I thought. The child was probably only about three or four years old. But I managed to teach him the first four letters--on the worksheet, at least; if not for life.

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I wrote this one day (I think it was last weekend) when I was just really, really happy. My life probably couldn't get any more perfect right now. I have students who look up to me, I'm working on an album of my own without ever planning it, I just met a wonderful, wonderful boy, my grandmother loves me, and my baby cousin calls me Mama. I couldn't be more blissful. Except if I lost weight and my house was clean. But then again, I never was thin (and when I was I didn't know it), so I don't really know what that would feel like. And as for my room, I'm barely in it these days.

The wonderful, wonderful boy, of course, is Zaire. It's too early to tell where we're going with this--I mean, I've only known him about three weeks. Maybe things could happen. But it's unlikely, because we're both decent people and don't believe in relationships. And also (more dominantly) because I'm fat.

Either way, though, I'd love to have a boy like him for a friend.

Anyway. I'm closing down this blog. I keep worrying people I know will see it, and they'll realize it's me writing. So I'm heading off to Tumblr. I don't even know if I'm doing the right thing. Or how I'm going to maintain a blog when I'm so busy or tired all the time. But it's worth a shot.

Goodbye world! :P

Past Week. (screw)

For the past WEEK, I've been working on this incredibly huuuuuuge blog post that described each of the days I missed. But I really need to blog now, so just whatever with that one. I'll just be brief.

I went to the party after the paper. It was okay, but got rather lame and embarrassing when the girls started singing 'Happy Birthday' for one girl, and it went too far when one of them snow sprayed the other person's butt. After that I kept myself firmly planted in a chair. My bum is already way too conspicuous for my own good, thank you very much.

After that we went bowling, which was fun, since I won (don't ask how); but then it got boring and weird again. As I was leaving, I made everyone swear that next time, only one person would make the party plan.

I went for rehearsal (for the singing competition show that I'm representing my school in) twice. The first time I got late, ended up sleeping with my mouth open while my car stood right in front of the studio and the driver and the building guard tried to wake me up. Horribly mortifying moment.

Then, while some malfunctioning equipment was being fixed, I had some bonding time with the assistant, who turned out to be an OCD tomboy who loved driving cars as much as my brother did.

When I went upstairs, I saw the room was dark and there were musicians sitting there--not your average rehearsal. I had only confirmed my scale on the song when the director said, okay, you can go. And I was like, WTF.

Okay, I think this happened that day. Maybe it happened the day before. Whatever.

Then, I was glad I was FINALLY going home, since the malfunction had taken entirely too long, and the other participants had been waiting too. And especially since it was 8:30 pm and I was STILL in uniform! And my entire body ached.

But right when I got into my car, my mom called and told me to get the driver to take us to the club. And I'm like, DAMN IT, I'm NOT HUNGRY!!!! Later, though, I found out my dad was still at his office and he'd had an issue with his car (I think the battery dried up or something). The result? My brother, my mom and I sitting in our car in the club parking lot, with the former two arguing over what should be done while I tried my best to ignore them.

After that, we had dinner, which was when I realized how hungry I was, since I'd only had a small pizza for lunch. The food, plus the fact that I saw this girl from my school and her family there, revived me enough to make me talk constantly like a frustrated chicken. Although I was so annoyed I was in uniform and she wasn't. She looked like a model, which--I'll admit--made me super jealous. Although there weren't any guys. But then again, it's not really the guys girls dress up for. It's to get back at each other. Some French guy said that, I think.

On Friday, I went for rehearsal AGAIN, and I was super worried because the recording was on Saturday. As I was leaving the studio, the assistant asked me to write down the songs I wanted to do in the next recording. I wrote down this bluesy one my brother had made me listen to. I was really keen on doing that one.

At home while Facebooking, I remembered that my friend Ego Boy (who I once had a crush on) was doing a tribute to MJ next week, and I needed tickets, and I had no way to meet him. So I inboxed him and told him to get them to the farewell. He never replied, but that's usually his style; infuriating, egoistic Mr Cool that he is.

Saturday's recording went okay--they changed the set a bit (of course, since we've started the quarter finals now). There's a ramp-ish platform now, with lights coming out of it--and not to mention a very awesome disco ball! I kept staring at it the whole time, and I asked the director to turn it on when I would sing, since it calmed me so.

During the final rehearsal before the show, when I sang, everyone got up and started to clap. My mom says even during the recording, some people stood up to clap. But I still got bad comments from the judges. I think it was because 1) the song was waayy too listened-to, so it was easy to compare and point out mistakes; 2) the female judge had a fever; 3) I hadn't had enough time to rehearse because of my exams.

The only useful thing that came out of that, though, was that I learned people might be cheering me on so that I would deceive myself into thinking I was good. Especially Harebrain. That popular one out of all of us. That song he sang that night was beyond horrible. He screwed up all the tough parts. But since he dances on stage, he got the best comments. In fact, he even had a couple of choreographed dancers behind him, and the director even made two former participants catwalk on the stage while he was singing. MAJOR WTFERY. I mean, it's supposed to be a students' singing competition, for crying out loud! Not a dance, or even some sort of kinky fashion show! I mean, I was fine with the dances, but what the hell was that catwalk about??

Anyway. It was then I realized that the crew people really do butter Harebrain up too much. Not that it really mattered to me; but I realized I should probably stay out of his way, in case he tried to trick me or anything. Although I doubt he even needs to do that.

Sunday I lazed around the house and tried to ignore the dizziness I felt from the past few days' stress. Lovely texted me that night to remind me that our farewell was next Thursday. And I felt so, so annoyed with myself. Everyone--everyone--had had dresses made. Except for me.

Eventually I went like, screw everything, and downloaded Roman Holiday. I love Audrey Hepburn.

Tuesday I made a lame attempt to clean my room. Ended up lounging around like my own lazy self. Can't say I didn't deserve some alone daydreaming time though--I mean, a person like me, after so many exams and recordings. And even then, I wasn't even technically alone. Marmee (my mom's mom) was right there. (She's here from the States these days; she's living in my room.)Not that I don't like her or anything. She's one of my best friends, and I love waiting on her. But sometimes I have to be completely alone. That was one of those times.

Wednesday morning I went to college. During my exams, I'd signed up for this teaching-the-underprivileged-for-free thing. I was planning on teaching English to third, fourth and fifth graders at a government school. The meeting was basically a briefing about that. On the way back, Lovely, Tiny and I picked up sandwiches for ourselves at Subway. We didn't get a chance to dine together though, since the plan was an impromptu one. Being surprisingly (and occasionally annoyingly) good-girl seventeen year olds, we had to be home on time.

That, however, pumped me up a bit for the rest of the day, and I set about making chocolate cupcakes out of Betty Crocker brownie mix that expired a few days ago. It was a feat, since it was the first time I was baking myself--and I actually didn't burn them as much as I had the last time. This time, they were only slightly singed--and that was our senior citizen oven's fault. Besides, a little bit of cream cheese frosting and they were perfect, if not a bit too sweet.

Also, the director's assistant called me. She said the director wanted me to sing a song that a girl possessed by a phantom sings in a movie--a song I'm afraid of (yes, I am a silly little fraidy cat who shrinks at the sight of certain villainous cartoons. Deal with it.) At the time, I said okay, because I didn't know how to argue. But later I was like, NO WAY AM I SINGING THAT BLOODY SONG. I called Tiny and told her about it, and she just laughed. Now I love making her laugh, but sometimes it's just mean. I mean, it's a condition I have, being afraid. People shouldn't laugh so openly about it. I mean, I have feelings!

I've been reading a lot of novels lately, to help me continue my own--the one that I stopped writing four years ago because I didn't have my own personal computer. I guess that got me in a bit of a romantic mood, a need for something exciting to happen in my life. Usually when something like that happens I make up a story. Not the paperback novel kind, but the little-white-lie kind. It always gets me into trouble, but I never stop doing it. This time, I told a couple of my friends that this other friend of mine was crushing on me. To tell the truth, he has been acting very strange for a while. But it still doesn't mean he likes me. No one could like me! And anyways, the guy concerned dated--or is dating, perhaps--one of my closest friends. But I still did it. I lied. I wish I wouldn't lie. But it's the only way I have of making my life interesting.

Thursday was the farewell. In the afternoon, around 12:30 pm, we had to attend the tribute at the college, where our junior batch was to do all these skits and dances as a farewell tribute to the seniors. (There are only two batches every year.)

It sucked, because it was damn hot and bloody disorganized; but the dances were good, and Ego Boy did a really awesome imitation of one of the teachers. But the best was Michelle's dance. She did a tribute to Michael Jackson's 'Dangerous'. She's obsessed with Michael Jackson (hence the similar nickname). Of course, no one can be as good as the man himself, but she, along with these other two guys I'm friends with whose nicknames I will think of some other time--did a pretty good job. Another highlight of the tribute was that I was sitting with Hana, who is this girl from my biology class. I thought she wasn't the type of person I'd want to befriend when I first met her, but then she turned out to be one of those can't-be-judged-by-the-cover folks, with her amazing sense of sarcasm, balanced so completely with niceness. In fact, she just might become one of my best friends soon--if I'm lucky. (Is it wrong to try and make friends with someone, instead of going with the flow and letting things happen naturally?) She's really Tiny's friend, but that day we bonded a lot. Bubbles was there too, but she was with her other friend. Tiny got mad at me because I sat in front of her (what a lame excuse to get mad.. honestly she's such a child sometimes, if I didn't love her so much she'd annoy the hell out of me).. so she didn't take a single picture of the two of us. That hurt.

Also, at the tribute, I met Ego Boy and I remembered his concert was in a couple of days. So I asked him how I could get the tickets from him, since he didn't have them at the time. He said that he would drop them at my house. At the time, I was so startled by the unexpected-but-inevitable idea that I didn't remember that the farewell dinner would be that night and he could give them to me there.

When I got home, I messaged the show director, saying I didn't want to do the song he gave me, I wanted to do the one I'd picked out myself the previous week. Then I got a missed call from the show director's assistant. I was just calling her back when she called again, and she started yelling at me because according to her I wouldn't pick up the phone. It wasn't my bloody fault, damn it. I was out of my bloody house, and anyways, I was calling her back!

So she told me to call the director--and I'm like WTH. I mean the guy has my number, what's with the huge ego all of a sudden? But regardless, I called him. He asked me what was wrong with the song he'd chosen. Instead of being a dumb arse and answering his question, I retaliated by asking him what he thought was wrong with my original choice. I think I may have been a bit curt, since I was still upset about the assistant yelling at me. So he got a bit taken aback, and muttered something about it not being a good song. But I told him I liked it, and I wanted to do it, and that was that. So he said okay and hung up. I felt slightly sorry later on, but then again, he's really mean to a lot of people, often. I was also worried that maybe he was right about the song not being good; but then my brother pointed out that he could've just been saying that because the backing track was so hard to make compared to other average songs.

But my mood was still off, and only got worse when Tiny messaged and said she wasn't coming to the dinner. I took an unusually long time to shower, change and do my makeup. I did my party makeup without my mother's help for the first time, concentrating on what I had watched the makeup artists at the show set do to my face, and trying to follow that. It worked, to some extent. But I got horribly late for the party. I reached there only half an hour before its designated ending time. So the dance floor was full of these gay boys. I found out Tiny had been kidding about not coming, but the damage had been done.

I thought dancing would help me get back in a good mood, like it does to people on TV. But it only made things worse. I was one of the few people wearing a more traditional dress. Most of the girls were clad in prom dresses. Plus, it was hot and crowded, and guys kept bumping into me, and I felt really, really uncomfortable. Don't get me wrong; last year at my middle school graduation afterparty, I was practically queen of the dance floor. But that was different. I'd known those folks for almost ten years. These people.. I didn't even know most of them in the single year I'd spent in college. I thought I did, but that night I realized I didn't.

And I could see couples all around me. I was probably imagining most of them, but some were actually there. And the girls looked so pretty. So.. grown up. And everyone just blended in so perfectly with each other.

And then, there I was. Right in the middle, but still on the sidelines. A fat girl with sweaty, caked makeup, green contact lenses instead of her usual glasses, disheveled hair and a traditional dress that was far from classy.

And for the first time in my life, I admitted it to myself. I admitted how much I hated being fat. Me, the girl who's always flaunted her idea of 'personality-over-person'. I'm sick of it. I don't want to be cute, I want to be pretty. And I want to be part of this social game that I realized last night has taken over us ever since people started to turn eighteen. I want to grow up. I want to change.

After the party, my friend Sour told me about her crush. Funny, I told her. At least you guys have someone you can think about. I haven't had a crush in a while now. Almost a year.

She didn't exactly get what I meant, but I never intended for her to. I didn't want anyone to know how afraid I was--how afraid I am. After my experience with Ego Boy (to make things short, he led me on--at least from my perspective), I was too afraid to ever even think I had feelings for anyone. The only person I dared to crush on after that was Metal, a distant relative. And now I feel like even he was just a rebound; and a safe one at that, since he went all the way to another country to study, soon after our short meet.

But there's really no point in making myself vulnerable to my sudden whirlwind emotions about random guys, is there? I mean, I know there's absolutely no chance that they'll like me back. So why be delusional and end up humiliating myself?

And I'm not underestimating myself looks-wise either. I know I have a basically nice face. It's just.. my choices are too far fetched.

Anyway. Enough about that. Today, the assistant called me again (I swear, the show has just become a part of my daily life now) and told me to come at five. Then I realized that Ego Boy had to give me the tickets. So I texted him like, "are you coming today or not?" I didn't want to sound eager and give him the wrong idea--I wasn't unusually eager about him coming, and I didn't want him to think so. However, I was a bit flustered at the thought of him at my house. (It's rather discouraged in my community, you see. And besides, he was the closest I ever came to having a relationship. If this had happened two years ago, I would probably be hyperventilating.)

So he texted me like he'd come in the afternoon. And I told him to come before four, because I had to leave after that.

He kept me on a constant parade all day, and he never showed. I had to go to my uncle's house at night with my family, and for the sake of avoiding unnecessary issues I wanted EB to be gone before my dad came home. (Note: my mom and my grandmother knew he would come, so it wasn't like I was hiding anything. It's just, my dad is a dad. And EB looks like a thug. Not to mention my dad probably remembers the times I would call EB like five times a day. Yeah, yeah. I was a crazy, obsessed kid once. I know.)

At nine (pm!), I was super annoyed. Especially because I kept thinking that if this had happened two years ago, he would've shown the slightest sign of disapproval at my chastising him for not being punctual, and I would've become all nice, and it would have ended up with me apologizing. So I texted him like, "you know what, forget it."

An hour later, Mr Cool texts me, "yeah I'm having trouble with my car, so tomorrow for sure."

I didn't even bother replying to that. And I'm not going to text him at all about the issue now. If he remembers, he'll call himself. I have my own super busy life to live.

My mom thought I was being a bit harsh. But she doesn't know of all the mental b.s. I went through once because of that guy and his weird ways. And anyways, even if he forgets the tickets, it'll just save me money. So it's a win-win for me.

At our uncle's place, I felt much better. On the way, my grandmother kept hugging me and telling me how much she loved me (she was going to stay at her sister-in-law's place for a couple of days after the party); and it felt really good to be loved like that. And I thought, who needs figures and prom dresses when you have this? (Although the factual part of my brain told me that of course, I needed both. But still.)

And then my baby cousin just jumped with joy at the sight of me, for some reason. Now that I think of it, I seriously think it's like babies know when you're depressed. I mean, often he never recognizes me. Or at least, he stopped recognizing me in the month when I was shut up in my house because of my exams.

I don't know which is better. That fake love and attention you get from guys, or this. I want the former, I'm grateful for having the latter. But. I. Don't. Know.

I miss Marmee (my grandmother) in my room. The only good thing about her not being here right now is that I can write on my laptop in peace, with my music on and without worrying about waking her up.

Not Getting off to a Good Start!

Accidentally deleted my last account. Or on purpose. I don't know. I still can't decide.
Still have to set this one up. But I HAVE to write right now, or else I'll start crying. I do NOT want to cry.

Tomorrow is officially the first day of my summer vacation. And it's already ruined, thanks to stupid girls who don't know how to plan a party.

Till this morning, it was all perfect. There were gonna be twenty of us, and right after the paper, we were going to hit the mall, and then have lunch together in the afternoon. The perfect, classy beginning to my seventeenth summer.

Then Multisim just had to go and declare that she wanted to spend her birthday at Arena.

Now, any other time I would probably have agreed. But Arena compared to the mall, is like comparing your favorite McDonald's burger with limited edition gourmet chocolate. Something like that. I suck at that kind of analogy.

Point is, though, that I didn't want to go to Arena. Neither did Bubbles, this other girl who I think is really cool, and who I've started to become close to for the past few weeks.

So Bubbles proposed early lunch by the creekside. Another awesome plan. Except I knew I wouldn't get permission. And I'm a good kid. I never do anything without permission from my parents. It's just not in my system.

Tiny, my best friend, was confused. She knew I didn't want to go to Arena, but she didn't want to disappoint Multisim on her birthday. So she just went like 'forget it' and concentrated on studying. In her opinion, it doesn't matter where we go as long as we're all together. But that's just it. She's much closer to Multisim and her other friends compared to me. I'm friends with the others--I mean I think they're generally great people--but they tend to get a bit.. well, I don't know how to describe it. I feel they should be a tad bit more sophisticated. I'm not self-obsessed or anything. I like them all, I do. But Multisim smells really bad sometimes. It doesn't hurt to use a deodorant, you know. And no, it is NOT funny if you keep half a dozen different numbers in your bag and prank-call your friends with them. It's an incredibly stupid waste of money and leisure time.

But these are all very materialistic reasons. So I'm not planning on telling them to anyone. Not even Tiny. Hence the crazy nicknames.

Also, my maternal grandmother, who had come back to the country after a decade and was staying in my room for the past couple of weeks, left this evening to stay at her sister-in-law's house for a couple of days. I know it's only a couple of days, but I was in the bathroom and she left without saying goodbye. And I miss her a lot. I was sleeping on a mattress on the floor and I'd given her my bed ever since she came. And right now, I'm still on the floor mattress. I've made up my mind not to touch the bed, because I know I'll miss her all the more then.

Damn it. I HATE being so emotional all the time!

Crap. 3:57 am. Paper in a few hours, and I have NO IDEA how it's gonna go, thanks to our *amazing* chemistry teacher, and my lack of interest in the subject. -_-

Ugh. Later.