For five tiring days in a week, I am surrounded by people who are my age or younger or older. To my right when I’m in sitting position is a noisy, new student who thinks he’s so bad. To my left is a comedian, making the class laugh and cough. We’re either forty or forty-one in St. Aloysius. There are foreigners: white skin, different language that tempts you to make fun of them and thick accent that makes you stare stupidly and say: “What?”
Starting high school is scary and I want to hide and bathe in Oreo-covered butterflies. But, of course, I cannot. There are limited things you can do in the real world. An inspiration who is namely Owl City
Reality is crazy and true and happy and sad and is a silly rollercoaster, sometimes slow and sometimes fast, makes you hurl. I, as an introvert who spends some of her time (or most of her time) being quiet and daydreaming, would rather be alone. I may look like this young, naïve, big girl because that’s what my outside appearance tells you but I feel like Adam Randal Young: shy, quiet, introverted in so many levels and lonely. I have realized that I am starting to relate to Mr. Owl City’s songs more than the known enchantress a.k.a. Taylor Swift’s songs. Is that a good or bad thing?
I’ve been a Swifty longer than I’ve been a Hoot Owl. But I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter if you’ve been there from the beginning, it matters if you’ll be there until the end. But I would never want their music to stop playing. They say: All good things come to an end. Aye?
I love fantasy. The world I imagine inside my head looks prettier than dump sites and seemingly endless bombings.
Life is quite surreal.
It’s a mystery and I don’t know a lot of things but I do know that this is life.
I’m simply papier-mâché, delicately pulled into this world along with water, glue and newspapers.
Being mainstream means fitting in and going with the flow (or, being more specific with my words, crowd). I chose to sit and watch and dream. It isn’t easy because sooner or later you’ll get pulled out of your reverie and get forced to read thick textbooks you despise with all your being. You sit in a closed room with twenty plus kids you have to get to know. You make your ears listen to the sentences that are coming from the teacher’s always moving mouth because you don’t want to fail quizzes and tests because your parents pay for your education. You raise your hand repeatedly to answer questions about technology and the Philippine archipelago so that you won’t have to see writings on your future report card saying you have low grades and you need improvement.
We talk tongue twisters and malnutrition but do we ever get to perfectly keep them in our tightly screwed minds? We tend to forget the things said in a discussion after the discussion. We only get to remember bits by tiny bits of integers and the talking dog when we’re 40 year olds. They’ll remain bits. Just bits. Unless we attend high school again when we’re starting to grow gray hair.
I’ll let myself learn but sitting and staring and making yourself look like you understand everything in this world is starting to get more boring and more boring. I bet after a hundred years, school hours = 0 hours. Just 20 minutes. Let’s hope for planet Earth’s future.
#EqualityForAll
