Shaky Fingers and Failing Knees

Eight days--oh, sweet, merciful potato!--it has been eight days since this strike of headaches began.

No one can tell me to sleep, since, basically, that's all I've been doing. But no one can tell me to get up either, since my sleep is all disturbed by the heavy headaches. It has been the normal day-to-day pattern of life for me: I cry myself to sleep, and wake myself that very same way.

I have been away from school for three days, and I came today--Friday. But by 7am, when everyone was having the SYM activity--all noisy and going around--I just had to confine myself in the school clinic, before I start a fit of screaming and kicking. Thankfully, I didn't get to that point of insanity. But I couldn't say that I had a long peaceful two-hour nap. Far from it, in fact. It was filled with waking up and calming down.

For a fact, I truly dislike being sent to the clinic. It was just that it was the best choice, since everyone else is having a celebration outside. It's too noisy. But, honestly, inside the clinic, the nurses were laughing and chatting, and the air conditioning was creating the upcoming ice age. Oh and, the radio was on, and was playing music. And it wasn't classical--I can tell you that. It was playing the spoof Tagalog versions of various hip hop and RNB songs, like Clumsy, Smack That, Low, Umbrella and a number of other songs performed in Filipino (and Cebuano) just for laughs.

How do you expect anyone to calm down from a headache in such a hostile environment?!

In the middle of my [attempt at] slumber, Kyle and Emman came in to take some medicine. As they were getting some water, I pulled back the curtains, and asked them what class we were having. And they were both surprised to see me there.

They sat on the bed next to mine, and they talked to me for a while. They were even making jokes, and it was nice to have people around to cheer you up when the headache starts to eat you.

Ah, but Emman saw me shedding a few tears, and he reacted to that. My headaches were getting a little wilder, so I had to choke back a couple few drops. Instead, I just smiled at their attempts to spread some positive energy in the place. But the nurses forced them out, so I had to return to my [failed attempts at] slumber.

Then I went out of the clinic to join my batchmates for some snacks. Tala had a wheat bagel with cheese in it, thought I'm not sure if she put some Turkey there too. I popped in a few squares of milk flavored Loacker wafers, and drank some of my coconut juic, when I admired the quality of her new PRADA messenger bag. It was black, and simple, and it had a clean, modern cut and great fabric. And then she started chattering on about it, and then she said something about playing with the zipper, and gave off a big "wheeee" of excitement, as she pulled the zipper back and forth.
Basically, she was annoying me. I had already told her not to speak to me of anything that wasn't much of great importance. And she knows that unnecessary noise makes my head spin. In fact, it was already noisy at school during the break, and she had to make it worse.
So I gave her a smile, asked her to stop, and massaged my head while I was at it.
What could I say? Her voice was loud, and mine was at the volume of non-existence at the moment. How could I speak in such terrible conditions?

Well, point of fact, Alex told me the night before that I seemed to be whispering to the phone. I talked to her the other night, and told her I was going to die before my birthday, and that she needn't worry, since I'm moving anyway, and I'm transferring schools. And she complained, since next year will be my senior year in high school. She said that if I transfer schools, and die, and move to a different city, she'd kick me. The order of it would have been that I died, then I moved cities and then I transfered schools, and THEN she would kick me--which would be an odd sequence, I admit.

So to ensure that she gets to kick me while I'm still breathing, she did it today. I told her, how are you going to kick me if I'm going to die this Monday? And since we don't have any classes this Monday, she gave a slight tap with her toe to my ankle. And then I said, "I'll transfer to a different school", and she kicked me in the same manner.

When the break ended, though, they all packed some supplies for the Truth Festival (prayer-rally-vigil that is happening over at Roxas Boulevard). And after that, they all lined up to get to class. They were all noisy, and the president was standing in front, almost pleading for the lines to be straightened. I couldn't really help myself, so I got out of my line, faced the crowd of noisy students, raised my right arm forward to the three deformed lines, and tried as hard as I could to say, "hoy, pila!" (translation: Hey, line up!) And I felt the stare of my classmates when they saw me cry at the exact moment I shouted those two words.

I instantly felt for my head and said, "gusto ko nang umuwi!" (I want to go home.) as my fingers were covered in hair.

They brought me to the clinic. And the next thing I could remember was that Jenine was back there, telling me that it was time to go home.

Just for the Record

The weather today is slightly sarcastic, with a good chance of (A) indifference or (B) disinterest in what the critics say.

Random Panic At The Disco lyrics, you might say. But it's actually related to a certain topic. The weather today is insane, just as yesterday. And, as such, it is expected that my head would be acting up again. I've been sleeping until I can sleep no more. And yet, this head of mine is driving me insane.
My parents would often joke around and tell me I should work for the weather station or something, since whenever I get a headache, it is predicted that sudden rains would fall. Lo and behold, they have.
So I've been out from school for two days now. This is killing my grades, and this is only the start of the second quarter(mester) too.

You might be thinking what I'm doing now. So I'll tell you that I'm listening to Chopin, while typing this, and thinking that there's going to be a sudden stop, then a fierce, roaring wind with great rain after a few minutes. And--hello--it just happened.
That's how my headache works, I'm afraid.

After this, I should seriously take up a part-time job at NASA, or something, and predict the pattern of climate change, and say when the world is going to end.

But it isn't only the weather, or the headache that's making me cry. It's Chopin.

Whenever there's music playing, there's always that resounding wish to be able to play like that. Looking back on it, I've had every chance and every opportunity. But with the people of this world trying to destroy my parents, they've managed to destroy their children's dreams, as well.

I was around three or four when I first played Piano. I've watched my sister for some time study Piano, with a private teacher coming to our house just for the lessons. She had more of the opportunity and the time than I ever did. And yet, she didn't really use it.
She had to stop the private lessons, so we entered a music school instead. This time, I took the lessons too. Of course, I had to start the first level. I remembered this one practice piece I had. It only had the notes do and re, switching back and forth, played at different beats. One-fourth, one-half, one whole--those basic things that starter pianists should remember, like how the notes looked like, and how long they should be played.

...I'm sorry for such a sudden stop. But Chopin's Marche Funebre: Lento is playing right now. It made me recall the death of a dream, or a sort of comatose for it. Why?

It's because I stopped playing the piano.

I stopped, not because I wanted to, but because it's the outside force of destruction that had me here.

I was about to have my recital--the very first one. And I was wondering how that would have been like. I would be up on stage, and there would have been other students who are waiting at the back stage for their turn to perform. Their parents, teachers and my own would all have been there. I would have worn a dress, and I would have played Ice Capers, as I had practiced for some time.
But just in the middle of practicing, I had to stop. Comparing it to everything else, piano lessons and recitals are less important. Compare it to education, and to a fight against poverty and corruption--of course, I had to give it up.

But, damn, Chopin's Presto, with all the fast, complicated--yet unexpectedly transparent--notes are making me feel bad about myself. I just wish that I could play like that. Furthermore, I just wish I could compose like that.

I can write a thousand lyrics, think up a hundred tunes, but never could I understand, nor write in notes. I never had a chance to continue learning.

Actually, there was this one friend--a common friend with Gabriel on Fster--whose name was Kasturi. She was studying Piano, and she loves it. But she disliked musical theory because she thought it was boring.
And now as Chopin's Fantasie in F Minor Op. 49 plays in my ears, it makes my heart ache, and it makes me want to ask her, "How in the world can you say that?!"
Just to understand every note, every key, everything that governs composition, the body of music, and use it on your instrument--doesn't that excite you?

Music is a language. English isn't the true universal language, rather, it's music. It has its own alphabet, its own dynamics and morphemics, its own sound and accent. It's a language that everyone recognizes. And, as a poet and writer in English and Filipino, it has been my heart's joy to learn my languages, and use the knowledge in rhythm and word to create works that can permeate others' hearts.
But it has always been my desire to learn the language that is music.

How is it, that people, who have never learned music formally, can recognize music?

Why is it that it has always been music that is common in every mind?

Why does everyone know music?

But there are people who have learned the language, and forgotten it, like a Roman who used to speak Latin and has disregarded it, when Italian became the occupation of its tongue. And there are people who are learning it half-heartedly.

But there are people who fell in love with music, and yet, they cannot understand it. Yet, they long to do so.

I wonder, after all these years, would it still be possible for me to return to Piano?
But I know I'm too busy during the school year. I'll start during the next summer, in between the review for college entrance. It doesn't matter, I'll find a way. And I won't stop anymore.

I just hope that the outer forces of destruction won't strike me anymore.

If I am in the wrong, then testify to the wrong. When I am in the right, why do you strike me?

Ah, I guess Biblical quotations won't hurt.

Scherzo: Molto Vivace
Chopin

I guess you can consider this as a completely random post. But I just had to say how I felt.

If listening to Chopin comforts me when I have a headache, then why is it the same thing that strikes me, and hurts me every time?

What's the Buzz?

It's not from the bees. It's from the swarm of gossiping students, teachers, parents and nuns, who have nothing better to do but talk about how much of a disappointment the whole batch is becoming, how even the best students are falling off the roof, and how we are not living up to the preceding batch.

So I took a survey, among my batchmates, of the reason why. But, as it is the greatest issue, I only asked about the English examinations.

"Why do you think we failed in our English exams?"

A. The Teaching Style
B. The New Principal
C. Others -- (it's our fault, we don't listen/study, it's too noisy in class)

And with that, behold! Here are the results:

A - 50.00%
B - 7.14%
C - 42.86%

Winner: The Teaching Style!

And here are the reactions of my classmates, when they answered:

"Teaching Style, grabe (translation: totally)! As in, without a doubt, TEACHING STYLE."
"I think it's the teaching style. Seriously, if you compare it to the other subjects, they're fine."
"Teaching style! Because, well, duh!"
"A. Teaching Style. Kasi, parang ganun. (translation: Because, it's like that.) I didn't understand anything, even when I listened na (translation: already)."

Ah, yes. Hear the masses cry.

I had to agree with them. Honestly? During English class, the teacher would just have some visual aids there and explain them. I don't know why, but I don't really find it effective. Even when she did have activities, I find them quite--hm, how to say this--irrelevant.

Honestly, you can't ask me about her teaching style. Because, at times, I'd fall asleep. But for the people who are always awake, and always attentive, like Tala and Trix--they said that the teaching style was the problem.

But then, someone brave enough said it was B.

"B, the new principal. Why? Kasi (translation: because), I've been studying in DBS for the past 11 years, and I never failed in English except ngayon (translation: now)."

To which, the rest of the world realizes the fact with a big, "oh, yeah." Because, well, we've had the same English teacher for our Freshmen year. So, in some sense, maybe it wasn't her?
It's true that the new principal is just raising the bar, and that she's doing this for the sake of the PAASCU accreditation. Not only that, she's thinking that it's better to have the exams harder.

But if it was only for our good, then, maybe it was our fault. Maybe we didn't study enough, or we didn't listen carefully during class. I'm not going to exclude myself though. I'll be full out on saying that I sleep a lot in class. And that my classmates are noisy, just like as the C-voters had said.

"Ang ingay sa klase! (translation: It's noisy in class!)"
"Wala kayang nag-aaral. (translation: Nobody studies.)"
"I think it's C. Mahirap lang talaga yung mga exams. (translation: The exams were really just difficult.)"
"It's our fault."

But I had to think otherwise. What about geometry? I mean, I'm asleep during most of the geometry classes. And we're noisiest during that class, because Ms. Sotelo happens to be too nice. And I never did study for geometry. But everyone passed in geometry class, and I even happen to have had the highest grade.

But then, a wise man reacted, saying, "I think it's C. Others. We can't just blame it all on one person or group. It's a combination of all the factors."

And thus, the wise man's statement has been supported with my mother's:

"If a few students failed, then it just means that it's the student's fault. But if more than half of you failed, then it's already the teacher's fault. And, sometimes, they want to make the exams so hard, that even those topics, which haven't been explained really well, are included in the questions. It might have been just your over-confidence got the best of you. But if that's the case, the rest of the class wouldn't have fallen along with you."

Ah, yes. Moms do know best. For one thing, she was just telling me that it's not fully my fault, and that's just how the world revolves. But she was just being supportive. I know for a fact that I stand with a fault in this.

So it's goodbye to A, B and C,
Because the answer here was, "me".

Or, alphabet-wise, I.

Quarterlies are Over

But my life isn't yet, apparently. I was next to hoping it was, but, ah, I thought that this has always been my style.

Mr. De Ramon visited school last Thursday. If you don't know who he is, let me give you a quick flash back then:

He was my algebra teacher, and he was my class adviser last year. He was fun, the type you can feed a biscuit to, mid lecture. He was the one would would jump of the platform, pretending to be Spiderman, when the class was starting to get bored. He was that college professor, who came to a humble--or not so--high school, to teach mathematics. He was the one who manages to make the hardest exams, to which we always manage to make the highest of grades.

He was that teacher, whom I cried over for four days, when I found out that he was leaving our school, to go teach at a Science High School.

Anyway...back to the present. He came to school last Thursday to pick up his son. I told him I think I was going to fail, or I'll be out of the honors, but he said I'll jump back. He said that it was my style. He recalled that last year, I had really bad grades in the first quarter (or quartermester, however you prefer calling it) but turned out to be the first honor in the last quarter.

And yeah, I remembered that too.

So for the sake of saying, "I hate myself", I'll post my scores up.

Scores are arranged from the best to the worst news of the century.

Geometry - 98.89% (Highest mark of the batch.)
Advanced Algebra - 96.00% (Highest mark of the batch.)
Chemistry - 76.00% (Second highest mark of the class.)
English - 70.00%
World History - 68.75%
Filipino - 60.00%


As for Christian Morality class, the exams results will be revealed--for the sake of suspense--this Tuesday. I'm quite scared, considering that this was the second-to-hardest exam that has ever existed in the history of my Junior year.

And, just for the record, the hardest would be English, since only 15/42 of us passed.

I didn't post the actual scores. Instead, I showed them by percent. You see, the passing mark is 60.00%. And as you can see in Filipino, I just passed. Actually, I was supposedly 58.57%. But after a recounting and rechecking of the exam papers, we managed to find a correction, and I had an added score.

Thank God.

But still, the only grades I'm happy about are for the two math classes.

Just For the Sake of It

I just wanted everyone to know that I don't want to talk to anyone for the time being, unless it's something relevant or important. And please, don't ask me why.

It's more of a collaboration of different things, oddly swirled into one problem. It's not that big of a problem, comparing it to poverty, corruption, and other worldly disasters that others have to face. I am just under a waterfall of thought, as I have told Jared. It's more of a self-conflicting roll of decisions--like a hotel corridor with a thousand doors, all of which have signs saying "the point of no return".

You see, the only real reason I don't want to be asked why is because, I find it hard to give you one specific answer, when I can't even have a specific direction for the how's and why's in my life.

For the good friend who is reading this, thank you.