Brutality of the Goddess

in a few more days, the first semester of my sophomore year will come to close and i thank the lord dearly for that.  I can’t quite find the right words to capture the essence of the first semester.  but suffice to say that this sem has been a weird brew of being boring, problematic, thrilling, exhausting, and uplifting.  so many things have been happening–things that have jolted me out of my comfort zones and have forced me to ditch the pacifiers and face the world.  that, i used to think really sucks.

but then i’m proud to say that i’ve learned so many things from the experiences i’ve gained.  i’ve learned that there are certain circumstances that bring out the best and the worst in people.  i’ve learned that when you’re in the position to make decisions that could make or break you, you could never please everyone.  all you’ve got to do is to hang on and do what you believe is right.  i’ve learned that there are people–friends–who really think that you’re worth the world; they, in turn, are worth more than the universe.  i’ve also learned that cooking pancit canton for two minutes in the microwave oven can yeild disastrous albeit appalling results.

this semester has also allowed me to experience things that i’ve only heard from the tales that my classmates and blockmates relish to tell: sleeping in the classroom.  i don’t know why, but it seems as if the sandman has been hanging around in most of my classes lately–most especially in my religion class where i get hit by his sandstorm.  for the first few minutes of our teacher’s discussion, everything seems to be a-okay.  i’m still up and about, eager, or trying to be eager, to listen to my teacher’s discussion on why the israelites had to get the ark of the covenant from shiloh to their military base somewhere close by.  after say, fifteen minutes, that’s when the sandstorm starts to blow in my direction, wiping all interest, all eagerness, all zeal away from me.  it seemed as if a couple of elephants were dangling by my eyelids, trying to pull them down and shut out everything.  for a moment, i begin seeing things in doubles and my head starts to float.  the teacher’s words become indistinguishable drones while my spirit yearns to take the first ride to dreamland, nevermind Joshua and the israelites.

first sem has also crystallized the belief that cooking will never love me.  i was asked to cook rice but, as what i would wish to say in the dialect, kung dili man murag lugaw, dukot pud!  next, i was asked to cook pancit canton for my brother.  the result was horrible.  not only were the noodles overheated in the microwave, they came out like long, curly little caterpillars submerged in boiling water.  when my father asked me to fix him some coffee, God, you should have seen his face.  turns out i put too much coffee in the cup making the concoction more bitter than a steaming cup of panama and black rose combined.  that, i swore to myself would have to be my last attempt into the culinary arts.

i’m hoping this semester would end really, really soon.  i can’t stand it anymore and i do wish to start anew.  it’s true that you can’t always expect to get the best things in life.  it’s true that you’ll have to make do with what life gives you.  Life gave me buko, crushed ice, kaong, nata de coco, condensed milk, corn, ube, leche flan, and sugar to i made a huge cup of halo-halo.

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