A Useless Friend in Me

On the 30th of March, I received one of the most heartbreaking news ever–my best friend lost her father from lung cancer.

I knew what I felt. I felt sorry. It was genuine. However, I did not know what to say to her.

Comforting is not my thing, to be honest. And the fact that my friend and I are kilometers away from each other made the situation even worse. It is really hard comforting someone without any physical affection, well, for me. Nevertheless, I did the best I could. I told her that I am here for her. I told her that if she feels like breaking out, do so.

Three days after our text conversation, I am not able to communicate with her again. I always wanted to check her up. I always wanted to text her from time to time. I am not a “call” type of person and verbal conversations always get the nerve out of me, yet I always wanted to call her every now and then. However, the social awkwardness that I possess always prevails.

I am so scared. I am so afraid. Whenever she tells me something, I do not know what to say next. I am scared that I might say something that might hurt her feelings even more. Whenever she tells stories, I’m afraid that I might not give her the opinion she likes. I almost always respond late because I think deeply about my reply, and then ending up not sending her anyway either because I was distracted by another work or simply because…I just don’t know what to say.

By doing so however, I feel very very useless. I wish everyday that her other friends could probably just fill it up for me. That her friends are thoughtful enough to meet my shortcomings.

I still hope that she will not get the wrong impression (although I can’t blame her if she does). I am genuinely sorry for her loss. Her father has been good to me, and all I can wish is the peacefulness of his soul. I might not be as expressive as the other people but there’s not a day that I did not yearn for my best friend’s happiness and strength in going all through this, and that I am genuine that I am here for her and would hug her the minute we see each other.

Hello, best friend! I just wanted to say that I am so sorry…I am sorry for the loss of your father, and for the useless friend in me.


Today, I got my first “singko”

Isang makulimlim na hapon ang sumalubong sa akin nang ako’y lumabas sa aking dorm. Kulay abo ang langit, malamig ang hangin, at basa ang lupain. Para bang nakikiisa ang langit sa aking damdamin.

Habang naglalakad ako papuntang BioSci ay dala ko ang aking sariling inihanda ko na sa mga kataku-takot na posibilidad. Ngunit hindi pa rin maikakailang ramdam ko pa rin ang kaba.

Papalapit ako nang papalapit sa gusali. Lalo ring bumilis ang tibok ng puso ko. Papasa kaya ako? O kwatro? ‘Di kaya singko?

Narating ko ang BioSci. Umakyat ako sa ikalawang palapag upang puntahan ang silid ng aming propesor sa C-222. Maraming nakapaskil na papel sa labas ng silid, ngunit ang hinanap ko lang ay ang “BIO 101”.

Bawat student number na dinadaanan ng aking mga mata’y siya ring pagtindi ng aking kaba. Hanggang sa ayun na. Nakita ko na. Nakita ko na ang student number ko katabi ng aking mga initials. Ang nakalagay…

5. Poor scholastic standing.

Teka baka nagkamali ako. Baka kwatro naman. ‘Yan ang tumatakbo sa isip ko. Hindi ako makapaniwala. Muli kong tiningnan.

5. Poor scholastic standing.

Pagkatapos no’y hindi ko na inulit pa. Ang sakit pa rin pala. Kahit anong handa ang ginawa ko sa sarili ko’y ang sakit pa rin pala.

Lumabas ako ng BioSci ng parang wala lang. Ngunit ang totoo’y nagsisimula nang sumakit ang aking lalamunan. Gusto kong umiyak ngunit wala namang luhang lumalabas. Ang sakit sa dibdib ngunit hindi ko alam kung paano ito gagamutin. 😦

Sa pagbasa niyo ng kwento ko’y sana huwag niyo akong husgahan. Natutunan ko naman ang aking leksiyon at nawa’y sa pangalawang take ko ng kursong ito’y lubusan ko na siyang maintindihan.

A Confession

At this point in time, I think I would rather study a degree I’m passionate about than study in UP.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I do not regret being in this university. This has always been a dream come true. UP, to me, is a life-changer. I learned a lot of things, may it be academic or experiential, which I know in my heart that the other universities could not offer.

However, there is one thing that I regret–I pursued a degree that I am not passionate about; a degree that I never imagined myself working on for the rest of my life.

You might ask, why did I even put this degree in my application form if I’m not passionate about it then?

Well my 4th year HS adviser has encouraged me to do so. He said I can pursue med or become a researcher. Since I’m left with no choice (because the degree programs I would want to take are all in UPD), I just wrote it out.

UP is the only university I took an exam for amongst the Big 4. I passed other local/non-UP universities with the degree program I like. I already assumed that I’ll fail the UPCAT and that’s completely okay to me. Well, I failed to enter in UPD yet there’s UPLB. And that is where everything started.

My mom encouraged me to pursue studying in UPLB. I agreed, thinking that I might gradually learn to love the degree along the way. 2 years had passed, my grades are okay. Tamang pasa lang. Sabi ko sa sarili ko, dalawang taon pa. Dalawang taon na lang…

Well, that was until majors happened. Learning is fun. It is what I enjoy the most in this degree (and I think in every degree naman). However, exams are not. I struggle every time I’m trying to find the motivation to study. As a result, I found myself failing every exam in literally ALL my major subjects. When my friends ask me about my score, I’ll say I passed or fail pero konti lang ang babawiin when in reality mas marami pa yatang naging syota si Rizal kaysa sa score ko.

I tried to share this to my mom and this is the first time that I opened something very personal to her since hindi naman kami nagkakasama lagi. I thank her for not putting pressure on me. Hiling lang niya gumaduate ako on time. But then when I told her na nanganganib talaga ako as in, the only response I got was: “Kaya mo yan, God bless”.

At this point in time as well, I think a simple “kaya mo yan” won’t keep me going. I was expecting a mas malaman na words of encouragement from her. I badly need a mother right now.

I wanna drop out of college and start again, this time with the degree that I know I would love and enjoy doing. But I don’t think that this will be the wisest move right now.

Gusto ko ring pumunta sa guidance counselors ng university, or even sa psychologist because I think my mental and emotional health is very unhealthy. Yet, I’m too shy.

They said passion is about enjoying the pain. But I do not find this pain enjoyable at all

And oh, and you do not need to reply. I just want someone…preferably a stranger…like you, to know.

Why Do I Hate My Body?

My legs are so big and my hips are so wide. They keep on telling me that my hips are my assets but they keep on making fun of me because of them as well… Sigh.

Thought Catalog

Flickr / Caterina AppiaFlickr / Caterina Appia

Why do I hate my body?

I don’t get it. I don’t understand why I hate my reflection. I don’t understand how I can be so many things, so many brilliant things, but that sometimes it feels like the only thing that matters about me is how I look in a fucking crop top. I don’t get it.

I guess, intellectually, I understand it. Media. Beauty standards. Magazines. Advertising. Greed. Hollywood. Photoshop. It all makes sense in my head. I see it. I get it. I understand how that kind of shit can just sneak its way into my brain and start camping out in there, dictating my thoughts and behavior like it owns the place. I see that.

Like, intellectually and logically and rationally, I understand how I can get to the place of viewing my body in a very negative light, considering the…

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The Girl Named Julia

Julia Buencamino.

Her name is all over the news today.

For what the news is all about, I tell you, it is quite disturbing.

July 7, 2015, in Quezon City, around 8:00 PM in the evening–she was found dead by their helper in her own room.

She committed suicide. She hanged herself.

Majority of the people says her self-murder is a result of depression.

At least her drawings say it so. At least her captions say it so.

A fifteen-year old girl.

What a poor young soul.

I cannot blame her though, for the world is a cruel world.

And unfair.

And lonely.

I know because I have experienced it.

I know because just before I decided to make this post I was pained.

I was disappointed.

Disappointed because no matter how much happiness and love you give to the other people, they can’t actually really give it back.

Disappointed because the people whom you expect to treasure you actually don’t.

Disappointed because the people whom you value so much do not value you as much as the same.

It feels very difficult, you know.

When the pressure, the sadness, the disappointment, all come together.

It feels very difficult to carry the burden not only in school but in the family as well.

It feels very difficult to say “it’s okay” to your friends whenever they apologize because they forgot that they actually invited you into their organized walk and proceeded without you.

It feels very difficult that every time you went ‘home’ from the tiring week of school, a dirty-sheeted bed heaped with all kinds of stuff greets you.

It feels very difficult that these little acts of negligence actually make one feel unloved and unvalued.

Make me feel unloved and unvalued.

Call me “sensitive” or “onion-skinned”.

Call me whatever you want.

We are entitled with our opinions.

But we are not entitled with our feelings.

They’re incredibly uncontrollable.

I hate mine…but they’re inevitable.

My Wand and Only (Short Story)

Note: This was just an assignment in the subject ‘Charms’ in an online Hogwarts School (hogwartsishere.com). I just posted it here for fun and to share it of course. I’m neither a novelist nor a grammar expert so I apologize for any inconvenience. Hope ‘ya like it.
The assignment: Write an essay on how you procured your wand. 
Wand Length: 12 1/2 inches
Wand Flexibility: Solid
Wand Wood: Spruce
Wand Core: Dragon
      I procured my wand just as how most of the wizards and witches procured theirs–by the help of Mr. Garrick Ollivander.
      It was a nice Saturday morning on the 30th of August when my mom and I went to Diagon Alley to buy the remaining stuff I’ll be needing for my education at Hogwarts. She preferred to buy them one at a time so as to not attract so much Muggle attention and somewhat reduce the weight of the luggage we’ll be carrying as we return home (“Imagine us carrying them all at once!” mom said in a hysteric tone). Although my mom has massive magical knowledge, she always refused to travel through magic, for instance, Floo Powder (“Sometimes, I assume you’re a Squib who is just bitter,” I tell her often). Therefore, we always traveled through Muggle transportation.
      One by one, the things listed on the brown parchment containing the necessary equipment needed were crossed out–from books to cauldrons; from uniforms to owls. All was set and ready, except for one–the wand.
      In the deeper part of the alley stood a shop called “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.”. It was an old-looking shop though still showed no sign of fragility. My mom went first. She knocked, turned the door knob, and opened the door. As the door opened, a bell rang to indicate the presence of a visitor. My mom entered and I followed.
      “Good morning,” said a rather feebly voice.
      “Good morning,” said mom.
      “Ah, of course, of course. Another starting wizard, perhaps?” asked the old man.
      “Yes,” mom told him politely.
      “Let me see,” the old man spoke as his eyes traveled from my mom’s face to her back where I stood.
      Judging by his looks, I knew what he meant. So, I walked toward him, passing my mom. As I approached his desk, he was searching something underneath it and by the time I reached in front of him, he got up holding a worn-out tape measure. I managed to give him a weak smile.
      “Stand straight,” he said softly, smiling back.
      I did what I was told. I stood straight with my arms hanging freely on each side of my body. He then started measuring the length of my arms, my body, including the torso, and my legs. After measuring, he asked me to hold out my wand arm and show my palm. He started examining it and muttered some words.
      “Hmm… Firm hands indeed…,” he said, still smiling.
      “Er, yeah, I suppose,” I said. “Mom said I once broke a feeding bottle when I was a baby. Well, I always thought of testing my arms’ strength, though, especially now that I’m a bit older and can remember things clearly. I thought of doing, you know, knock someone else with my bare hands. But mom wouldn’t let me so I settled with the pebbles instead.”
      “Watch your behaviour, Kimberly!” shouted mom.
      “What? I never attacked someone with my bare hands yet!”
      “Well, I…”
      Mr. Ollivander chuckled. Mom and I looked at him with confusion.
      “…and a good sense of humour,” Mr. Ollivander added, his smile even more widened. “Ah, I think spruce wood can do very well with you. A difficult wood, yes, it doesn’t choose an owner with shaky hands and who’s quite queasy.”
      I looked at him in awe. The thought of having spruce as a wand wood overwhelmed me.
      “Hmm, let us see,” he said as he walked through the shelves containing dozens of boxes, perhaps, of wands. As he came back, he had brought with him three boxes of different colours: brown, navy blue, and maroon.
      “All of these wands contain the same kind of core–the dragon heartstring. Spruce is a choosy wood and has a strong personality, so, it needed a core with almost as same amount of intensity. Thus, I thought that it’s compatibility with the dragon heartstring is rather unquestionable,” he said. “Here, try this,” he added while handing out the wand from the brown box. “Nine-and-a-three-quarter inch, brittle.”
      I seized the wand and gave it a try. The moment I pointed it to a bare wall the tip produced an uncontrollable amount of energy leading to slight explosions inside the shop. I jumped back and the wand flew immediately out of my hand. I picked up the wand and gave it back to Mr. Ollivander.
      “Yes, of course, how foolish I can be,” he spoke while examining the wand. “A strong wood, a strong core, and an owner with a strong and big personality,” he added, his eyes twinkled as he looked at me. “You need a longer wand and has a firm flexibility. Here try this one,” he gave me the wand from the maroon-coloured box. “Twelve and a half inches, solid.”
      Again, I seized it and pointed it towards the bare wall. Surprisingly, the tip of the wand emitted a silvery dust which turned into butterfly silhouettes and flew across the shop.
      “Well, I originally thought of fairies,” I said jokingly.
      Mr. Ollivander gave a small laugh. “I guess the wand finally found its rightful owner. Ah, another good job done.”
      “Thank you,” said mom while handing him out ten galleons, by which Mr. Ollivander returned three galleons.
      “Just seven,” he said happily.
      “Thanks a lot Mr. Ollivander!” I said in a cheerful voice.
      “It’s always been a pleasure, young witch,” he replied, his smile still wide.
      “We’ll get going. Thanks again Mr. Ollivander,” said mom. Mr. Ollivander nodded and smiled.
      Mom hurried toward the door and I followed. I took a last glance at Mr. Ollivander and waved good-bye. He waved back as he arranged the unbought wands.
      Mom and I had reached the outside of the shop.
      “Can we visit The Three Broomsticks before returning home?”
      “But you just ate!”
      “Well, when I tried out the wands, my energy seemed to get used up…so I’m kind of thirsty.”
      My mom sighed and shook her head. “Kimberly, you could have just tell me if you wanted a butterbeer. No need for the energy-being-used-up-because-of-magic excuse. I’m afraid we can’t go to Hogsmeade, though, as I’m not allowed. But there’s always a substitution.”
      I gave her a wide smile and walked off to the opposite side of the alley, where a man with a single portable stall sold butterbeer.


February 14, 2014

Happy Valentine’s Day! 😉

LOVE is in the air! Or is it, really?
My answer? YES 😀

After my Chemistry lecture class, I went to the church to have my prayers. Afterwards, I went straight to the bank to check if I could already use my ATM card (I asked for a replacement). On my way to the bank, I saw my Instructor falling in line in the ATM machine. As I approached the bank, I took a quick glance at him and looked down. He was wearing a long striped white sleeve tucked in his long black slacks. He looked handsome and proper as usual. As I get nearer, I looked at him again only to find out that he was already looking at me. I felt awkward and a lot of things entered to my mind–“Did he recognize me? Should I look down again?” I waited for his response first. Guess what? He did not fail to make me feel hoity-toity! He smiled at me and shook his head upward as an act of greeting. He shook his head so high that I wanted to laugh. But of course, I did not. Instead, I smiled back and shook my head too. Afterwards, I entered the back.

That was one of the most unforgettable Valentine’s Day ever!

But wait… there’s more!

I went to Vega to claim my bag because I have it repaired. I saw a lot of red things including roses and balloons because of the vendors in the sidewalk. I could somehow feel the V-Day. Unfortunately, the bag was not yet done and ’twas almost a week. I feel so frustrated and irritated that I can’t anymore talk nor look to the lady in charge of the repair shop. With irritated face, I turned my back. As I take my few steps away from the shop, my instructor just popped out in front of me. He came out from the gift shop beside the repair shop and he accidentally smashed the door as he closed it. With shock, I looked at him and tried not to laugh at his reaction when the door smashed. He looked at me with a smiling face and laughed. I did not contain the happiness inside me so I tore my hesitation to refrain myself from chuckling. I gave him an even bigger smile and giggled with him. He spoke yet I forgot the words he uttered because of the fast change of events. Nevertheless, my irritation immediately turned into happiness. We walked on the same direction, but him in a faster pace. However, it did not kill my imagination. As we walked down the sidewalk full of roses and balloons, I just let the spirit of Valentine overwhelm me and I imagined us having a “date”. I know I’m creepy but… It made me happy 🙂

Sir, thanks for making me happy on the Valentine’s Day 😀
And of course to my buddy, God, thank you for the gift 😀 You know me too well :DD