Tuesday, July 13, 2004


.:How Huge A Difference:.

I suppose today's on-air was fairly smooth and all. We had “Voltron” for the TV theme challenge, and I was even giving some clues, as though it weren't easy enough already, as is. In any case, the chatters were really interesting, as one of them really managed to connect with me this morning. I think it's really great how we managed to have some good intellectual conversation between the both of us, moreover since she, being an English literature teacher, would really get along with me when it comes to my passion for writing and all...

It was pretty fun today. I guess while I can be guilty of being egotistical and all, the moments I find myself just being grateful in the morning for the people who keep me and Anne company more than keeps me from being all too cocky about myself. Without these jabronis keeping us company, the daily grind would be so much more difficult to bear...

.:A Box Of Surprises:.

I was pleasantly surprised to have received a package I was no longer expecting. Apparently, Olarnjo did send the cards we agreed upon since last May 27, and it arrived only recently. I guess I have to send him his cards soon, although I've no idea how to go about that whole thing, as since he cheated everyone else, he's currently in hiding.

Anyways, when I claimed the box en route to Ateneo this morning, I was shocked to have been handed a huge box with all the cards in question. It was about the size of a box for a huge desktop monitor or something to that effect, and it contained all the cards we agreed upon. I was particularly impressed, in all honesty. So needless to say, I was lugging the said box around campus until I managed to deposit it in the Philosophy Department...

On my way out, I ran into Mr. Bulaong, and one of my former classmates in Philosophy, Paul. They saw me lugging the box around and started investigating what was in it. They were pretty amused with the cards and all, and how huge the box containing it was, even getting Dr. Barbazza and Dr. Ibana to take a look at the package, all the same. And then, when I told Mr. Bulaong that I intended to sell half of the cards there, he commented...

Mr. Bulaong: Marcelle, bakit ka pa ba namimilosopiya? You're a natural entrepreneur. Oh, wait. You're a natural debater!

Marcelle: Did I mention to you that I passed up my Ateneo Debate Society interview today? I didn't feel like joining the ADS this year.

Mr. Bulaong: Why?

Marcelle: I have better things to do than debate.

I think that answer made him happy...

.:Never Knew They Had It In Them:.

For the record, I don't think Pan-M is half as bad as most of the Calf Up people painted him to be. Still, it's only my third time to encounter him, so for all I know, he could be wrong. He's still got some pretty valid insights and all, though. I find it easy to converse with him for the most part when it comes to how we tend to think and how things happen.

I ran into Pan-M today because Carl wanted to speak to me in person for some reason or another. I was genuinely surprised that Carl wanted to meet up with me, although I had a pretty good idea what it was about. Of course: the hot topic of the month, Sacha Chua. He wanted to more or less talk to me about my loaded writing as of late, and see what my sentiments about the whole setup happened to be.

So we met in MegaMall then, and we had an interesting exchange regarding what we perceived as the common thread in our circle of friends (That most of them have the hots for Sach...), and how he was especially amused at how I could get away with a lot of stuff with Sach... things he didn't think he can get away with, such as comments on certain bits of her anatomy, and so forth. I told him that I had a strong feeling that things are headed for a crash in the near future, and I managed to prove to him why I happen to be recognized for my perceptiveness... I pointed out a lot of things to him through my own observations that turned out to be true.

Everyone's looking for a moment. A “last chance” before it's too late. A “race against time”. But as I told Carl, other than the fact that I'm just plainly in no position for such an exercise, I also made a concession of being present rather than expectant. I guess that minor difference should settle where I stand. Carl knows I'm not the type who'd dilly-dally with people, especially not with the closest friend I have in school at this point, and so he took my answer for what it was worth. If he believes he's in control of where he stands, then that's fine by me, all the same.

I'm glad Carl doesn't regard me as an intellectual lightweight and sees the rationale behind being seen as her intellectual equal. Moreover, I'm glad that this is one friend whose company I wouldn't just do away with simply because Sacha is no longer going to be around in a bit over a month's time to be the common thread. I guess these friendships are beginning to run deeper than just hanging on a common thread...

Oh, yeah. I also bought Angels and Demons today... hope that turns out fine.

As for today's literary attempts (As I said, I have enough to sustain one poem and one story fragment a day for the rest of the week...)...

.:The Existential Postscript:.
a Quatraine by Marcelle T. Fabie

I know I am, yet I am not yet
My questions bring me inexplicable shame
Who am I? You know me only by name
An insignificant mark on your grandiose existence

Perhaps I am meager in your eyes
I cannot dispute that; it is your right
But the flowing tears muddle my sight
As I grapple with the truth and the seven Hells

Who am I? I ask once more, this time with pride
I lived in this shell for decades, yet still unaware
My iniquities, this introspection lays bare
What function do I serve? It makes no sense

And so I realize that I am who I am
It matters not what I have, or what I have not
For I am special. I rise above the lot
I am unique. Just like everybody else

a Story Fragment by Marcelle T. Fabie

He clutches the revolver in his hands and trembles. “Gone,” he thinks. “She's out of my life.”

Words cannot express the void within him. It's like a slow venom that eats him up from the inside, knowing he has no way of ever getting this unbelievable measure of despair out of his system.

Things aren't quite as simple as they seem. He knows, but he also doesn't know. Little else can be said about his sorry state of affairs, of confusion.

And so, holding the revolver to his left temple, he pulls the trigger.

The gun is empty. As it always has been.

And he will do this again tomorrow.

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