The Frightening Similarities Between Me and the Gas Wonder Fuel

I was only throwing an unintentional glance to the solitary can of Gas Wonder Fuel, a compact can of butane gas designed for portable gas cooker, when the things written under the 'Caution' part grabbed my attention. Among all the warnings of dos and don'ts printed there, I found the following two describe me well:

• Flammable, keep away from sources of ignition
• Keep out of reach of children

Besides those, I can alter another two statements to fit me:

• This product is designed for NO pretty-but-dumb/good-looking-but-moronic/hypocritical opportunist/narrow-minded halfwit only
• Do not refill upsetting, thinking-required matters into the product with empty stomach

What a way to amuse myself. Hahahahaha....

It turned out...

I didn't sleep well last night. Went to bed quite late but woke up around dawn. The sweat on my t-shirt bothered me so much that I took it off. Then, not long, it was cold. I am quite sure that I wasn't dreaming, for I tossed and turned. So I tried to get back to sleep, but it wasn't that easy anymore. Finally, exhausted of trying, I woke up before 7 -something quite rare if i turned in so late. Still agitated, I took a long shower and then went to work. I thought I would have to struggle to keep awake for the whole day. Surprisingly, it's 1 pm and I'm not that sleepy at all.

And if I take a parallel line to this, I'll come to think of my what I feel after the quarrel last night. It wasn't the first, that's for sure, and the issue wasn't changing that much. But last night, I thought it would be my last. That I would toss it away and leave. Too battered to fight for it. To my surprise, while I took that long shower, I found that I wasn't that drained out and left empty. I still have the want to try. To prepare myself and try again for God-knows how many times. I'm not saying that I will never give up, that would be a little too much and too soon, but I will hold my head above water surely a little longer than I thought I would.

[work, ard 1 pm]

P's English Major: Take a Bow

I graduated from the English department around 5 years ago and at that time, I never thought I would live to witness this: My beloved English major is on the verge of collapsing.

One bitter thing that is so plain to see is how few the number of the freshmen is. It just goes down rapidly from more than a hundred in my batch to just *gulp* thirty five. With thirty five new students, you just need maximum -though ineffective- two classes per subjects. This is like insane. There used to be up to six parallel classes per subject.

That's not all. The words buzzing in the air is that the literature subjects are being cut clean from the curriculum. The ones which are going to be emphasized are classes for language skills. A friend of a friend said yesterday, "How weird. You still can learn all those language skills by joining those English courses. Why eliminate those literature subjects? What's specific is there to learn in that department?" She got a point there.

Later on that day, I went to the library accompanying a friend borrowing some books. After some time, my eyes went to those big shelves where all the literature references are placed. And I came closer. When I walked down their aisles, it was like walking down the memory lane. Those shelves, those books were once so familiar to me. Those hard covered old books whose pages exude funny smell were once held by these hands. My fingers, once, were running down those worn out pages, looking for some war history or some analysis of certain poem. And when there was some spare time to spend, I would be holding one of those fiction books, engulfing myself in its world. Then it hit me: if the English major does not survive, who would care about these good old books? Who would bother to check a book with Nathaniel Hawthorne's name on the cover? Or Charles Dickens? Or any other literary figures of this world? At that point, suddenly I became so sad.

Pulling myself away from those deserted aisles with a heartbreaking thought in my mind, I said to myself that maybe the time had come. Although, like I said, I had never imagined that I would live to see this, the awful truth had arrived. Maybe not fully arrived, but it couldn't be less certain. Maybe, it's time for the English major to take a bow; a deep bow in front of everybody, marking the exit point of its existence before the curtain falls.

And I still feel sad. Very sad.

(my room, june 12, 23:16)

I don't have the heart

I don't. Really. I don't have the heart to continue striving for the performance. That's what the tiny voice inside of me whispered when my actresses couldn't say their lines, when they stuttered and hung them mid-sentenced. The voice whispered, not yelled or shouted. The pressure was so great that it could only whisper. I could feel the desperate throbs in my ears. I could hear them, actually. It felt like an inch away from disaster. I almost spilled it out to my actresses, but I bit my tongue. I guess that's why afterwards I felt lost, not knowing whether to cry or to blow-up in rage. I don't have the heart....... help.

EH2/Nov 7,2006/19:35

Hangin on a thread...

...it is.
It's a lot different down here.
To see is looking up; the eye-level had expired.
-thanks to none other but idiotic me-
To breathe is chilling,
breath is condensed
[a single faulty inhale may send you all the way down]
I don't know for how long.

=C sumwhere, Sept 1 2005, 15.00=

... [2]

The risk.Bitter.Happiness?can it be the equal conpensation? [what is happiness anyway?smile?not crying?...superficial] Maybe i can never understand.Dwarf me.

C corridor, May 17,2005; 14.23

... [1]

Who are you to gain rights over my bare skin?

Why shall i let you in?

Let you write on me those lines that soon
become burning scars the second you leave.

If only i could vanquish my other side that's wanting.

[C corridor, may 17,2005; 14.08]

Wait

Do you realize that we always wait for Time,
for it to do what it is not doing?
When it crawls, just like a snail on the floor,
we wait right beside it, hoping for little wings
to grow on its sides, to carry its lazy body away

When it strolls an easy walk, however, in times when we're bored,
we tap our foot, sending patience to the air, bit by bit
and give Time a new rhytm, a new that's-how-we-want-you beat

When it runs like a mad man, pushing us closer
to an end, a deadline, a scheduled disaster,
we beg and drag: please, slower!

And when we're high in extacy, lost and bathed in intimacy,
we wish it to stop dead, instantly.

We wait....but it refuses to be waited.
An irony completed.


eltc, Sept 17, 2004
17:28

Swallowed

I like you
But then it means that i have to drown you
in the liquid of impossibility, of unreachability
Down there, or up there, or anywhere but not inside
You stay out
I have to make me resistant
even from the dust of you
I cannot even let you know
I dance only with your shadow
which will soon vanish
as the hope dims away
as you move deeper to the bottom where you will lay
with secrets, things I never say

- i hope i wouldn't throw up-
72 C, Sept 15, 2004