Last Thursday, I went back to UP. It was breath of fresh air, literally and figuratively. In hindsight, I guess my visit can be compared to Harry going back to Hogwarts - though I’m not saying that where I’ve been these few months are like the Dursley’s - but I just miss the campus, I miss the people, I miss the atmosphere there.
Thursday noon, I found myself suddenly gifted with free time. And. I. Didn’t. Know. What. To. Do. On a regular free day, I would usually spend it at home. But I found myself in Quezon city on a sunny afternoon, and all I could think of was: I needed to get out of the heat. What happened afterward wasn’t an adventure, but I wouldn’t say it was wasted time. Quiet time, probably. And I learned a valuable lesson - two, actually. One, never leave home without a notebook. Two, be a less boring (as in idea-less) person.
I’ve been reading David Nicholl’s Starter for Ten and I’m loving every bit of it. The protagonist, Brian, reminds me of myself back when I was a college freshman: idealistic, neurotic and awkward. (And in many ways, I still am.) Coincidentally, Brian is 19 years old in the book and a freshman in college. I am 19, and I’m (almost) in my senior year.
I wanted to share a particular paragraph in the book that struck me:
You know what ‘independence’ is? ‘Independence’ is staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night with your fingernails digging into the palms of your hand. ‘Independence’ is realizing that the only person you’ve spoken to all day is the man in the off-licence. ‘Independence’ is a value meal in the basement of Burger King on a Saturday afternoon. When Alice talks about ‘independence’ she means something completely different. ‘Independence’ is the luxury of all those people who are too confident, and busy, and popular, and attractive to be just plain old ‘lonely’.
And make no mistake, lonely is absolutely the worst thing to be. Tell someone that you’ve got a drink problem, or an eating disorder, or your dad died when you were a kid even, and you can almost see their eyes light up with the sheer fascinating drama and pathos of it all, because you’ve got an issue, something for them to be involved in, to talk about and analyse and discuss and maybe even cure. But tell someone you’re lonely of course they’ll seem sympathetic, but look very carefully and you’ll see one hand snaking behind their back, groping for the door handle, ready to make a run for it, as if loneliness itself were contagious. Because being lonely is just so banal, so shaming, so plain and dull and ugly.
Honest, and just simply the perfect words. I want to be able write about things the same way, bravely.
(Still in search for the perfect words, I found bits of inspiration from a song, a vlog and a blog post.)
Another inspiring song from Ms. Sara Bareilles that I’ve been itching to put on repeat on my iPod, only the connector is broken so… moving on. Here’s a vlog that’s apparently gone viral. They’re perfect and honest words, just like Ms. Isa’s words on leaving.