Thursday, March 25, 2004

MARCH 25, 2004 (THURSDAY)

Basket Case

This is what happens when my mother is home: I become a good and dutiful daughter. A tiny part of my mind finds it horrible the way I bend to accompany her every whim, but nevertheless I do. I don’t know; it’s as if she’s implanted a tiny microchip inside my mind and controls my every thought and word and action.

I think it’s because I'm more afraid of her, and more aware of the fact that the consequences when I disappoint her. And it’s also because I know that she’s allowing me enough freedom to enjoy life the way I want to live it (like financial, and the way she acquiesces to most of the things I ask for, and she rarely scolds me for the things I do, and she treats me like an adult – well, most of the time) that to disappoint her means that I’ve done something particularly horrendous.

So when she says to be home at this time, I will be home at that time. When she says to get her this and to buy her that on the way home, then I will do it. When she says to stop doing something and do it somewhere else, then I will. Because it’s a tiny price to pay for what I get in return.

So you can imagine how neurotic I was during that year I stayed in Davao. Thank goodness I was living at the dorm for five days a week; I don’t think we would’ve gotten on as well as we do right now if I had stayed in the Lanang apartment 24/7. Granted, the meals would’ve been better and the bathroom was a lot cleaner, but then there goes my social life down the drain. But don’t get me wrong: I love my mother to bits and pieces, and I know that when push comes to shove, she’ll always be there for me in the truest sense of the word. Plus, she finds me funny, which is great. And she trusts me to make the right decisions. Because trust is the greatest thing a parent can give a child, and to tarnish the trust my parents have given me sends chills down my spine. This is why it feels so terrible to let her down, even for just a small, small thing that she forgives five minutes later.

Because a part of me is so relieved, and yet another part of me is wondering whether the repercussions of my actions will come much, much later. But then, one can never see the future: only hints, and clues of what may be, what can happen, but not what will.

THE 515: The 2004 UPD CFA Thesis Class’ Last Plate

Went to the thesis exhibit of the graduating seniors at the College of Fine Arts tonight with Nanay and Peloy. We were there to support five of our friends (or in my case, four friends and one brain-eating cousin) who were already geared up to leave the university in a bit – yey!

I’m so proud of them: just because I’ve been given a peek of what happens behind the scenes of the thesis process: from conceptual to production to deliberations and beyond. I’ve seen them go through sleepless nights working on their plates and papers and drafts, staring stupidly in front of the computer screen and wanting to scream out how unfair the world is for making them go through this sort of hell just to get a piece of parchment with their name on it. I’ve seen them break down because of stress and frustration, go through gallons of coffee and stimulants – including Lipovitan, Red Bull, and Extra Joss (which made for some v.interesting conversation) – and give up on their comfort food because, let’s face it, chocolates and cheescakes can only do so much for you.

Plus, being involved with two people’s theses rather intimately – one I got paid for, and the other I now own her soul – as a provider of text, I was just glad that I was able to provide at least a miniscule amount of assistance for these people. It’s gratifying to see, at the end of it all, how amazingly professional and clean and pretty and well-thought out their works are. Kudos to everyone!

As usual, the program started late. And by the time the ribbon-cutting was over, we were all famished – the pica-pica at the exhibit was good (enough for Ruzela to start cramming her bag with egg sandwiches) but a bit of dinner was in order. Of course, it was expected that we’d all end up somewhere afterwards: after much discussion on everyone’s part and doling out the requiste number of bums into three cars, we ended up at our (myself, Peloy’s, and Dell’s) hangout, Salt of The Earth. Afterwards, a bunch of us found ourselves sitting on the dry turf of the Sunken Garden and talking about nothing much in particular but just enjoying each others’ company.

Well yeah, until my mom texted and asked what time I was going home. That roughly translates into: “Get your ass back into the house before I call the police.”

Ah well. It was a good evening. ^_^

No comments:

Post a Comment

This is a comment box. It is for comments. Please do not leave your Giant Squid of Anger here.