Saturday, November 28, 2009

Mojo Fries

Our new dog. He's also a chihuahua. Welcome to the family, Mojo!

Obviously, Georgia and Oreo were not pleased.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009


Cats in Manila! Want want want!

Our very own Lea Salonga will play the role of the Glamour Cat herself, Grizabella.

Details here.

Photo here.

Marx, Weber, and Me

I was pretty nervous when Bill and I went to Citimotors - Pasong Tamo to confirm our intership. Like I said, I've never applied for any job so I didn't know what to expect. We were only advised by our coordinator to dress nice and bring a resume.

We got there in one piece but all we did was submit our resumes and fill out application forms. Someone from HR asked us to come back for the interview. Tss. The supervisor didn't even see my Courreges shirt.

On our way back, I saw this guy wearing a communist shirt with the logo and an inscription that says MARX, THE FATHER. Awesome.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Boy Crush #1

Sean Foreman from 3OH!3. Oh, that all American charm.

I really need those Acetaminophens.

LOVE is just another word I'll never learn to pronounce

Can't blog too much tonight. I have to wake up early tomorrow to meet the supervisor of Citimotors with Bill. Our internship for Industrial Psychology starts next week so we have to finalize everything with the HR department. I'm actually nervous. I've never applied for a real job so I don't know what to expect. Hope all goes well!

I'm wrapping this entry with the video of 3OH!3's Starstrukk with Katy Perry, which has been playing in my head all day. It sounds a lot better than the original.

Now where did I put those Acetaminophens?

Monday, November 23, 2009

I always thought Christopher Walken was cool.

The calm before the storm, the wind beneath my wings, the Samson to my Delilah

Sigh. My writing has become sporadic again. My last real post was before the announcement of winners of the Philippine Blog Awards where I was one of the finalists for Best Personal Blog. I lost, but I can't blame my lack of enthusiasm to losing because my real reason is much shallower than grieving over an award. It was my semester break.

My break lasted for only three weeks but it was probably the best three weeks of my year. My summer isn't even worth talking about because I've had summer class since freshman year and I had tons of things to do for the paper. My three-week break wasn't awesome in the sense that I went to Boracay or Hong Kong or any of the bars in Makati and the Fort, but because I stayed at home and did absolutely nothing. I felt like I deserved three weeks of silence after working my ass off. I actually felt my eyebags lifting. And to think I didn't even use Olay (my co-editors would know this line).

As the break dragged on, I missed going to school. I missed the rush of deadlines. I missed reciting in class and learning all sorts of things about the human psyche. I missed hanging out with my friends and colleagues in the paper. I missed walking to school and complaining about the shitty improvements they keep making. I was excited to start another semester.

I have really cool subjects now. I have my practicum for Industrial Psychology. I also have Methods of Research, Guidance and Counseling, and Psychological Testing 2. Best of all, I have Abnormal Psychology, the very reason that pushed me to take this course.

But so far, in the few weeks that I've been in school, I'm already looking forward to my Christmas break. Being class president, associate editor, and head of advertising for the yearbook committee is starting to take its toll on me. And now that I'm swamped with majors, being a student is hard enough. In fact, our professor asked us to present the first chapter of our thesis on Wednesday. And to think she just assigned it hours ago! I'm so stressed that I feel like I'm about to explode.

Because of the fuckload of responsibility I have, I thought about giving up one aspect of my college life to get a better grip on my course. The paper sucks most of my time and energy so I entertained thoughts on quitting. My mom isn't paying thousands every semester for me to learn how to write an editorial. My mom is paying so I can learn how to diagnose schizophrenia and distinguish Stendhal Syndrome from normal fatigue. I'm in school to learn how to give therapy to those with Dissociative Identity Disorder, not to edit news and feature articles.

I thought about this when I realized I've been taking writing too seriously. Over the years, I noticed I'm putting a higher priority on the paper rather than my academics. I was more than willing to cut class in favor of a meeting or interview. But now that I have Abnormal Psychology, I'm starting to really get into it. Before, I was set on pursuing journalism after college. Now, I want to pursue Psychopathology, the study of abnormal behavior.

I was this close to actually giving everything up to be a regular student with regular stress and regular responsibilities. Then it made me think. Why do I only have to be one person? Why do I only have to be Koji, the third year Psychology student? Why can't I be Koji, the third year Psychology student who's also an editor of the school paper? In my first column, I mentioned that as a person, we are multi-faceted, and there are different aspects to our personality. I can be a Psychology student, associate editor and whatever else it is I want to be. I mean, look at our celebrities. We have actors who sing, singers who run cities, and cosmetic surgeons who become porn stars. I'm not saying they do it successfully, but the fact remains that they can be two things at once. I suddenly did not see the point why my passion for writing must be extinguished because of my constant whining. I realized that I will have just as many responsibilities when I work. I should be thankful that I've been given the opportunities to train myself.

I can be a psychologist with a background in journalism. Or a journalist with a background in psychology. Either way, what is to stop me from doing what I want? I believe living is doing what truly makes you happy, and both writing and psychology make me happy. I told myself that I'm still in my third year and there is plenty of time to think about my future. Besides, I should be thinking of how my groupmates and I are going to produce an entire chapter in two days. With the deadline looming closer, I must conclude this entry.

Before I go, let me share a vision of me as psychologist: Instead of doodling or solving crossword puzzles while my client is telling me about how she failed to resolve her Electra complex, I could be writing a short story.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

My epic fail

I woke up feeling great yesterday. The sun was shining but it was cool, so I spent an extra few minutes snuggling under my fur blanket, wiggling my toes and closing my eyes really really tight. I was excited because L was coming over so we could cook pasta and watch DVDs. I yawned and looked for my phone to check my messages and got the shock of my life.

My friend committed suicide.

Technically it was an attempt, and she's now confined in the hospital to sober up. All the same, she tried to kill herself which is the scary part because most suicidals are afraid to actually do it. Worried, I got up, showered, grabbed a quick lunch and went to the hospital to check up on her.

It turned she downed four handfuls of aspirin, local painkillers, and valiums last night. I'm still fuzzy on the details but I knew it had something to do with school, finances, and personal relationships.

My heart broke when I saw her. She was so frail, she couldn't move, and her voice sounded really tired. We didn't get to talk so I just sat by her side and watched. Her dad and brother were there. Her mom knew what happened but she's working in the States. I wanted to cry for her because I could only imagine what she was going through, knowing her daughter tried to kill herself.

Watching my friend, I felt responsible for her attempt on her life. Looking back, all the signs were there. She was telling me about how bad this year was for her and how she felt alone. I was aware that I was one of the few people she trusted at the time but I had so many stuff on my plate that I couldn't find the time to help her. What a friend.

I consider this mess a learning experience. I learned to be more aware of my surroundings and the people around me. I learned to watch out for little signs that could lead to something big. And I call myself a Psychology student. I'm disappointed in myself.

My friend is doing fine now. She has IVs and stuff in her that'll help her flush out the drugs she took and she's getting lots of rest. When her dad asked me if I play basketball, she gave a little laugh. Somehow, that made me feel better.
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