I think it's high time that I do something about this blog.

   Although I am not so sure about what I ought to do.

   The last time that I wrote something here was last semester.

   I don't know... should I "revitalize" this blog or something? It has rather become overthrown by figurative internet spiders.

Finally.

I get to rest.

   Up to now, I can't stop smiling. So it's true: life is like a seesaw. Sometimes you're up, sometimes, you're down.

   I'll explain.

   This day was supposed to be IR day, but we ended up accomplishing nothing. Nada. Poof. No need to tell I was annoyed. My groupmate who was supposed to have prepared the part regarding the human face of the story (using the interviews she said she had done - huh) didn't come to our meeting. And I had to wake up early for this!

   Anyways, the only people who were there at the meeting was Robby, Rozzanne and I. One of our groupmates came, but he was rather too late. Besides, we needed to see the other groupmate's transcript before we start doing anything (side comment: I don't think she had any idea how important her job is, the little leech).

   So we dropped by her house: I cannot believe she lost her phone so she couldn't contact us (we were trying to call her all day) - and she went to a baptism. She knew we were going to meet at the school lobby - she should have done something to inform us. Duh. Also, she still hadn't done her work for our IR. Ohkaaaay.

   Someone get me a knife. Given all the lies I've heard from her, I'm having too much trouble believing the lost cellphone story.

   After that, we decided to go home and as we were walking, I saw a seesaw. Amidst my age and all the self-respecting dignity I have, I ran to the seesaw and begged Robby and Rozzanne to please get on the other end. Well, Robby did.

   And I enjoyed sooooo much, it had me laughing so hard that my belly ached.

   Tomorrow, my IR groupmates and I are going to have an overnight working on the report. We are staying at THAT girl's house. Which is near the place where I saw the seesaw.

   I have to get on that seesaw again tomorrow.

   Really. Sometimes I'm down, but then I still get freaking high up.

   [insert manic laughter]

Sorry
Buckcherry

Oh I had alot to say
Was thinking on my time away
I missed you and things weren't the same
'Cause everything inside it never comes out right
And when I see you cry it makes me wanna die.

I'm sorry I'm bad, I'm sorry you're blue
I'm sorry about all the things I said to you
And I know I can't take it back
I love how you kiss, I love all your sounds
And baby the way you make my world go 'round
And I just wanted to say I'm sorry.

This time I think I'm to blame
It's harder to get through the days
We get older and blame turns to shame
'Cause everything inside it never comes out right
And when I see you cry it makes me wanna die.

I'm sorry I'm bad, I'm sorry you're blue
I'm sorry about all the things I said to you
And I know I can't take it back
I love how you kiss, I love all your sounds
And baby the way you make my world go 'round
And I just wanted to say I'm sorry.

Every single day I think about how we came all this way
The sleepless nights and the tears you cried
It's never too late to make it right
Oh yeah sorry

I'm sorry I'm bad, I'm sorry you're blue
I'm sorry about all the things I said to you
And I know I can't take it back
I love how you kiss, I love all your sounds
And baby the way you make my world go 'round
And I just wanted to say I'm sorry.
I'm sorry baby.
I'm sorry baby, Yeah.
I'm sorry.

   In Spongebob's words:

   "I'm ready! I'm ready!"

   I'm ready to cry.

   I'm ready to scream.

   I'm ready to kill someone right now.

   I'm ready to collapse from fatigue and...

   ... I am ready to become everyone else's worst nightmare.

   I guess this is the effect of stress and lack of sleep. I snapped at everyone. I hardly listened to anyone. I barely heard anything.

   Crap.

   There is no such thing as being able to understand our side. To uderstand, I believe, is to take something as meant. Given my beliefs, I think you ought to go look at this article I did last year:

I recall that there was one entry I did a while back when I mentioned that "there is nothing beyond the text." I would like to further expound that. 

   "There is nothing beyond the text."

   I interpret this as anything beyond the text is beyond the text – not an extension of it. Nothing is beyond the text for anything that may be said about it would be outside of the line of thought of the writer.

   Okay, so I know that I won't be able to sound as philosophical or Derrida-ish as I would want to because I know that wouldn't be possible, but c'mon.

   Given this kind of phrase, I would then assume that whenever I write something, I do not give my reader anything that I want them to get. I could try, but then there are variables that would prevent me from doing such.

   In this case, I would use the word "understand" as something that means "to take something as meant." If I would use this meaning of understand in the context of the phrase nothing is beyond the text, it would be evident that there really would be nothing beyond the text, since anyone reading a given text would not take everything in the text as meant. Given that meaning is arbitrary and that signs and symbols can actually mean something different to anyone – these are dependent on one's beliefs, upbringing, culture, etc. – I find it relevant to state that people do not understand the text but only interpret the text; by interpret, I would mean "to ascribe a particular meaning or significance to something."

   At this point, I would have to explain fully why we do not understand texts but only interpret them (one instructor of mine pronounces this as "innerpret," you know, innernet, innerest – I do believe that he is trying to sound foreign, but I think he just sounds plain funny, that's all).

   To understand, as I have stated a few lines back, would be to take something as meant. An author writes to bring his or her ideas forth, but these ideas – whether he or she likes it or not, will be subjected to different forms of interpretation for there are many possible meanings that the reader may extract from the text other than what the author is trying to say. The author does not have any control over what the reader may extract from his text. The author is not actually present (and would never be, unless in some instance fate allows that the reader comes face-to-face with the author and the reader will be able to have the author tell him what he actually meant in the text) in front of the reader as to guide him or her into the way of thinking that the author had when he or she was writing the text. Therefore, the reader is free to interpret the text dependent on many variables – maybe in any way he or she wants to. Any form of interpretation that the reader formulates, then, would not be directly connected to the text. Some would consider them extensions, but I do not. Anything beyond the text is beyond the text. I may even say that once the text is made public, the text is not considered to be the author's anymore – in a certain odd way, of course; since a given text is always subjected to interpretations, the text ceases to be the author's, for to be interpreted would be the real purpose of the text and once it is interpreted, it loses its original meaning that only the author properly knows. Put this way, then, there really is nothing beyond the text. We merely interpret it and nothing else, which is why we do not go beyond it. We cannot remove the fact that the text is something we cannot fully know. The real meaning of the text does not become manifested before our eyes, it doesn't go beyond the whatever-how-many-corners wherever it was written or printed or carved. It stays within the text.

   We are the audience and how we see things are not the way that the actors see them. Authors often subject themselves to this form of – I cannot say cruelty, for this is how things seem to be in reality as we know it – interpretation. Writers can always try to be understood, but the human mind's capacity is limited only to what it can relate to, what it has known, and what it will know will always be under the scrutiny of what it already knows.

   I am not saying that we do not have the capacity to understand. Maybe we do, maybe we transcend mere interpretation, I do not know. What I am trying to say is that everything has different meanings and that the meaning of a given text as the author meant it to be is beyond our grasp – we do not understand what he or she is trying to say, we interpret what he or she trying to say. There is, after all, nothing beyond the text.

   You are not us - a basic knowledge that will tell you that you will not undertand our side. The least you can do is to interpret as well as you can our current actions; but interpretation may still be inaccurate.

   It would do no good for us people to argue with you, but on the other hand, I may start ranting one of these days. And if it looks like the article I used to clarify my point doesn't make sense, you probably can't interpret anything.

   The night sky is extremely beautiful tonight. When I looked up while walking, I just had to smile. The different shades of gray that peppered the night sky made me forget my urge to go and kill someone. The sky looks like a pastel painting tonight, in fact.

   It's a bad day for me, but then the sky made me think that the night mustn't be all bad.

____________________________________________________________________

   It was like being caught in a tide.

   My metaphor is very appropriate; for the life of me, I couldn't swim. I am thinking of taking up lessons someday. The word "someday" here means, "probably never."

   Like I said, it was like being caught in a tide. I can't swim, so the tide is taking me way, way back into the sea and right now, I can't see the shore. Too bad, I am already drowning. I should start screaming to the top of my lungs for help, but then I am not doing so. I don't know: I don't think I should. The person standing on shore won't hear me. It would be, in the lamest way to say it, futile to start screaming.

   So I let the tide take me away.

   I wish it would, actually.

   But instead, everyday, I wake up to see that the waves had once again settled me back on the blasted shore.

   While being bored is something that I am accustomed to, it gets boring after a while.

   Really. It does. The lack of something exciting is really frustrating. Nothing exciting happens (well... something rather interesting happened yesterday) - most of the time, what happens is just something that is annoying that it even pushes me further into the throes of ennui. I hate being bored. It's so... boring. It's making me weary.

   While I can go on and on about the philosophical thoughts I have regarding boredom, I will not. Because I will discuss about boredom and then it will (perhaps) bore me and it will bore you.

   Sometimes, I get the feeling that I am thinking of some things too much that I miss on the "exciting" things in life. There really isn't anything that interests me in the moment. I hate most of my classes this semester. They're all rather... disgusting. Then maybe again, "hate" is a rather strong word. But still. Except, of course, for my class on thesis proposal, which isn't much of a class at all, given that it has so many writing breaks (that's why it's called thesis proposal, huh). But I sort of like it, though.

   Nothing can actually compare to the semester when I took up Contemporary Philosophy, History of Modern Europe, BLL 104 and Soc Sci II. It was, in many ways, the best semester I ever had.

   Well, let me bring things back to the present. Things are mostly boring, if not annoying. Really, really annoying.

   Happy Valentines Day to everyone (or what Marocharim calls, Single Awareness Day: insert nonchalant smile).

   There is something to doing your thesis during Valentines Day (or Single Awareness Day): it feels so nice. Being productive has never felt so good. Did I say that my thesis partner and I got full marks for our Review of Related Literature? We had already passed it in our Comm 199. And Ms. Abalos as our adviser, too! This is probably good news, as a matter of fact: given that Ms. Abalos is the one who checks the theses in Comm 200 to see whether it will be endorsed or not. Yay. She had returned the copy with minor revisions (insert wide smile).

   Our thesis' working title is: Gory photographs on Philippine Daily Inquirer front page: the audience perception.

   So I'm bubbly all over.

   I'm loving working on this.

by Armor for Sleep

Walked past my grave in the dark tonight
Saw the stone and the note you left for me
To answer your question,
I just had to leave, I just had to leave

But that’s not why I'm here
I came down here to tell you
It rains in heaven all day long
I wanna find you so bad and let you know
I’m miserable up here without you
Miserable up here with out you

Found my way back in the dark tonight.
Couldn’t wake up not right next to you
I’d trade in forever to just hear you say
The sound of my name

But that’s not why I’m here
I came down here to tell you
It rains in heaven all day long
I wanna find you so bad and let you know
I’m miserable up here without you
Miserable up here without you

Don’t believe that it’s better
When you leave everything behind
Don’t believe that the weather
Is perfect the day that you die
Don’t believe that the weather
Is perfect the day that you die

I came down here to tell you
It rains in heaven all day long (All day long)
I wanna find you so bad and let you know
I’m miserable up here without you (Miserable up here without you)

I came down here to tell you
It rains in heaven all day long (All day long)
I wanna find you so bad and let you know
I’m miserable up here without you (Miserable up here without you)

Don’t believe that the weather is perfect the day that you die

(for some reason, I believe that I may have posted this song some time in the past)