Scandal.

I’m back from the dead. Yeah, and I’m supposed to be using the computer in order to do heaps and mounds of projects sa kung saan mang dako ng mundo. But, I can concentrate on my work only as much as a person diagnosed with a certain disease can concentrate his eyes on an object/person.

So, here I am, writing this post down for all of you to criticize and comment upon.

Back to the supposed topic. Anyway, I have observed some recent (or maybe not) drastic changes in behavior with my friend(ess, means the friend is a girl!).  Ever since our lives as juniors started, [I having landed in a new section (Xenon), and she, ending up in Helium] she has been, say, backstabbing her closest friend. She knew her friend had a crush on him, but, sad to say, nakikipaglandian siya sa lalake. Publicly showing her display of emotion to said guy, her friend took notice, got hurt, turned to me for advice as to how she could fix their friendship, which was held only by sticky tape and a few pieces of sewn string. I was, apparently, her therapist.

So I talked to her, and afterwards, grew better with each day that passed. But the horrors were yet to start. Soon afterward, the guy, started getting a tad too close to the girl, which was, in fact, unutterably intolerable, as stated in the school’s handbook. Unscholarly behavior, our endearing principal would say. However, since she was unaware of these “behaviors that could contribute to the increasing number of citizens in the Philippines”, their, say, actions truly spoke louder than their words. They were soon becoming inseparable, walked side by side, oftentimes held hands together. And, if I happened to walk inside their classroom to pick something up, I would see the girl somewhat on the verge of sitting on his lap. I mentioned this to other people, her classmates that were my friends too, and they all noticed the same things. I talked to the girl’s “now distant” friend, (since their friendship had finally collapsed just like the Twin Towers fell on 9/11) and with such admirable courage, shrugged it off and said that she had gotten over them both. She now had her “Mr. Sunshine”. All goes to show that every cloud always has a silver lining.

By now, rumors were circulating that something “discreet yet obscene” had happened between them. A group of boys (juniors, thank goodness) suddenly came up with an idea. They would turn on all the lights in the upper level of the SB building for no apparent reason. When they reached a certain room, one banged the door open, saw a silhouette of two people (whether they were on top of each other or just frenching, I do not know, as the details pertaining that fateful night were fuzzy and should not have been remembered) doing “stuff”. When he turned on the lights, there they were, hastily fixing their disheveled selves. Well, that certainly was a night to remember.

Other details turned up. Before the guy banged the door open, they allegedly heard deep breathing. Others just said that that was just the wind. I once again, went to the friend, and she said these exact words: ” Violeta (not her real name) is a bitch in sheep’s clothing. Yes, she is. Ever since second year, it’s been like that. She may seem innocent, but she isn’t. Yeah, she’s a bitch in sheep’s clothing.”

intrams.

Crap..my limbs are sore from all the running and the walking and all the movement.

Intrams [Intramurals] at Sci Hi has been reduced from a four-day activity to just two days [but one if you exclude the fact that the second day was on foundation day] of sportsmanship, chalked circles on the road, costumed people, and mock matrimony.

Once again, my class got the opportunity to host the Marriage Booth in our room. Last time we hosted it, it was in second year. The most interesting case we had was that of one bride, two grooms. Yes, you read right. One bride, two grooms. I won’t divulge into that, because, when I divulge, I tend to stay way out of track. So, one bride, two grooms.

Our batch also had another booth. The Blind Date Booth. Talk about a crappy name. Anyway, this had, more or less, the same function as the Handcuff Booth, only, it gets to be a little mysterious. Until the end of your time slot, that is. Two people of different genders, get blindfolded, led to the isolation hall [just a corridor with chairs actually, we had to budget], and were left with a person/s to relay what they wanted to say. Or they wouldn’t relay it, and talk directly to their blind[folded] date. After their time was up, they would remove their blindfolds and a camera would take their pictures [though I hardly remember seeing an official photographer clicking away]. And they’d prance off to the Marriage Booth, if need be.

I? Well, because I found the Intrams 07-08 to be downright boring, my friends and I planned a mock war. Water balloons and all that. So, for the two days that occurred, I went home with wet clothes in my bag. And I’d just say I got tortured in the Torture Booth. Heh. Naughty me.

It’s kind of fun, though, looking at the other people, striving to get the ball, shoot or repel it. Feels like hell, though, after you play. Cramps kick in, sores abound, you might even get a heat stroke due to the scorching sun. But it’s worth it, especially for us Juniors, who weren’t exactly favored to win since we had a lousy cheer.

Our excuse if we win fourth place again for the third time?

“You know, it’s hard, maintaining that rank, we have a lot of promising talent you know?“

or…

“Save the best for last!“

My English Teachers.

Due to a request by Kuya Bear, I decided to blog my English teachers from 1st-3rd year.

The first time I met Mrs. Arunduque [hope I got it right], I thought she was going to be a miserable old slob, judging by her taste in clothing [I check out wardrobe too] and because, well, she was in her late ages. But when I saw how she handled our class, serious, professional with just a hint of fun, well, my perspective totally changed. I started to see her as the grandma everyone dreams of having. She didn’t last long though. She retired just as we were about to finish one week with her. Seems she was just there while they were taking care of her papers.

So, we went teacher-less for a while. Until M. Boog came. Gruffy exterior, sullen eyes, but still, when he smiled, it went with a twinkle. We thought he fathered one of the seniors in our first year, since he had the same surname. Well, he was fun, sort of. We just kept preparing presentations that had relevance to the topic we were discussing about. Felt like I was pitching for a sales ad, though. Anyway, I did well, we passed, and went on to second year.

Second year.

That was the time when M. Boog, a person I had known to be an all work and no play guy, became, how do we state it, PINK. It was during our lunch time, when my classmates began talking about our lives as freshmen, PRISHIS, to be more accurate. His name suddenly popped out, and all of a sudden, my classmates, who came from other sections, during first year, spit up some gross dirt. He had, tendencies, when it came to boys. Ick. I was, shocked! After all, he had never done that in our class. After that, I referred to him as the PED. I belonged to Saturn back then. Our boys were spared of his being a pedophile. Earth, on the other hand, had a handful. One boy, got load from Boog, then Boog, texted him for a while, sending love quotes and other mentionables. Neptune, had physical contact. He’d put his hand on the shoulder of a guy, and he’d only remove it about 20 minutes before time. Mercury, they had a couple of incidents, but that’s just about it. I think. Venus, wow. Since he was teacher-adviser, I thought he’d be more discreet. I was wrong. Very wrong. A few hours before Ginoo at Binibining Agham started, the Ginoo for Venus, was changing. His classmate, fooled around, did something and said, “Daku-a gud ana bai!” Boog, being the ped that he was, was also quick to say, “Asa dong ba?” together with a quick peek. That wasn’t the end of it though. Venus had many other encounters.

Back to my life as a second year. Well, we knew he was now teacher-adviser of 3-Neon, which was also home to a number of, eye candy. But our English teacher was Ms. Pogado. She was pretty fine alright, with almost the same learning strategy with Boog. Until, that one time. Our class, Hibiscus, had a few Dance Troupe members who were part of the Milo Little Olympics, for the cheerdance. Unfortunately, the time when they would participate in the said event coincided with her period in our class. They were given permission alright, but she said they would get a zero for that day, and the activities done in that day. We had a test in her class on that day. Worth thirty points. Heavy punishment to be exact. A few cried, since they would miss a lot of points. Unjust, in my opinion.

Well, late second semester, she decided to go abroad, in search of greener pastures. So we got our Values teacher as our English teacher, Ms. Perigo. She wasn’t into the whole, sales pitch and all that. She preferred to do it through up and frontal learning. Tests, now and then. At least we got to try a different startegy of learning. But honestly, I learned more with Ms. Perigo, even though Zea disagreed with her in Values.

Third year, not much yet. But we’re back with M. Boog. But before I go, there was this one time, in second year, where we were changing in our room for MAPEH class, which was just after English. Our classmate had a mind that could easily tick me off. But on that day, he had someone else in mind. Boog. Yes, Boog was sitting just behind our room [A6], and he saw him there, toweling off his sweat from the face. Would you believe it, he was stripteasing, since our classmate implied it while having a conversation with him. He was unbuttoning his polo. I felt like a bucket of Antarctic water had been poured all over me. All the time he was smiling, his pockmarked face red from, who the hell knows. I was like, WTF! My classmates had already been weirded out. But there he was, showing off his dark nipple while my classmate laughed his head off. Eewww. Boog was one weird redneck. Eeewww.

Qwek-qwek afternoons make me happy.

Today was such a lovely day. My afternoon encounter made it even lovelier.

I was out treating my friend to qwek-qwek [popularized by the TV show, Super Inggo, it consists of quail egg smothered in orange colored flour, very tasty, mind you] when I saw a plastic bag hanging on a stall in school. It said, “FOOT MAPS Php 15.00“. I was taken aback by such an advertisement. Hmm, where would that map lead to? It was actually the most sought-after item in public schools, the infamous, the legendary, FOOT MOPS! I pointed this out to my friend, and we both laughed so hard. Another friend of mine asked us what we were laughing at, and I pointed to the plastic. A few seconds later, she joined in, laughing so hard we almost peed our undies.

Ahh, good times.

The Bride of Chuckie strikes again!

Good evening, world.

Just this morning, at around 9-10 a.m., July 10, the BoC has done minor damage to our ever sensitive ears. While we were in our classroom, eating to our heart’s content, the BoC waltzed in our room. With her ever-permanent [and oh so plastic] grin, she said us all a good morning. Proceeding to her agenda, she handed out and returned the action/work plans of my classmates, saying that they were not specific enough. I murmured to my classmate in vernacular, saying that this was supposed to be an outline, merely a guide, which, under sudden circumstances, could change without prior notice. Along the way, she uttered these eye and ear-popping words:

ISTATISTIKS

CORORALLY

PORTFOOLIO

APPLEECABLE

EEE-VALUIT

INVOLB

SUBDIK [subject, in case it isn't clear to you]

and a phrase which raised many eyebrows: So do you mean to say that you will study for a minimum of 5 minutes and a maximum of 2 minutes?

There we have it. The colorful vocabulary of the BoC.

Sunballs, moles, and colostrum

Couldn’t think of a better title to jot down.

Anyhow, it’s my first blog entry, you’ll have to forgive me. Then again, maybe you shouldn’t. I’m supposed to be studying for two big tests. One in Physics, and one in Chemistry. Bah, I think I’ll survive. I am living proof that the youth has really changed, especially in education. Most of them take it easy, living with whatever grade has been slapped on their cards. As a joke once said:

If your grades look like this:

english-69

math-65

social studies-67

filipino-62

mapeh-68 

Don’t worry. If I were in your place, I’d say, “Sige lang basta wa lang na line of seven!”

That is one true saying. Meant to hit each and everyone of us deep in the chests. It’s more or less a pun to the curriculum here in Science High, a prestigious school in the ruddy streets of Labangon. 85 and up, you pass. But toe that line,  and you may find yourself booted to another school. Sure the education is above-par, considering their curriculum and high standards. But then, look at the side effects: students faint during the flag raising ceremony, because they didn’t eat a healthy breakfast, and coupled with a few snide remarks from the Kitties plus the raging heat of the sun at 6:30 a.m., students dozing off in jeepneys and missing their stop, students skipping meals in order to finish off long essays, homeworks and all the like, because they didn’t have enough time at home. A few students even grow white hairs due to stress. All for the sake of landing a position in the ranks of Sci Hi’s elite legionnaires. Puh, the BoC’s starting to make us look like her! The curva!

In my opinion, keeping the name of a school polished and renown isn’t gonna up your chances of landing a Nobel Prize or a FAMAS  Award, much less a trophy in the barrio fiestas. You don’t have to pursue a life of science and technology to help a country. They want oomph, refurbish, I say! They want fame, keep their school posted on every newspaper in the region, maybe even in the whole country. It’s quick wit and cunning that gives us an edge. Sure, you could make us look good by demonstrating how the Seebeck effect works, or how geometric optics could change our perspective, but then again, in a world where knowledge of the things that aren’t practical are practically and almost logically useless, who would bother? Robinson Crusoe didn’t use Calculus in building a boat. Joan of Arc didn’t even know how lenses worked. And surely, Jesus wasn’t balancing equations when he preached to the world! It’s all in a matter of necessity. I won’t grow up to be a quantum physicist, so why bother with all the elements of the periodic table or learn how nuclear reactions take place? I’m an artistic person, I should be honing them instead of taking pity on myself all because I didn’t do good in the Chem test.

But then again, I think I need them in order to study at another prestigious school. I rant, I don’t follow what I rant. It can be senseless. Pa!