Here I go again, staring at Lizette's photo in another blog entry of hers.
Well? Well what? She keeps on posting them. I think I caught somewhere that she's a self-professed camwhore, but luckily for her I can't imagine her pulling out her phone, pointing the camera at her and, with outstretched hand, pressing the shutter. I always thought I had this ability to imagine anyone doing any situation with anybody, even if it's miles away from being true. And now, it isn't the case.
A vivid imagination is key to writing, and there goes my ill-fated segue. Lately my mind's in a rut, but insert Naomi insisting I'm a talented writer, and there goes my ego boost. But I know when to be proud of what I write, and that's when I end writing and feel ultimately satisfied with the points I decide to raise. Today is not the day for that, though.
For one, I have been struggling to write my reflection papers. They start to feel more randomly-connected than coherent, and I still surprise even myself when I get a citation. Journalism class, and although my reflection wasn't tagged as well-written - the honor went to Mae - it still got cited in front, along with five others, and only because of a point only I managed to raise. I didn't realize that, even, until Miss Bacalla read it out. Heck, I even thought she was reading off mine when it was actually Misha's on the hot seat.
Call me disconnected, but that's how I'd sum everything up. At least we're slowly inching towards finishing the term, with requirements slowly falling off like leaves in autumn. Cheesy metaphor, but you'd probably want to imagine gunshots and mortar fire in the background, as more requirements - and more realities - come to the fore. I finally got my final paper concept for the aforementioned class approved, and now I have to look for sources and prospective interviewees - all alongside radio plugs, documentaries, screenplays, and the ubiquitous thesis proposal.
It's surprising to see that, already, we're approved at this part. Now, only a reading and if everyone agrees to that we can do everything else we have to do; otherwise, we fail and repeat. (I keep on telling myself that I won't need priority enrollment anymore since I'm finished with every other unit that's required of me, until next term.) Most of the time I spend with Jason and Cuyeg are dedicated to writing that killer description, and more so with Jason's scrutiny do I feel incapable of writing school requirements. Not that it bruises my self-esteem, but it bruises my fingers after typing stuff in so many times. I think it'd burned in the walls of my brain.
And I couldn't think of anything more. You can imagine my surprise when my hastily-written last entry, basing stuff on a conversation with Kizia and whatever else comes to mind, got half-praised. "Mag-apply ka na sa mga magazines [and] newspapers!" Naomi said, further pushing that what I write is "super interesting" and all that. Or better yet, I should be surprised that I'm still writing stuff here, in the middle of arguing with siblings and a floating chat with Anna. But all of that goes down the drain, really.
And people shout at me, and I'm forced to let go. I couldn't conclude with the idea of Lizette taking photos of herself. I've lost the thought - maybe threw it away - and now I'm less coherent than I am supposed to be. Snap, snap?