Confined in a box

At this point it wouldn't help if I post my first impressions of the classes I decided to take. Eight terms into college and already they all seem the same. The same faces, the same teachers (until tomorrow) and pretty much the same expectations. Even on my only floating class, I managed to have the same classmates as last year - the OCM people, who were my classmates in two relegion-related classes during the past two terms - and even managed to predict the others! Thus I jokingly threatened to drop the class because Osang is there. But I'm not into adjusting anyway, what more with the long lines and the possibility of having to cut classes? Thank you very much, but I'm happy with where I am.

Or maybe not. Sunday night before dinner and I was having a mood swing. Anna even managed to call me a girl, because of unstable emotions that pop up for no precise reason. (If it's one for affinity then I'd not probably take it even.) Issa was the coincidental dumping ground, because she was surprisingly free, even on a weekend. After food intake, all was forgotten. Eventually I'd give in to what Anna was saying.

And again, I was in a melancholic mood, no thanks to Issa being melancholic as well. I sometimes wonder what could have happened if we met somewhere, somehow, sometime in the past. There were too many close calls - from Burnham Park in Baguio to the then-existent Wendy's branch along Taft Avenue - and only when one is at home do we realize that. You do know when you feel alone, right? Solo lunches is one thing, but not know what really is there is another.

I'm having a weird kind of mood swing lately. It's something with not doing any worrying, and instead just living with it. If I say I feel vulnerable, I'd be accused of exaggerating it, but at this point that's the only way to put it. It's as if something would go wrong. Yet I'm not thinking that anything would go wrong. I'm achingly positive lately, even - I told John, for instance, that I felt we'd be having a different teacher for religion class, and indeed it happened. I somehow found in myself an urge to be positive, because outside, like the sky, everything is gloomy.

Sunday night, and sure, I exaggerated. But who can blame you if that's what you feel? "It's as if I'm gonna die tomorrow," I typed in. Obviously it's been two days after and ghosts cannot possibly open computers and type on keyboards - at least in the way we define them - but who can blame me? It's the vulnerability clause at work. Then I read what Issa eventually typed in. Everything she has told me before whenever I feel very down. Everything everybody has.

That morning I was reading the Sunday comics and there was something about stages. "It's a stage he's going through," the character said, and it went on for three frames until she got so annoyed. And I am getting annoyed at this, because despite me thinking that it is merely a stage - or wanting to think such - it isn't getting any easier. Who said something about the power of the will? Or have I just been thinking too much? Am I actually worrying?

Obviously today wasn't reflective of that. I was laughing with Derek during film writing class, at our attempts to tell a story with exactly fifty words, and how good some have turned out. I was laughing at Sir Salcedo's liners during light talk with the rest of my floating class, maybe taking an occasional glance to my right, and then nothing happens. Sure, I must seem happy. I've been trotting around campus, even! But when you're feeling your most vulnerable there's nothing that could help you escape it, because you're already lost as to all the mess you could possibly leave behind once you fall into the trap.

And I'd feel sad, of course, because in a way, you're one of the people who were there when I was down. You were one of the few people I could talk to about anything and everything. I'd always get something from you, and that makes me happy!

Six years ago, everybody felt a little more vulnerable than usual.

...however senseless some of our conversations are and however confined we are to this box.

And your responses...

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