A Coelho and Skinny

I spent last night reading my first ever Paulo Coelho book.

 

Its The Alchemist. (The picture is a link to GoodReads.com, a website for readers. I'm new to the system and so far, I'm having fun with it.)

I have long been wanting to read a Coelho book. During high school, I remember a lot of batchmates were all over his books and the cover of Brida was a very beautiful photo. But this impulse fell under the list of wants I never get to do immediately. So months after....

I bought the book after buying "The Portrait of an Unkown Woman" which I have already started reading but decided to restart from page 1 again soon.

I didn't like it as much as I expected to [The Alchemist]. I don't know why but I think Coelho's beliefs just don't coincide with mine. It doesn't even contradict my beliefs. Its just he's completely on a different page. I was really disappointed that I didn't like the book. It wasn't boring and draggy so I finished it immediately. But I definitely do not regret reading it. If we had the same principles, I swear I'd be happier. But we don't. Period.

I'm now reading Skinny by Ibi Kaslik, a book owned by this cafe here in Iloilo. They have bookshelves for customers to explore but the catch is you can't take the books out of the property and they don't sell them. This sucks so bad because I have been wanting my own copy for a long time.

PS: I wrote this blog post weeks ago. I couldn't stand it so I asked them if I could bring Skinny home. They said no. I swore on my life, they said yes. I got to finish the book. 

Let's read some more.

In Starbucks, getting a share of decent internet we unfortunately do not have at home.

I just finished reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. I started last night, after a short day spent with my amazing high school friends. I just couldn't stop until around 1:30 AM when my mom started worrying. Extra eye bags have never left since college finals week.

The book is really good. Its a boy in the time where growth is the most ravenous. Since Catcher in the Rye, I discovered I had fondness for these stories. My own growing up story has been wild so far  which makes these books more and more relatable. The details are the best parts.

I'm still midway through with Gaiman's Neverwhere. I'm struggling because I recently realized that novels based on real life are far more interesting for me than fantasy - which has never been the case before (well, save The Catcher in the Rye)!

I now have a copy of The Portrait of an Unknown Woman, a rather large book with a lot of pages. After several minutes of awkwardly standing in the bookstore, trying to weigh out buying or not buying the book, I finally decided to get it. Read the first few lines and I kind of liked it in a weird way.

If I remember it correctly, this would be the first time that I read something from the medieval age. I never liked movies with the horses, knights and metal-wear in them. It was all too muddy for me. 

Is already in Iloilo

How I wish I could put up some photos but I can't because I lost my phone and my 35 mm films aren't processed yet. 

I haven't done anything remotely productive here in my hometown because I've been sleeping a lot. My body is trying to reclaim all the rest I substituted with schoolwork during my last and most torturous week in the Ateneo.

The heat here is evil. Loyola Heights atmosphere is way cooler. I sweat like a pig here whenever I leave the proximity of an airconditioner. What has happened?

I'm at Starbucks because our home internet sucks and I am the only one who actually thinks this is a problem. Everyone else is indifferent to the power of the interwebs. 

I'm waiting for a friend who is taking a long time to arrive. We haven't seen each other for a semester and how I hope we would not scream at each other and afterwards not regret not screaming at each other. 

Listen to "Hometown Glory" by Adele which I previously expected to be my coming home anthem. Its not being my coming home anthem. I'm not being emotional at all. All I feel is drowsiness.

Working hard for failing. this life.

Definitely not a lucky day.

I'm back in the dorm from the Chemistry and Literature finals. Literature was fine. It was on-the-spot reading comprehension. No way to prepare for it but by cleaning and oiling the mind beforehand.

I prepared for the Chemistry 7 exam though. It took me several days to devour the 400 pages of our wordy book. I toyed around every idea until the general area of my brain hurt. I wanted to over-prepare for the exam so if ever I get a bad grade, there would be no regret but a humbling proof of congenital retardation in the field of General Chemistry.

The exam had 75 multiple choice items. Very well made. Every single question could have been prepared for and it tested comprehension more than anything else. 

But I didn't feel well during the exam. I was shaky. It was as if all the stress from the previous days suddenly demanded rest. But I was fine. I fought the stress and worked my brain. It cooperated. I was confident because I never studied as hard as before in my life and the test wasn't impossible.

I sped up answering because I knew that there was ample time to review and recheck every number. I had my confidence at least 5-out-of-6. I was done and was rechecking my answers already. Number 7. I was rethinking whatever needs to be rethought when my eyes started to sting and my left contact lens pops out for no reason except, maybe, cosmic intervention. Both eyes started to sting so bad I just had to get out of the room and retreat in the dorm, remove my contacts and use eyedrops.

So I passed my paper and did exactly that. I know that I would definitely get more points if I reviewed it well but for some reason, my eyes just had to give out during that perfect second of my life. I am ruined.

Now, I'm clinging on to the optimistic idea that every downfall is a front act to extreme happiness. If that's a lie, look for me in history because I will torture whoever said that.

I'm so mad at life because although I always turn out fine, I get juggled too roughly. No wonder a lot of people lose their sanity.

This week in WTF!

Its finals week and I'm trying my best not to fail any of my subjects. 

With 'try' I mean sleepless nights, caffeine-overdose and eye bags that touch the ground. I could feel my brain flow like mud in my head. Its been turned into mush from all the hours in front of the books,  understanding every strand of the complicated inter-weave of material existential.

In simpler terms, I am the walking dead and it takes a lot of WTF to resurrect my senses.

This week in What the Fxck, Tyra Banks "Modelland"! A book I would probably never buy. 

"I am a fashion supermodel. My life is so hard!"

Metropolitan dreams are made of these: Rose petal sauce and French philosophy

I am here because I am taking a short break from churning out words for my English final paper where I talk about the Baudrillardian concept of simulacra and simulations in Tadiar's view of spatial development in the capital city as expressed in the article "Metropolitan Dreams".

My brain is being overworked. This short break will be used to create an ultimately pointless blog because its 2 AM and I have no one awake to talk to in my dorm. Relax, we have no formal classes tomorrow. I can sleep until Tuesday if I want to (which I definitely don't because of the deficiencies I have with other subjects that I have to eliminate by studying). 

Baudrillard is a French philosopher. I have xenophilic tendencies towards France and the French. They are just so awesome. The awkwardness I feel when trying to speak their language in a remotely accurate accent is the best awkwardness and unnecessary nasal contortion I have ever experienced. I would love to go to France someday.

For the meantime, let me find myself between the big worlds in this translated, worldview altering paper. 

If I get tired of making this English paper, I will proceed to typing a short paper on the film version of "Like Water for Chocolate (Como agua por chocolate)" by the Mexican Film Institute or something. 

My classmates and I particularly loved the scene where Tita's mother returns from the grave. That cinematic impression of ghost hauntings is just so simple, its scaring us to the point that it can happen in real life.

That part isn't available online so let's just see Tita prepare some flowery dish.

I am in love

Women like Robyn, count me in as a fan. I am definitely in love.