The Puissant Dictator’s Downfall
It was Saturday afternoon and I just woke up. I checked my mobile phone to see what time it was and saw that there was an SMS message from a good high school friend of mine, greeting me "Eid mubarak". It’s Eid-Al-Adha, a significant religious celebration after the Hajj (pilgrimage) in Makkah for Muslims around the world. I replied and returned the same greetings. She texted back and asked, "Are you pro Saddam?" I was puzzled at first by her query, but nevertheless, I replied and said that "I’m neither pro nor anti but I believe that he should be held accountable and liable for whatever it is that he’s done, if indeed he has." She said, "I feel sorry for his death. I believe he was trying to keep his country together, just that he did it in a harsh manner." Without reading her message carefully, I said, "He can still be saved. The judgment can still be appealed to the Supreme Court or whatever higher tribunal they have there. If the Supreme Court upholds the affirmation by the appellate court, I think the US or the international community might intervene or the Iraqi head of state might extend him pardon in view of the possibility that sectarian violence might escalate if he is executed." I was smiling to myself, thinking that my study of the law has somehow helped put a friend a little bit at ease. She replied back in 6 short words: Nessie, he was executed this morning. I jumped out of bed, shocked! " My oh my, I surely am late in grasping the news! I thought he was given 30 days more after the decision?"
I honestly didn’t know precisely how to react to the news. However, after seeing a footage of his execution in the chamber where he was hanged, I have to say I do feel sorry for his demise. But then for the thousands of people who lost a father, a mother, a husband, a wife, a son, a daughter the news is surely a cause for rejoicing and celebration. They must be relieved that justice was done. They must feel vindicated. I would feel the same way if I were in their shoes, for sure. Thank God that I didn’t lose any loved one when I was in Riyadh with my family during the climax of the Gulf War.
Let me take you to a tour of my past…that point in which I witnessed that dark fragment of history…and probably of my life.
I was about 5 then. My father’s company didn’t want him to be sent home, but we, his family, were free to go. However, my Mom refused and I vividly remember when she made a declaration: If your father is going to die, then we’ll all die here. And so we stayed with my Dad. All our neighbors went back to their respective countries or evacuated to Jeddah. It was safer there than in Riyadh where we were. Our neighborhood instantly turned into a ghost town, abandoned and almost people-less. The only existing souls were us.
I remember the feeling–I wasn’t scared at the thought of being in the midst of a war. It actually excited me in a childish kind of way. I felt like we were just playing a game. I liked wearing the gas masks, which my Dad’s company supplied to us. I liked the one for kids, with a long trunk that made me look like an elephant. I remember we taped the glass windows and bought stocks of food that could last us months. When nightshade would descend, we, the kids, would stay up and wait up for the siren, which signaled the coming of a missile from the Fallen Dictator, while my parents would sleep. The war didn’t scare me, really. What scared me was the siren–it sounded like a screaming man, being tortured. Every time I would hear it, I would cringe in fear as eerie thoughts would crowd my head…I would usually envision a man about to be hanged in the gallows (it’s strange though how those visions of mine turned out to be the manner in which the man who sent those missiles to us would be put to death. Premonition, perhaps). And then after the siren, we would feel something land heavily on the ground. Seconds later, the ground would shake and make this bloodcurdling moaning sound.
As the war dragged on, we became "immune" to the threats of those missiles and shed our fears away. We demonstrated this by going to the rooftop every time a missile would be on its way…and watch it come seemingly from nowhere, flying in the nighshade-blanketed sky until it would finally land either on vacant grounds or on buildings, shattering the latter into nothing but debris…and in some unfortunate cases, lives were taken too. Yes, I remember this office building that was destroyed by a missile that US forces failed to "catch". It was just one of the tragic incidents of that war. Many of the employees working in that building decided to sleep in their offices, thinking that it would be safer there. But the safety they sought in that building betrayed them. They never woke up. I guess it was really their time to go. It was scary to learn, as a small child, that the building was actually near our place. It was within the vicinity of the fish market where we’d go every Friday morning.
I remember this one rather funny incident with my sisters. The three of us were "assigned" to wait up for the siren. The servile kids that we were, we stayed up and waited…and waited…and waited. But we heard nothing but deafening silence. To kill our boredom, we decided to take a shower. We were playing, giggling and splashing each other with water. The sound of the dripping water from the shower, heavily hitting the ceramic floor drowned all other sounds. We continued amusing ourselves until…my sister heard the familiar, scary sound. It was the siren. We turned off the shower and listened more intently. It really was the siren, calling out to us to get prepared for the coming of a missile. But it turned out that the missile that the siren warned us of was NOT the rocket-propelled weapon but a missile in the form of my VERY ENRAGED, FUMING MOTHER who was on the verge of exploding! She was more fatal than the missile! We received shouts and curses and pinches, here and there! She went ballistic because we failed to perform the task delegated to us. "What if Saddam sent us a missile containing deadly chemicals?!" Thank God he didn’t. Or else we could have suffered double death–from my Mom and the warhead–if there is such a thing.
Though I wasn’t really scared of what was happening, there were instances that I feared we might all perish as the war seemed to have no other ending but our demise. But stories coming from Kuwait–families being assaulted at night by Iraqi soldiers and killed after ransacking their homes, mothers being raped, men being beheaded for no apparent reason–made us thank God that we weren’t put in such a tribulation. It somehow served as a glimmer of hope, like the afterglow of a newly-doused fire in the midst of total darkness. We weren’t even facing half of what the Kuwaitis suffered. We were only confronted by missiles falling from the skies–they were faced by soldiers who had no regard for the value of human life.
When the war finally came to an end, we all breathed a big sigh of relief. President Bush, the senior, became my hero. I even wanted to name a pet cat in his honor. But looking back now as a grown up, I surely should be a lot more thankful to God that He protected us all throughout that daunting experience. None of us was injured. We still had both parents. We were still ten kids in the family. We were intact. We survived in His Grace.
But for those who went through sufferings unknown to mankind in Kuwait and other countries that were affected by the war, it perhaps took years before they could speak of that dreary, somber chapter of their lives. And it is of no surprise that there were reports of people who expressed their delights by dancing in the streets after Saddam was hanged.
Perhaps this turning point in history–the final downfall of the once very puissant Iraqi dictator–should not be an occasion for rejoicing, even for those who finally tasted what they thought was an elusive justice they petitioned for many years, and those who feel vindicated. More appropriately, it should be taken as a moment to remember those who lost their lives meaninglessly in the quest of a megalomaniac tyrant to fulfill an ambition–world dominance. Those who survived should relive dark memories and be grateful to God for being spared. And most importantly, in view of his death, it should be remembered that POWER, especially when tainted with avarice for the same, can do two things simultaneously: it builds and destroys.
(**As to the impact of his execution on the war in Iraq, I think that Saddam’s death won’t end it nor will it lessen the violence prevalent in the country. Considering the fact that there are many Saddam loyalists and there is a gaping rift between Shiites and Sunnis, I think that it will only escalate sectarian violence.)
My NEW New Year’s Resolution: To divorce myself from my two hubbies :)
Flashback. The year was 1994. I was in my English class under Mrs. Topiño (she was probably in her very late 60s when she was my teacher. She could be where expired souls go…by now). She asked us to write down our New Year’s Resolutions on a sheet of paper. I sat still on my chair, thinking what to write down. And then, the most ingenious ideas that a 10-year-old could never come up with in a thousand year popped into my head. So I started writing them down before Mrs. Topiño asked everyone to pass his/her work. This is what I remember listing down:
For the year 1994, I resolve to accomplish the following:
1.) I will stop biting my nails (toe nails included).
2.) I will not draw or write on the walls so my Mommy won’t berate or beat me.
3.) I will avoid overeating.
4.) I will not call my little sister "Somalia" or "Aidid" so my Mommy won’t scold me (my sister was delicately thin then so I baptized her with those names).
5.) I will be more organized with my things.
6.) I will help in the household chores.
7.) I will stop torturing/murdering the live fishes my father buys from the Souk Al-Samak every Friday. I don’t want to go to Hell.
8.) I will try to fulfill the above-listed resolutions.
Twelve long years have passed since I wrote those things down. And guess what? I have accomplished NONE of those things! At 21, I still bite my toenails, murder still-breathing fishes, write on the walls and HELL YEAH, I still overeat! Hahaha! Well, it’s up to you to discern if I’m speaking the truth or I’m just trying to be funny–in my own, little pathetic way–but the thing is I’ve never fulfilled a single resolution that I made each new year. So my New Year’s Resolution for the year 2007 is:
I WILL NOT MAKE NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS ANYMORE FOR THEY ONLY END UP BECOMING DEAD, UNFULFILLED PROMISES!
So there. That’s easier to realize, eh?
But on a more serious note, I do want to change some things about myself. I want to quit smoking. I want to stop being an alcoholic. I want to veer myself away from abusing ketamine. Hahaha! Kidding. I’ve never touched those things and I have no plans to either. I’m a lass with invisible wings and a halo floating over my head.
YEAH RIGHT.
Anyway, yes, I do want to refurbish myself (that makes me sound like I’m so broken and dysfunctional) in some aspect. First, I want to annul my marriage with my old time hubby, Mr. Procrastination. Ugh, I loathe myself for being in love with this old habit that seems to never want to leave me. Maybe I should be the one to walk away. But, I SWEAR I tried to a gazillion times and it never worked. I keep coming back to his loving arms, like a jilted lover who stupidly goes back to a simpleton, a total nincompoop for very stupid reason–LOVE. Eeekh. I just want to get rid of him. He’s not healthful for me and he sure is putting me into a lot of trouble. Sometimes, I end up turning up half-baked works because of him! God, I am the world’s greatest procrastinator that my Mother would gladly take the witness stand to testify and buttress that self-imposed allegation with preponderant evidence she has gathered in the 17 years that she watched me grow up! Certainly, I will be convicted of the charge–found guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Oh, God, I implore your Divine Guidance. Grant my petition, praying for annulment for I don’t want to be Mrs. Procrastination anymore. I’ve been bruised and I shed enough blood to fill the gaping shortage of blood supply in the Philippine Red Cross 
And there’s another thing. I’m such a cluttery, unorganized person. My things are always in a shambolic state so I end up misplacing things. And just like with my antedeluvian procrastinating habit, I want…I NEED to get rid of it. I want to pick things up from chaos and put them in order. But then…I think I like my things that way–unorganized, messy, splattered all over the place…yeah, I guess it’s just me. And why do I say this? Well, a concrete example is this: I can concentrate and study better when my notes are scattered all over before me. I don’t know why. That’s how my brain works too–random and unorganized (hence, the apropos title of this blog–Inside My Cluttered Head). Hehehe. BUT then again, it’s not a good habit. I need to find a way to declare our relationship null and void before it’s too late.
Oh well, I hope that by next year I’ll be posting an entry that will speak of successfully divorcing myself from those two undesirable habits. Or hubbies. If I fail, I’ll still write something to amuse you, don’t worry.
HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL!!! 
Mixed Nuts
First nut: Peanut
I don’t know if this Christmas vacation is doing me favor or disfavor. Let me see. Well, it’s doing me a great favor coz it’s been allowing me to get more than 3 hours of sleep. It’s rather unfavorable because…yeah, so far the only discernible "good thing" that I’ve been doing so far is SNOOZING–which keeps me divorced from my books most of the time…and that’s very, very inimical. I’m supposed to be maximizing my time, devote it to reading my books since I’m not celebrating Christmas. Ugh. I want to bite myself. Or crush myself til I turn into paste. Like peanut butter. But what can I do, with all my human weaknesses and flaws traversing the very fibers of my body? I cannot resist the bed calling out to me, "Nessie, Nessie…look at me…I’m huge and soft and cozy…would you lie down on me for a while so you’ll taste a little piece of heaven? Come here, come here, you overexhausted child…" And when I do lie down, what’s supposed to be a minute of rest turns into a 15-hour marathon of sleep! That’s an exaggeration. But be it 15 hours or 2 hours of lazy sleeping, it does not diminish my guilt! I’ll just tie myself up on my study table with a padlocked chain. Or better yet, burn my bed.
Second nut: Almond
Every time I find myself alone in a very quiet space, I can’t help it but be nostalgic…reminisce the good ol’ days in Saudi. Movies of the past suddenly play in my mind and it is my Father whom I constantly see. At one moment, I watched him mix this one bag of fresh almonds he bought from Bath’ha (a commercial place in Riyadh where expatriates gather every weekend…mind you, weekend in Saudi is Thursday and Friday) with raisins…he called out to us, young kids we were then, and we ran to stuff our mouths with my Dad’s almond-and-raisin mixture. The taste of fresh almond in my mouth, I can still remember as if it’s being grinded in my mouth at this very moment–it tastes like wood, only richer. Pairing it with raisin, a woody-sweet kind of taste is created…weird, but distinct, flavorful, delightful.
I miss my Daddy and my beautiful Mother.
Third nut: ME!
Yes, I’m going nuts. I’m going back to diving my nose into my books. Toodle-oo!
What is LOVE, really?
Love, I think, is the only concept in this world that has reached the status of a cliche (together with other hackneyed concepts or dicta such as Time is Gold) and yet people don’t get tired of talking about it–or putting it into practice. They hear stories of other people whose lives get shattered by that little, devilish thing called love or they themselves experience the bitter end that it usually gives. And yet whenever it comes their way for the second time (for some, for the nth time), they readily plunge into it with much more vivified alacrity as if nothing happened before. They profess that they will be "more careful this time", they have become "wiser" and they have "learned from the sour wounds of the past". YEAH RIGHT. Yada yada yada.
The truth is THEY NEVER LEARN FROM THE PAST. Assuming argeundo that they did learn some fragments of lesson from history, they never put it into action either because they choose to or love, being such a powerful evil thing, blindfolds them into darkness. It is thus understandable that they become insane, imbecile, stupid and whatnot for the second (or as earlier noted, nth) time. In some cases, they become worse.
Based on what I’ve observed from my surrounding (I’m unusually observant…a little closer to being nosy, hehehe), I came up with this question that perturbs me to some extent: What is it that love has that makes people patronize it every time it comes around even if they have suffered cardiac problems (both literally and figuratively) and been bruised and wounded (again, both literally and figuratively) by it before? Precisely, why do people become more moronic than REAL mentally unsettled patients confined in state-established asylums when they are in love?
The power of love is too overwhelming that it can reduce the most intelligent, genius, virtuouso, or scientist into a total simpleton! This is indeed a disturbing observation and so I started to dig and look for answers on my own since there isn’t any scientific study available, tackling and resolving the conundrum.
No, I didn’t go down to a secret laboratory which I surreptitiously built beneath our house to find the answers. I sat down on the sofa, the couch potato that I am, and just stared blankly on the white-painted ceiling. I first made sure that I had a grasp of the problem–all the pertinent facts, observations and theories which might help me resolve the issue. Eight hours passed and still I hadn’t come up with a possible explanation–I couldn’t seem to focus. My face looked like a crumpled paper in my attempts to concentrate–but nada. And then I realized what kept me away from fully concentrating: the framed picture of myself in a toga…with a stupid smile. So I put it down, went back to where I was and began, once again, to focus.
And then…lo! My brain cells came up with an answer! And it’s very credible and perhaps intellectual that soon, experts in this field would offer me millions and things that glitter to buy the "idea". Before it could be plagiarized by intellectual thieves, I went to the Intellectual Property Office and had it patented. Just to make sure.
And what is the answer, you ask? Well, my proposition is this: that love is actually a bait that God crafted so that human beings would be enticed to multiply and procreate! Before you dismiss it as rubbish, let me elucidate further.
Just imagine the absence of the butterfly, electrifying sensation you get from being in love…would you ever consider having children, taking into account the many problems that it entails such as the pain and discomfort brought about by pregnancy, the agony of giving birth on the part of the woman (which my Mom described as "multiply the degree of pain you get from constipation a million times"), myriad of problems brought about by marriage, the headache that children bring as they have the great potential of turning into total monsters etc.? No person in his right mind would venture into such undertaking.
Adducing from that proposition, it is thus clear why God designed love to be so powerful as to deprive us of our mental faculty! It blinds us, turns us into total morons and clouds our prudent judgment! If you would look at it, love is only a feeling (as my favorite British rock band, Darkness, put it) but be that as it may, it is soooo powerful that it could entice us into entering into a world of chaos, disorder and anarchy! And that is precisely because the multiplication of human race entails such arduousness. In the final analysis, love is nothing but an incentive that would ensure the perpetuation of human life on this Earth…until the day comes that God has scheduled to turn it and everything that thrives in it into what they originally were–small, invisible particles of earth floating in the air.
And I think this is where people are wrong about: they tend to only see the "love" that they feel and they overlook the ultimate purpose of the same, i.e., procreation. They tend to focus on the "relationship", i.e., marriage and fail to appreciate the fact that the end of every such relationship is not only bringing children into this world but molding them into responsible adults who would contribute positively to the weal of the society and act in consonance with what God has ordained. Because people treat "love" as a means to end, they end up battered by so may failed relationships. I think that if people would put utmost value to the real purpose of establishing legally and religiously (sometimes, traditionally) sanctioned relationships, they would find the "right" person to realize such vision (that other person has to share the same perspective, the same vision)…and maybe finally find the ever elusive happy ending that they forcefully (but sadly, failed to) extract from total jerks, morons, chauvinistic pigs and bigots.
After realizing the fundamental purpose of love, I have decided (and I am asking for divine guidance for this one) not to venture into the headache-ridden world of love because I can achieve the purpose that it seeks to serve through other means: ADOPTING. (This is also serves as a notice to the jerky species…save your bouquets of flowers, imported chocolates and expensive stuffed toys for some other girls. Yours truly is not interested…oh, wait. I want the chocolates! Hehehe) Some people say that it is an innate, natural characteristic of women to love children and I think I am no exception to that general proposition. I am fond of kids, that cannot be gainsaid. And so when I get to establish a stable career in my chosen field and I feel like nurturing kids, passing on to them what I gained both from my formal/informal (mis)education, I’d like to follow the steps of Ms. Angelina Jolie (except for the Brad Pitt and Shiloh Nouvel part). I believe that it would serve a greater, nobler purpose for not only will I be able to rear children and forge them to adults that I can be proud of one day, but I will be saving them from being in the lonely world of orphans. Or better yet, I would be saved from all three aches that any wife gets from her husband: heartache–pertaining both to the emotional aspect and the heart ailments that a husband usually gifts his wife with; headache from his sheer stupidity; and toothache that I’d get from gritting my teeth because yes, of his ginormous moronity! Stated succinctly, I would be saved from total aberration.
Just attiring my naked thoughts in written words.
Going down from the pedestal is never an easy job…
I was conversing with a friend earlier this day and we hit the topic on expectations of other people from us. It again reminded me of that old issue I’ve been battling with for the longest time. It should have already been a dead letter since I’m now supposedly (or allegedly) matured and know how to handle things in a "matured" manner. I don’t know if it would speak in disfavor of my alleged maturity, but I haven’t gotten over that issue of people expecting a lot from me and thereafter pressuring me…not to disappoint them, especially if they hold a special position in my heart (like family, friends and mentors).
I’ve been faced with it since I was in the elementary level of my (mis)education but up to this point in my life–I’m 21–I never got (and perhaps, never will) comfortable with the idea of me being perceived by others as someone who can do GREAT things. It’s flattering, but the positive side of it stops there. Well, at least with respect to how other people view me. I’m not being an ungrateful biatch–God knows how thankful I am for the blessings He accorded me with. But sometimes, it can be disadvantageous in some respect. Because people see you the way you are, they also think that corollary to those qualities which you possess is the idea that you are not allowed to or not capable of making mistakes. Everybody understands the cliche that nobody’s perfect, but sometimes people forget that people are people…just because this person has certain qualities that set him/her apart from the normal crowd. They always anticipate to see you in some place where demigods reside. They frown upon you when they see you underneath their feet (to some, if not many, it shifts their mood to a festive one upon seeing such sight).
In all honesty, sometimes I do wish I were normal…someone who doesn’t easily magnetize attention, both positive and negative. Sometimes, I just want to get a gargantuan megaphone and tell everybody that I am just what I am; I am just doing what I have to do; and that there is nothing extraordinary in me or in what I can do. But then, wouldn’t that place me in a negative light for others might think that I’m too assuming? (Duh, who does she think she is?!)
Pardon me for ranting and raving, but I can never seem to find a way to deal with this issue effectively. It’s just that sometimes…it’s too burdensome.
But at the end of the day…I talk to myself like a mentally ill person and say, What else can you do? You didn’t ask for it when He created you out of earth; He willingly gifted you with it and thus you should use it for the good…of your family and friends…and to serve Him. He has a purpose and the wisdom of His giving you such is beyond your ken. Be grateful and thank Him for the blessings…So just shut up and do what you’re supposed to do and don’t focus much on what people expect from you!
Oh well, I guess that’s how I’m going to end this post.
December 20: A Beautiful Memory…
I woke up feeling drained like a newly laundered shirt. My throat was dry and itchy, my nose clogged that I could barely breathe, thanks to the invisible-to-the-naked-eye viruses that have invaded and conquered my frail and vulnerable respiratory system. It’s the 6th or 7th time that they have declared victory over my poor respiratory system and have claimed it for themselves–their territory. And that fact alone makes me abnormal because science/medicine tells us that the normal number of times that we catch cold is TWICE a year. Guess I have to blame that on not getting adequate sleep for the past weeks.
It’s 10AM and I remembered I should be in school by 11. I was supposed to do something for the Law Review–counter check the citations of our adviser’s article for next year’s publication. I could just stay behind after the meeting, I thought. And so I reluctantly got up and took a quick shower.
I took a cab to get me to school. The sun must be mad at the whole world (or at me for some reason only known to sun-dwellers, if there are any) for it emitted such unbearable heat in mid-December. Isn’t it supposed to be chilly at this time of the year? The situation was exacerbated by the traffic jam and the out-of-whack AC. I bathed under the scorching heat of the sun…I felt my head get hotter (literally, not Paris Hilton hot) that I thought of frying some sunny side-up on it for breakfast. And when I finally arrived in school, my head was almost cracking from pain. It was aggravated by the stupid taxi driver when I handed him 200 bucks and he threw me the old, stinky line that all stupid taxi drivers use to coerce you to give them the whole dime without a change: "Ma’am, don’t you have a smaller bill?!" UGH! That drove me nuts! It’s like hearing one of those stupid, lame lines that stupid jerky guys use to break off with a girl because they spotted someone else with a bigger, killer rack: "It’s not you, it’s me." It’s-not-you-it’s-me my ass! Taxi drivers and jerks should all be jammed in a big oven and turn the heat to 400 degrees! Anyway, going back to the stupid driver, I gave him a fake smile and said in a devilishly sweet voice, "Yes, I do have a smaller bill." I hit his grimy outstreched palm, which looked like it hasn’t been washed since the day he saw the first light of this world, with two orange bills–yes, I gave him P40! The ride cost P147. I got out of the car, slammed the door and walked away. I think he was mortified at what I just did to him. Well, he’s not alone. I, too, was shocked at what I just did. I guess that’s what little viruses can do. They can turn you into a freaky monster. Or a total biatch.
I went straight up to the mezzanine where the Law Review office is located. We had the meeting, talked about some stuff for the publication…and before I knew it, it was over. And then something funny happened.
Our adviser asked one of the senior members to call someone named "Tin". When she came back, she announced to everybody that the DEAN would be coming over in a few minutes! WAAH! Yup, she called the DEAN, not TIN to come over. Talk about miscommunication. And so we suddenly turned into busy bees, cleaning the place up and putting things in order. And yes, the Dean came over.
We served him some pizza…he talked to us in a very casual way. At first, all of us were feeling tense because he’s someone to be highly regarded. But he made us feel "at home" (shouldn’t it be the other way around since we’re the "hosts"?). And then he commented that I, ahem, sing well. (I joined this intersection competition last Saturday, the Civil Law Night, and he was one of the judges). One of the members brought this karaoke thing with her and so they asked me to sing. I sang a few Carpenters song…and then the Dean himself sang! Hehehe. We even had a duet, hahaha! And he asked me where I learned to play the guitar to which I proudly replied, "My father!" 
He made me sing "Memory" from the play Cats by Andrew Lloyd Webber. It’s a good thing that I kinda know the song. It was sung by this girl, whose name escapes my memory, during a mini-concert I participated in back in Jeddah. A beautiful song, I must say. It was really a memorable bonding moment with the Dean and the Law Rev members.
The fun didn’t end there. At the latter part of the day, I met up with old friends from college. And I met a sweet, half-Japanese 5-year-old boy named AKI. He’s my friend’s nephew. My friends thought we look like each other–that I look like his mother. Haha. So I took some pictures of us. I had so much fun with my friends, despite my cold bugging the hell out of me! And just like the way that day started, it ended a bit bad. It was so hard to get a ride home, thanks to the thousands of procrastinating people like me doing a last minute Christmas shopping!
And when the dawn came…that day was, too, a memory…a beautiful memory…
What do you get from sleepless nights? Meeting the DEAN in person! :D
It’s 3:19 in the morning and I’m still fully awake, thanks to the most love-her-or-hate-her bitch in the world, Paris Hilton. She’s singing "Nothing In This World" to me and yeah, I’m nodding along with the song. Da da da da da da da da da da…she’s keeping me company.
I’m downloading some cases actually. Xmas break is nearing…but for law students like me, there’s no such thing as break or vacation. It’s for sure that I’m gonna be spending my supposed break studying for the prelim exams next year. So much for that.
There’s this funny rumor going on in school. Actually, it’s not really a rumor…I don’t know, just some people talking. And I don’t take it against me. It’s both funny haha and funny strange. Well, there were some people who were saying that I only sleep for 3 hours every night (uhm, there’s some truth to that). And then it evolved into this: that I don’t sleep at all, devoting all my time to my studies! Hahaha! I think it’s rather flattering.
Which leads me to what I really want to express in this post. I don’t know how to manifest my gratitude to Allah for all the blessings He’s been showering me (despite the daily problems I face). I’m just so grateful for allowing me to achieve the kind of performance I did last semester. It’s both overwhelming and humbling. Ya Allah, it’ll make me more grounded and I will never allow your blessings to get into my head. Inshaallah.
Last Monday, the Dean met with the "scholars" of the faculty of civil law. Unfortunately, I didn’t go to school that day…coz I suddenly felt lazy going there for no reason at all. And we (Maranaos) have this belief that if you’re going somewhere and you suddenly feel like not going, YOU SHOULD NOT GO. Something bad would likely happen along the way. Nevertheless, I still put on my unifrom and got ready to leave. But just as I was leaving, the zipper of my pants got whacked…out of nowhere! So I was like, ok, may you shouldn’t really go. There’s something stopping you from going. Follow your instincts. I remembered those 9/11 stories…there was this one lady who worked at the WTC. On that ill-fated day, she woke up feeling too lazy to go to work. So she just called up a friend while she watched TV…and then she saw in the news the movie-like scenes of airplanes ramming on the towers. I called up my Mom and she affirmed…she said I shouldn’t go. ANd so I didn’t.
The following day, I went to school and as I’ve said earlier, the Dean met with the other "scholars". And I missed it. I felt so bad. I was whining to my friend all day. She was like, "OK, you set up a special meeting with him!" Hahaha! I just wanted to meet him because he’s already an institution in the legal field of this country. He was a former chairman of the COMELEC, the Solicitor General and now a justice (I don’t know which court though). And he was the Editor-in-chief of the UST Law Review during his time. I’m a weird, avid fan! I don’t know…I just look up to people like him.
I went to the faculty to get my certificate. Ry, one of the staff in the faculty of law, called me in. He said the Dean wanted to talk to me. I felt so nervous, I was shaking. I expected to meet a stern, old man…but he turned out to be very accomodating, humble and very "grandfatherly". Hehehe. He told me to keep up the good work…those kind of stuff. I went out of the office jumping with joy…like a 3-year-old who received a piece of candy from her mother. Yehey!
Yeah, that’s the real reason why I’m still up. There’s now more pressure on me…to outdo my last performance or at least maintain it. I get more sleepless nights now than before…we have more difficult subjects now so…I have to triple my effort. And the fact that I did pretty well last sem doesn’t mean I have to sit down, relax and work less. I have to strive even harder. I never want to be COMPLACENT. NEVER. It can be one’s greatest enemy in this life.
So there. Till my next sleepless night.
The Two Sides of Me…
The title of this post might sound like I’m a psycho with a double-personality disorder. Haha. Don’t get me wrong. I’m talking about the "musician" and "nerd" side of me.
There was one point in my life that I fixed my mind about being part of the glitzy music industry. That was right after I graduated from college. I thought that since I already earned a degree, I might as well pursue my dream…my passion for singing, performing and writing songs…but just when I thought that I had decided, my "nerd" subconscience whispered "Hey, you can do so much more if you go to law school…you may be the next big thing in the music industry but you’re very well aware that the entertainment world very ephemeral, transient…nobody lasts there for long…everybody who thrives there die as soon as they enter it…but if you use what you have up in your head in law school and become part of the legal profession…what you can do there will leave a permanent imprint and you’ll be remembered beyond eternity for what you can contribute to society (yada yada)…"
And so I got confused again. Thusly, I asked for a sign from God…that if I wouldn’t make it to my dream law school (the school I’m in presently) then I’d open my palms and allow the wind to carry away my dream of becoming a lawyer…and I’m not sure if I should say fortunately or unfortunately (but I guess it’s more on the former), I passed. And yes, I’m very happy with where I am today. Like what I have always been professing before, I love being in law school (some people find it weird, though).
And you know what’s even great? I still get to sing and perform! You wouldn’t believe this but one of my professors would always ask me to sing in class before we start…it’s like the "flag ceremony"; it’s already a tradition. He would even ask me to sing when the class gets boring or pauses into practically an endless lull.
Just last Thursday FEU invited me to sing in the Sayawit ‘06. My former co-officers invited me and good thing I didn’t have classes. I was like "Sure! Let’s go!!!" My partner in crime slash manager, Amylits, accompanied me and we were still in our uniform! Hahaha! I just removed my blazer so I wouldn’t look so…OLD to do something like that. Oh, the auditorium was beautiful…packed with people. And I was so happy that they liked what I sang for them…their almost defeaning, thunderous roar informed me of their approval. It was just a beautiful moment…I wish I could capture it in a video, not to be played in a DVD player…but in my head…over and over again. I sang "Chasing Cars"…and I’m grateful I’ve made the people there happy. It’s also my way of showing the FEU people that I haven’t forgotten them…that I’ll always be a proud, loyal TAMARAW at heart…and that I’ll be there whenever they need me.
I’m happy…thankful…blessed that I still get to do both things that I love doing (of course, with so much more priority to law school). God is great indeed. God is good.
My little old Papa…
My little brother, whom we fondly call "Papa" (when he was just learning to talk, I asked him to say his name "Mustapha". "Papa" was all that came out of his mouth…so from then on we call him Papa), is the sweetest kid I’ve ever met. He has the maturity level of a man who’s lived a long life of…80 years. Hehehe. He’s only 11 years old but he thinks and talks like a sage. He likes preaching to older people. I would always find him "scolding" my Mom…"Mommy, don’t frown all the time! Look at your wrinkles, they’re taking away your beauty!" No matter how angry my Mom is, even if she feels like blowing up, when my Papa would speak his words of wisdom and berate her, she would end up laughing…then she’d hug and kiss him and say, "Aynaw, loks akn!" (my little old boy).
I really love this kid. I’d rather talk to him than to any of my other siblings (I don’t mean to suggest anything) for the plain reason that…he’s more sensible to talk to. He’s a smart kid and I hope that he stay the same, if not change for the better. I see a lot of potential in him. He loves Mom and Dad so much…and I think that he’s the son who would never betray nor cause them headache. I pray that he grows up to be like my Dad. We seem to jive in so many things (except his excessive playstation playing! Hahaha! He’s a kid, after all)…the way we think and how we see life. Yup, that’s how advanced he is. Sometimes, I even think that he thinks more maturely than I do! I love this kid and I’m gonna take care of him like he’s my own. I don’t know…I just have this feeling that I wanna protect him and guide him through his life to become a good man…he’s a very promising kid. I pray that Allah confers him with a long life…and allow him to do the positive things that he can potentially do. I love you Papa!
