Log in

Final Paper done

I finished my part of the paper for a Fil elective today and it was bad. Bad in the sense that I don't ever want to write in Filipino again unless it would be in symbols because I'd be dishing out expletives every other word. I didn't even know what 'chapter' in Filipino was and my brother said it was 'kabanata,' but doesn't that sound like something for the end of every soap opera in afternoon TV that your grandma watches? No more Fil electives for me. Thankfully, this is the last one I'm required to take.

I took the test below and it ended up like that. But I wonder...can a person that's 0% Extroverted really exist? And then epithalamium's a Sociopath with a brutality percentage to rival Kratos in God of War. Nice knowing you, Sociopath, let's get along well together:) I hope you never get the urge to use my arm as a drumstick.

Your result for The Personality Defect Test ...

Spiteful Loner

You are 71% Rational, 0% Extroverted, 86% Brutal, and 29% Arrogant.

Spiteful Loner

You are the Spiteful Loner, the personality type that is most likely to go on a shooting rampage. In high school, you were probably that kid who wore all black and who sat alone in a corner of the lunch room, drawing pictures of dead babies. You are a rational person and tend to hold emotions in very low-esteem; not only that, but you are also rather introverted, meaning you probably bury any emotions you feel deep inside yourself, like all of the bodies in your backyard. Combine these traits with your dislike of others and your brutality, and it seems that you would be quite likely to shoot innocent people in a rampage. Most likely, you also have low self-esteem. Hell, I get low self-esteem just looking at you. This is only yet one more incentive to go on a shooting rampage, because you wouldn't care if you died as a result. Granted, you probably haven't gone on a shooting rampage and probably never will, but all the motivations are there. All you need is for someone to push you over the edge, calling you names and belittling you. Like me. But don't shoot me. I have a 101 mile-long knife, you know. In conclusion, your personality is defective because you are too introverted, brutal, insecure, and rather unemotional. No wonder no one hangs around you, you morbid, cold-hearted freak!


To put it less negatively:

1. You are more RATIONAL than intuitive.

2. You are more INTROVERTED than extroverted.

3. You are more BRUTAL than gentle.

4. You are more HUMBLE than arrogant.



Your exact opposite is the

Other personalities you would probably get along with are the


http://www.helloquizzy.com/tests/the-personality-defect-testTelevangelist. Capitalist Pig, the Smartass, and the Sociopath.

My thesis is biting me to death

Had a talk with M concerning my pre-thesis requirements. She had a bit of running around to do herself, so I was a bit guilty to take up her time again. Should have finished the research paper last semester, but then there. Second sem and it's still haunting me. Revisions for my thesis are coming along fine, but that research paper from last semester. It's like a swamp monster which I only see half of--it's slimy and it trails mud and it sucks because in the end it's gonna eat me up unless I take care of it quick. But it's a swamp monster, and I'm not crazy enough to want to touch it.

Huff...There's a voice in my brain that comments matter-of-factly 'I really do need to prioritize.' And then there's a voice that just laughs at me and how trivial all my problems are. School work. And a bit of Personal Problems TM to the side. I can throw the whole lot somewhere and piss my father off for redoing a year, and I can always forget who I am. But wouldn't that mean losing? And I can't lose. M says she highly doubts that I'd finish everything in time to graduate, and I could only reply, 'Please don't doubt it.' Lame. I was sleep-deprived and five seconds short of crying like a big baby. I'm a bundle of complexes myself, so maybe I should remember to stop bashing people when they're emo(tional)/hysterical. I'm being too much of a bother this way. I mean, I bother me. It's really annoying.

What am I trying to achieve with all this? I can't even level up all the characters in Dissidia. I haven't touched our PS2 in how many weeks. Still not finished with Drakengard or DMC or any of my other shit. And I even worry about that.

Have to rush thesis and pre-thesis, papers for two classes and two short story revisions for the SF workshop. All preferably done by this week. The lack of sleep's evaporating my blood. If I turn into a mummy because of this, I'm suing someone.

Fuck. I won't lose to this.


So I find out that my father's 'doing the best he can' and that we're making ends meet by relying on charity. From family. Family who will surely make you feel the debt of gratitude you owe them felt later on. Yeah. I can deal with that. And yeah. He gets twiggy around me and we have a total of three things to talk about at home: 1. weather, 2. food, 3. any ills he might feel, 4. money and lack thereof. And he won't even talk about No. 4. So. Weather. And food. And his health which is important for th sustenance of our family and everything. And because we love him of course.
"Do you like those potatoes?"
"...Yeah. They're very...soft."
"Yeah, I thought so."
"My head kind of hurts every time I wake up."
"Maybe you should sleep more."
"I wake up at three AM" -four, you bastard. Four. Your two phones' alarm clocks ring at 3 but you only do get up at four or later- "and work really hard to maintain this house. (careful pause) And to pay for your school fees. (Longer pause) Will you be able to graduate on time?"
"I think. Working at it." Heh.
"When are you going back?"
You would just love to get rid of me, don't you? "Tomorrow."
"Yeah." The TV's very interesting, isn't it? Go on and keep staring at it. No wonder you're turning into such an idiot.
"The weather's really bad, isn't it?"
Oh, you think so? "Yeah."


"I'm just going out for a bit. Two or three hours, just...I'm leaving, okay?"
I'm not your mother, but yeah, I give my blessing. Just tell me up front whenever you're meeting your mistress, why don't you? Your fucking normal woman who's fucking perfect for you. With two fucking normal kids, both girls and oh won't you just love to have a normal household already, where the girls are made of sugar, spice and everything nice. Fucking nursery rhyme. "All right."
"Take care." Yeah. Smile. I'm smiling dammit. Smiling like I really mean it. My cheeks are gonna hurt later but what the hell. He's relieved anyway, and looks less like he'd been caught with his hands inside his pants. Eew what am I thinking?!
Just get out already. And I hope when you get back I don't smell if you've fucked her.


"We need to talk about the money matters of the M household. Will you please tell me just what state it's in?"
"...I'm taking care of it. Don't worry. Money's hard to come by these days, we're lucky we even have anything..."
"...Are we in debt?"
"Look" -yeah the TV's just lovely, isn't it. That basketball would look good in your scalp and hey you're turning it to another channel and you're pretending it's important to watch something?- "I'm doing the best I can."
Why can't you answer the question? "Are we in debt?"
"........." That pause was really bad, wasn't it. Or you got sidetracked by that blondie's boobs. Am I in a freaking sexually repressed home?
"How are those potatoes?"

Gah. Gah. Graaargh. Ugh. Grah.

Wish I can hurry up and finish school. It's not like I want to work. I had worked several years in our shop in the public market, and it was a hot, dirty, rude hell of a place. There's something very amoeba-like about the market. Like it would eat you up and work your bones out of its teeth and maybe rape you even if you weren't particularly beautiful. People there know who you are and thought foully of you because they seem to have gotten on to the fact that you think you're different, hell, that you're superior to them. Every time I go back there I see what I've left behind and I feel scoured-out and vaguely afraid and thankful. It was going to eat my brains, my freaking soul, and hell, I wasn't as strong as my mother. I'm relieved, very, very relieved that I left. Which prods me into feeling guilty for about five seconds and then angry the next five. I could have done without hell like that. Why didn't anyone protect me?
Well. Like I would have let them anyway, I guess. I can take care of myself.
That's the whole point, I think. I have to take care of myself. Now that my mother's really, really quite dead (seven years!), I have to take care of myself. I have to fucking stop obssessing over what she had looked like, what she would have done, what she'd been able to accomplish before bang! disease, always cripple the strong ones with a rare incurable disease, that's how the universe works. Maybe I would even be stronger than her. But then my brother got all her looks and the luck and the brains and everything. Hell, I think he stopped drawing so I can actually have something to myself. That must have been a gracious backing-out on his part because he used to draw when we were little. And damn, being the middle child kind of sucks. Why are the big brothers always the cooler ones?!

I have to leave home and maybe get a passport to Australia, where i'll box with a few kangaroos until I think I can spar at the level of my brother. Or something. That would show Mother just what I think about her favoritism. I don't fucking need to be her favorite after all! Ahahaha!
This is sounding like a bad rendition of AC, isn't it...

Opening a vein

Sometimes, adults just don't know how to be discreet when they should be. It's kind of annoying. Never mind sad. Just annoying.

I should be writing stuff now for tomorrow. Can't. It's too sunny outside and I wanted to sleep under a tree but the ground was all muddy from yesterday's rain. Soaked right through my photocopied readings into my pants. So now I have a wet bum, a freaking squint, no sleep and something that feels like a hangover but is not because I haven't been drinking this week. At all. Not a drop.

I haven't touched our ps2 either. No wonder I'm feeling so deprived.

I just noticed that I post here mostly after I've dealt with CRS hell. So I suppose that makes me a loser that has to unload stuff like that somewhere quite external from me. Not that I'm about to dance around in a fuzzy pink tutu chanting 'Yes, it's over, hurrah,' but I'm writing about it here, in a public place. Not that I particularly think I'm making a fool of myself. I noticed some time in high school that people are mostly worried about how they themselves look that it's impossible to be an outright fool for them: they won't notice because they have their own awkwardness to deal with. So yeah, (me patting myself on the back) maybe I'm not being such a loser after all. And I'm not complaining over a glass of vodka, which at this point I'm sorely missing. I'm just complaining.

CRS actually got me all the units I needed, plus a PE which an alarming number of people warned me I was going to fail. Apparently, this Professor C did things on a pass or fail basis, you got a three or a five. But I was desperate to get a PE class, so there. Enlisted in that. It was the whole get your Form 5A printed out by Jojo or Jopher or Jancey, and the post-advising shit that has a line people kept ignoring, then the getting this thing assessed and validated and paying for it in a nicely secluded, am-I-in-Guadosalam-now? building that I had to go through for five of the lousiest hours I want back. What happened to youth, to sanity? Chased out the door by a word I can't even spell. Starts with a B.

And I'm enrolled. Two more semesters to go before I'm chased out of hearth and home and have to live in an evil scientist's basement. The prospects are actually looking quite good. I might even come out of all of this happy.

Finsihed Crisis Core. Zack Fair, dead at twenty one or twenty four, with a girlfriend who's a looker but who looks like she wouldn't have allowed him such liberties as the keys to the kingdom, probably just a peek of a globe, or a quick feel. Not that Zack seemed to have properly hit puberty yet. Can't believe I played as Zack.  You kind of get off the game feeling  a bit annoyed and  unnerved by how happy he can still be near the end. Guy's not human. I wish I had that unhuman sense of happiness. Wonder how long you have to cultivate something like that, or if it would even work for me. I get tired after a minute or two of smiling, and the npcs of my life often commented on how crabby or sad I looked all the time, even when I'm not. Maybe I should get face surgery, have them graft a smile on my face. Maybe I should simply buy a mask.

The Busy End of the School Year

School drags. School sucks. School... is boring. I can't believe I'd feel that way about school. I mean, it's my guarantee to a world of perfectly mundane sanity, but I'm beginning to question just what I'm doing here. I suppose I would prefer school to being cooped up in an asylum, or moping around home hoping that eating chocolate and staying in a couch all day playing videogames or watching anime would help make me fat. No such luck...or maybe some people would say I'm lucky I never get fat, but there are limits. I tell you, no one wants to be if-i-suck-in-my-breath-i-can-see-my-ribs thin. Else they're batshit.

School makes me feel lazy. Papers that have to be written. Story submissions that have to be revised. Even talking with people. And all these university political bitchings. Our country leaders making fools of themselves on national tv. Sad. I want to chuck everything out a window and hope they hit someone on the head. I want to kill someone. But I'm too lazy to do any of those now. I've always followed the path of least resistance. Easier that way. Only it's really boring. Will people I care about get hurt if I break away now? And there's this duty to my widower father. I really should be careful of his fragile emotional state.

I have a bone to pick with life in general. Why is it so boring all of a sudden? The boredom's driving out all other emotion from me.  Makes me afraid to think what will happen if nothing changes. At this rate, will I feel anything other than this boredom? It's kind of a dry, flaky feeling, like old blood. Like too hot afternoons. Hate being bored. Bored of being bored. There's this Aerith voice in my head tutting 'Aw, come on. There's a lot of things you can do! You can't do it sulking.' And my grandmother's voice too: 'If you have nothing to do, clean up the house.' Except I wouldn't want to clean up our house. The bathroom smells like wet newspaper, and there are roaches, and all the rooms are dusty and dirty and full of junk. One day I'm going to find Oscar the grouch somewhere there, probably dead from all the mutated dust bunnies.

I want a mother, sometimes. Then, someone could clean up.

It's hot outside.

I should probably just sleep.


Mnn... Edited my LiveJournal account (strange, I have an 'account,' though i'm not paying anything...haha...) and  I  saw  there were people who'd added me as a friend...and there's this whole thing here about being a friend of (name of friend) and being a 'mutual friend' of that person... Can friendship really be one-way? I wonder...

Anyway, thought I was probably being rude, so I made it so I'm a mutual friend of all those who'd made me a friend. Sorry for taking so long to acknowledge this friendship in the Net. Mnn... Yeah, some of you, even after reading your... what is it called... blog? plog? drog?...your journal entries, I still don't know. Who are you? Of course, those people whose names appear in their user info, or who drop hints on who they are, are already known to me. Nn, forget it. It's just my failure as a human being.

But Xheno_xeta is obviously that person. ('That picture...this aura...and he/she/it having problems with papers and not being able to sleep... Ha! This person is...!)

It's Kantarou, isn't it?

This slow, crude feeling of irritation

One thing about being conveniently absent at a group meeting is that they can conveniently pile the hardest work on you, which my groupmates promptly did me. This came in the form of a thorough interview with someone-anyone, as long as this someone-anyone was a _ clerk from _ department store. I could probably also conveniently lie or bribe or seduce my way through this one, but my loving groupmates had already alerted the management by sending a lovingly scary letter in straight Tagalog telling them could they be so kind as let us use their employees as guinea pigs for this thing we were doing at school? If they hadn't already told their employees to not talk to any strangers coming from UP who wasn't buyingh anything, then they're about to. I'd like to thank them for making this more challenging. Heh. I should probably cook for them. I'm really. good. at dicing. Really good.

Irritation is a really crude feeling, like you've touched something jagged or sticky which refuses to come off your hand. It's an ugly feeling and an impotent one, like anger, only you can use anger to fuel yourself through something. And I'm irritated. Damn me for being anti-social when people are always being required to talk and get along.

The Japanese have a sound exclusivey for irritation. Does that mean they thought much about it? But it's really an ugly feeling. How can you be productive when what you want is to drag someone's human head through a blackboard? They were lovebirds too. Two lovebirds, all chummy-chummy and with their secret girl's ways of whispering to each other like shit. Groupmate A required a translator: she would whisper something to Groupmate B, and Groupmate B would nod and say the gist to me: This is what we want you to do. Is GM A not allowed to talk to strangers? Am I being factored as a threat to their lovey-dovey oh hit me already over the head with a pongo stick moments? She's not even my 'type' as these things go. You don't have to protect her from me, B. (The fact that she's B is not coincidental, and actually stands for a much used insult.) I pity the dogs.

And they had the gall to say that they had already done most of the work. Why should they say that when the paper's not even written yet, and my experience with them always pointed to the fact that they're either late or don't show upfor meetings  and don't leave messages as to why they didn't. And B's outputs are always late. Can't help, pervy bastard that I am, to think it might have nothing to do with academic related stuff, unless fucking your classmate is academic related, and has everything to do with what's hanging out between B's legs. Huff. Breathe. Okay, I'm breathing.

So. The long and short of it is: I'm irritated.

Einstein was supposed to have said: "I don't think about the future. It happens soon enough." I figured, if I thought like that, I'd be a really happy guy. But I think about the future. A lot. And to compare it with something: dog turd steaming out in the street. A kid's gap-toothed smile. A liver grown in a bottle. Some people wish, thinking like this, that they were dead. But I don't. I really, really don't. I can't dismiss it as a phase I had before, but I'd been through something like that. I went to the cemetery every afternoon after school until my father, hearing from an aunt about what I did (why did she even know?), asked me to stop. I wonder what's wrong with grief and realize it's selfish. But I like being selfish too. I like to keep my friends with me, only with me, and it's only because I'm afraid of what will happen afterwards that I don't obsess over them. Same with my brother. I just like them so much and mostly this like translates to hate of the rest of the world. I have to watch that too because no one will for me. I have this feeling that if I went out of control my friends might even support me, which is what I would have done for them. But I have to act as a brake. One day, this brake is going to break (heh), but not right now. Not today.

Liking people is just really difficult, isn't it? You know they're not perfect, you know how shitty they can be, and how technically we're all hypocrites. And would probably wound up in hell. You don't want to touch them because they could break, you don't know what you can say that will stop them from breaking. Human bodies are mostly made up of carbon translated to some other form. In this sense, we rust. We rust even as we live. We're alive and we're getting crystallized in shit. You want to say it's all right to die, but I'd really appreciate it if you lived with me. Get trapped in shit with me. I wonder how selfish that is though?

I don't mean to bring up the whole strength thing again. It was the worst thing I could have brought up then, but maybe I was afraid that person would forget. I want to be optimistic, I guess, the way demons are optimistic. I want my bit of happiness. I had an argument with my mother once. I had brought out this article about lucky triangles that they sold for a couple of bucks, and I had cruelly told my mother about them. See, Mother? They sell these sorts of things. Why don't we buy one, make you well again. --I won't get well again. Ha. Sometimes It's all about what you think. --Yes. And that's why I won't get well again. What's up with that? I don't ask. Because the hell of course I knew. --You'll take care of your little brother, okay? Make sure he's happy. What about my happiness? What about my happiness?--You. (mad at me again) You don't deserve to be happy.

Things like that. I'm so fucked up but I'm a writer so it's all right. I'm not thrown in a padded cell, even if I say, I think I might have murdured someone.

Why do humans insist on being tragic ? They could just blow the shit straight to hell and have fun, but there's all these rules forbidding them and there's no way around them and it's a wall you can't destroy yourself. I couldn't ask my mother to freaking ignore the pain of her rusting body and pretend she was all right for me, but I wanted her to pretend she was all right for herself. There's all these stories about people being happy and I wonder why they're not part of it and it's just sad. I hate being sad. I hate being sad because it's the most subtle, most beautiful emotion there is, and maybe I'm being sad for the sake of being sad. I don't bring an umbrella when it rains and it's not only because of the cost. Because it has always felt nice to be cold and not have anyone care.

That's how I justify how I'm definitely not emo. Because I'm sort of perverted and sort of fucked up and I hate emos. They refuse to see how intrinsically erotic sadness is, and they whine about girls and not living the life they wanted or how they're having a crisis born of culture, religion, and reading a Twilight book everyone says is bad. Well, I say fuck stop reading Twilight and thinking vampires are cool because they're sad they can't die. Because dying isn't cool at all if there wasn't a struggle before it. I expect people, everyone, to suck in air and get up when they take a gut wound. I expect people to refuse to die unless they're useless NPCs, in which case I say: feel free to do so. It's not that life is precious enough to warrant a capital letter, though some people do capitalize it. But it's about winning. It's about making a damn good performance and not caring that no one will understand, no one can understand because there are rarely any mind readers around. There's no meaning to life and why why why do humans just refuse to accept that? We're not in seconday school or anything. Well, I'm in tertiary school. But the point is that this life is yours, however bad or unsightly it is. I won't die just because someone told me to keel over, but maybe I can kill the preson who said it. The people who don't get up after the gut shot, well, that's it then. How unsightly, dying like that. At least turn yourself over or something. People should take it for granted that they're alive. They shouldn't think about it at all, or the state of not being alive. Dammit, we'll all die several times and why care about it overly much, or the fact that one can't stop oneself from caring about it overly much? Humans should just have fun. (For fun, refer to Akabane-san.)

Maybe I should go back to that smiley I'm a little retarded and kind and so very shy mask, but I'm irritated and I have a fever and I have these school stuff to write for tomorrow. Kindness can only go a long way before it suffocates instead of helps. My mother could have said be happy with your brother, and that would have destroyed me and made it all the more impossible. But since she told me I couldn't be happy, well, I just have to prove her wrong, right? That's what I tell myself. Sometimes I deceive myself into thinknig that's what she wanted all along, but of course she didn't love me that much.

I probably should organize my thought before I write. Maybe next time. If I care.