Odamari!

27 days.

27 days is all that is left until my inevitable encounter with fate. Will I graduate or not? Will I get to finish my Special Problem in time? No idea. Absolutely no idea.

September 22, after all, is the day my diligence will be measured and my dedication will be judged. On that day, everything will be said about me. It is the deadliest of deadlines for everything Computer Science stood for in my life.

But still, admist the panic that is brewing in my heart, I feel that everything will be all right. That if things go extremely awful, I still have something to back it up. But the least I could do is not to quit. I will never quit.

At least, I must not quit.

Even if it means exchanging my life, my friends, my sanity, for that fucking diploma.

Something happened along the way.

I really don’t know what it was, but I was sure there was some sort of misguided feelings that led me to do what I did. It was a mixture of annoyance, irritation, and jealousy that eventually triggered the switch that made me move away from you. At that time, when things between us (if there was something, a friendship at least?) are starting to fall apart due to my lack of participation, I felt it was the right thing to do.

Everything came crashing all of a sudden. That something between you and me disappeared. Again, it was my fault. I could have saved it, but I didn’t. You didn’t know me well enough to understand that it was my predictable impulse that pushed you away. That’s right. I pushed you away, whether you acknowledge it or not.

Then I threw away everything we had.

Those days with endless (and quite meaningless) conversations about everything and nothing at all; Those moments we laughed at things I can’t really remember; Those times that you saved me from my depression; Everything, I pushed away. Everything is now just a memory in the past, in which we can’t go back to.

We never did talk about it. I really didn’t think we should’ve. I wasn’t surprised on how quickly you have moved on. Because I did. I moved on immediately after I realized there is no going back.

So why do I write here, now, to you, about you and about what’s left of us? Maybe its the part of me that is guilty for throwing away a good friendship over little meaningless things. Maybe its the part of me that cherishes the good times and misses it so much that it hurts my head.

And maybe because I think I once liked you. I tried my best not to, but I guess I wasn’t very honest to myself. So I self destructed. I was trying to see if somehow, a chance of you liking me back would be possible, but everything pointed to the contrary. So I sulked even more. To the point that I found some things about you that irritated me.

It wasn’t fair, to you, and for that I sincerely apologize. For everything that had happened. For the inconvenience it brought you. For losing a very good friendship in the end. You had no fault in all of this. It was just me who is awful in keeping people close.

I don’t expect you to forgive me (or to talk to me again, or to even read this entry).

All this commotion, only because something happened along the way.

I found myself crying to sleep last night.

It was one of those nights that I couldn’t sleep. A lot things ran through my head that time, which prevented me from relaxing. I had a lengthy conversation with my friend from highschool, in which she told me the things she is going through since her boyfriend is currently far away. She was in pain, so I was there to comfort her. She just needs to believe in their love, I said to her. But then a flash of loneliness struck my heart.

I was alone that night. I ate dinner with my friends, you know, the usual, but then I head home to my apartment and tried to get some much deserved rest. It was ironic, since it was a Sunday, so I should be resting, but luck is not on my side. The moment I woke up, I was messaged by my boss in one of my projects, and told me to go to the office. This wasn’t necessarily bad, since it somehow relieved me that my boss still acknowledges me as his subordinate, no matter how crappy my module was made. One thing lead to another, and so comes the night where I was craving for a good power nap. But I didn’t get to do it.

I went online immediately as I got home, and saw that my classmate was on. I wanted to talk to her since our last meeting on Friday. I wanted to apologize to her, because somehow I felt I wronged her in more ways than usual. I must have said a lot of things during our programming sessions, which made her apparently annoyed by my presence the past few days prior. We had a quick conversation, but quite enlightening, because she accepted my apology and made me realize my mistakes.

All through the night, I was self litigating myself, and my actions during the course of my life, which made me feel sorrowful. I tried escaping the thoughts by finishing Scrubs Season 6. I had a few laughs, and a few tears, which is fairly common for a very good series (I would recommend you watching it).

But then it came back to me. While having that lengthy conversation with my highschool friend, I found myself feeling very very lonely. Then before I knew it, I was pouring all my sadness on her. She didn’t mind. She was a very good listener after all. She was very good in fact, that it made my friends who I usually confide into, pretty bad listeners. I lamented the fact that even though God was offering Himself, I was not seeking Him, for I am seeking something else. I sought comfort through her, and gladly gave me what I needed that night — a friend who can just listen to everything, a friend who won’t judge my outbursts, a friend who won’t tell me everything is okay even though its really not (I really hate that, by the way), a friend who won’t cut me off in the middle and tell me to sleep on it.

She gave me one sentence of comfort: “I hope you find what you are looking for.” That is enough comfort that should last me for months.

I reflected a lot more, then I cried. I shed tears equal to months worth of depression and stress. Because all this time, I was escaping my sadness. Sometimes, a good cry can release the stress, the depression, the anguish and the pain.

The morning that followed, I was streaming memorable scenes from Scrubs in Youtube, and found a quote said by the protagonist J.D. during his narration:

“I don’t think people are meant to be by themselves. That is why if you have actually found someone you care about, it is important to let go of the little things. Even if you can’t let go all the way. Because nothing sucks more than feeling all alone, no matter how many people are around.”

Exactly my sentiment to the emotional outburst the night prior. Exactly why I cried myself to sleep. Because no matter how many people are around me — friends, family, acquaintances — once you still feel alone, something is not right. Something is missing. And the that feeling really sucks.

So, am I going to be lonely for the rest of my life?

No idea.

But for now, I’m all alone.

This morning, I awoke in an awkward manner, which put me in a bad mood so early in the morning. I kept hearing odd noises during my REM sleep moments, that it confirmed absolutely the worst thing that I would be hearing in any morning previously.

The noise was coming from a very loud radio from my next door neighbor. It wasn’t really a noise, because somehow I can understand words from it. It was the disc jockey talking, in a tone personally implying that he should retire soon from old age. Then he plays the music. It put me in such an annoyance state because he played songs from HIS generation. Not that I’m complaining about 50s or 60s or even 70s pop music, but those songs he played, made me want to go back in time and shoot the damned artist. It was so, OLD, and UNRETRO (if such a word existed), that even though I love pop rock music from the 60s (The Beatles, Bob Dylan comes to mind), I was so disgusted by this genre of music. I personally think these songs are even older than my parent’s generation. Perhaps it was played in a generation before them? No one knows, really.

Then, as I fight the feeling of irritation through the morning, I felt resigned to my fate — my neighbors, no matter how hot, err, physically attractive some of them are, listens to really really crappy radio station, that plays really really crappy music.

Towards the end of the morning, I fought back by playing my Spitz collection loudly. Serves them right. They might not know Spitz, nor appreciate their music, but I love them.

And I have loud speakers. Ah, the revenge is sweeter.

Weird, isn’t it?

Friday should be the day I anticipate the most. It is the start of a glorious weekend filled with fun, games, movies, gigs and a bottle or two of your favorite booze. Friday should be the epitome of “gimik nights” or simply put, the nights where you get drunk too much for you to remember anything in the morning. Such fun times is usually ignited by the word Friday.

But such fate is not for me. Ever since the start of this semester, Friday is literally filled with stress. From the early 8AM class, to the annoying 1-4PM Laboratory class, then to put a cherry on top of a really crappy day, a boring 4-5:30PM class. No joking. It is that annoying. I loathe Fridays because of this, even though she does not deserve to be loathed. It was my fault after all. Everything is. And everything that is happening to me, is all my fucking fault.

I can only give a helpless sigh. Because today is no different from any Friday since the start of the semester: I have to work late nights because of my summer commitments. Talk about regretting it. But it is my responsibility, and I have to take it like a man. Or in my case, take it like the little ranter cry baby like I am.

Which leaves me now, all alone, in the office, finishing my project for my initial presentation tomorrow at 11am. I may not sleep tonight. I may not even blink an eye. Exaggeration aside, I should be finishing this, no matter how long it will take, even if I’m pressed back against the wall. I’m helpless and alone, but I can always raise my head up and take the responsibility.

I am not afraid of track records, or signs of approval, or anything anymore. I learned my lesson, hopefully, that I am not as skillfull as I think I am. I’m still a student after all.

So before I bore you all with my rants about my desposition, I leave you all with a thought, that sometimes it takes sacrifice to recover what you’ve lost. Meaning, you still have to lose something, to gain things that you are currently losing. Ironic, but true. So my sacrifice is my Friday night.

And my tears. And sweat. And blood.

All for petty sums of cash.