The Hunger Games: Movie Review

I know, I know, this is long overdue but please understand that I've been living a hectic life as a student and my mind has been occupied by this dead white man named J.D. Salinger for days now. But I finally have managed to see The Hunger Games, the much-anticipated adaptation of the widely popular novel series of Suzanne Collins, directed by Gary Ross.

The casting director was Debra Zane and we must give her the credit for doing her job all right. Let’s begin the analysis with the supporting characters. Woody Harrelson gave justice to the role of Haymitch Abernathy although he didn't look drunk in most of his appearance in the movie unlike in the book, but that was something I understand because his participation in Katniss’ survival was more essential in the story. Lenny Kravitz was my only complaint about the characters because he was not what I imagined as Cinna, for he’s too much of a guy to be Cinna. It’s hard to imagine that a very manly guy could be a stylist—forget about his being a stylist; he didn't even look like a Capitol citizen. His gold eye liner didn’t make quite an impression at all. Elizabeth Banks was ideal for the role of Effie Trinket. From looks to manners, she was Effie Trinket. Especially in the way she talks, which was very odd and comic, which was very Effie. Donald Sutherland was good as President Snow, with a silent fatality that made the viewers fidget. Stanley Tucci did a great job as Caesar Flickerman, with his smiles and grimaces and easy banters that made the show light and fun, and made us forget that this was about a game of life and death. Wes Bently’s portrayal of Seneca Crane was a bit of a stretch because Seneca wasn't really mentioned in the book—I’m talking about the first book alone—but his rather large appearance in the film was a nice one because it made the viewers see how the game makers work and especially, how deathly President Snow is. Willow Shields and Paula Malcomson were very suited as sister and mother of Katniss. I liked how they look much alike, with their blonde hair and round blue eyes, they made Katniss looked like an adopted child as the book described. Amandla Stenberg was also great as Rue as well as Dayo Okeniyi as Thresh and Alexander Ludwig as Cato.

Liam Hemsworth and Josh Hutcherson played the characters of Gale and Peeta. I’m aware that there’s a lot of you who didn't prefer Josh Hutcherson as Peeta, but we have to give it to him because he played Peeta’s character so damn well, with the apparent fear on his face when his name was picked in the reaping, the innocent smile he made for the Capitol citizens, the funny yet heartfelt interview he had with Caesar Flickerman, and the love and care he showed towards Katniss, he was, without a ghost of a doubt, Peeta Mellark. (I fell half in love with him at the end of the film if you want to know the truth.) That was the reason even though Hemsworth was fantastic as Gale, I liked Hutcherson, and I loved Peeta—so much. But let’s not forget that this is Jennifer Lawrence’s movie. I honestly didn't like her as Katniss the first time I laid my eyes on her, with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and alluring body, it was hard to picture a very hot chick—she “originally” looked so much of a lady, I tell you—as famished and savage. But when I saw her all made over as Katniss, I truly was in shock. I was thinking, “Is that…Jennifer Lawrence?? Oh my, that’s not Jennifer Lawrence, that’s KATNISS EVERDEEN!!!” She was exactly the girl that I imagined when I was still reading the series, with the sad and tough look on her face, the way she moves with dexterity, the way she fights with obvious experience, and the way she talks with a suppressed angst in her voice that makes you step back. Her portrayal of Katniss was nothing short of perfection. Jennifer Lawrence was Katniss Everdeen. She brought it on with a bang.

Enough said about the characters, let’s now take a good look to the development of the plot. The cliché about the book being better rings true in this case. The movie was good but the book was highly exceptional. Some say you should see the movie first before you read the book so you won’t be disappointed. But I say you should read the books first before you see the movie so you’ll have compassion to the progression of the story in its entirety, for the movie didn't turn out as a living, breathing brainchild of its own. I actually prepared myself that some parts of the book won’t be included in the film and the relationship development among the characters will be somewhat rushed because we must consider the fact that reading a whole novel takes more than two and a half hours. Thus, those weren't the things that made my eyelids drooped. It was more about the inaction of the game. Come on, it’s The Hunger Games, the tributes were supposed to be killing each other and fighting for their dear lives but they seemed to be in no real danger. I was expecting to see lots of suspense and gore but I didn't meet that expectation. To tell you the truth, the scenes that I pictured in my head when I was still reading the book were more terrifying than the scenes in the film. And the cave scene between Katniss and Peeta--that was so poignant in the novel--was seemed too rushed. But on the bright side, I must commend Gary Ross for capturing the most important details of the plot.

The set of the movie was awesome in any way. The arena was the same as I imagined it, and you can really see the poverty and despair of District 12 in contrast to the richness and extravagance of the Capitol. The costumes and makeup were also amazing, especially the bizarre fashion of the Capitol.

So for all the craze that The Hunger Games has created. I leave you with this: It is The Hunger Games damn it! Pull that one-hundred-sixty bucks out and watch the film!—although I still think that you should read the books first before you see the movie. If it happens that you don’t used to read novels, then reading The Hunger Games Trilogy would be a very good start. Don’t you worry; the books are so superb you could devour them in less than a day. I kid you not.

The Catcher in the Rye: An Analysis

In the beginning of the novel, the protagonist Holden Caulfield immediately rejects the David Copperfield kind of story-telling in which the narrative consists of a moral message and he even calls it a crap. But in the course of the book, Holden never ceases to tell the readers life lessons although he doesn’t say it in a way that the majority calls “nice.” There are a lot of “Uh-huh” moments in the plot. His criticisms are voluble and full of substance and it catapulted him as an intelligent individual. Holden Caulfield is indeed an epitome of common knowledge that is unfortunately not so common. Clearly, he is misunderstood by society for he is beyond their comprehension.

Throughout the novel, Holden just tells the readers about certain events that happened in less than a week, after he has been kicked out of school for the fourth time after flunking all of his subjects except English. But that’s enough for the readers to grasp the personality and what train of thought runs inside his head. It’s highly likely because his recent history is the most vital part of his life so far.

Holden’s style of narration is bold and sarcastic and it turned out very casual, which is unusual in any kind of novel, especially classical novels. But Holden is such a classic, in a way that he never gets old. The sixteen-year-olds of the 21^st century can still relate to the sixteen-year-old boy of the 20^th century. Holden’s youth never gets out of context but his youth is not the immature kind of youth but rather of a fresh mind that sees things more clearly, compare to those rotten minds that call themselves mature. If someone rejects something phony, if someone does what he prefers to do instead of pleasing others, and if someone lives his life guided by his own principles and not by other people’s expectations, isn’t it called maturity? Granted, Holden comments on the negative side of people in most part of the novel, it may seem too cynical, but who could blame him if these are the things he sees and feels strong about? Moreover, Holden’s ideas couldn’t be more correct for it mirrors the world in which he, you and I belong. For that reason, Holden abhors the society for the simple reason that it is abhorrent.

In Chapter 3, Holden claims that he is quite illiterate but he reads a lot. The word “illiterate” here is in the academic sense of the word alone. Then, it doesn’t mean that he’s dumb. And the fact that he “reads a lot” and he’s “a little ace composition writer” as Mr. Antollini avows in Chapter 24 are great marks of Holden’s intelligence. Especially, the penchant for reading and writing is something that isn’t easy to instill in people because it is more of an inborn ability. As the adage goes, “Writers are born, not made.”

In addition, a psychological study shows that children who lie so swiftly are smart kids because they possess this certain level of creativity to invent stories. Hence, Holden’s admission of his being a “terrific liar” is yet another mark of his brilliance. Though he is not happy about it because he considers it as awful, it still is an indication of his own phoniness. The difference that he has from others though, is the fact that he admits it.

Also in Chapter 3, Salinger introduces two other Pencey students. First is Ackley who is overtly nauseating in looks and manners. Second is Stradlater who, in contrast, is attractive but according to Holden, is secretly piggish. Generally, these two characters represent the society. Ackley stands for the people who are ostensibly contemptible, while Stradlater stands for the people who look respectable on the outside but still as contemptible as the others on the inside. Specifically, these are the types of students Holden interacts in school. That’s the reason he transfers from one boarding school to another. Holden is highly exceptional he can hardly connect himself to others, for he is more refined than the gross Ackley, and more authentic than the artificial Stradlater.

Holden is different because he doesn’t think and act—or talk—like an ordinary person. His notions are deviant from the standard norm. But his difference doesn’t make him a psychiatric patient, even though the people around him think that he needs psychiatric care. Every time Holden says “it’s depressing,” it’s his own way of saying “it’s annoying.” Every time he says “that killed me,” it doesn’t mean that that thing really killed him. And every time he says he wants to jump out the window, it doesn’t mean that he really wants to jump out the window. We don’t have to take the literal sense of the word. It’s pretty much the same thing that we say “I’m dying” when we’re anticipating for something, and “I died” when something we anticipated for so long finally happened.

In Chapter 5, Holden tells the story about his late brother Allie, when he starts to write about Allie’s baseball mitt as his topic for the composition that Stradlater asked him for. Holden said that at the night of Allie’s death, he broke all the windows in their garage using his fist. He said he even tried to break all the windows on their station wagon, but his hand was already broken at that time, and he couldn’t do it. And because of that event his parents were going to have him psychoanalyzed. He may had done a terrible thing but the good thing about him is he knows it and he admits it. Besides, who are we to judge somebody’s psyche during a time that the person experiences such emotional landscape? Maybe some of us have experienced losing a love one, but we cannot easily just say that we feel the other person’s feelings because we don’t. We are different individuals with different coping mechanisms. And as Holden puts it, “You didn’t know Allie.”

In Chapter 16, Holden shows detestation to social pretension as he expresses distaste to both film and theater because they validate others’ idea of their social status. Just like in Chapter 15 when he talks about his former roommate Dick Slagle who owns cheap suitcases. According to Holden, Slagle used to keep his bags under the bed instead of on the rack, so nobody would see them standing next to his. Holden didn’t like the situation, so what he did, he put his bags under his bed too instead of on the rack so Slagle wouldn't get an inferiority complex about it. But to Holden’s surprise, Slagle took them out and put them back on the rack. The reason he did it was because he wanted people to think that Holden’s suitcases were his. Therefore, he didn’t particularly dislike Dick Slagle because he got inexpensive suitcases, what annoyed him was his being pretentious.

In Chapter 13, when Holden stayed in a hotel room, the elevator guy named Maurice asked him if he wants to spend the night with a whore for five dollars a throw and fifteen dollars till noon. Holden accepted the offer. When the whore named Sunny went to his room to give him “the time,” he suddenly refused because he got nervous and her sight depressed him, but he still gave her five bucks anyway. But in Chapter 14, when morning came, Sunny went back to his room together with Maurice because they want to get the ten dollars that Holden owes them according to them. Holden refused to give them the ten bucks but Maurice and Sunny used harsh method just so they could get the money. Maurice punched his stomach, and then Sunny took the ten bucks from his wallet. In Chapter 15, when Holden was on a train, he met two nuns and he willingly gave them ten bucks for their collection even though the nuns didn’t ask him to. The nuns were very grateful about his donation but they were reluctant to accept it because ten dollars was already a huge amount during that time but Holden insisted, in fact, he even felt a bit sorry because he wanted to give them more.

It’s amusing to think that Holden put himself in danger for the money in the first scenario while he willingly gave his money on the second. These events only prove that Holden is not materialistic. He’s not looking in the amount but rather in the hands in which his money would go.

Above anything else, although Holden exemplifies an unnatural behavior in most part of the narrative, the reader can still see the typical boy in him. Precisely in Chapter 17 when he expresses his enchantment to Sally’s beauty and telling her he loves her even though he’s not that into her. Also, in his encounter with the three women in Lavender Room in Chapter 10 when he danced with the Blondie lady that happens to be a great dancer. That’s why although she wasn’t listening to any words Holden was saying, and Holden thought it was really moronic; she still knocked the wind out of him. One might argue that these events illustrate contradictory feelings, but isn’t this attitude natural to boys in general?

Chapters 21 and 22 narrate about Holden’s meeting with his younger sister Phoebe when he sneaked into their house. Here, we can see Holden’s love and respect for children as he treats his younger sister. He demonstrates appreciation to Phoebe’s—and even Allie’s—verve  without any hint of sarcasm. Holden admires Phoebe and Allie’s youth and innocence and he wants to preserve his own. This could be symbolized by his wearing of his red hunting hat. The color of the hat, red, which is the color of Phoebe and Allie’s hair, is a symbol of childhood, while Holden’s prematurely graying hair is a symbol of his inevitable entrance to adulthood. Holden tries to maintain his own youth by putting on his red hunting hat. This could also be symbolized by his statement about the display in The History of National Museum in Chapter 16. Holden states, “Certain things they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.” These symbols explain Holden’s dream of becoming the catcher in the rye. He was imagining all these little kids playing in this vast field of rye, and he has to catch them when they begin to go over the cliff. One can interpret this as Holden’s desire to save the children from the difficulties and phoniness of adulthood.

In Chapter 24, Holden decides to stay in the house of his former English teacher Mr. Antollini. Mr. Antollini asked him if he passed English or not. Holden said he passed English all right but he flunked this course called Oral Expression. Holden said it’s the kind of course where each student has to make a spontaneous speech, and if a student digresses to his topic, you’re supposed to shout “Digression!” at that student. Holden said that the trouble with him is he likes it and finds it more interesting when somebody digresses. He said he wants somebody to stick to the point but not too much. Holden says, “But what I mean is, lots of time you don’t know what interests you most till you start talking about something that doesn’t interest you most…you can’t hardly ever simplify and unify something just because somebody wants you to.” This emphasizes Holden’s deviant behavior which is apparent from the very beginning of the story.

In the final chapter, it turns out that Holden still went home after all and will go back to school but there’s no certainty whether he’ll change his views about the world or not. As he puts it, “I mean how do you know what you’re going to do till you do it? The answer is, you don’t. I think I am, but how do I know?” Holden’s words make a whole lot of sense indeed.

I am not your handkerchief

I am not your handkerchief because I can barely touch your hands.

I am not your handkerchief because I can't wipe your tears away.

I am not your handkerchief because I can't be with you every day.

I am not your handkerchief because you can't use me at your own convenience.

I am not your handkerchief because you can't afford to lose me.

I am not your handkerchief because I am not cheap.

I am not your handkerchief because I am not readily available.

I am not your handkerchief because I am irreplaceable.

I am not your handkerchief because I am more than just a piece of cloth that you can easily take a hold.

I am not your handkerchief because I am not yours—you don't own me.

What a moronic thing to do

No, I wasn’t in Starbucks and that’s not a Starbucks coffee. The photos were taken inside my school, and that cup is a brand that is way cheaper compared to Starbucks. I purposefully posed in that manner and made a douche out of myself just for this blog entry, but I will never be one of them—ever. Those social climbers who are brandishing their “sophistication” in social networks like Facebook. Sure, it’s okay if you got two, three, or maybe four photos inside Starbucks, but if you got a whole damn album and you’re not just sitting and smiling but MODELING the frigging coffee for humanity’s sake!—then that makes you a stinking MORON. What are you, Starbucks endorser? Did the company pay you to do such a thing? If they did, they just flushed their money down the toilet because I will never buy it.

But if the coffee looks cuter than your face… then make the cup your account’s profile picture by all means. You agree with me? My middle finger is for you.

That's what Lizzy said

Good day everyone! This is the VERY FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF MY BELOVED BLOG!!! <*applause, applause*> so allow me to be a little self-centered now. (This is my blog anyway so what is it to you? Nya-ha-ha.) Maybe it’s a little late for me to “formally” introduce myself to you my faithful followers—to two, or maybe three of you—because I’ve been in the blogging scene for exactly a year now so if I had planned on introducing myself, I should’ve done it in the very first day of my life as a blogger, I know. The trouble is I didn’t. Before, I planned that this blog is going to be my random opinions about random issues but it’ll not be a blog about me. Sure, sometimes I write something that requires a great number of brain cells when I feel the inkling to sound intelligent, but the thing is, my views about the world is not exactly about the world than it’s about me. I realized that our perception about the happenings around us, our opinions, reactions and thoughts talks about us rather than the things that surround us.

Then that’s when I fully understand that my blog is indeed about me. Its ELIZABETHMANANSALA.BLOGSPOT.COM of course it’s about ME! Oh well, enough of the drama. I came up to this list of things that you maybe want to know about me. I hope this will interest you. n_n

1. I’m a coffee addict.

Coffee, the creamy aromatic liquid that serves as my water. I have it eight cups a day. I start guzzling the minute I wake up and continue sipping till late at night. My brain, no, my whole system is not able to function properly whenever I’m deprived of the stuff. Coffee is my comfort food/drink, it really does comfort me. Without it, that’s when I get the shakes; that’s the time I get anxious.

2. I’m religious when it comes to food.

                          

It’s not actually only me who’s religious when it comes to food. My friends and I are religious when it comes to food. (We are religious. Sounds nice. ;)) We are constantly eating Teriyaki and Ham Bacon and Pasta and Teriyaki and Ham Bacon and Pasta and Teriyaki and Ham Bacon and Pasta alternately—at least it’s “alternately”—for almost two years now, and I doubt if we’ll soon get tired of it.

3. I’m very honest to my commendations.

When I say you’re gorgeous, it only means that you really are gorgeous. I’m not the type na kapag sinabihan mo ng “Uy Lizzy, ang ganda mo,” sasagot ng “Hindi naman, mas maganda ka.” No, that’s no Lizzy. I don’t go flattering/fooling people around. When I say it, I mean it.

4.  I don’t wear shirts that fit me right.

My clothes are fitted, oversized, or bitin. Bitin. That kills me. I have this friend of mine who always says that I like to wear “hanging” shirts. The funny thing is, there’s no such thing as a “hanging” shirt. I wear fine shirts, but once I put it on, they always look like hanging and that’s why they look bitin. You know, if you’re thin and you got huge knockers and all, you know?

5. I’m not maarte.

I repeat it. I am NOT maarte. Some people are just BAROK that’s why they think I’m maarte. That’s how barok of de caliber they are. (-_^)

6. I’m a bitch.

I used to be a very, very good girl when I was younger—BELIEVE IT OR BELIEVE IT. (O_O) I was the type who’ll just silently whine on the side when you tease. But throughout the years of my existence, I learned that being goody-two-shoes is not always good. Well, if you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you, too. ‘Yung tipong “If you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” But, if you slap my face… I’LL SLAP YOUR EFFING FACE, TOO. (O_O)

7. I have a mathematical disability.

I loathe numbers with a passion. Would you believe that until now I still don’t memorize the multiplication table? Tell you what. I utterly, honestly, soulfully can’t see the importance of numbers in the society. Sure, we need numerical computation for buying and selling stuff, but what about those algebraic equations nonsense and sine cosine blah bah? We don’t need those, and besides it is the 21st century, we already have this marvelous invention called calculator to do the filthy math, ANO VERR?! (See? I really am disabled.)

The very good thing that happened when I had my majorship was being free from the shadows of Mathematics that had enslaved me for years. That’s the awesomest thing about being an English major—numbers free. ;)

8. I’m a biblioholic.

          

I’m quite an unscholarly thinker but I read a lot. I’m a “little” obsessed when it comes to reading whenever I encounter a very good line, I have to stop reading, chew the words for a while, and  then after two minutes, I’ll highlight the part and then I’ll type the line in my phone so I can conveniently browse into it whenever I want. I seriously have to go into a sudden halt whenever I encounter an incredible line because I seriously get so affected by it, it feels like my lungs have failed and my brain has been cooked up and my circulation is evaporating like crazy I have to calm myself. And I know that a book is a good read if I feel gloomy after I finished reading it. I feel kind of blue every time I’m through reading an incredible book because I actually don’t want it to end. So I will do a second or third reading of it, and then after that I will browse the highlighted parts of the book and long after the book is not in my hands I will still keep on thinking about it; reminiscing every scene in my head.

I’m also very possessive when it comes to books. I don’t like borrowing books because I want the books that I read to be entirely mine. I want my name and thoughts to be there (Yeah, I talk to my books. That’s one of the reasons I don’t let people borrow my books because I don’t like them to see all the insane stuff that I put on it.) I also don’t want people to borrow my books because I don’t want them to be damaged. I believe, no, I know that no matter how careful a person is when it comes to books, the latter will still damage it in a way so I don’t let people borrow my books because I can be a very, very, madchick. I go ballistic.

Lastly, I want all the books that I read to be in my sight, beautifying the ambience of the room.

9. I’m lazy.

I’m the sort who least participate in group activities and crams to death from late at night till early in the morning, doing her half done paper that must be passed on the same freaking day. I know that being too much relaxed will do me no good and I’m mutilating myself in the process, that’s why I am trying my best to change believe me.

But on the bright side, I’m also a diligent student in my own little way (naks!) Like I said, I read and write a lot. I read and write a lot because my motivation in doing it comes from within. I would still continue reading and writing whether my course requires me to do it or not.

I also prepare myself every time there’s a coming examination. Believe me, I study. I like preparing for examinations because that’s the only time that I fully understand the lessons, and I kid you not if I tell na sa exams lang ako humuhugot ng grades.

10. I talk to myself.

I’m unveiling my mask. I admit it. I’m a skinny weird-o bordering nuts. Well, it’s not that I always talk to myself every millisecond in public or anything close to that, but I do it every day anyway when I’m alone (I repeat it. When I’m alone, okay? So I need no medical attention.)  Because obviously, when I’m with my friends I talk to my friends, but when I’m at home with no one I like to talk to, I just imagine myself talking to somebody I like, like a friend of mine or someone. It’s weird because I’m no big-mouth of a woman but I always feel this inclination to talk when I have no one to talk to. The creepy part is, I find the conversation more fun when I’m talking to nobody. Like right now, I am talking to you, sure I do, but the truth of the matter is, I am talking to no one in particular. I’m crazy, now you know.

Photographer: Joyce Manigbas

Kakalasan

Mabigat ang aking hakbang palabas ng aming eskwelahan. Bagsak ang aking mukha at katawan at wala na ring kislap ang dati-rati’y maningning kong mga mata. Maaari sana akong mag-dyip na lang pauwi gaya ng akin ng nakaugalian, pero pinili ko pa ring mag-LRT dahil nagbabakasakali ako na makita ko siya. Gusto ko siyang makasabay pauwi dahil gusto kong magpaliwanag at humingi ng tawad sa kasamaan ng aking ugali. Alam ko naman na walang lugar para sa’king pagtatanim ng sama ng loob. Ngunit alam ko rin na ang kawalan ko mismo ng lugar ang ikinasasama ko ng loob.

Halos mag-iisang oras din akong naghintay sa istasyon ng tren pero di ko siya nakita. Nawalan na ako ng pag-asa na makita pa siya kaya napagdesisyunan ko na pumasok na sa loob ng tren. Kasabay ng pag-usad ng LRT ang pagbugso ng mga ala-ala sa aking isipan. Naalala ko ang mga panahon na malaya ko siyang nakakasama. Walang komplikasyon, walang hassle, at higit sa lahat—walang magagalit. Ang mga panahon na hindi pa kami biktima ng kasalukuyang sitwasyon. Ang mga panahon at pagkakataon na sinayang ko. Ang mga matatamis na alaala na minsa’y nagpasaya sa akin at ngayon ay dapat ko ng kalimutan.

Umuwi ako sa aming bahay na hapong-hapo. Dumiretso ako sa’king kwarto at humiga sa kama. Nagpahinga muna ako ng ilang minuto bago ako nagbihis ng damit pambahay. Masyado akong pagod kaya wala na akong ganang kumain ng hapunan. Wala ng buhay na nakahilata ang aking katawan ngunit buhay na buhay at patuloy pa rin sa pagtakbo ang aking isipan. Marami kasi akong tanong na hanggang ngayo’y di ko mahanapan ng sagot.

“Pangit ba ‘ko?”

‘Yan ang tanong ko. Mula sa pagkakahiga ay tumayo ako upang pagmasdan ang aking sarili sa malaking salamin sa may aparador. Doon, napagmasdan ko ang aking imahe. Ang bilugan kong mata, ang matambok kong pisngi, ang manipis at unat kong buhok, ang morena kong kutis, at ang payat kong katawan. Kung tutuusin ay hindi naman ako pangit. Sa katunayan ay kuntento na ako sa aking nakikita sa harap ng salamin. May ilan rin namang kalalakihan ang nagkakagusto sa’kin, ang problema nga lang ay wala kong gusto sa kanila. Isa lang kasi ang gusto ko—siya lang. Tapos ‘yung nag-iisang “siya” may karelasyon pang iba. Ang tamang tanong siguro ay “Ano ba’ng ayaw niya sa’kin?” o “Bakit hindi ako?” Pero hindi rin, ang totoo’y alam ko na ang sagot sa mga tanong na iyan. E ‘yung “Kailan ba sila maghihiwalay?” Ayan di ko pa alam, pero ayaw ko na rin ‘yang alamin. Sabi niya hindi raw madaling manakit ng damdamin ng iba kaya di raw ganoon kadaling makipaghiwalay. Hindi ba niya alam na sa ginagawa niyang pag-iingat sa damdamin ng iba ay paulit-ulit na niyang sinasaktan ang damdamin ko?—Iyan ang tunay na tanong.

Pagkaraa’y pumasok ako ng banyo upang maghilamos at magsipilyo. Damang-dama ko ang lamig ng tubig sa aking mukha. Ang sarap sa pakiramdam na mawala ang pawis at alikabok at kung ano pang dumi na nakuha ko sa buong mag-hapon. Pagkatapos ay muli akong humiga sa kama at nagtalukbong.


“Kailangan ko ng magpahinga, may pasok pa ‘ko bukas,” bulong ko sa’king sarili.


Ipinikit ko ng marahan ang aking mabigat na ring mga mata at niyakap ang unan sa aking tabi. Dapat na ‘kong magpahinga upang magkaroon ako ng lakas na harapin ang araw ng bukas. Bukas magre-report ako sa klase, bukas may hang-out kami ng mga kaibigan ko, bukas may lecture forum ang department. Hindi pa katapusan ng mundo—may bukas pa. Bukas, ‘pag nagkasalubong kami sa daan ay babatiin ko siya at ngingitian, pero hindi ko na siya hahanapin o babanggitin pa.

Batid ko na hindi pa hilom ang lahat ng aking mga sugat, subalit masaya ako sa kaisipan na wakas—natutunan ko na rin itong gamutin. Lilipas ang mga araw, buwan o taon. Lilipas ang panahon. Matagal ang proseso ng paggaling, ngunit masaya ako na nagsisimula na ito ngayon.

Paranoia

Pakiramdam ko pinagtaksilan niya ako kaya nagalit ako sa kanya. Nagalit din ako sa sarili ko dahil alam ko na wala akong karapatang magalit sa kanya. Ngayon ay nagagalit ako sa katotohanan na wala akong karapatang magalit.