I had a Coke slushie today.

And if you've been stalking my blogpost well enough, you'll notice that it was what I always got for at 7-Eleven. A plain Coke slushie.

To further my advances into my old habits, I went and ate instant "ramen" noodles at 11 o clock in the evening, watching Dexter and tweeting about it. Thing is, all of these stuff is what I used to do the same time 2 years ago. And as I found myself immersed in my old habits, I felt a deep sense of nostalgia.

That this is how things are supposed to be.

But you see, things have changed. I've met so much people (and lost most of them), I'm still stuck up in school and can't even talk to my seatmate, I've cut my hair shorter... but I fell back into my old nuances. Maybe it's me wanting to go back to a time when I was merely a spectator of thousands of worlds described in the written word, when life was Coke slushies, pepperoni pizzas, and late-night TV marathons. Maybe I wanted to go back to a time when life was simpler.

But then again maybe I'm just longing for a friend still.

I've read my old blogposts (which mind you, was made about a year ago), and I could embarrasingly say that I am still encountering the same problems as I had back then: still at a loss for words.

I would kill for one of these.

Gone are the times that I have written dramatic blogposts, treating everything as a cryptic metaphor for something else. I am not promising though, that I would update this blog more often (which I always do, by the way, everytime I have had a long period of time between posts... which nobody reads anyway) Probably the future me will have an easier time reading about posts that detail what happened in my day, without having to worry about what satte of mind I was in when I was writing such posts.

So today, I went to school. I tried with all my might to not skip a class, and miraculously, I did. For the first time in this week, I was able to attend all of my classes. Awesome. Then I bought some awesome dice (I'm into Pathfinder by the way), had a Coke slushie, played some Crysis 2... and gave up when the objective was too hard to accomplish.

Looking at it, it was probably a very average day for me. I was actively trying to ignore the bugging compulsion of regularly checking my phone for... messages, and I succeeded. I kept myself busy by watching Dexter and thinking about life when it was still simple.

Pizza slices and Coke slushies

So guys, here's the plaintext.

I hate Mondays. And Wednesdays, to that matter. It's because I only have one class, and it's from 12:30 to 1:50. How refreshing. Add to the fact that I take a 30-minute bus ride just to get to school, and it would justify every urge I have to just stay at home. But no. I'll go to school. For academic integrity! For the progress of the human race!

I sat through a gruelling hour-and-a-half's worth of Archaeology lecture (which was entirely in the book save for some specialized notes on archaeological developments in North America and some random historical figures here and there) and I was not participative. Maybe because it's the true first week of classes, but mostly because I'm too shy to express my thoughts in a classroom full of people who regard me as the tourist.

1:50 came and bundled with the joy of finally seeing the lecture come to an end is the disappointment of not meeting a classmate. I suck at introductions. I fear that I may not be understood. Not that I don't want to speak, I just hate it when people ask me to repeat myself. Makes me think that I'm so stupid to not actually make myself clear (I'm a grammar Nazi myself, so I despise linguistic failure of all forms).

So there. I was on the bus stop when I saw a person who happened to be in my class a while ago. I imagined a conversation striking up between us, which is the thing I always end up doing, rehearsing a conversation before I actually make it happen.

"Hey, aren't you my classmate in ARCH112?"
"Oh yea."
"I'm Leonard."
"Hi! Nice to meet you."

But problem is, I suck. I just ended up sitting on the other side of the bus row, looking at this classmate of mine, watching where she would get off.

Apparently we both get off at the same stop. If I get to know this bitch, that would be 45 minutes' worth of conversation. So here I was on the main university campus (the building where I take my classes is far away from here) and resisting the temptation to spend money. I don't have a decent job yet (my job as a waiter pays less than my first job at a coffee shop), and I fear that I may not have enough to buy what I want for my upcoming birthday (A Nikon D3000 DSLR, and hopefully, plane tickets back to the Philippines). I ended up taking "lunch" at 3:00 with two slices of pizza and a large Coke slushie. Enraged at the gluttony and impulsiveness I just did, I went home.

My face when I saw the pizza slices.

The bus was jam-packed with university students. I had the luxury of sitting in one of the... well, seats, and as I watched the standing passengers respond simultaneously to each turn of the bus, I sipped my slushie in reverence.

More than 8,000 students at the College of Arts and Science alone (compared to UPM-CAS's 1,700). 8,000 stories to listen to. And all I need is a simple handshake and the words, "Hi, I'm Leonard."

I eventually end up hating myself. Hate myself for having impeccable written English skills but fail to mingle with an English-speaking folk. Hate myself for doing a direct translation from Filipino of what I want to speak. I want to speak in English not as a translation but as a direct outlet of what I think, the kind of speaking I do in Filipino.

I hate myself for not daring to fail, of being afraid to be criticized for what I do, or am about to do. Hate myself for being a perfectionist, clamming up because I want every word I say to be clearly understood. I end up being a real tourist in this giant subzero freezer they call North America. When language is a barrier, it's hard to blend in, most especially to stand out.

Do not try to blend in. Try to stand out.

That's Jeric's message to me (a college friend) before I left the Philippines for Canada. And I find it difficult to even do any of the two when I don't speak well. This is about the time when I hope the Holy Spirit will manifest as a tongue of fire and, besides potentially burning my scalp, give me the ability to speak their language. This is about the time when I hope every person I meet has Douglas Adam's Babel fish in their ears so I can be understood perfectly.

But on the other hand, I still think, that it's just me.