< i've been skimping in my entry lengths for the past few weeks... nyahaha! >
Tomorrow, as the incoming Iskolar's-ng-Bayan start to fill my little piece of UP, my fate will be sealed, my age etched in stone. Tomorrow, I'll be another senior citizen in college. I'll be officially a 19-year-old geriatric. Uugod-ugod, papagod-pagod, bawal nang tumambay sa IB Lobby simula bukas para makapag-enrol at feel-at-home naman ang mga freshies.
Really, it's not that hard to be a senior citizen. It happens to the best of us: one day you're still a young freshman in the prime of your kayabangan, and the next you're an aging college senior still at the height of your UPian arrogance, but you're pretty much contained. If you're like me, I think you catch my drift. If you're an incoming freshman, you probably would get pissed off with all this and think that, at least in a "Can This Be Love?" twist... "You're so... so... yabang!" OK, fine, I'm not in the mood to argue. I'd rather waste my time helling the piss out of myself, which is the only thing I can do right now. Yeah, you heard me: hell the piss out of myself.
Like I said, it happens to the best of us. Ever thought about how old you are and you start to reminisce about your childhood? Frankly I'm stuck remembering Pog, Joy Whistle Candies (those strawberry-and-cream flavored candies which whistle when you blow through them) and Zip (that orange juice in the pyramid-shaped pack... it takes so much skill to drink it). Don't get me started on Dinosaur Eggs, Tamiya, YanYan and ZoomZoom. I'm still in the mood to argue about Jose Rizal's gender preferences: something that didn't surface in this afternoon's PI 100 exam (Clue: seriously, you don't believe that the relationship between Rizal and Ferdinand Blumentritt was strictly platonic, do you?).
But hey, when the nice manang from the Registrar's Office started to post these "No Loitering" signs I felt that this whole aging thing is starting to pull me under. I can't even make tambay in the lobby anymore since this whole mess of snot-nosed freshmen fresh off high school would fall in line for their Form 5's. Maybe so: I bet they would go right back to their excited parents, show their Form 5's and ask kung gaano kadiin dapat pirmahan yung form para sumulat doon sa kabila. Maybe I'm underestimating them a bit. No, not "maybe" or "a bit." Perhaps this is not the proper forum to spew out intellectual insults. As my mom would curse, "Sus, moriones." Never really got what that meant.
At least I could go about my business being a power-tripping upperclassman. That's something worth my while. While we were off the canteen for lunch, there was a sea of parents and incoming freshmen making tambay by the clinic (this conyo language is getting on my nerves a bit). I'm not antipatiko, but my friends made it perfectly clear to me that I have this certain angas factor: it's just a factor anyway. So anyway, I just said that "mukhang masarap mag-power trip bukas" and these uber-sensitive parents took a bit of offense to it by staring at me like they were my own mom. Oh, there's this openly gay freshie in the canteen, somewhat reminiscent of Jun Encarnacion, fanning himself with a real, folding fan. So I just said that he looked like the hairdresser: the instant response from my friends was, "Whoa, Marx, that's low." What's so low about that? I was just talking.
I have that effect on people, you know. But anyways, in the immortal words of Danny Glover in "Lethal Weapon," I'm getting too old for this...