Possible Cases When Cramming For a Plate

Here we observe cases possible in the event that a student crams for a major plate.

GIVENS: Submission of plates at 2PM today. All that is accomplished is the pencil draft of floor plans. We need 2 site plans, 1 perspective, 1 section, and 2 elevations.

CASE 1. Oversleeping.
    Example. I slept at 12 last night, intending to wake up at three in the morning, but waking up, aghast, at eight.
       CASE 1a. The alarm volume was too low.
       CASE 1b. The person sleeping near me turned off the offending alarm.
       CASE 1c. I subconsciously hit the off button.

CASE 2. Your drawing pen ink may run out.
    Example. Halfway through my second-floor plan, my 0.1 pen (which a use for door swings and other such imaginary elements) ran out of ink.
       CASE 2a. I use that pen a lot for non-drafting purposes.
       CASE 2b. It is just for a moment. The ink will resume after you have inked imaginary elements with your 0.3.

CASE 3. The deadline may be extended.
    Example. By 1.30, I find out that it is moved to 4pm.

CASE 4. You may not have time to take a bath.
    Example. Remember, these are merely possibilities.

CASE 5. It is your best friend's birthday.
    Example. Today is my Michelle's birthday, and I haven't forgiven myself yet.

CASE 6. There may be other requirements due that day.
    Example. An Arch 16 paper is also due today, until 5:30PM. It was the fastest Arch 16 paper I have ever written, and it was also the one I like best.
       CASE 6a. You have run out of A4 sized paper, which is one of the requirements.
       CASE 6b. You have no time to cut your A3 in half.
       CASE 6c. You resort to bond paper, hoping the prof's angel won't tell.

CASE 7. There is a Math 14 Exam tomorrow.
    Example. It isn't a problem, really, seeing as I went through CASE 1.

CASE 8. This event may prove traumatic.
    Example. I swear to never ever cram my plates again. This does not include exams. Please refer to CASE 7 for my next predicament.

Huzzah! Alyssa at 18!:D

it was fun:3 too bad i wore a gown that stopped me from dancing. arg.
but i guess it was a good thing for the people who were watching.

Repression is a Vice

Somebody murdered my inner child.
It happened sometime in the night, with a stabbing knife that was meant for me.

The child was on the throes of death while I lay peacefully sleeping, and I woke up to find that things were not as they were before. Sunlight had filtered through the blinds, stale and indifferent.

(Is this how I’ll be seeing the world from now on?)

I did not know at the time that I’ve already lost her, and maybe you can imagine a little how I felt when I did find out.

I saw her, then. She was about sixteen, with dark locks and slender fingers. I could not tell whether her gray eyes were inherent, if it was because of death, or if she had them because she was stark and empty inside. There was no blood. Only sadness, and mute bewilderment.

I gently guided her lids shut. Her lips formed a small frown; her skin, a ghostly white. And I realize, aghast, that I was the cause of her sallow condition.

She was young, free-willed…beautiful. But I chose to believe that my fears do exist, and that I was no better than anybody. She was neglected, unappreciated—by me—and yet she chose to save me, to end her life for my sake.

It was a death she did not deserve. What she deserved is happiness, freedom, life…and yet, she received none of it.

I walked around the city, empty. I imagine her cringing every time I walked looking down at the pavement, when I should’ve held my head high. Sick of me thinking that everybody is quietly judging my every move. Deprived of love. Weary of hoping. I lost touch with her, and all she could do is hug herself in a corner inside my body, living off the little warmth I have.

Perhaps she wanted to die. Maybe I deserve to know what it’s like to lose my inner child. I suppose she did not want to exist anymore, and died in my place for her own sake.

I went back and I watched her until she was no more than a faint flicker; and when she was gone, a cold wind dried away the trails of my tears.

I walk out of the apartment building. I stroll down the streets and notice something different. An old man was sitting on a bench, feeding pigeons. Beside him a little boy smiles adoringly at the plump birds. A woman sits on a bench, contemplating the pavement. In front of her a teenager, staring her right in the face—upset. There are children everywhere—smiling, tugging, clinging, frowning…crying.
 

They are happy. Miserable. Indifferent.
It was easy to tell.

Conspiracy of Time

At precisely 7 AM, the digital clock bleeped. Though in actuality, there is not much to be said—millions of digital clocks bleep at precisely 7 AM.

More or less.

But today was different.
It was not 7 AM. Not precisely, not almost, not a few minutes after, not more, not less—it was totally, unforgivably, un-estimably not 7 AM.

You step out, and what do you see?

The moon, full and silver, is shining brightly in the spotted black sky. Odd, don’t you think? It’s 7 in the morning, after all, in an equatorial continent.

You strain to listen to the morning birds, but all you get is a hoot. And a handful of chirps.

Glancing at your watch, it said 9:30. You try to tap some sense into it, and it neatly clicks to 10:30. It is insanely counting hours by the second.
You do not know what to do. But really, you knew it was going to happen sooner or later.
 

One day, the clocks will dominate. Gears and coils grind together in industrial rebellion. A conspiracy, indeed, against the whole of cosmopolitan humanity, who reach for every second and millisecond and audaciously take clocks for granted.

There is only one way to fix this. And that is to fool the clocks into thinking that they are right.
The problem is, that one way compromises reality.

Once the deed is done, you will no longer be living in the same time-frame as anybody. In fact, nobody will be sharing the same time-frame.

You may now be living in somebody else’s past, or in somebody else’s future.
There is only one person who is not living in somebody else’s past (he lives in everybody’s future).
There is only one person who is not living in somebody else’s future (he lives in everybody’s past).
Consequently, the whole of humanity is affected by that one person living in everybody’s past, and the person living in everybody’s future is affected by the whole of humanity.

The thing is, you wouldn’t know. You would continue to live your life thinking that you are living in the present. You think everybody is living in the same present time-frame.
But really, you delude yourself too well.

It isn’t such a big abnormality anyway, just a major shift in the time-space continuum, is all.
Common folk wouldn’t be bothered, see. In their memory, there was a day of abnormal time registry, but afterwards they realize that their clocks were right all along. If their watches said 4:27, then it will be 4:27. Then they’d shake their heads and continue on existing, only they are ignorant of the fact that they now exist in a different plane.

Present time now becomes subjective.

You tell this to your fellow inmates in the asylum. Their heads loll off in a vague response.

The Egg Tree

This happened long before, when we planted an egg in the middle of our garden.

At first we thought it wouldn’t work. We waited for quite some time—the whole afternoon, in fact—until we heard a rooster crow.

We saw something, then. But you wouldn’t see it at first, unless you looked really, really hard.
We saw, on a silver string stem, what looked like a tiny round leaf.
A timid green, frail thing.

It wouldn’t grow any taller after that, and we left after too many mosquitoes bit us too many times.

The next morning, we were greeted (upon waking) with balmy winds, bacon sizzles, and a rooster crow. And when the moment of realization hit our muddled heads—we learned from yesterday, that a rooster’s crow seemed to do a lot for the plant, see—we ran as fast as we could down the stairs and through the gate. Breathless, we stepped softly but hastily on the soil and found our way to the middle of our garden.

We peeked from behind the bushes, and it was beautiful. We went closer, and I found out that it now stood up to my knee. And where it stood was exactly where the sun shone; and all around, dew made everything sparkly and clean and new.

It had five leaves, all perfectly circular and not egg-shaped at all. It was fantastic.

I don’t know how long we stood there, how long we gaped at the egg tree (it seemed to be heading in that direction), but soon a distant bell rang and we were told that breakfast was getting cold. We walked back, then—a bit hesitantly—and when we reached the gate, we heard another crow, but we knew that it would be upsetting for our mother dear if we preferred a plant to her cooking, even if it was a strange, wonderful plant, so we walked inside, into the warmth of the indoors.

 

Oh, but not for long.

 

Soon, we were back to the crunching twigs and flitting shadows. We had our summer hats on and it made a different kind of shadow when the sun shines on us. It had little holes in between the weavings that twinkled like golden diamonds on the ground.

Then we arrived at the middle of the garden. It was quite different from the plant-tree we left a few minutes ago. This time, we had to lift our head to see the top of it. It was most definitely a tree. I tried to see if I could climb it, but the branches were still as bendy as vegetable stalks. Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, it might grow into a mighty, climbable tree.

I can wait.

 

Survey, survey

1. The person(s) who tagged you
- Hannah Portugal

2. Your relationship with him/her is
- blockmate, hm, i like to think she's my sister o_o but...(whispers to the side) we're not that close, are we haha>_>

3. Your 4 first impressions of him/her
- creator of ZOMGgreat BROOBIE>_<; wow, she's friends with monsters; yay! she's lazy! just like me!!; she is a foreigner. Not from Spain.

4. The most memorable thing he/she has done for you
- actually made me draw more and hm,..not restrain myself o_o because i've been doing so until i saw what she does with her really crazy ideas >w<

5. The most memorable words he/she had said to you
- 'No, no, I'm not from Spain.' XD

6. If he/she becomes your lover, you will
- be living as intellectual artists, discussing issues of society, and struggling to make ends meet -_-

7. If he/she becomes your lover, things he/she has to improve on will be
- eh...filipino? haha! no idea. >_>

8. If he/she becomes your enemy, you will
- speak to her in bad english. perhaps she may get annoyed*o* (still no idea)

9. If he/she becomes your enemy, the reason will be
- she's secretly dating Neil Gaiman, too.

10. The thing you want to do for him/her now is
- finish this survey!! haha

11. Your overall impression of him/her is
- one of a kind >w< seriously haha

12. How you think people around you feel about you
- i think they told me once that i look like one o' those innocent looking little girls who actually are psychopathic serial killers._.

13. The characteristic you love of yourself is
- my...unpredictability? haha.

14. The characteristics you hate of yourself are
- my..my...my shyness and fear of.. people =_=

15. The most ideal person you want to be is
- i've been taught to be content myself :D

16. Say something to the people who care about and like you
- um. thanks? haha.

Ok, I shall tag a few people then:D

1. Mich

2. Serah

3. Marilou

4. Ev

5. Andrei

6. Janelle Toh XD (out of the blue, i know haha)

7. June

8. Marck

9. DA

10. Patrick Huang. Just to see if I can get you to post anything.

A Day in November

Fragile skins and silver bones,
that's what umbrellas are like.
Fish in the water, silver skin--
but they have fragile bones.


end.