Thoughts for my Abnormal Psychology class

Since I can’t attend school for a week or two (health reasons), might as well make my thoughts productive.

The love that I loved

“Literature is the expression of man’s best thoughts, feelings and emotions in words of truth and beauty. It is life itself.”

The first time I entered our Philippine Literature class was like an episode of the Walking Dead. I was half-asleep (7 AM classes are to die for) upon sitting on my designated chair. But when our instructor mouthed the words stated above, the dead were resuscitated to life.

Instead of slouching, face down, eyes closed, I sat erect and immediately faced the board eye to eye. Then, our instructor quoted one of Elizabeth Barrett Browning poems. And that was the moment I knew there was something magical happening.

I had never heard anything so beautiful in any of the classes I attended within the first week.

It felt like a part of you which you thought didn’t exist anymore, or which you believed shouldn’t exist anymore, came back to life.

It was like meeting the love you thought you were going to marry your whole life. And it doesn’t matter how much effort you give to hold back because you honestly know that there are still parts of that love engraved within your bones.

It even felt like I was cheating with the love I am with right now (Psychology). I know 110% that I love Psychology to every cell of my body. But I can’t help remembering what it used to feel being with my first love. I can’t help but think how much I had given up concentrating on my chosen field.

I quit the school publication. And I chickened out on being the Features Editor of our school publication.

I guess it’s true when they say that when you grow up you eventually learn how to sacrifice certain things. When you grow, you also mature with the choices you make.

(Wow did I just write that? Now I feel like crying)

An hour and thirty minutes twice a week for four months is enough to liberate myself. Or at least, get to know the love that I used to love for the second of the first times. Plus I still have units on Word Literature on my junior year.  

I guess the truth is that I can I use my love for psychology to understand the depths of the minds behind literature.

I guess there’s beauty in loving both— for the meantime. 

Selfies can speak through the camera

Selfies, for some, is just an attention-seeking-waste-of-time activity. Sure, we abuse it, and people get irritated, especially men. But it’s only half of the story; some of us do it because it’s a personal art that we get to live by.

As much as it is hard to understand, there’s just this strange connection with the camera. Maybe it’s the way a light dances on your skin and hair. And the way it overshadows your unseen emotions. Or maybe it’s how a person’s body playfully struts with the seamless angles. And all of this is a part of giving pieces of yourself, and that makes a still moment — your own personal moment — picture perfect.

Sometimes, all we need is an outlet and we find them through the camera. It’s an expression of how we want others to see our deepest senses, or the beauty of portraying the closest thing we have to ourselves.

Indeed, having gazillion of likes and compliments is just part of the equation; there’s another side that screams for self-expression. And it’s what keeps us coming back for more.

The sunset of yesterday.

I was riding a jeepney on my way home from school. It has been an awfully long day and the gushing winds gave the signal that it’s going to rain sooner or later. So to ease the hunger tiredness, and worries of getting soaked in rainwater —I was wearing our corporate uniform so it is a big deal — it has been a routine to play some music and wear my earphones. I got lost in it of course, and so I did close my eyes for a while. But when carefully I opened them parallel to the right window,  the sunset whispered its infinite beauty.

It looks as though it came to life from one of Von Gogh’s static masterpieces. Soft shades of purple and orange defined the fine line between the sea and the sky. And the way streaks of lightning fearlessly sliced through the heavens.

For a moment we were left with temporary scars and awful screams that seemed to last forever. But it didn’t, of course. I guess even the pains of the nature has its end too. And so does life.

And if we ever did look back on what had happened  yesterday, we won’t contemplate on the growls of thunder and lightning, but by the beauty of it all. There’s beauty of it all.