I've already been in high school for two-and-a-half years, and some might say that I still haven't witnessed enough, but I think I now have an inkling or two on how high school life works. Basically this is where we begin to mold our own perspective on things, and this is the time we realize that our parents weren't the best people in the world and they too have their flaws and they make mistakes, like us. We crave independence from over-protective grown-ups and assume that we already had enough of that "guidance" thing. I myself am guilty of it.

Another controversial thing about being a full-fledged teenager is the x-generation's big fuss over "that feeling." They almost always presume that being a teenager during these days comes along with the curse of "emotional blindness." How could the chaps think so lowly of our capability to take care of ourselves? Do they really expect us to magically turn into assholes once we go out there wearing the teenager label? The question had been lingering in my head for quite a time during my freshman year, when my parents seemed to be the ones who were more alarmed at the prospect of it. I had found my their worries inconceivable until I witnessed myself a typical teen's lifestyle.

I had realized that the oldies' accussations have a point after all. BUT! (There's a big but) But even though teenagers are being "misled" by their "false views," the older generation wouldn't admit that they too have some fault at it, and that they wouldn't really understand some things (put the emphasis on it), some things, that the present teenagers are going through.

Lately I've been having petty quarrels with my mom and dad. And it was about the simplest of things-- a messy room, a five-minute tardiness, and an air conditioning unit. During those times in my frustration I was beginning to have ideas of running away from home. I just couldn't understand what's the big deal about being five minutes late in dinner because of a project! Why are they making so much fuss about little imperfections about me? Couldn't they accept the way I really am?

Once I already calmed myself, though, I would start comtemplating about what had happened. Maybe parents were just so jumpy about the slightest changes their sons and daughters are undergoing, worried that they might miss something that would lead to misguidance. They weren't realizing that their overly concern is the thing that makes their worst fears happen. Poor chaps.

They're asking why teenagers smoke, drink, do drugs, and succumb to premarital sex? Aside from oh yes, it's in and it's for social acceptance, or blaming technological advancement, it might be just for the reason that they lack understanding and attention from the parents. I am NOT saying that it's the oldies' fault; it isn't their fault that they weren't able to uderstand us either. We have such a large generation gap--during their time it's like this and like that, people don't do and people do those. Some of them really could not accept the fact that their way of life years ago won't fit in this generation's way of life anymore.

They say that that's not their point and what they're saying is that they had a better life having that system of theirs. The matter here is not about which generation is so much better, it is the relationship between parents and their teenage child. Come on, it's not 1800's anymore; people should learn to move on. I am definitely NOT saying that drugs and vices should be tolerated because that is what the way of life today is either; what I am trying to imply is that parents should in the first place know when to get strict to avoid turning their children into rebellious, emotion-driven wanderers. Having rules is alright, yes, but actually trying to take control over your child's every move is wrong. You know teenagers; they undergo a whirlwind of emotions. Parents, sadly, cannot spell the first step towards solving this problem.

What's the misspelled word in here? It's aCcePtancE.

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I was busy poring over Friendster a while ago when one of my friends called me up.

My friend and I talked for what I think is thirty minutes, and most of it was about my experience in joining a school-sponsored seminar four months ago during summer. She listened attentively to everything I say, which I found rather amusing; I'm amused that I'm the one talking more in this conversation. It was usually the other way around. After the story-telling, she said, in an awed voice, "It sounds like fun being in a seminar like that." I had replied: "Yeah. You should join the newspaper organization. They usually get participants from there." And her reply to that was the thing I've been hearing from her half the time we talked.

"Hindi ako magaling tulad mo no; hindi ako pwedeng sumali don." (I'm not as good as you; I don't qualify there.)

I've always been hearing those words from a lot of people. "I'm not as good as them...I suck at these, not like you....I'm not like you; I'm pathetic...Because you're smart and I'm not, that's why you can and I cannot..." It greatly pisses me off. Why are humans so concerned about who's good and who's not? Why are they so engrossed about how they would look like compared to others? Would it matter that much?

Perhaps humans satisfy their ego knowing that they can do a lot of things much better compared to others. They believe in the falsehood of gaining happiness by being ontop of the world. The worth of living can be measured by status in society, having good looks, being the top of the class, and other worldly things that affect one's fame. Failure is the downfall of life. Life is not fair when you don't find yourself the best, and there's someone out there who's far ahead of you. It sucks to know that they could do this and that, but you cannot. It's NOT.

Do not pity yourself just because you know you cannot do as well in life as someone else you met somewhere out there. You did not exist to be the best person in the whole wide world, darling; humans are not here to compare each other's achievements and feel they're so, so happy doing better than others. Who in the world would care if XXX is prettier than you? What should you be depressed about being so stupid, unlike that academic awardee in your class? What would you get from comparing yourself with others and wail about how God has been so cruel to you? Life is not about being PERFECT.

Today, a lot of things happened. And half of them are shit.

The first thing I did once I peacefully reached home from school (not to mention the short break we took at hanging out in Southcrest Village before dropping me in my home) this afternoon, was to sit in my computer chair and brood about the headaches I was able to go through up to this point today. Nothing's so much wrong about myself aside from pressure from studies and that nagging voice in my head saying I should have my haircut by tomorrow. I then recalled the poem writing contest I participated in some hours ago. And it was...a mess. I am and never will be good in poetry--I can write novels and essays right, no problem with me...just NOT poetry. For the sake of humanity, please, don't make me write it. Unfortunately though, my classmates weren't informed well about my inferiority in flowery words and rhyme, so they had the big mistake of appointing me as our class' representative in this contest. And do you know what's worse about it? I need to write a poem not with the English language. With Filipino. I have nothing against my own native language, alright! It's just that I never found learning high Filipino vocabulary interesting. I am a Filipino, but I still didn't know the language in depth. Three-fourths of the Filipino population are in the same situation, sadly, and I want to do something about it. But we'll discuss about my ambions for Philippines in another entry.

Back to that stupid contest.

So I dragged myself to the contest room at 2:30 than afternoon, together with Ken, another classmate of mine who'll also participate in the poem writing contest. I watched John and Melina walking to their own contest from ahead; they're two of my classmates chosen for the essay-writing contest. I know it would be also hard for them, since they'll make one with the Filipino language too, but at least it's an essay. Not a poem. How I wish I was there instead. But it was fine, I guess, as I sat in one of the chairs, between a very nervous fourth grade student and Ken, half-listening to the coordinator in front who was disussing the rules and the criteria for judging. The most exciting part about it is that they require us, participants, a pseudoname. A penname, for those who didn't undestand what it meant. I gladly thought of a cool penname as the coordinator droned on, and when she signalled us to start our work, I was immediately back to my dilemma. I stared at the board ahead, where the theme was written in pink chalk. I read it: "And Wikang Filipino ay Isang Buhay na Wika" (The Filipino Language is a Living Language), and I looked at it with slight amusement. Oh yeah? It's true, no denial, that the Filipino language continues to branch out. But I can't help but feel humored at the theme. Tsch, they make it sound as if the language's really "flourishing," when in fact, all that happens is they add a word with no Filipino origin at all in the Filipino dictionary once in a while, and proclaim to the world that rejoice, we have a new word. Pitiful.

Take the popular coloquial Filipino word "lobat," as an example.

When I was watching the evening news several months ago it was telecast that another word was officially added up to the Filipino dictionary. Lobat. I blinked at the newsanchor, before laughing out loud. Lobat? They considered it OFFICIAL? heck. Filipinos say "lobat" to indicate that their cellphone's battery's already empty, or low in charge. It really meant "low battery," but since Filipinos have the knack to make things short (even if it doesn't need to be shortened anymore), the word in question was born. I wouldn't mind even if it has an English origin, because it doesn't necessarily require that a Filipino word should be purely invented by a Filipino mind. The thing I couldn't accept is the quality of modern Filipino language. The "real" Filipino is deep and solid. And would the word "lobat" pass as deep and solid?!

Filipino. A living language...I thought I would have been more comfortable with "the language that's dying." Yes. Everything that lives dies, too. That's true, but isn't Filipino dying early? The Filipinos weren't taking good care of it; they prefer patronizing English and using it for the sake of it, trying to detach themselves from the racial prejudice that tags along the word "Filipino." Alright, I don't have anything against English, 'cause if I have then what the hell am I doing here? Nothing is wrong in learning to use foreign languages fluently. What's wrong is forgetting what is your own language in the first place. Identity, people, identity. As simple as the tongue you're using in speaking shows who you are and where you came from.

Ah, I had said to myself as I thought of this. I realized I was staring at the head of the one sitting in front of me for the past few minutes, looking dreamy and stupid. I looked down at the blank sheet of yellow padpaper on my desk. That time, I already knew what to write about.

Enlightened, I stood from my computer chair and rummaged in my bag for the draft of the poem I composed for the contest. I found it on the bottom-most part of my bag, crumpled into a ball. I sraightened it up, and admired the effort I had put in there for the first time. My eyes scanned the words on the top part of the paper which I had encircled while I was finalizing my poem, and I think I had the right decision to have made it as the title of my first--and last, I am sure of it--poem.

"Ang Buhay na Wika at ang Kamatayan Nito" (The Living Language and its Pending Death). I wonder if it will win.

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