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The Table in the Middle

30 April 2016
     
     Everyone knows the freshie stereotype: bright-eyed, (initially) over-enthusiastic, and lost most of the time. Admittedly, that was me during the first half of the first semester. Case in point: on the first day of school, I went to Sec B thinking that B-305 referred to that building. I had to run to Berch and was almost late for my first class. I not only had the “I’m a freshie and I’m lost” thing down pat, but I believe I definitely looked the part. Every day I had my Jansport backpack in tow, along with my lunchbox tote bag. This complemented my newbie attempt to look “college”: a cutesy skater skirt, white shoes, and the perennial crop top. I was also sporting a haphazardly cut bob—I was basically that teenage Dora the Explorer that nobody ever noticed.

During the first half of the semester as well, I had trouble finding a hangout place where I could chill to fill in awkward breaks and minutes in between classes. I find people hanging out in the Zen Garden. They have intimate conversations, play music, or sometimes there’s this one person who is shamelessly asleep on the bench. Along the Kostka corridor which is lined with benches that face each other (they now have tables!), people are on their laptops, are wearing headphones, or are trying to take a nap. There should be a Do Not Disturb sign along this place, I swear. And then there’s Gonzaga—filled with barkadas catching up with each other, seniors who don’t give a damn, and other students who are in it for the strong wi-fi signal. Go up to the second floor of this turf, and you’ll find a completely different world. People are less rowdy but are still as spunky as the ones below. In the elevated part of the second floor, you’ll find KFC, Chicks Rule, and The Galley. This is the little haven that I found for myself.   

            It was yet another day. English was my first class, but I still had a lot of time to spare. I head on over to the second floor of Gonzaga, my new place, I had thought to myself. But what was I to do? Was I supposed to just sit there, take a nap, and wait for the bell to ring? Was I supposed to buy food and pretend that I was hungry? Not sure of how to kill the tick-tocks, I resorted to my phone. And boy, was the wi-fi fast! Facebook, Instagram , Twitter—I went through social media like the world would shut down if I didn’t. The bell had finally rung, and I dash off to class in Berch.

            Days had passed and I started to explore this new territory that I had luckily found. I tried out The Galley, ordered the best-selling Lifesaver since I was a first-timer. On one day, I had gotten a French breakfast at Café France—a warm cup of coffee, and a croissant a la Gonzaga. I was vicariously living in Paris, except the music in the background was Journey and throwback OPM songs blasting from a radio nearby. Sandwiches, croissants, more sandwiches, and more double-taps on Instagram. I was a perpetually hungry nomad with nothing but a cellphone as a companion.

            There were times wherein I really needed to save money, and so I would awkwardly whip out my baon from my lunchbox in true freshie style. My food was nothing much: Rebisco crackers, a banana, and probably some leftovers from dinner the night before. I have my yaya to thank for including a stash of tissue. While I eat and mindlessly browse through my social media sphere, I glance at the people around me. There is always at least one couple being sweet to each other, and I can’t help but feel a pang of envy. There was that one couple who always bought from The Galley together; they hold hands. There are groups of people who can’t get over a joke that one said, who rant about their profs and grades, and those who just enjoy each other’s company. There’s that kuya from one of the food stalls who proudly sings every line of the songs played on that radio station.

            The bell rings, and it’s off to English again.

            People always tell me that I look like a junior or a senior (I never got that “sophomore” remark, ever). And it’s probably because I’ve always looked mature for my age. Some even get shocked when I tell them that I’m just a freshman. “It’s because you don’t seem lost,” one orgmate told me. I guess I could attribute this to my ability to easily adapt to my surroundings. If I’m lost, I’ll ask around and find my way. If I feel clueless, I’ll keep my head held high and act normal. I quickly try to feel like I belong, and it actually works. I sometimes find it rather strange when people itch to be in a group 24/7. Some students just have to be with at least one friend all the time, but of course, the more the merrier. Some enjoy being in large crowded spaces with the good noise of chatter and laughter; like the first floor of Gonzaga for example. But some would prefer to have it differently, and I fall under that category.

            Today, I arrived in school around 15 minutes before my first class was to start. “Oh gosh I don’t think I’ll have time,” I think to myself. I climb the stairs and go to the second floor of Gonzaga. My spot has changed since last semester; I now stay by the tables right in front of the Fine Arts Department. I dash to my spot—it’s the table smack dab in the middle—and put my stuff down (they’re there when I come back; no one ever bothers to touch them). As usual, I take a pee break in my favorite CR ever. It’s the one right beside the staircase with the really friendly manang who most probably already knows my face since I believe I am her no. 1 customer. I greet a hearty good morning, do my business, and put on my lipstick for the day. Right after that, I head downstairs to the chapel. Go and do good unto others, be loving and kind. Be thankful for everything that comes your way, the Lord tells me. It’s three minutes before my Math class, so I take off and run.

            And no, I did not have time. I was not able to get into my morning grind of re-reading my favorite Virginia Woolf novel, The Voyage Out. I believe the main character, Rachel Vinrace, misses me dearly. At times, I bring an issue of whatever magazine I find interesting for the month. L’Officiel was the last one I recall, and I was fixated on all the details of every outfit upon every turn of a page. Spring/Summer season is going to be exciting, and I can’t wait to channel my inner Gucci girl that’s been screaming inside! If I’m not reading, then I’m writing. “Note to self: DO SOMETHING WITH LIFE,” “Omg he looked at me,” and “Who am I?” are some lines that my mind peruses onto my journal. I do all this with my coffee tumbler to keep me company. Even with “Faithfully” on full-blast, the pungent smell of grilled whatever, and the girl next to me who is fast asleep, I just carry on and do what I do.

             We all have that need to belong. We all want to feel content, to fill the gaps in our day with hellos and goodbyes, with hugs and kisses. We want to spend every minute assuring ourselves that there is nothing void in our lives. However, I believe that there is something in nothingness, such that there is solace in silence. I look forward to another morning tomorrow in my nook by the FA Department on the second floor of Gonzaga. And maybe I’ll bring Hemingway instead.

(Main image: Illustration by GraphicaArtis/Getty Images; Jorg Greuel/DigitalVision)

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The Table in the Middle

     
     Everyone knows the freshie stereotype: bright-eyed, (initially) over-enthusiastic, and lost most of the time. Admittedly, that was me during the first half of the first semester. Case in point: on the first day of school, I went to Sec B thinking that B-305 referred to that building. I had to run to Berch and was almost late for my first class. I not only had the “I’m a freshie and I’m lost” thing down pat, but I believe I definitely looked the part. Every day I had my Jansport backpack in tow, along with my lunchbox tote bag. This complemented my newbie attempt to look “college”: a cutesy skater skirt, white shoes, and the perennial crop top. I was also sporting a haphazardly cut bob—I was basically that teenage Dora the Explorer that nobody ever noticed.

During the first half of the semester as well, I had trouble finding a hangout place where I could chill to fill in awkward breaks and minutes in between classes. I find people hanging out in the Zen Garden. They have intimate conversations, play music, or sometimes there’s this one person who is shamelessly asleep on the bench. Along the Kostka corridor which is lined with benches that face each other (they now have tables!), people are on their laptops, are wearing headphones, or are trying to take a nap. There should be a Do Not Disturb sign along this place, I swear. And then there’s Gonzaga—filled with barkadas catching up with each other, seniors who don’t give a damn, and other students who are in it for the strong wi-fi signal. Go up to the second floor of this turf, and you’ll find a completely different world. People are less rowdy but are still as spunky as the ones below. In the elevated part of the second floor, you’ll find KFC, Chicks Rule, and The Galley. This is the little haven that I found for myself.   

            It was yet another day. English was my first class, but I still had a lot of time to spare. I head on over to the second floor of Gonzaga, my new place, I had thought to myself. But what was I to do? Was I supposed to just sit there, take a nap, and wait for the bell to ring? Was I supposed to buy food and pretend that I was hungry? Not sure of how to kill the tick-tocks, I resorted to my phone. And boy, was the wi-fi fast! Facebook, Instagram , Twitter—I went through social media like the world would shut down if I didn’t. The bell had finally rung, and I dash off to class in Berch.

            Days had passed and I started to explore this new territory that I had luckily found. I tried out The Galley, ordered the best-selling Lifesaver since I was a first-timer. On one day, I had gotten a French breakfast at Café France—a warm cup of coffee, and a croissant a la Gonzaga. I was vicariously living in Paris, except the music in the background was Journey and throwback OPM songs blasting from a radio nearby. Sandwiches, croissants, more sandwiches, and more double-taps on Instagram. I was a perpetually hungry nomad with nothing but a cellphone as a companion.

            There were times wherein I really needed to save money, and so I would awkwardly whip out my baon from my lunchbox in true freshie style. My food was nothing much: Rebisco crackers, a banana, and probably some leftovers from dinner the night before. I have my yaya to thank for including a stash of tissue. While I eat and mindlessly browse through my social media sphere, I glance at the people around me. There is always at least one couple being sweet to each other, and I can’t help but feel a pang of envy. There was that one couple who always bought from The Galley together; they hold hands. There are groups of people who can’t get over a joke that one said, who rant about their profs and grades, and those who just enjoy each other’s company. There’s that kuya from one of the food stalls who proudly sings every line of the songs played on that radio station.

            The bell rings, and it’s off to English again.

            People always tell me that I look like a junior or a senior (I never got that “sophomore” remark, ever). And it’s probably because I’ve always looked mature for my age. Some even get shocked when I tell them that I’m just a freshman. “It’s because you don’t seem lost,” one orgmate told me. I guess I could attribute this to my ability to easily adapt to my surroundings. If I’m lost, I’ll ask around and find my way. If I feel clueless, I’ll keep my head held high and act normal. I quickly try to feel like I belong, and it actually works. I sometimes find it rather strange when people itch to be in a group 24/7. Some students just have to be with at least one friend all the time, but of course, the more the merrier. Some enjoy being in large crowded spaces with the good noise of chatter and laughter; like the first floor of Gonzaga for example. But some would prefer to have it differently, and I fall under that category.

            Today, I arrived in school around 15 minutes before my first class was to start. “Oh gosh I don’t think I’ll have time,” I think to myself. I climb the stairs and go to the second floor of Gonzaga. My spot has changed since last semester; I now stay by the tables right in front of the Fine Arts Department. I dash to my spot—it’s the table smack dab in the middle—and put my stuff down (they’re there when I come back; no one ever bothers to touch them). As usual, I take a pee break in my favorite CR ever. It’s the one right beside the staircase with the really friendly manang who most probably already knows my face since I believe I am her no. 1 customer. I greet a hearty good morning, do my business, and put on my lipstick for the day. Right after that, I head downstairs to the chapel. Go and do good unto others, be loving and kind. Be thankful for everything that comes your way, the Lord tells me. It’s three minutes before my Math class, so I take off and run.

            And no, I did not have time. I was not able to get into my morning grind of re-reading my favorite Virginia Woolf novel, The Voyage Out. I believe the main character, Rachel Vinrace, misses me dearly. At times, I bring an issue of whatever magazine I find interesting for the month. L’Officiel was the last one I recall, and I was fixated on all the details of every outfit upon every turn of a page. Spring/Summer season is going to be exciting, and I can’t wait to channel my inner Gucci girl that’s been screaming inside! If I’m not reading, then I’m writing. “Note to self: DO SOMETHING WITH LIFE,” “Omg he looked at me,” and “Who am I?” are some lines that my mind peruses onto my journal. I do all this with my coffee tumbler to keep me company. Even with “Faithfully” on full-blast, the pungent smell of grilled whatever, and the girl next to me who is fast asleep, I just carry on and do what I do.

             We all have that need to belong. We all want to feel content, to fill the gaps in our day with hellos and goodbyes, with hugs and kisses. We want to spend every minute assuring ourselves that there is nothing void in our lives. However, I believe that there is something in nothingness, such that there is solace in silence. I look forward to another morning tomorrow in my nook by the FA Department on the second floor of Gonzaga. And maybe I’ll bring Hemingway instead.

(Main image: Illustration by GraphicaArtis/Getty Images; Jorg Greuel/DigitalVision)

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