But lately, I have been incurring absences. Well, it's just PE. But being absent is, well, just not me. Blame me then, if I got only 11 balls instead of the 20 passing score in the backhand-forehand practicals, because I haven't been attending table tennis for the last meetings. Something's wrong, whenever I find myself sitting at the Ipil azotea, staring at School of Stat right across the street, thinking about what will happen to me for the next 10 years of my slightly dysfunctional life.

Something's wrong lately, something that makes me think at every random second, while I take notes in Math, while I tap the buttons in Accounting, while I force myself not to sleep in Statistics class. Something's wrong because I can no longer breeze through my 99.1 homeworks without a sign of laziness, now I would often stop, stare at the black ants crawling at the table, wondering why the hell there are so many of them feeding on my Skyflakes.

But oftentimes, I do not think there is really something wrong. No, I do not feel any sense of err, or any sense of oops or whatever, while I try to drag my worn out Havs near computer center because I am horribly late for Math. I do not feel any sense of wrongness whenever I rush to SC for my raspberry ice cream, after Stat class, thinking it will flush away my short-term depression. Nothing's really wrong, there is just something missing in this routine of a life.

I do not know if I have the right to feel like this, like I have been deprived, like I have been so wronged or so shamed. I just feel like I have done so much, things I am not proud of, to be in this place, in this time, in fact I have done so much, that I do not deserve to be slapped again with the things that made me stay up late at night when I was 15, trying to peek into a larger world beyond mine.

Of course this is murky, and I submit myself to whatever wrongness of interpretation my emoness might stir up. I hope my depression people can actually understand what I am blabbering about. I just want to curse, like putang ina, or fuck if it doesn't get censored here, punyeta, simply for the fact that my life isn't the way I want it to be just because some people bitch around like hell.

I used to like my life, but I wanted more. And right now, I am slapping myself because I should have kept it the way it was, and I should have never allowed people to come into the picture.

But still, the drama of life goes on.