March 2012.

Today, I busied myself reviewing random Algorithm subjects. I also did a little of arithmetic for Linear Algebra. I am tired and I am not a computing machine.

My papers are running out and this might be my last sheet of paper so I took all recently gathered idea to write something about other things except numbers.

Tomorrow will be my final exam, and to tell you, it has been a hell of a week. In a day’s time, the faith will determine if I really have to hear the correct and well-timed exit tune.

I have been thinking about this matter lately and soon, I can definitely say that this shit is really over, like over-over. Finally, I did it!

By the way, my classmate, Angelina, asked me to accompany her for a little strolling around the campus today.

We don’t usually hangout inside the classroom. In fact, I avoided her in my Calculus class two years ago.  I just didn’t want to talk to her or just having the slightest idea of talking to her. However, she was a bit clingy-slash-friendly and I got used to it.

Two years ago, with wandering eyes, she said, “I haven’t tried cheating. This is my first time.” And when we had our surprise quiz in Differential Equations, she lured me to give her my first five answers. “Everyone is doing it. Look at them.”

Last year, her mantra became “Cheating does not hurt anyone. Cheating does not hurt anyone.”

At present, she has somehow changed. She managed to answer board works alone. Not getting them right, though.

So today, she might have sensed a bit of the graduation hype and got fed up of all the emotional hysteria.

I bet she felt much smarter especially now that she has the sure shot of graduating via constant cheating.

To my surprise, she sounded a bit confident. I had to sound one too, so as not to destroy the feeling.

It’s all a piece of cake,” she said.

She then started talking about life: that graduation is not the ending; it’s just the beginning.

Blah.

Great minds have purposes while others have wishes,” she added when we reached a bench. “Washington Irving.”

As she babbled about real world, unemployed and underemployed, patience, perseverance, and words that I could no longer understand, I looked at the trail of quad’s pavers and remembered my fresh start at this school.

Four years ago, I bad-temperedly accepted this University. Honestly, it was like picking up bacteria when shaking someone’s hand—a terrible human tragedy.

My four years as a student is so-so. Tolerably passable.

T’was like I just overslept.

Let’s us say that he is suffering from a contagious, yet curable disease. Its contagion had nothing feared to crush the host’s barricade of immunity. The disease, as most people believed, does not need medical attention. It required, to all’s surprise, a dream.

A dream perhaps could heal this entire pending lull to the clamor. This defiant is something that even the words and songs of god could never replenish to the disease.

When the infection took place the night when the upper class is supposed to gather—and by that gather it meant for the unreasonable but usual party—everything he had got away.

To date, little by little, he went back to memories. He sailed slowly through forgotten thoughts, at this instant afraid to be hurt.

His friend, Doy, who got his name from a hit and miss chance of the parents in naming one’s son, fell in a trap and was locked up, his prompt aid, no matter how dangerous the trap may be, should be given away.

He travelled a path he personally knew would lead to the lock in. The said instinctive handiness resulted to the nearest town.

When he headed to ask for shelter to escape from a chilly northern wind, he was invited by one of the locals to get along with the night’s celebration. It’s easy, he say, dance with the music and follow the thumping and beating of your body.