Life is made up of a series of events… and it so happened that a recent series robbed me of much sleep and rest (starting from Intrams Week, I guess), that I think my inner Brosia has been very dominant and apparent lately. I will not enumerate the symptoms, but one funny example is this one from our MA class with, que horror, the great Dr. Ibe. She makes our heads spin but we sooo love her. And so, on that day in that class I came with a heavy bag full of test papers (that I had to finish checking), but forgot my notebook and a black pen. Luckily I found a handout from the class a day before still tucked into a corner in my bag, and a red pen that I use for checking test papers with. As I was listening to her and trying to take down notes, however, I would sometimes catch myself dozing off to sleep and struggle to keep my pen going in the right directions, in vain, resulting to mostly squiggles and unrecognizable numbers:

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Now as I sit here in front of the computer drowsy with flu and the thought of two reaction papers, a research proposal, academic and club grades that I need to submit and the recent exam I took that included the lesson in that note above, I wonder: will I be able to pull through? But then, such a question is not exclusively mine, I realize as I think of the countless faces I see in the streets, in jeepneys, in restaurants. And I start to feel grateful for deep inside I know that I have what it takes to solve my version of that question, which is actually relatively petty when compared to others'. But for now I’ll listen to what my body has been trying to tell me days before and get myself a good rest.

Yes, I agree, life traverses a straight time line, as well as a circular one. The “now” will soon become a “past”, the past cannot be rewound and relived, and mistakes/shortcomings will just be written down as lessons which, no matter how squiggly, I’ll still be able to understand and hopefully, learn from. After this, I’ll surely be able to bounce back and call on my inner “Darna!”. And then, time will come when I, again, will become a sirena, deftly swimming in this sea of comings and goings and happenings and... are you still there...?

Matess Ibañez, Maritess Ibañez, Miss Ibañez