Five

On the second to the last day of its run, The Last 5 Years managed to entertain and confuse me all at in an hour and a half. 9 Works Theatrical’s adaptation of the musical The Last Five Years left me quite speechless, too. Nikki Gil and Joaquin Valdes as Cathy and Jamie (respectively) almost made me cry. Well, it was quite impossible to cry, so I don’t know if that’s really a good thing. But hey, it was quite a nice show.

So, here are five reasons why you should regret not being able to catch the show!

1. Well, there are only two characters in the musical. That was quite interesting for me. Imagine how two people can run a show without ample breaks. And it’s actually a musical! The songs weren’t easy to sing, too.

2. The story was simple and quite typical, but the playwright did a great job in telling the story. Both characters narrated at the same, only Cathy did it in reverse chronological order.

3. Every song was relatable. And I mean relatable.

4. Gil and Valdes gave their performance of their lives when I watched. So imagine how they did it during the first show. Their vocal prowess moved me into feeling for both of their characters, even if I’m quite biased towards Gil’s character Cathy.

5. The musical mirrored how love goes. It’s also serves as a wake up call to those who need a reality check.

The Last Five Years isn’t as spectacular and grand as Grease and Wicked, but it is purely beautiful otherwise. Hats off to you, Jason Robert Brown! Your musical made me ponder on my love life.

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Who here is a writer?

I believed that I write so well, until last week.

Two Fridays ago, our professor in English 10 left us with the assignment of writing about what we did last summer in 500 words. And so I wrote this simple essay, plainly explaining what I did last summer.

Then last Wednesday, I suddenly had this feeling that what I wrote was a mess. I didn’t get to make my essay a work of art. It just simply answered the question. Well, I had too much to say in 500 words! Still, I felt so bad, especially that the whole world knows that I’m majoring in journalism. What a shame.

Then, this announcement followed: we are to read all of our classmates’ essays. That’s right, the whole class gets to read my crappy essay. I got the link to the files of the essays, and boy oh boy, why am I considering myself a writer?

I would receive my graded high school essays with high marks. I know I can express my thoughts well in writing. But how come I feel so insecure about my writing now? Why now that I’ve finally decided to give my A game? Why???

It seems that my confidence plummeted down to rock bottom. When will I be able to pick myself up again?

Alumni Homecoming

It feels good to be at home.

Pondering on what to do aside from reading the assigned readings for next week, I asked myself: when can I go back home? I’ve yearned to come back to one of the places where I learned so much about life and work. And finally, I had the chance to go back home.

~

Four months after graduation, I finally had time to come back to where I came from: my high school. Everything felt so different, yet so the same when I walked down the halls of my home for the past four years of my rocky road life. It was weird seeing all those girls in pink shirts and not knowing who they were. It was so nice seeing the familiar faces of the girls from the lower batches. I even got to meet the girl who wrote the prophecy for me (who turns out to be their batch valedictorian in grade school). Seeing all those familiar faces, including some teachers and staff, made me have a feeling of reassurance – that I can always come back home and be comfortable. The struggles brought about by the first few weeks of college made me feel really uncomfortable and uneasy. Coming back home really made my day, my week.

On my way to my destination, I saw Ate Vivian, the guard who was assigned at the entrance that I always use. She was thrilled to see me, as I was thrilled to see her. She told me about the few changes that occurred for the new school year. Wow, so much can change in so little time. I saw many more teachers, and they asked me how college was. I said, “stressful. It’s not the same stress as high school stress.” They reassured me that I can do it, and so I left them, hurrying.

I visited my club, First Aid. I bought them pizza, too. Wow, I bought pizza for 11 strangers. *moving on* A sophomore member came to me and hugged me, and ranted about how she’s stressed about the school punishing her. I felt her woes, but I was flattered because she shared her frustrations with me. As the session started, our dear moderator gave a few reminders, then I had the flood to myself. I was never comfortable in speaking about my experiences in front of crowds, especially in full English (well, Koreans were in the crowd so I had to speak in English). After sharing my stressful first aide experience, we ate. A few photos were taken, then I went off to look for teachers.

I was able to speak to our assistant principal for academic affairs. She was warm, as always. I was able to share my struggles, and she was there to say that I can do it. She reminded me of my past struggles, reminding me that my past struggles were worse than what I’m going through now. I left her, hoping to see her again. As I waited for my mom, I saw one of the teachers who made me cry (a lot) in senior year. We were, of course, casual. I greeted him on my way to club, so I guess we’re fine. He asked me about college and where I attend college, and he left. Well, it was nice speaking to him, knowing that I trusted him well before the mishaps happened. My mom came, and then I left

On my way home, I realized how I easily forgot all the bad things that happened to me in school. All that I remembered were the fun stuff. I guess that’s what you feel when you’re at home in a certain place. It’s like all the bad things are dust particles in the air: they’re there, but you can’t see them.

High school will always be special to me, my glory days. I miss high school now. How I wish I could go back in time.

Welcome to college

The struggle is real.

I am in the middle of a struggle in understanding my readings for history and geography. I am also in the middle of a struggle in convincing myself to read my readings in history and geography.

I am in the middle of a struggle in meeting new people. I am also in the middle of a struggle of maintaining communication with friends.

I am in the middle of a struggle in living in the College of Mass Communication instead of the College of Home Economics or the College of Education. I am in the middle of a struggle in what to feel about what I’m going through now.

I am in the middle of a struggle as a young adult. I am in the middle of a struggle called frustration.

The struggle is tough. The struggle is real. I guess I haven’t learned. I guess I’m not ready for college.