High School is Cool

High school sounds so much fun that it did when I was actually in high school.

I really don't mind taking our food and nutrition class again and make that molo soup that looked like a jungle. When it was time to eat what we had made, our teacher (who coincidentally resembled a refirigerator) would close the doors and leave us for a few minutes while we conducted our taste test. We looked like prisoners --- dangerously hungry, disappointed by the food, and under the jurisdiction of a beastly warden. And this classmate of mine almost caused a commotion by accidentally swallowing a toothpick she used to eat her siomai, which wasn't even made in our class but ordered from the school caf.

And I also don't mind doing my gymnastics all over again. I remember when we were given jump ropes to practice with and make our own routine. My classmate tripped on her own jump rope and blamed someone else for her hideous fall. She was also the same girl who swallowed the toothpick in health and nutrition.
So my gymnastics routine consisted of me half splitting here and there and just really inventing moves that made me look like a hippo. I was all over the sports complex!

And really, I don't mind attending the intramurals. Me and my buddies, we used to pair each other with the male-looking basketball posses (take note: I went to an all0girls high scool). Ok so I was supposed to be Daryl's pupply love, so when they had a big game, my big-boned friends Wyson and Regine dragged me to the basketball court and forced me to show my support for Daryl and the rest of the Yellow Batch team. And that really wasn't enough for their amusement. THey had to show her my picture when I was 8 years old, kicking high up in the air in my ballerina costume, which they stole from my rattty old backpack.

And I don't mind standing up for a whole period because I couldn't find my Bible, and I was supposed to memorize one passage and interpret it. And getting reprimanded for eating brownies and leaving evidence of it (brown stuff in my teeth). And played the role of a dead politican (his corpse --- with cotton balls in my nostrils and all) in a so-called wholesome skit about Marcos that I myself directed. And getting a 25/100 in a geometry exam (my seatmate Diane Dominguez got the same score --- unbelievable!!!), and acing an Engish test because I thought out teacher would look really cute if she were a guy.

Everything about high school I miss. The "kick me" sign on a dork's back, the soggy fries in the caf, the bullies who unstrapped my bra while I slept at my desk, the Angelus, the stupid one-foot-from-the-ground skirt length rule, the atheists who ALWAYS forgot to NOT do the sign of the cross, the cliques (lesbians, mean girls, losers, outcasts, athletes, beauty queens, nobodies), the teachers with really nice nicknames (Tazmanian devil, Ewoks, Square Root, Pigface hehehe).

God I miss high school. Then we had the licence to be brats and pigs and foolish, to call everyone names and tell anyone senseless things. If I did those things at work, either I'd get fired or no one would speak to me forever. And if I acted like that to my boyfriend (hypothetically, since I don't have one right now) he'd run away, no questions asked.

It's sad. I can't bring back those days. Now I have to act like the rest of them --- hungry for money, career-oriented, capitalists-in-the-making. Oh well.
At least I'm not STILL in high school at 24.

“The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A Death! What's that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first, get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you're too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, you spend your last nine months floating...

...and you finish off as an orgasm.”

---George Carlin