Name: The Geek
A bagatelle, really. Jostein Gaarder, "Sophie's World" My name is Mark Angelo V. Ching, born on March 14, 1988. I am a sophomore taking up Journalism in the University of the Philippines (Diliman), a bookworm at a young age. If I have money, I make it a point to veer away from bookstores because I tend to spend it all on lots of books. I own a lot of books now because of this; a lot from Stephen King, some from Dean Koontz, Jane Langton, Dick Francis, Susanna Gregory, Ursula K. Le Guin, Patricia Cornwell, Iris Johansen, and more. I am a lover of music, and I sing a lot. Maybe I would try out for Philippine Idol's season 2... hmm. I am also prone to fatal bouts of depression. Now all these are just important for me only, but for you these are just a bagatelle, or worthless. But then, I wish that I'd make a mark on you... even unconsciously.
today
January 2008
July 2007
June 2007
May 2007
February 2007
December 2006
November 2006
October 2006
September 2006
August 2006
visited *loading* times
I met Jane (not her real name) one day when my boss, her adopted mother, brought her to the office. She was a six year-old, healthy, button-eyed, ponytail-haired girl. She liked to bug everybody in the office because she really had nothing to do there.
My boss said that her real mother, a drunkard, always "beat her up without mercy." In fact, she said, Jane was bone-thin before she adopted her.
She was bugging me out extra that day: pulling my hair, asking me seemingly stupid questions, and hitting random keys on the keyboard as I was typing a document due that afternoon. Of course, I could really not show my anger at her lest my boss see me shouting at her.
I know my boss is the only person in the office who has the right to shout at her. She always does this, without qualm. She always tells her to "look at whoever is talking to you," and that she "doesn’t like to have a noisy daughter."
So each time Jane taps at my keyboard, she gets a scolding from my boss. Jane cringes every time this happens, and I can tell she’s in pain. However, as kids are, scolding doesn’t deter her from doing her mishaps again.
Her mishaps reached a climax when I was left with her in the office because my boss and her assistant went to a meeting. All of a sudden, Jane turned into an imp. Not contented with all the hair pulling and key tapping, she decided to run around the room, shouting all the gobbledygook I can take. When the phone rang, she grabbed it herself, and then slammed it down the receiver. Then a lady showed up at the inquiry window, so I walked to it (it was three meters away from the phone) but Jane decided to hang on my leg, like a monkey. I half-tottered, half-fell to the window before realizing I can’t do it. The sight might have been funny to the lady, but it wasn’t to me. I was pissed.
When my boss returned, I told her everything that Jane did while she was away, even narrating in color how the lady laughed at me. I didn’t realize until the next scene that I should have kept these all to myself.
The next scene held me at disbelief. My boss moved with a suddenness so unpredictable that I had my mouth agape, and my eyes were glazed over.
My boss quickly grabbed Jane by the ear, and then in one clean sweep carried her to the couch. She stripped Jane’s shorts off, and then hit her with one calloused hand.
My boss was fuming mad, of which reason I didn’t realize until later when I turned my back on them. I was unable to look further because Jane’s screams were piercing me. She called Jane names like haliparot (promiscuous), maagang lumalandi (early promiscuity), and pokpok (prostitute). She shouted these names with an intensity that might have shook the Earth had it not been contained in the confines of our office.
I realized then that my boss didn’t care if Jane slammed the phone, or if she was too boisterous. What she cared about was that Jane was a six-year old who hanged on the legs of an 18-year old. She felt that it was improper for a kid to play with a man, much less to play with his legs.
I could have shouted back at my boss, that a kid does not think of even the least lusty things when they hang on anyone’s legs, or that they don’t have lust in their bodies at all. But I didn’t; maybe I should have.
I see Jane (she’s a year older) less frequently now. She avoids me, and I avoid her. These few times, I wonder what her future will be like. Will she grow up and be the person that my boss hit her for? Is hitting Jane enough to prevent her from being a haliparot?
When you think you own a person, and that person owns you back, then it turns out you were wrong, how would you feel?
I'm such a loser.
I am going to shift out of Journalism.
Okay, let me rephrase that. I was thinking of shifting out of Journalism.
There were various reasons. One is that I am anti-social. I hate functions. I hate gatherings. I hate parties. I hate concerts. If ever people can live under a rock and subsist
on algae, well, I’ll be the there forever.
The fact is that we can’t. Besides the truth that algae tastes bad (I’ve tried it once), I doubt there will be plumbing in the rock. Oh yeah. And books.
So here I am in Journalism, thinking I’m in the wrong college. I live in CMC with the dread of people contact. I scurry the halls of Mass Comm., eyes downcast, seeing no one, really believing that weeeeellll… that crack on the floor really is more interesting than that girl who I am supposed to know, are that guy who likes to greet me everytime he sees me.
I’m not saying I’m not fit to be here. I’m good at research. Okay, I’m great at research. I can be seen almost all the time in the libraries, looking for that elusive book the OPAC says is there but isn’t. Or being a ghost in chatrooms and forums finding that obscure information about the new Transformers movie.
But that’s it. These kinds of research don’t work well in Mass Communication. There will come a time when I’m forced to me this organization head so I can interview him, or this mayor so I can confirm reports. I hate it.
One fact is that I’m not articulate. I know my English is good, but it’s shaky. There are days when it is perfect (like last Thursday, in the JVO when I asked the panel a trivial question–my batchmates applauded me because of this) or is crappy (like last Monday in J 121 where I can’t even read a sentence correctly–para akong illiterate).
I don’t like to speak my thoughts out. I’d rather write them. When I was a freshie, I’d always go sit in front of the class, but then I’d be very quiet. Di ba students who sit in front are usually bibo and all? Well, I’m not that type.
I am the type of person whom you have in a class but won’t remeber after the semester. I think this is true myself. (Or is it? Post a shout out.)
So should I stay here in Mass Communication–when I can’t even communicate? I need time to think.
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