Prosaic

At one outrageously stupid point in my life, I got a zero over five in one part of my Math 17 fourth exam because when my desperately twisted manipulation of equations led me to the figure 0/1, I promptly stopped computing altogether and wrote that the final answer was "undefined’".

When your exam is only thirty five points IN TOTAL (a round of applause for my very generous prof!), a loss of five points is huge. So when I realized my mistake, I wanted to cry. Or kill something, preferably myself. I did not sleep a wink the day before the exam because I studied, studied, studied – and oh, did I mention that I studied? And all of it went to nothing because I still screwed up.
The low grade was not the insufferable part, since I never expected to do good in Math anyway. I was whining because of the pointlessness of my efforts. It would have been more tolerable if I wrecked my score because I didn’t study. But no, my magnificent Orochimaru-sama, the truth was that I would have gotten the answer right if I didn’t commit that blunder and proceeded with my computations. I couldn’t accept the fact that I scored zilch because I made a mistake that was so ‘unmistakable’.
I don’t know why my brain malfunctioned. I could still remember how my grade three math teacher drummed into my skull that “Zero divided by anything, ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING, is still zero”. I perfectly remembered that fact throughout the years that followed. I don’t know why I messed up the day it really mattered.
According to the class score sheet, only six students passed the exam. Fortunately, I was still one of the six despite my exasperatingly maddening mistake. My friends said I should just be thankful that I passed. But I knew I could never feel that way. Why?
Because there’s only one thing worse than screwing up big time. It’s screwing up small time and knowing that if you were just a little more effortful, a little more responsible, (and in my case) a little more SANE, you wouldn’t have screwed up at all.

************

His Friendster account profile name is "Undefined’". Currently, the profile photo is a seventies picture of his grandfather working on some papers in his office. He looks up to the dear old man very much. In fact, he’s taking Law in Ateneo right now because he wants to be like his grandpa. Love for studying runs in the family, I guess.
Still, that doesn’t change anything and the fact stands: he doesn’t study here anymore. He no longer jogs around the acad oval five times every Thursday afternoon, nor sits on the same chair in the library everyday to read those boring econ books, nor dons his royal maroon varsity jacket when it gets cold.
He hasn’t entirely forgotten, but he can’t spend all his time remembering. Sometimes he drops by, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes I see him, sometimes I don’t.
But that’s okay. Whatever happens, I know that we’re still warmed by the same sun, we still look at the same clouds, and we’re still watched over by the same stars. After all, we’re still under the same sky.

************

After dinner, I cheerfully tell my mother that I’m really enjoying my Psych 101 class. She smiles and reminds me that she’s got a minor in psychology from her first undergraduate degree so I could count on her for help. Maybe I could get a psych minor too, she suggests. I shake my head and say that if I shift to BE next year, I can’t get a minor. The curriculum credits only two free electives.
My father overhears the conversation. “You’re shifting again?” he asks, sounding frustrated. “You’re in second year now. You should know what you really want to be.”
I stare back at him blankly, feeling vaguely guilty.
“What do you really want for yourself?” my father asks.
I cast my eyes low and stare at the dining room’s green tiles. I graduated with honors. I passed the freaking UPCAT and landed myself on my first course choice. I had been able to shift to BS Econ. Hell, I’ve been a US since I got here. Surely I know what I want for myself, right?
More silence. I try to think but it’s useless. I can’t think of anything.
My father sighs, exasperated. “Nei. What do you really want?” he asks again.
It’s my turn to sigh. I give up and admit defeat. “I don’t know.”
My mother looks at me sadly. Though she never imposed it on me, I know that she prefers that I earn a degree in economics for a reason I still can’t understand. Since I don’t know what I want, my mother knows what she wants for me and I’m a staunch believer in the saying that mothers know best, I’ve decided that I’ll do what she wants as long as I can take it. This way, I have a ‘direction’ and my mom gets what she wants, so everyone’s happy. So unless Dr. De Dios drags me by my feet and throws me out of his school cold and hard, I’m going to stay in SE. It’s that simple.
Unfortunately, my father does not see it that way. Being a mechanic and working with cars all his life, he believes that you can’t drive if you don’t know where you want to go. Or else you’ll only be driving around in circles and wasting precious gasoline.
He shakes his head. “You know what the problem is? You don’t know what you want. You don’t have a sense of direction. You’re too undecided… too… undefined.”
Later, as I lay on my bed waiting for sleep, I smile sadly to myself. When did I become ‘undefined’? As a child, I had always been the type who knew what she wanted and made sure she got it, who knew what she wanted to do and made sure she did it, from getting a stranger’s totally adorable puppy (I didn’t steal it! I got my dad to buy it. ^_^) to jumping from a pay loader at one of the family business’ quarrying sites (to see if I could fly). Growing up, I had a long list of ‘heroes’, people I really idolized, (like Arthur Conan Doyle, who created Sherlock Holmes and Emanuel Lasker, the world chess champion who had a doctorate in Mathematics) so inspiration should’ve come easy.
I hug my pillow tighter. Now I’m a seventeen year old econ sophomore who is surrounded by loving family, who is kept insanely sane by kick-ass friends, who is a member of the best organization in the world, (I mean that.) who is trying to enjoy her life. Apparently, these still aren’t enough for me to be someone. I am still undefined.

************

When I received Kuya Rex’s text message asking me if I wanted to write a ‘monthly and regular’ column for Aslag Online, I immediately turned it down. I’ve been writing for publication since I was in grade two, and goodness knows how sick I’ve become of it over the years. I enjoyed writing, but as Professor Monsod said, marginal utility decreases over time, and it will always come to the point when doing the things you used to like doesn’t make you ‘happy’ anymore.
I’ve always wanted to take a break and try doing other things (You: Like what? Me: Uh, I don’t know. Milking cows?). Unfortunately, because I started writing at an early age, I grew up being labeled as ‘the writer’. (Heck, I don’t even think I write that well. I think I just got the part because my reputation preceded me.) So when I enrolled in UP, I told myself that I was going to give Neicy Nicdao a fresh start. Here, nobody would know me as ‘the writer’, so I could be just ‘the ordinary girl’. I could finally be free- I’d have to write only academic requirements, and I could screw up all I want without having to worry about my works living up to my name. (Yup, that’s the reason why I never wrote ‘Records and Publications’ in my preferred committees even though my buddy was the Queen of Rec and Pub). I thought I was finally getting what I had wanted.
However, the King of Chocolates’ next message made something in my mind go off. “Hindi ka records or officer but I invited you anyway ‘cause I think that your writing is a great read for everyone to enjoy.”
Hmmm. How long has it been since anyone read something I wrote?
That was when I realized how much I missed my writing being read. I guess that even though I try my damnedest to deny it, I’m still a writer inside, good or terrible. To say the least, writing kind of ‘defines’ me.
Finally, I decided to give writing for publication a shot again. And so here I am.
Kuya Rex said I could use my first column’s appearance to explain why I chose the column name. I hope I got the reasons across. Apologies if it’s really lame. I’m still a bit rusty and it might take a while before I get into the writer’s groove again.
Ja, mata ne. ^_^