On being a freshman again.

During a drawing session with CD this afternoon, I was lying on my back watching an old Filipino movie when she asked, breaking off from her sketching pad and pen, if this is how I spend most of my days. I said yes, but I wasn't really thinking or meaning it at that time. And she remarked how fun it was. And I casually replied that it isn't. Three or four months ago I would have said yes. But that was because I was putting off something better to do. I was procrastinating. Now that there isn't really anything important to do or anything to delay doing, lazing off seemed like such a chore. And she laughed how I described my recent life as that of being a bryophyte or moss or fungi sticking to a rock. The most basic and useless of lifeforms. But I meant it.

I checked my planner recently and lo and behold, it was clean as a whistle. It seems nothing I've been doing for the past few weeks is worth writing down. I miss the scheduling structure that school provided, giving me something worthwhile to do every hour of the day. I miss doing those worthwhile things so half-assedly not because I didn't want to do them but because I can. It felt so good to do a paper a couple of hours before deadline, just because I watched TV last night. But now, the TV's on and I'm not even watching. It seemed lazing off only felt good if you should be doing something else entirely.

The thing about graduating is that it felt so final. I remember every year, being told what to expect at the start of the sem. There was a predictability that was comforting in knowing what lay ahead (senior year was thesis, practicum was third year,etc). And everything I did built up to something, even hanging out for hours at a coffee shop smoking your lungs out felt like it prepared you for the sleepless of night of cramming. But now, there is nothing, save for some vague goals, that seem too painfully long a time, to be done the next year or so (like studying abroad). Basically, my freshman year in the real world is filled with those nagging goals that I've always wanted to do like write a book, or paint, or make a film, or take up photography, etc. All these goals and an incredibly immense amount of time in proportion to it. But I still can't manage to accomplish them.

I miss having the predictable routine of school, not because I want to go back, but because surprises actually felt like surprises, and not as if you've been expecting them to come (like what I've been doing). All the things I've wanted to do seemed a lot more fun when there was something I didn't want holding me down, as crazy as it may sound.