That’s the literary device the tickles my fancy the most.

She desperately gulped water and, with shaky hands, wiped her clammy forehead.  Choking on the smog and the phony airs of her new friends, she struggled to breathe.

Summer nights back home were perfumed with a sweetness that filled her lungs with optimism.  Inhales welcomed possibilities; exhales provided clarity.  She used to let her hair and inhibitions fly with the lakeshore breeze, and those were the realest moments she’d ever known.

She was addicted to LSD.  Lights danced before her, loud bass followed her, and that scent reminded her she was alive.

She craved the sweetness more than oxygen itself.

This is the third revamp of this blog. All previous posts have been privatized. Now this space will just house random creative writing pieces that do not necessarily resonate autobiographically with my life. Basically, it’s just random ish.

They may be poems, short stories, whatever.
(I guess I’ll publicly post the creative writing pieces I wrote prior to this revamp, too. But everything else is super embarrassing and will stay private, k? K.)

If you happen to find this, please don’t judge. Thanks!

So… that future I’ve been constantly dreaming about?
You know, that new start?
That almost-mythical place that’s been just over the horizon
Ever since I’ve started running this race?

That place Tony Bennett left his heart
And where mine wants to belong

The place that’s as strong as a beacon of redemption
And as fragile as a daydreamer’s fantasy

The one that will make me forget my shortcomings
Let me forgive my mistakes,
My cowardice, my arrogance…

The one where I will prove myself,
Humble myself,
Discover myself,
Love myself and others…

The new slate discarded of all pre-made stereotypes or roles to play
The stage where I can confidently be me, unapologetically me

The home where I hope
I can finally hang up my running shoes…

I’m almost there.

I can never hit the rewind button, nor do I ever want to, but
Guiltily, I’ve been yearning for the reset.

It’s been a long, amazingly fulfilling journey thus far, but
I want this place to be the long drink of water I’ve been searching for to rejuvenate me.

I’m almost there… as long as I don’t mess up.
So once I’m there, then what?

Haha.

Saturday. May 14, 2011. 3pm. Foellinger Auditorium. It’s so funny how my graduation is going to happen at a spot that’s become so significant to me over the last four years.

Next Saturday, when I climb up Foellinger’s steps in my blue cap and gown, I’m going to remember that August night four years ago when I sat down on those steps and wondered why I enrolled in my 11th choice out of 11 schools. I was the epitome of a lost freshman, carrying baggage from high school and struggling to adjust. That night, I looked out on the Quad and sincerely wondered what was in store for me in the cornfields and whether I’d ever find my way. Everyday, I woke up on the top bunk of my FAR dorm feeling stuck until my kuya told me, “Regret nothing and fear less.” With that as my mantra, I promised to dive into everything full on because I owed myself to live. To this day, I don’t regret anything I’ve done – even/especially the mistakes. Some of them were fun, some were stupid, but all of them were valuable. Every time my priorities got lost in the fray, I was forced to pick out what was truly important to me. Every time I lost a friend, I confirmed who my real ones were. Every time I fell off the right track, I defined where and how I wanted to be. Getting lost helped me find myself. Be brave, take risks, and scrape your knees a little bit because nothing can substitute experience. You’ll find your way to something amazing if you’re willing to put yourself out there, get hurt, be real, and be human.

When I march down Foellinger’s long aisles during graduation, I’m going to remember running down them in my socks during midnight practices for my first Fashion Show, laughing my butt off with new friends. Putting myself out there led me to PSA and a new family. My adings, Kim, Jecca, Mapaye, Jay, Ashley, and Justin, each insanely unique and talented, make me feel so lucky to be their Ate every day. I love you! My summer school buddies, Amy, Rachel, Steven, and Ed – nothing could replace our nights in, nights out, and nights at Steak & Shake talking about everything and nothing at the same time. To Laurie: our 4-foot trophy baby can never describe what Cultural meant to us. And to Kate and Kyra: thank you for always being there and expecting me only to be me. The memories I’ll remember won’t always be the big ones. I loved getting lost on BUFU highways because of distracting conversations, sitting in the cafeteria/Late Night/apartment for hours, and having heart-to-hearts during the hours normal people sleep.

When I cross Foellinger’s stage to get that diploma, I’m going to remember when I stood behind it, feeling that surreal high as I watched my cultural dancers perform to the roar of 1,500 cheers. From this and other moments with PSA, I learned that you’re never too young or too inexperienced to accomplish something great. You just have to want to make a difference. You, first out of anyone, have to believe in your abilities. If you see a lack in role models, it’s your obligation to become one. If you find a cause you care about, it calls on you to stand up for it. Live your passion and make things happen in a way only you can. Don’t let your life be mediocre, especially when you’re young. Don’t settle for comfortable; settle for nothing less than fully alive.

Next Saturday, when I go back to my seat and turn that tassel, I know I’m going to be overcome with a feeling similar to the one I got when I watched my newfound role model deliver her speech at Foellinger as the FACT 2009 keynote. She riled up the entire auditorium and reiterated something I confided in her the night before over Perkin’s coffee when I picked her up from the airport. She mentioned that college was the first time I felt like I was “part of something bigger than myself.”

I started off not really knowing myself, but once I began to take risks, it all fell into place. What if I didn’t take on that AAS minor? I’d never have discovered my love for ethnic studies, identity formation, and community organizing. What if I turned down that Teach For America internship in L.A. my freshman year just because my parents forbade me to go? I probably wouldn’t be starting my new life in California this fall to teach for educational equality in under-resourced schools. And what if I decided to stay stuck in my FAR dorm, fearing mistakes and the unknown? I would not have found PSA nor would I be sitting here tonight. I would never have felt part of anything bigger than myself. By pushing myself to connect with new people and taking action on things I cared about, I learned about my history, dreamed about my future, and milked every present moment. I can safely say that college has helped me become more of myself than I ever have been before, and it’s only the beginning.

This growing process was never just about me, though. I would have to say the most beautiful thing I have ever seen is people growing and striving to be the best versions of themselves. Through every growing pain and proud success, I’m humbled and thankful to know all of the amazing individuals I’ve ever served with on board. To PSA, the current and future boards, and everyone who has a heart for this organization, you will always inspire me just for being who you are and caring as you do.

Growing is chaotic and messy, but this chaos is a sign of life. You’re only alive when you’re growing and changing. It can be scary, but if college taught me anything, it’s always better to take the plunge. And you’re never alone with the family you’re meant to find here. We’re meant to live through all the good and through all the uncertainty… and it’s worth it. Don’t avoid it; live it all for what it is.

It’s killed me how I couldn’t be at school for my final weeks of undergrad. Student teaching in Chicago definitely tested me, but I know I only got through it because of what I learned here. Champaign has taught me that there is always something bigger out there, the show goes on, and you are meant to go for it all. Even though I’m going to miss U of I so much, I feel like my experience here could not have prepared me any better for what’s to come. The show goes on… on a stage much bigger than Foellinger’s… and I know in my heart, I will be carrying every experience and each one of you with me forever. ☺

Mahal kita,
Melorie like Celery

There’s nothing like a cushy leather chair in a small cafe, fluffy snowflakes falling outside, the warmth of well-brewed coffee, the soundtrack of Elvis Costello and the melodic rhythm of half a dozen languages softly talking, laughing, and enjoying the same things I am.

This is Chicago for me. A small piece of home.

Jumping into my car, knowing I’m cutting it close, promising to be more green by walking next time, hoping that there’s parking in the parking lot.

Parking my car, debating whether to feed the meter, upon finding no quarters in my pocket, realizing the choice was already made for me.

Rushing into the Union, cutting through Courtyard Cafe, pacing my breath while speed walking around tables and power cords, anticipating the turns, knowing I could navigate this in my sleep because I’ve done it a million times.

Deciding to secretly take the elevator instead of the stairs to buy some time to calm my heart rate and stop sweating.

Swinging to the right instead of the left.

Sitting down across the desk, starting small talk, but knowing the real talk is why we’re both here.

Talking about leadership and community and reality, making sense of what I’ve done and what more there is to do, admitting to my mistakes, gushing about ideal dreams, declaring my pride, bearing my fears.

Listening, always listening.

Walking out inspired, knowing there was an impact made, on the both of us.

Strolling into the Cube, seeing familiar faces, studying quietly, laughing loudly, soaking in as much as I can while I can still call this place home.

Writing shit like this, haha.

Man, I’m going to miss it.

This assignment, one of 6 (yeah, I know), is due at 8am today for my CI 403 class.  It’s supposed to model Georgia Ella Lyons poem found here.

The Where I’m From

I am from fresh bedsheets, from Nutella and my ever-ringing BlackBerry.

I am from the windy city, lively, fast-paced, bursting with the rich flavors of each unique community.

I am from the palay grain, the sampaguita flower whose aroma I still remember eleven years removed.

I am from potlucks and strong wills, from Virginia and Serrano and Masacupan.

I am from the loud laughter and long-winded stories.

From Did you eat? and OK, you eat again.

I am from a past that was meant to happen, from a successful future I can design.

I’m from Chi-town and Laguna, from fried fish and fresh tomatoes.

From the first plane ride my Mom took to America, the lay-offs, and the engagement roses my Dad gave her back home.

I am from holiday parties,

‘80s and ‘90s hairstyles,

land plot blueprints,

and the wooden beaded rosary.

“Ang hindi marunong tumingin sa pinanggalingan hindi makakarating sa patutunguhan.”

Jose Rizal meant that we should know where we’ve come from

To get where we’re going.

GivesMeHope.com is my new addiction.  It’s certainly a change of pace from F My Life or Texts From Last Night (which crack me up), but I think I needed it.

Sometimes I need (we all need) that reminder that there are good people out there, that good things do happen, that despite the bad, life can GMH.

I wanted to submit one, but with my rambly nature, I couldn’t trim it down to <300 characters, haha, so I guess I’ll keep it here.

And yeah, I know it’s 4am and I’m no where near done with work.  Spring Break, where’d you go!?

—

I was the quietest girl in my high school choir.  During class, I would mouth the words to songs when I could get away with it and hid in the bathrooms when I couldn’t.  Frankly, I was intimidated by the soul sista divas, the pretty prima donnas, and the super stars who basked in the spotlight.  That wasn’t me at all.  If I faced any arena bigger than my shower or locked bedroom, I wanted God to miraculously make me mute.

Mrs. Brown saw through that anxiety, though.  From my first choir audition to my last song at graduation, she wanted to draw out this strong voice that, for some reason, I wanted to conceal.  Anxiety… yeah, that was the killer.

Then came the day of my final Asian American Club Show where I was supposed to sing “Iingatan Ka” (I’ll Take Care of You) by Carol Banawa.  This was the most opportune time to come down with laryngitis, of course.  (Now to think of it, it was most likely anxiety-induced.)

When I hoarsely told Mrs. Brown that I lost my voice, she immediately made a cup of tea for me with a generous amount of honey and lemon in it.  I stayed in the choir room, drinking silently and praying it would help.  Just being in her company calmed me down.

The curtain rose.  And I still sounded like a frog.  I held the mic up, apologized for my hoarseness, dedicated the song to my mom, and just did what I could because the show had to go on.  Pushing through the song, I blanked out on the words because I was focusing so hard on trying to sound normal.  I ended up confusing the pianist and myself, quickly wrapped up the ending, and ran to the bathroom.

There I hid uncontrollably crying, even when I heard Mrs. Brown’s sensible heels clicking down the hallway, knowing she’d turn into the bathroom to see my red face at any minute.

When she saw me, she assured me that it wasn’t as bad as I thought, that she felt the emotion from the song, that she was proud of me.

I tried hard to believe her, but the tears wouldn’t stop (jeez, whatta crybaby).  Then she told me to wait as she stepped out of the bathroom.

When she came back, she had grabbed the yellow and red roses that were sitting atop her piano out of their vase and gave me a hug.  She gave me the flowers saying, “You deserve these for your performance.  You have a very big heart, and the audience felt you express it.  Your mom must be so proud in that audience right now because I know I am.  I loved it.  You need to find the confidence to match the beauty in your voice.  You’re a kind, smart, intelligent woman who is going places.  I believe you can do it; I believe in you.”

She gave me my voice that night and she GMH.

—

I don’t know if she knows this, but she really contributed to my self-esteem.  Once I grew more confident, I sang all the time.  Proudly.  Loudly.  (Sorry, past, present, and future roommates.)  I found out that I love to perform.  I found out I that I actually like the stage, the podium, the interview panel, the… front of a classroom.  :)

Thanks, again, Mrs. Brown.  Thanks to you, I found my voice – in more ways than you know.

You’re not even gone
But I’m already missing
Everything you are.