Monday, January 15, 2007

Summer

The semester is nearing its end. Time flies so fast; it seems it was only a few days ago when I enrolled for college, late as it is in my life. I’m nearing my 35th birthday and I’m still a third year elementary education student. My golly and my gulay, by the time I graduate (that is if I passed all the requirements and the evaluations) and pass the licensure (that is, if I can) I’ll be middle aged and on my way to andropause, impotence and incontinence, not necessarily in that order.
But there are advantages in being an “old student”.

1. I can bluff my way in and out of the campus because I’m almost always, especially the freshmen, mistaken for an instructor, or professor and sometimes I’m even mistaken for the campus director.
2. Instructor and professors can’t place me: either they think of me as an old stupid carabao who wants a degree before he dies of old age, or they think of me as a late blooming special child who suddenly discovered that he wants a degree before he dies.
3. My words carry a lot of weight with my classmates. One incident: A classmate asked me, “Daddy George, do we have an English 89 class?” And I jokingly answered, “none, the instructor is sick.” The poor girl skipped the class. I can’t even joke because my classmates take my words with authority.

The disadvantages are:

1. Memory gap. I find it difficult to memorize all those facts resulting to my poor performance in quizzes and tests.
2. My classmates think of me as the walking dictionary of the class. This is flattering but can also be irritating especially if there’s an essay examination. “Daddy George what’s the English for____? Can you translate this sentence in English?” BBzzzzzzz? Bbbbzzzzzzz? Like bees in my ears. Of course I love my classmates but when I’m thinking, I mean, no one can think with all that buzzing.
3. Counsels. I am the unofficial guidance counselor of the class. Nobody in the campus goes to the official guidance counselor for counseling; that is, from my experience with my classmates. But once in a while they come to me for advice. I remember this one girl who’s into a relationship. “Daddy George I caught my boyfriend cheating. We fought but now he’s asking for a second chance. Should I accept his apologies?’ I can tell from her eyes that she’s not had a good night sleep. I once fell in love too and I know the torture of relationships especially at her age, so I asked her, “How many relationships did your boyfriend have been into before you become engaged?” “Many,” she replied. “Then break it off with him because there is already a pattern.’ I told her. “You’re harsh Daddy George.” She laughed and walked away. A few days later she returned, haggard and red eyed. “You’re right Daddy George,” she smiled. “You’re right.” Sometimes I feel an impulse to hug my classmates but I know that I’ll be expelled if I do that.
4. Sex. Whenever there’s a class discussion about sex, I’m always the resource person. There was a copy of an old Forum magazine circulating in the class. Ours is a class of forty eight students with five male and four men, the rest are ladies. You can imagine the giggling about the magazine. Forum is, I think, a Playboy or a Penthouse publication. The articles are mostly sex confessions (they are really made up confessions, I mean; nobody makes love to a whole basketball team). I’ve read a few of them when I was younger, and of course the terminologies are “technical” and I don’t want to elaborate. Anyway, they asked me about sex education, my opinion about it. They also told me that they’ve watched pornos for scientific reasons; I sweat a lot in these kinds of discussions. I mean…I’m human.

I’m on my third year and I have a year to go. Looking back I did a lot of things that I will not be caught doing unless under threat of beheading and under the influence of gin or alcamphor.
I did calisthenics, gymnastics and aerobics during my freshmen P.E. I danced the cha-cha, the Chocolate dance, I sang, I directed a play, I acted in a play.

I’m tired. Why can’t I jus get that piece of paper and get this over with.

It’s the summer wind; really, the soporific summer wind is doing this to me.

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