Bottled ※ Brain

I force myself to write a blog entry because I need to. If the dichotomy of the brain's functions holds true (i.e., if the right part of the brain is truly more analytical than the left one, or is it the other way around?), then I need to use my "artistic" cerebellum--it's been a long time since I had last used it. I have deprived myself of reading literature--in place of books, I have dwelt of mathematical equations, limits of a function, Newton's Laws of Motion, tangent lines, polymerase chain reactions, mRNA, the Watson-Crick model of the DNA.... I force myself to end this blog entry because I need to. I have dwelt more than five minutes writing this piece, and I have to get back to my books. I am exaggerating, of course, and so what part of my brain am I using now?

This is a list of the subjects I'm currently enrolled in, and let me tell you something about them. I have a 17-unit load (students--even my high school classmates--not from UP would react strongly to this by saying that it's too light a load, but in my school, it's already a heavy yet painstakingly manageable one.) Math 53 (Elementary Analysis 1). So far, we've started with a quick review on Math 17 lessons, basically about functions. This is an everyday-except-Wednesday class (so characteristic of the Math series subjects), and I'm forced to wake up early in the morning because it starts at 7 am. The instructor is Mr. Vryan Palma, a fresh graduate; he actually wrote his name when he introduced himself to us so as to prove that the V is not the result of a speech defect. Chem 16 (Lecture and Lab). I hope I'll enjoy this class. After all, I've been a chemistry fan since high school. This class is both a lecture and lab class, so I have a separate sc

I haven't even enjoyed my vacation--something utterly short-lived--and the prospect of the beginning of classes is already looming into my horizon. Not that there's nothing wrong with that. I enjoyed my week-long vacation, a time spent inside the transient room we occupied because Yakal, the dorm where I and my brother live, closes during semestral breaks, though I could only surmise that I could have enjoyed it better had I gone home to Koronadal. I did a lot of sleeping because it had started to rain, and it was always tempting to take frequent naps when the temperature lowers, something that happens rarely in the Philippines. My brother Ralph a few days before we stayed at the transient house had bought two Gabriela Gracia Marquez's books for 50 pesos each, a rare find, because the Colombian author's books are always bestsellers and sold at such high prices. I had a marvelous time reading the books, which are really short story collections, and I did the reading duri

I was expecting it all along, that he’d leave us for good. His parents are all in the States, working because there’s a greener pasture in that side of the world. His mother is a grade school teacher; his father, I think, is studying in a nursing school, hoping perhaps to be able to get a job in line with that course. His younger brother, a clever, stout boy, studies there, too, and has so far reaped national awards in the US in Maths and Sciences. It must be in the blood: it has to be. It wasn’t surprising at all, that he’d leave us for good. I guess that’s part of this thing we call life. Friends do get apart, and there are so many things that could cause this separation: conflicts, disagreements, coldness, forgetfulness, or, in this case, a crucial decision. A couple of days ago, he sent a brief email of more than four paragraphs. It was a brief one because he didn’t really say everything (I know he tried, but it was a hard thing to accomplish altogether): at least, the words did no