Bottled Sky

I seem to have the worst luck in going to the beach and getting a tan. I vacationed in Pagudpud with my family a few summers ago, and it stormed for the bulk of our stay. Then a couple of summers after that my high school friends and I went to Punta Fuego. Sure it didn’t rain, but the sun didn’t bother to make an appearance the whole time we were there either. Only a couple weeks ago I traveled to Subic with some college friends, and — you guessed it — a typhoon tagged along.

While it was undoubtedly interesting to swim in the ocean amid strong winds and cold rain, I’m starting to lose the hope of ever seeing a sunny beach again. I should probably give up on that natural tan I’ve been coveting for the past several years and be content with being pale. At least I won’t have to worry about skin cancer.

You’re going to have to excuse the whiny tone of this post. I normally make an effort to keep my entries light and entertaining, but these past few days I haven’t been feeling good enough about myself to be perky. Let’s just say it hasn’t been the best of weeks. Several recent incidents have shown me that I can be a bit of a self-absorbed bitch at times. Though I don’t really believe I’m completely to blame for the said incidents, it is obvious that I need a little attitude adjustment.

Ick. I feel weird posting semi-serious stuff here–clearly I’ve had more practice writing about the quirky and the silly–but I didn’t want to censor myself too much either, so I just let the words flow. Sometimes I do need to purge. Don’t worry about this becoming a trend, though. My life is cushy and uncomplicated; I have neither an excuse nor a desire to go all “tortured soul” on you. We’ll be back to regular programming by next post, I promise!

If you have an abundance of positive energy today, send some over to my mom and my dogs, Oreo and TJ. They’re celebrating their birthdays this week.

You are looking at Skylight version 16, entitled “Endless Summer.” I created this layout for the following reasons:

• the semester is finally over and I have free time again;
• I love to swim;
• I love the colors of the ocean; and
• I love summer, the way I used to know it as a kid.

The summers of my childhood meant freedom and relaxation. For two glorious months, I didn’t have to worry about following a schedule. I could sleep as late and as long as I wanted and spend my days however I chose. But then college rolled around, and I had to use my summers to catch up on the units I lost in trying to find a major that didn’t drive me crazy.

I’m scheduled to graduate in October, and this summer is the last I’ll ever have. So I decided to skip summer classes for once, forget about school for a while and just enjoy a true-blue summer vacation. I plan to paint my room aqua, visit the beach with my friends, get a tan, take lots of pictures, and make pretty things (hence the layout). I’m going to make my last summer count!

You know how in movies kidnappers usually videotape their victims holding the day’s newspaper as proof that they’re still alive? Considering how long I’ve left this blog to grow mold and other multi-celled organisms (Can you tell I have biology this semester and that I haven’t been paying much attention in class?), I feel like I should post a picture of me with today’s paper. But in the same way that I’ve been too lazy to update this thing, I simply couldn’t seem to get off my ass to snap a simple photo. In other words, you’re just going to have to take my word for it: I’m Nikki and I haven’t fallen off the face of the planet.

A couple of things have happened since I last posted that might actually be proof that hell has frozen over.

Proof # 1: I wrote poetry

I think I’ve mentioned before that I find it quite difficult to write most of the time, so I had avoided writing classes like the plague. This semester, however, I was forced to take a creative writing elective, because there was nothing else that fit into my schedule. Hence the poetry. Before this class my experience with poetry was limited to my third-grade masterpiece about the “little seed in need of the sun and the rain and the soil indeed.” When my friend Aggie heard about my poetry-writing predicament, she said and I quote, “What?! How can you write poetry? You don’t have angst!” I may not have angst, but I tried my best to fake it. And apparently, I do have a bit of cheese somewhere in the recesses of my sap-retardant brain. I am now the not-so-proud author of four poems (one bad, two semi-bad, and one almost-okay). The class has since moved on to prose, so I have progressed/regressed to penning terrible short stories. It appears that I have even less sense of plot than I have angst.

Proof # 2: I gave up meat

I, carnivore extraordinaire, have become a vegetarian. I had to prepare a report about animal rights and welfare for my Environmental Journalism class; I haven’t been able to eat anything that walks or flies since I first researched about the topic over a month ago. (We humans are a cruel, cruel species.) I have never been a fan of tofu or vegetables, yet strangely enough, I don’t really miss meat. At first I thought it would be a passing thing, but now I’ve decided to give up beef, pork and chicken for good.

So there. If you–unlike me–believe in hell and that you are naughty enough to land prime real estate in Satanville after this life, you just might want to invest in a good pair of ice skates. Skis, sleds, and snowboards might be fun, too

That’s it for now, folks! I’ll post again the next time there is a big-ass deadline looming over my head and I feel the need to procrastinate. Until then, let’s all try not to take ourselves too seriously. (Yes, you! I’m talking to you! Lighten up!)

My parents got me LASIK eye surgery for my birthday this year. My dad and I both had it done last Friday, and now for the first time in 15 years I have 20/20 vision. It’s quite easily the best birthday gift ever.

Like most of the things I do I didn’t give the surgery much thought beforehand, and it was only when I lay down on the surgical table that it sunk in that I really was having part of my corneas vaporized. So for a moment I was nervous, but I got over it in literally 2 seconds. This was basically how it went down in my head:

Stage 1:  Nonchalance – “Surgery? No big deal!”
Stage 2:  Momentary nerves – “No shit! I’m really doing this!”
Stage 3:  Gung ho recklessness – “Bring on the lasers!”

The procedure itself was painless and it took only about 5 minutes per eye. The first few hours following the surgery was a bitch, though. The pain was bearable, but my eyes teared up continuously and automatically so I just kept them closed until we got home. I functioned remarkably well for a (temporarily) blind person in pain, if I do say so myself. I managed to walk quickly and smoothly from the American Eye Center, which was located in a busy shopping mall, all the way to the car with only a relaxed hold on my aunt’s hand to guide me. I was even able to feed myself takeout food in a moving vehicle.

I did, however, drop some macaroni salad down my cleavage at one point. Picture me blindly fishing pasta out of my bra in traffic with automatic tears flowing from my stinging eyes. Of course I had to giggle a little despite the pain. Wouldn’t you? It was just as hilariously absurd as my tearful toast-eating experience!

Here’s some more hilarious absurdity. My parents and I discovered that I had astigmatism when I ran into our garage wall when I was 7 — poor eyesight equals impaired ability to judge distances. I was running to greet my parents as they came home from work one night when it happened. It was like “Mommeeeeeeeee—SMACK!” My two front teeth collided with cement. Good news: no blood. Bad news: chipped tooth. Bottom line: at least we became aware that I needed glasses.

You know what, I take it back. There was no bad news about that whole incident. I’ve always liked the little nick in my tooth. I think it gives my smile character *grins cheekily* And with my newly restored vision, I see only more reasons to smile.

P.S. Yes, I am in a very good mood

I haven’t been dealing with stress very well. (I can feel everyone who has had to deal with my stress-induced bitching raise an eyebrow at the understatement.) It’s like I’m experiencing continual PMS (read: crankiness personified). I’ve been a bit short with most people, but I’ve been at my monstrous best at home. I know it’s totally unfair, but I may have been reserving the nasties for my mom because I know she’s the least likely to strangle her one and only daughter. I feel really guilty about it and I’ve been trying to keep my temper under control, but I keep failing. And it just seems completely lame to apologize when I know I won’t be able to stop myself from being snappish again, at least until this semester (i.e. the source of all stressful things) is over (and buried 10,000 feet into the ground where it will never ever bother me again).

I’m normally not the type of person who remembers past slights — I follow the rant-for-ten-minutes-then-forget philosophy — but the stress is making me remember old annoyances, too. Like just now as I was washing the dishes, I suddenly remembered the time a couple of years back when I had to wash a huge pile of dishes at 5 a.m. with a hangover waiting to happen. I had texted my parents that night that my friends and I had decided to have an impromptu drinking session (or alcoholic rampage as my friend Mei-Anne would call it) and would not be back till morning. Since they had replied and told me to have fun (my folks are very lenient), I had assumed that I wouldn’t have to worry about my dishwashing duties for the night. I had finally managed to get home a little past 4 a.m. and had been looking forward to sleeping the drunkenness away. But no! They had left all the dishes from lunch and dinner scattered on the kitchen counter, some still on the table. So there I had been, pending hangover and all, pissed as hell to be scrubbing dishes at dawn. Had I been naive to think that they would clean up because I had given them sufficient warning and because they hate it when the dishes are not washed right away?

But I digress. The point is, that was ages ago! What was my brain doing bringing that up now? Bad, stress! Bad! I need for this semester to be over, so everything can go back to being hunky-dory in Nikkiland. Then again, I can’t just turn into a monster every time things get tough. I have to find a healthier way to deal with the stress. Somehow, stress balls aren’t enough anymore.

An afterthought added several hours after my original post: I turned 22 last week. My life was in a much better place last year, I think. But I can’t really complain; it’s been a good life.