He was nothing spectacular.

When he came, he was not perched on a white horse or donned in a silver armor. Unlike the movies, there was no string quartet or the soothing voice of a jazzy French singer. The moment I saw him was nothing in comparison to the numerous novels I've ardently pored on. There was no spark, no somersaulting heartbeats, no magnetic force instantly drawing me closer to him.

In fact, there was nothing at all.

When he came, he was walking, one hand in his pocket and the other on the strap of his backpack. He was wearing a collared shirt and a pair of jeans that were a bit too loose for him, and I couldn't help but notice that he was quite far from the latest fashion trends of colored chinos, bomber jackets and loafers. The endless chattering of students rushing to and fro accompanied the soundtrack playing in my head—a mix of indie music by the 'Naked and Famous.' The songs had nothing in relation to teenage love or the magic behind it; they just happened to be stuck in my head for the past few days now. His physique didn't quite match the striking features of characters I have fallen in love with. There were no runes etched on his sun-kissed skin or iridescent wings arching from his back. He was no handsome prince or a dauntless instructor or a commander of a powerful army. Rather, he was ordinary and a bit too ordinary, and when he came, fiction melted with reality, and it was too late when I realized my heart had flown away.

He was different—different from the limited number of boys that have managed to get away with my heart, different from all the ones I've chased because of their cosmic impact, witty remarks and boyishly charming looks, different from how I've always pictured the guy in bthis moment would be— and I've always had a taste for the different. The different has always intrigued me. It has always made me want to know more, to ask more because the world is overflowing with unanswered questions and teeming with unmarked 'fill-in-the-blanks'. And like Da Vinci and his 'Mona Lisa' and all the great artists and poets before me arrived with a masterpiece through a sudden spark of inspiration, the different always had a story for me, a story that was begging to be told.

So I gathered up my tools and painted a portrait of him, realizing he was outlined in black and white. His portrait was that of a simple one, with pure, hushed tones staining the rest of the canvas in light paintbrush strokes. But when I hung it on the whitewashed walls of my bedroom next to my line of paintings, it made no sense; moreover, it made no impression.

He doesn't draw attention, and maybe that's what I like about him. Because it allows me to look for him, to find him wandering in an ocean of warm bodies and giddy spirits and realizing that the search for him is all worth it because when I find him, our gazes meet, and in that split second before he looks away, I feel the butterflies in my stomach and the red on my cheeks and realize that all along it's what I've been wanting to feel.

And maybe ordinary was what I've been searching for all along; ordinary and different at the same time. Maybe ordinary would be the perfect fit for this jagged heart that's been broken one too many times because there's so much beauty in the ordinary, so much beauty in something that only a certain pair of eyes can see. So much beauty in something only a fickle, fragile heart can understand. So much beauty in a code only I could decipher. So much beauty in a nameless enigma that piqued my wandering interest.

There is just so much in the ordinary, and I cannot wait to unveil it.

There is so much in him that I have yet to know. 

A NATIONWIDE CALL: ABOLISH PORK! 

The controversy regarding the grave misuse of the Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF) was rekindled with the recent ten-billion scam involving businesswoman, Janet LimNapoles who received 2.157.19 billion pesos from the Priority Development Assistance Fund of various legislators including Sen. Juan Ponce Enrile, Sen. Ramon Revilla, Jr. and Sen.Jinggoy Estrada. According to the Commission on Audit, 6.156 billion pesos of the Priority Development Assistance Fund from 2007-2009, went to 82 questionable Non-Government Organizations (NGO’s). Ten of these Non-Government Organizations are presently linked to Napoles herself. Napoles,who is the owner of the JLN Group of Companies, is not a new name in the arena of PDAF scandals. Commission on Audit Chair, Grace Pulido-Tan, claims that Napoles’s name appeared in the 728 million peso fertilizer fund scam last March 2004 under the largest supplier of fertilizer, Jo-Chris Trading.However, under the list of businesses run by the JLN group of companies, Jo-Chris Trading existed as Jo-Chris Communications, Inc., a company engaged in communication supplies and equipment. Jo-Chris Communications, Inc. closed a year before the Senate probe was conducted in 2007.

Nevertheless, the Priority Development Assistance Fund, which comprises 24.9 billion pesos of the current two trillion national budget, has become an avenue for corruption and an opportunity to pocket and misuse public funds. Lawmakers, Therefore, thisPriority Development Assistance Fund must be abolished.

The Priority Development Assistance Fund, more commonly known as the pork barrel, originated from the time of US President William H. Taft when the Public Works Act was submitted. Prior to the Civil War, the term “pork barrel” was identified with barrels of salted pork slave owners provided their undernourished slaves during holidays. These slaves would then fight for these barrels and cause a stampede, resembling a rush for seeking subsidies among legislators. (as cited in Kawanaka, 2007)  Kawanaka (2007), then, describes pork barrel as funds for projects and programs planned by legislators for their local constituencies.

According to the US Congress from which this pork barrel originated, there are three definitions of pork barrel; the first being a bill or project requiring considerable government spending in a locality to the benefit of the legislator’s constituents; the second being a government appropriation, bill, or policy that supplies funds for local improvements designed to ingratiate legislators with their constituents; and the last beingthe act of using government funds on local projects that are primarily used to bring more money to a specific representative’s district.

According to Kawanaka (2007), the theories of pork barrel distributions can be classified into two categories. The first category emphasizes on the leader’s control over the rank-and-file members in congress through the use of pork barrel, while the second category focuses on the legislator’s status in congress as determining factors in the PDAF distributions.

The first category, which Kawanaka referred to as the ‘supply-side explanation’, explains how a person in power can easily control the behaviour of those who wish for pork barrel. Politicians, in pursuit of larger PDAF shares, would then be willing to join the ruling coalition. Abao (2013) says that pork barrel is not for development but for political alliance building.  Through pork barrel, the President himself can generate majority legislative support. This snakes down to the local governments and eventually, to the individual voter. According to Dr. Felix Muga (2011), “The PDAF can be used as a stick and carrot instrument of the administration to get the support of the legislators. It is known that it was used in the previous administration [of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo] to defeat the impeachment complaint against her. No cash allotment for PDAF if a representative is pro-impeachment.” Meanwhile, in President Benigno Aquino III’s term, budget secretary Butch Abad refused to release former opposition congresswomanMitos Magsaysay’s Priority Development Assistance Fund and justified it as a political reality. (Rellin, 2013) Thus, pork barrel distributions consolidate the president’s grip in the government’s legislative branch while maintaining the domination of political dynasties and enhancing the centralization of powers.

Kawanaka’s second category, which was the ‘demand-side explanation’, hypothesizes that position, seniority, influential status and socio-economic and political situation in a legislator’s district become significant in the distribution of PDAF shares.Because PDAF funds are usually spent on poverty-alleviation programs, underdeveloped areas should be given priority over legislators representing developed areas. However, as proven inthe recent Napoles scam, public funds are not allotted for the country’s necessary development. Rather, it is embezzled and misused through bogus organizations, ghost projects and employees, and syndicates. Unfortunately, larger pork barrel distributions are also provided to legislators representing developed areas in order for them to be re-elected.

In addition to that, the job of our legislators primarily focuses on making laws and budget appropriations. Santiago further says that “Senators and congressmen are expected to pass laws and exercise oversight functions over the Executive Department’s implementation of existing laws. We are not expected to build roads, bridges, and other infrastructure projects.” (as cited inMacaraig, 2013) Casino supports Santiago’s statement by agreeing that it is not in the job description of the lawmakers to initiate development projects. He also argues that the Priority Development Assistance Fund is not a necessity and should be abolished so that the lump sum would be distributed to other sectors or the national budget would decrease (as cited in Rellin, 2013)  

Through abolishing the Priority Development Assistance Funsd, we do not eradicate corruption itself, but we eliminate an unnecessary road towards it.  Without pork barrel, legislators will have to itemize their projects for House approval. By undergoing this tedious process, we cut down tools the legislature can utilize to manipulate and misuse public funds through the promotion of transparency. By abolishing pork barrel, we abolish a lot of things. We prevent the creation of more Janet Lim Napoleses and JLN Corporations. We prevent the act of pickpocketing in the legislature and disrupt the pillars set by supporters of political clans and families. By abolishing pork barrel, the government would eliminate an intrinsically anomalous practice and retain badly needed funds for development. Thus, budgeting becomes a question of “what” must be funded rather than “who” must be funded. (Abao, 2013)By abolishing pork barrel, we tear down plutocratic policy-making, white elephant projects and ghost employees waiting to misuse the proposed 25.2 million pesos worth of funds that should be channelled to severely underfunded projects, education, and different social services. By abolishing pork barrel, we uproot a tumor that is beyond all hope in this cancerous society, and dig our own path towards what this administration has always promised us but never gave us, “isang tuwid na daan.”

Sources:

Abao, C.V. (2013). Why rationalize bad practice? Abolish pork barrel. Rappler. Retrieved from http://www.rappler.com/thought-leaders/36635-abolish-pork-barrel 

Fonbuena, C. (2013). Napoles NGOs got P2.1B in ‘pork’ – COA. Rappler. Retrieved fromhttp://www.rappler.com/nation/36585-napoles-ngos-got-bilions-coa-report

Kawanaka, T. (2007). Who Eats the Most?: Quantitative Analysis of Pork Barrel Distribution in the Philippines.Academic Research Repository at the Institute of Developing Economics, 1-3.

Macaraig, A. (2013). Miriam to Congress: Phase out pork by 2016. Rappler. Retrieved fromhttp://www.rappler.com/nation/35282-miriam-phase-out-pork-2016

Monsod, S.C. (2013). Pork barrel: costs and benefits. Philippine Daily Inquirer.  Retrieved from http://opinion.inquirer.net/56945/pork-barrel-costs-and-benefits

Rellin, K. (2013). Power of the purse. Philippine Collegian,7, p. 8

Rufo, A.C. (2013). Bong, JPE, Jinggoy ‘suki’ to Napoles NGOs.Rappler. Retrieved fromhttp://www.rappler.com/newsbreak/36665-reville-enrile-estrada-suki-napoles-ngos

TO THE WONDERFUL BOY

It's been a while since I've seen Sam. Friday was a holiday, and on Wednesday, for some reason, our schedules clashed with one another. 

I've stopped waiting for you, wonderful boy, and I guess I have to congratulate myself for that. Things are back the way they used to be and the way they should be, and the regular girl with headphones plugged in her ears was gone from the 11:30-12 ritual she's always been practicing. The Palma Hall didn't miss her. It was still hustling and bustling with students going to and fro, and its heart was beating furiously with the chorus of noises from its different crannies. 

So without hopes of finding you, I walked down the red steps and slipped under the blazing sun. I hailed a passing jeepney, and I hopped in, unsure where these free hours would take me. 

I settled somewhere in the middle, my fingers fumbling my bag for loose change  when I felt a hand reach to stop mine and heard a voice beside me say, "I got it."

I craned my head to see Sam, smiling and handing coins to the person sitting next to me. My heart was beating rapidly as I was unprepared for this. I was unprepared to see him. I was unprepared to even talk to him. 

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked. "It's as if you've seen a ghost."

"I saw wonderful boy." The words fell off my lips without thinking, and I mentally punched myself for making such a stupid, stupid mistake. 

"And did he look like a ghost?" He asked sarcastically, and I gave him a light shove, acting as composed as possible.

"No, but... The thing is, I don't feel it anymore." I said. "I don't feel the same."

"Well," He began. "At least you should do some thinking first. The opportunity's there, after all."

"I don't want it anymore, Sam." I told him. "I want something real."

Slowly, he looked at me again, and this time crinkles appeared beneath his eyes as he grinned. Right then, I wanted to put my arms around him and tell him how he takes my breath away, but the inner coward was choking me, eating me alive and grinding me with its razor-sharp teeth bearing the words 'embarrassment'  and 'rejection'. So I didn't. 

"This is real." He reached for my hand and grabbed it, entwining his fingers between mine. I felt my cheeks flush and knees weaken, and I was hyperaware of how smelly I was or how sweaty my palms could be. 

"Yes." I replied, breathlessly. "This is real." 

Nights like this

There we were, sitting on the cool AS steps with the hazy twilight hanging above our heads and the roar of the jeepneys orchestrating with countless conversations of students. Two of us were in our high school uniforms, and the last girl in the group was sporting a pair of shorts we'd always take into controversy. We were asking ourselves what would happen if there was a zombie Apocalypse in school, and we were associating it with the game, "Dumb Ways To Die." We debated on who would die first and who would survive, the other girl in the uniform usually being picked to turn into what she called the "Father Zombie." While the adorable characters were singing and dancing in my phone's brightly-lit screen, we identify our deaths with them—the other girl in the uniform pressing the red button out of curiosity and the girl wearing shorts grabbing her toast with a fork. I, on the other hand, would be the stupid one who took off her helmet while in outer space. 

In the middle of Shontelle's "Impossible", I look up to the purple sky tinged with dark blue. Then, absent-mindedly, I say, "I love my friends." One of them replies, "Let's have more nights like this."

Nights like this—carefree, relaxed, nothing to worry about except the deaths of teeny little characters making fun of their stupidity. Nights like this are what I crave for. Nights like this are what I love. Nights like this allow me to escape the real world, hitting me like anodyne and taking me to a realm where there are no dark histories and pressing problems. Nights like this with people you are happy with, with people you have learned how to love. 

I want more nights like this. I badly need nights like I long for more nights like this. Because these nights become burning coals in the blank pages of my life. These nights drown in a spiral of memories as they ignite me. As they fuel me. 

As nights like this become ME. 

IGNITE ME

NY Times Bestselling author Tahereh Mafi reveals "Ignite Me" as the title of the final book in the "Shatter Me" series.

"Ignite Me", the epic conclusion to Mafi's bestselling trilogy "Shatter Me" and "Unravel Me", revolves on the return of protagonist Juliette Ferrars, a teenage girl with a lethal touch. In Mafi's final installment of the series, Juliette seeks help from former enemy and love interest Aaron Warner and discovers that everything she thought she knew might turn out to be wrong. 

"Ignite Me", which will be out in bookstores February 2014, would be something readers would not expect, implies Mafi in her letter via MTV Hollywood Crush. The only thing Mafi assures her readers is that Juliette is back, and she's already prepared to fight. According to the NY Times Bestselling author, readers should not be fooled by the title. "Ignite", as Mafi chose to put it, is so much more than it seems. 

Read the full letter here at: 

http://m.mtv.com/blogs/hollywoodcrush_post.rbml?id=2013/08/08/tahereh-mafi-shatter-me-ignite-me/&weburl=http%3a%2f%2fhollywoodcrush.mtv.com%2f2013%2f08%2f08%2ftahereh-mafi-shatter-me-ignite-me%2f&alt=http%3a%2f%2fm.mtv.com%2fblogs%2fhollywoodcrush.rbml&cid=300

TO THE WONDERFUL BOY

"Sam, what are you doing?" 

I rush up to him, the placard still in his hands as he shouts, "Let her find you!"

"Sam, stop!" My hands grope wildly to grab the placard from him, but he dodges. I lunge again, but he's too fast. He sidesteps me, and I nearly tumble down the AS steps. I bite back a curse, and he screams louder. "Let her find you!"

Around us, students begin staring. Ironically the vehicles that pass in front of the Palma Hall seem to drive by casually. It was as if the world was made of an inner and outer circles. As I tried to snatch the signboard from Sam's hands, the inner circle stops, yet the outer continues to carry on without paying attention to this moment. The universe doesn't seem to care about us at all. 

"Let... Me... Get... That!" My fingers grab nothing but thin air, and he descends the steps, holding the signboard even higher. 

"She's been waiting for you all this time! She read your works in your portfolio in Mcdonalds! She's been waiting and wanting to meet you ever since!"

For a moment, I thought you might be here. I thought you might hear him, and you might just walk up to me and introduce yourself. But I don't want you to. I want to stop fate from making that happen. 

"Sam!" My fingers clamp his shoulder, and he spins around, dumbfounded. "I said 'stop'." My voice dies down, and he lowers the signboard. "I don't want to look for him anymore." 

"But why?" He asks me, his black-brown eyes filled with worry.

I shake my head, looking down at our shoes, his khaki loafers across my black flats. "I can't keep looking for someone who doesn't want to be found." I look up and meet his eyes. Still, they were the most beautiful pair I've seen. "It's not meant to be, and I know it. So, I'm not going to push it." I chew on my lip, my hands shaking nervously as I take the placard from him. "Besides, I think I found the real wonderful boy." 

"You can't give up on him." 

I sigh. "Maybe it's time that I do." I smile and tuck the signboard beneath my left arm. Slowly, I walk down the AS steps, my cheeks flushed and my heart pounding wilder than before. A car passes by and honks in front of the white and red building that has become our meeting place, our special haven. 

I crane my head, and our gazes lock. He smiles and I melt. Breathless, I watch him wave goodbye. 

KIERA CASS BOOK SIGNING @ MNL

NY TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR KIERA CASS AT PH

 

Over 600 readers swarmed Glorietta 1 National Bookstore as #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Kiera Cass visits the Philippines for her book signing of "The Selection Trilogy." Cass, who is the woman behind the young adult dystopian fairytale that took the YA world by storm, has been topping National Bookstore's Young Adult Bestsellers category with the second book of the series, "The Elite". 

Inspired by the stories of Esther and Cinderella, "The Selection" is set in the future world of Iléa where a caste system divides its people and dictates their choices. America Singer, the novel's protagonist, is chosen to participate in "The Selection", a nationwide competition against 34 other girls to win the crown as Iléa's princess and steal the heart of its prince, Maxon Schreave. America, who is deeply in love with her paramour, Aspen, reluctantly joins the competition and enters the palace for the money that could help her family and fulfill her dreams of starting a life with Aspen. As the competition progresses, America is torn between the past and the present and gradually discovers who she wants to be in a harsh yet beautiful world that is far from what she ever imagined. 

"The Elite" picks up as The Selection narrows down to six girls competing for the prince's heart. Still torn apart by Maxon and Aspen, who now becomes a palace guard, America begs for more time to weigh her choices and discover where her heart lies. Inside the palace, the rebel attacks grow worse, and America is forced to uncover the truth behind the shaping of Iléa, finding out about its dark secrets and cruelties. But time is running out for America, and the competition becomes tougher as the remaining girls are determined to fight for Maxon and the crown. America needs to decide whether she can accept her role as princess of Iléa and finally let go her past and pain it drags along with it. 

The final book in the trilogy entitled "The One" will be out in May 2014. When asked about a sneak peek from the much-anticipated sequel to "The Elite", Kiera Cass confirms that she has finished writing it and reveals that there will be an epilogue in which each character makes a choice. She gave no hints on the cover design and refused to name a dream cast. 

Aside from that, Cass also announced that another e-novella which will be in Aspen's point of view will come out before the trilogy comes to a close. She is also currently working to a prequel, and promises her fans that if Harper Teen asks her to write more stories about "The Selection" world, she would willingly oblige. 

Kiera Cass will be flying to her last stop tomorrow for her book signing at the Activity Center, Ayala Center Cebu, 4 pm. 

What's your UPCAT story? 

I remembered being one of the lucky few who took their entrance exams in the first batch of the UPCAT. I even remember complaining about the stupid schedule, saying that my brain doesn't function well in the morning and questioning why I had to be one of the first students to take this life-changing test.


Ever since I entered high school, UP has always been my dream college. As a Freshman student, I started creating plans that I would follow through for the rest of the years. I knew that I wanted Journalism to be my course, and I knew that UP Diliman was the place for me. Aside from that, It was my mother's dream college as well, and she only confessed that during the beginning of my Senior year. I had no hopes of entering the university, though. I didn't want to expect. I knew it was a university where only a few pass as the crème de la crème is weeded from thousands of students who endure the lengthy forms and lines in their respective testing centers. I wasn't the smartest in my class, but my grades were good and getting by. Yet I didn't expect. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to have it tumble down when I receive a letter expressing a heart most apology of my lacking grade point average to enter the university.

Nevertheless, I gambled with fate and took the test.

On the day before the UPCAT, I picked the most comfortable clothing I could muster from my closet. I was warned that the testing centers would be cold and that there would be some rain, so I chose my favorite Cookie Monster sweatshirt and paired it with denims and velvet boots. I set my alarm clock to four in the morning and prayed one last time before I went to bed with my review books under my pillow. When I woke up, I felt as if I never slept at all. My bones went rigid with tension, and my nerves bolted upright as the word 'UPCAT' rang repeatedly in my head along with strings of curses. I kept in mind that I had no chance of passing, that I would do terrible at Math and Science and the fact that I didn't enroll in a review center would be disadvantageous to me since most of my friends did.

I was losing it. I was coming undone and taunting myself that I've lost even though the battle hasn't begun yet. My mind snapped back to reality as I glanced at the clock. Time to take a shower. let the water wash away all my worries. I got dressed, hopped in a cab and headed for UP Diliman—the main campus, the biggest branch, my dream school.

As we rounded the Quezon City circle, I felt my eyes brimming with tears. My heart was banging like a crazed drum, and I kept crossing and uncrossing my fingers. Beside me, my mother was silent as I kept thinking, "I'm never gonna pass this. I'm never gonna pass this. I'm never gonna pass this." Call me a pessimist or whatever, but I knew. I knew that my intellectual capabilities were not matched to those fit for UP. I knew that my dream school would only remain a dream. I knew that I was fit for somewhere, somewhere other than here. 

The cab passed by the famous Oblation, his arms outstretched and his head lifted to the sky as he offered himself as service to the country. I craned my head to look at it as the taxi lurched forward, taking me to the Institute of Mathematics. 

Even though I had a map with me, we got lost. UP was a big campus, and we had to ask several security guards before we reached my testing center. With each turn the taxi made, my heart leapt forward out of anxiety, and right there and then I wanted to drop dead out of nervousness. My hands were cold, and my head was spinning with thoughts of probable test questions and previous lectures.


 Finally, we reached the Math building. Before stepping out of the cab, the driver wished me luck and told me that I could do it. I smiled and thanked him for believing. 

It was already raining, and I ran up the steps to meet Zam, a close friend who would be taking the UPCAT in the same venue as I. As I walked up to her, I remembered our discussions on college over the phone. I remembered spending hours chatting with her about what courses would suit us and which schools would we go to. I remembered even filling out our UPCAT forms at her place after the first day of class, while Jason Mraz's "A Beautiful Mess" played softly in my iPhone. Between the two of us, she was the one conflicted by her course choices. I was the one sure yet doubting at the same time. I gave her a tap on the back, and she immediately eyed my old Geometry notebook meticulously. I told her I was nervous as I went back to memorizing formulas and postulates. She scowled and scolded me for being so paranoid, and my mother agreed, making me place the notebook back in my messenger bag. The gates of the Math building opened, and the students waiting outside flocked in. I turned back to my Mother and gave her a tight hug as if I'd never make it out alive.

As I lined up and waited to be escorted to our room, I couldn't help but compare the feeling to 'Hunger Games'. The odds were definitely not in my favor, and I didn't have a chance to become a victor. I fished out my personalized 'Steel' dogtag from my pocket and rubbed it continuously, hoping that it would perform its magic as my good luck charm. We were led upstairs to where  the large-scale rooms were, and Zam and I talked on the way, deciding not to notice each other that much so that we could be assigned to sit next to each other during the test period. Unfortunately, our plan didn't work, and we were assigned seats apart. 

The next thing I know, I was already taking the UPCAT. I remember sitting next to a girl who would never stop sniffing because of a cold. I remember my proctor being a thin, old, balding man whose voice was too  soft even with a lapel on. I remember Hans Tristan Anderson Yu Sykora and Mario Maurer's photo edited with braces in the most absurd way. I remember the essay test asking me on what I loved to do and how I relied on it as a ticket for passing this exam. I remember sitting through the ordeal and guessing the almost the whole Science part. I remember praying that I pass. I remember nearly crying again after the most difficult exam I've taken in years. I remember trying to forget those five hours and telling myself that there were other entrance tests to ace and other colleges I could go to. 

Today, I look back and can't believe it's been a year. It's been a year since the UPCAT. It's been a year since I sat in the MBAN01 and shaded circles and composed a 3-paragraph essay about writing. It's been a year since I was this nervous girl repeatedly reciting formulas before the gates of the Math Building, praying that she would pass her dream school. 

I look back, and I look at her now. That nervous girl who frantically memorized her formulas until MBAN01 is now taking her first Math Class as a college student in that very same room. That nervous girl who thought she would never make it to UP or any college for that matter is now in the middle of the semester in UP-Diliman as a Journalism major in the College of Mass Communication. That nervous girl is now laughing at herself, laughing at herself for being so silly and paranoid when she should've just had a little faith and put a little trust in herself and her abilities. That nervous girl is now telling you her UPCAT story with hopes that whatever doubt you are feeling towards this test and the tests to come would be erased with this short anecdote and meaningful words. That nervous girl dreamt. And now, as I look at her, I know and I can tell she's living her dream. 

TO THE WONDERFUL BOY

Perhaps I have given up my hopes on you. But perhaps I am hoping again too. 

I don't know why I am writing you this letter. Two days ago, I told myself that I should no longer believe in you, yet here I am in front of the computer screen debating whether I should let my fingers keep stringing words through my keyboard or just let these thoughts wonder in my mind for God knows how long.

I let the former dictate my choices. 

This letter is not about you. This letter is about someone else---someone who grew unexpectedly close while  I was looking for you. It's about how I feel. It's about the butterflies in my stomach and the blush on my cheeks and the tangles in my gut. 

Yes, this about him, and this about me as well.

I don't know what to feel now, wonderful boy. 

I don't know what to do. 

It would've been easier if you'd just shown up, if you'd just been real and tangible and not just a product of wishful thinking. It would've been so much easier if it was the both of us that became friends, if it was you who found me and fell for me and loved me. It would've been easier if he hadn't shown up and read your letter because now I'm torn. Now, I'm torn and I'm the one tearing myself into minuscule bits that can never be glued together again. 

I can't read him. I honestly can't. I don't know him as much as you do, yet in our few days of waiting for you, I feel as if I've known him forever. I feel comfortable with him. His eyes are like home, reminding me of coffee and a million things I can't put names to. A million things as I watch him helping me find you. Helping me find you as I walk up the AS steps and see him holding this absurd signboard. 

"Wonderful boy, let her find you."

Because I don't need it. 

I don't need to find you anymore.