Sanctuario

I never want to go home again.

That’s how I feel right now. I am all wet from the rain and I am pathetically crying as I type this god forsaken entry of frustration.

Today is hell and nothing this night will ever change it.

09.00 am. I had totally realized that my class cards are nowhere to be found. These are requirements for me to be enrolled for the next sem and I cannot find them. The last time I saw them was when they were with my classmates’ class card. The next thing, they were gone.

2.00 pm. I got a transcript from the registrar costing to 50 Php (for a piece of flimsy bond paper and a stamp). But the subjects are all wrong. There were two subjects that were not for me and there are two subjects that were blank. Obviously my professors forgot to submit my grades to the registrar. Its not fair however that you get to be scolded for not having these encoded. The hell did I know that she did not submit my grade?

6.00 pm. My parents just called. They told me that I was over the top. That nanay wanted to see my grades. She wanted a copy of my grades from the university registrar. Earlier she had sent an sms to me that I would tell her my grades, which I did.

Earlier the call, I sent her a message of my grades and the corresponding subjects. During the call, she would insist that she needs a copy of the grades form the school. With her tone that is so ear-piercing, I can’t help myself but think that she thinks I am lying about my grades and that I am just making it up. WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD I LIE ABOUT MY GRADES? MY GRADES! I hope she knows that every 1.5 (even though it is low to some) is the product of my sweat and blood, my sleepless nights, my recitation, my quizzes, my reports, MY EFFORTS. But she will never will. There is this conspiracy theory on my head that she bore me with resentment and that my father indulges on the idea and promotes it. I’m a natural conspirator-instigator. Back to the story. She would just scream and shout over the phone (which I had to hold from a distance to my ear) that I was spending too much time here in the city.

Earlier I had told her that we are going to repaint the office and clean it. And that we were going to get the fees from the students ourselves. She does not realize that I was working for what is making me study, my scholarship grantor, the publication.

I do this because I love the publication. But for them, this is too much of a scholarship. I can’t tell them that I just want to stay because I want to help at the pub, they would never let me to. They don’t have and will never have a humanitarian heart.

They think (as I would want them to) that why I stay in the city is for my scholarship. Its partially true but why do I stay is mostly because I love being in the publication and I love being away from home. This is a fixation of my want of freedom.

The call ended with tatay confirming my payments for the enrollment which amounts to 6,060. Without my scholarship, where would they get the other half?

But ladies and gentlemen, the publication pub is not merely just a scholarship-giver for me. It has never been.

It is now my official home.

For it understands, it loves, and it trusts me in return.

These tears are for useless petty things.

6.30 pm. I am posting this sh*t./KP