All for what?

Today wasn't great. I posted a dismal 54 in Asian History—a score I checked immediately after the exam. My only consolation for such a putrid performance was that my man "Spongebob" got an even lower grade. I always cope with these academic failures by reminding myself that I’m at least not the absolute dumbest shit in the room.

But truth be told, I just don't dig Asian History. You go in assuming the curriculum will be filled with epic stories of samurai and ancient warfare, but you end up spending the whole semester talking about linguistics and pottery. Just some old-ass bowls and the specific dates they were dug up. It doesn't help that our professor literally spits bullets when he speaks, followed by the most awkward apologies.

"Pffssst. Oh. Uhm. Sorrypffsst. Sorry. Again"

Strategic Distractions

So, why was I too distracted to study? It's Fucking football. You only get matchups like this once in a while: Barcelona vs. Chelsea in the Champions League group stages. Honestly, I always prefer group stage matches between these giants. The pressure is lower, which means creativity takes precedence over cold practicality. European football at that level is just a beautiful thing to behold.

And it wasn't just football, either; basketball took its toll too. After class in the covered courts, I’ve been playing against this giant dude aptly nicknamed "The Great Khali" for three days in a row now. On day one, pure awe kept me on the court. By day three, it was bordering on sadomasochism. I ended each day covered in bruises, leaving my Asian History notebook completely unopened so I could recover for pickup games that won't even matter a week from now. 

I can't remember when these chinese bowls were dug up, but I do remember The Great Khali's fucking elbow on my forehead for an And-1.

The UP Detour

Yesterday was the one day I didn't play basketball, purely because of the injuries. Logically, being too bruised to move should have meant a nice, productive rest at home to cram for the exam. But no.

Instead, I went with Coo—very responsibly—all the way to UP Diliman just to xerox some Asian History notes. While we were there, we ended up eating at Rodic's and bumped into some of Alfie's blockmates who were planning a drinking session for later that night. The lit girls. A specie of women who have no pressure in life to look for a real job and spend afternoons doing whatever floats their boats.

But, I actually ditched them. I fucking did. Which turned out to be a wise choice since Alfie came home absolutely punch-drunk later. 

And then I did my usual stalker thing. I went to the Starbucks near Prince David and casually said hi to the one I dubbed "my muse". Never saying more than "hey" and nothing less than a wink and a smile.