TAHO.

Sa kabataang Pinoy, mapa-emo, mapa-hiphop, nerd ka man o drama queen, walang nag-de-deny na masarap kumain ng TAHO. It makes me smile to look back to what seemed like a year of time pressure, pissing off and hoping. But you see, it has only been more or less than a month – a long one, that is – of pimples, eye bags, “stress marks” (I grow little warts on my forehead and skin allergies on my hands when super frazzled), temper loss mixed with a rich amount of new friends, trust, camaraderie, honesty and growing up. From daydreaming to brainstorming to doing down to this moment that I’m making this entry, I’ve been overwhelmed by just the thought of this project. Man, I thought it was nothing far from easy. I was wrong. I remembered back in my high school freshman year, we were asked to make a magazine individually. How funny this is: my cover picture was that of my elementary graduation! Talk about inexperienced! Haha! I still keep the original and only copy in my cabbie and every time I get a chance to flip through it, I feel more than proud. It was my first time and I got a 98. I didn’t have to worry about money, then; nor did I make myself busy with promoting my project. I had no problems working alone or scheduling everything. I didn’t have to compromise with anyone but myself. But this one? This magazine production class project thing? This is major! On the first day, there I was, assigned as publisher, having no idea what to do and how to start. I was like, “What the hell is a publisher?” to myself. It was a big shock but miraculously, I didn’t feel that unprepared. It was like I didn’t know it was coming but I kind of already felt how it would feel once it came. It’s a big blur at the start, a really big blur. Nobody else was my shock absorber but myself. I had to make the best out of this. So, we had our positions, our timeline, our to-do’s and all. We were all lined up for the whole month up to the date of release. I felt confident ‘cause it seemed like we were doing great. Hearing complaints from friends in other blocks, I’d just smile at them and imagine a speech bubble pop from my head saying, “Phew!” They were harassed too much. Unlike us, we were doing great. Then, there we were, face to face with the calendar, the ticking of time, the emptiness of our budget and the threat of failure. I was so scared for the whole class. I didn’t want them to feel like I didn’t pour out my efforts. This isn’t MY grade and glory alone. It’s OURS. And it’s not as if I was all to blame. It’s not completely my fault. But I knew everything was my responsibility. I had to cry. I had to call my boyfriend late at night and curse the world. I had to act like a 5-year-old over the phone while talking to my mom. I had to talk with so much worry and pity on myself. I had to think hard for remedies to problems that are not even clear. This is so not like high school! I missed home. I missed just lying in bed between my folks and just watch TV up until 12am even if it was a school night and Physics quiz are coming up the next day. I missed my high school friends who would fret about the same things as I did. I missed everything and anything that is yesterday. I missed being in my comfort zone. The fact that I was working—err—leading a new group, trusting became an issue for me. And I knew it was, too, for them. It’s part of growing up, though. It was hard to contain all the headaches they were causing, all the waiting that gave way to mental torture. Back then, when I get pissed, I’d say it. Now? I had to contain?! I felt rather alone. It’s not the term but it’s the closest that I can get. In the long run, I knew I HAD TO BE STRONG. (Drama much? Haha!) But yeah, I had to be physically, emotionally and spiritually strong. Super. There’s this 41 straight hours that I was awake just to rush the layout editing and during those 41 very tiring hours, everything felt like I grew up overnight. This was it. This is what made me motivated. I’d say to the whole class, “Guys, let’s not fret. Eto na ‘to. College life.” In high school, we used to kid around with the phrase, “High school is a big vagina!” We never knew what it meant. We just thought it was irrelevantly funny. Now I tell them, if high school is a big vagina, then college is like having sex. They’d ask me why and I’d simply answer, “Pain and pleasure intertwined.” To my blockmates, I knew it was tough! We all had to pretend like we never worried. But look at us – honest and worry-free. I’m proud to say that we didn’t have the nerve to compare ourselves. I’m proud to brag that we didn’t go beyond what was right. We fought with a clean and clear. Thanks for the memories. This is exactly how I imagined college to be and it's just starting. To Ma’am Faye, thank you for teaching us how to fix our lives. You’d always say, “Malaki na kayo.” True. And everytime you say that, I personally feel more grown up. This campus is not our playground. There’s no nap time anymore. There are no maps to follow, just our instincts to trust. To God, You are our true publisher. Enough said.