Running on "Empty" (Blog 19?)

Disclaimer: Forgive this work. Its messy, and confusing at times because the focus isn't at all clear until the end, if ever it is clear. Like always, questions, suggestions, grievances, and violent reactions are welcomed.


For the last four years, give or take a few months, a big chunk of my time has been spent stuck sitting on the ever-menacing plastic with which college classroom desk chairs are made. Fine, not all classroom chairs I’ve encountered in college were plastic, some were metal, and others were made from wood. Fact of the matter is, I’ve had my behind on one of these chairs for a long time. It’s an incredible feat really, given that I’ve only lived for a little over twenty-one years. I’m not going to do the math for you on that one, I’m a historian by training and I don’t do those things. Trust me, you wouldn’t want me to anyway. I don’t even remember the first time I actually encountered such four-legged entities. All I know is that it wasn’t even in the same country; you can only imagine the variety of desk chairs I’ve sat on.

I finished high school in the Philippines, the land of Pansit, Lechon, and about eighty million Hispanic-Asians. Trust me, had I placed a picture of myself with this essay, you’d see what I mean. With the risk of going mildly off-topic, the explanation for all of this confusion is that the Philippines is a hodgepodge of Chinese, Malay, and Spanish cultures, hence my Asian features and a very Spanish name. For us back in the Philippines, college was the obvious next step after you graduate high school, none of that taking a year off scenario that some “western” kids go through. But unlike some of the people I knew, I was quite looking forward to college. I had gotten tired and bored with high school. It was the same old subjects every day with mind-numbing intensity. My only respite being the mandatory, school and government sanctioned, military training that high-school students went through in the Philippines. At least then we got to move around and, at times, shout orders. I couldn’t wait for a change of environment.

The two years of college I spent in the Philippines was full of ups and downs, overflowing with experiences, some I would like to forget, others I’d treasure forever. I incurred the wrath of my parents’ anger several times for things I should not have done, like smoking, drinking, staying out late. I also did some things of questionable legality (at least under Philippine law), some of which my parents learned of and was punished accordingly. On the other hand, there were good things about those two years. I met some of my most significant friends in those two years, people that I can count on, trust my life with. I also learned to love someone (or at least I think so) and I learned what kind of person I was looking for in my life (kind of). I also learned to appreciate people for who they are and not for what people say they are. In essence, I grew up in those two years, more than anyone could ever imagine.

On the advent of my junior year, I moved to the United States, to New Jersey to be precise. Why? I really can’t say why, at least for now. It would require a whole other essay, a very boring one at that. Let’s just say I moved for the opportunities that were in store for me in the United States. I enrolled myself in a small university, only half-an-hour away from New York City. The change was incredible, new country, new school, new people. I was forced into a crash course in the American system college education. Instead of the 24-27 college I was used to taking per semester, I was literally only obliged to take 12 credits per semester to maintain a full-time status. It was incredible! I couldn’t believe all the free time I had. I spent the first two months of my first American college semester bumming around the town I moved into, walking through parks, hanging out (although by myself). It was fun for a while, but things got old pretty quick when you’ve got nobody to share it with.

By around October of that fall semester, I found myself an on-campus job. It didn’t pay much, but eight dollars an hour then wasn’t something you’d scoff at, and at least it was at school. I got along with my co-workers quite well, perhaps because of my willingness to be at work. They didn’t know that I just couldn’t stand being alone. As funny as it sounds, though my academics kept me busy and intellectually hungry, it was this job that I though of as a safe-haven. I didn’t expect that I would meet the kind of friends I had met years ago back home working for the school rather than in my classes, as was the case in the Philippines.

I never consumed myself in the college life that movies and television glorify. Sure, I’ve enjoyed some of its benefits, like crazy college parties filled with stupid, reckless abandon that would rival any rave. But that was rather rare for me. Sure, I had my fun with friends, crashing at some of their houses (apartments) more out of necessity than convenience. But now, more than ever, I pride myself with the academic work I’ve put forward. Perhaps it has something to do with all that growing up I did in Manila, perhaps it’s the tangibility of my future has brought me to embrace my current duty. I don’t know. But this life, this college life, from two different worlds, was my sanctuary. Its something I know, something I can navigate.

Now, I’m at my final semester. I can clearly see the seducing finish line, with all its promises for the future. The idea of finally living in the real world, finding a real job, moving and living in a real place, was right over that hill. I could smell it, I could almost touch it. But as I run towards it, with all the energy and excitement I thought I had, I sputtered. I stumbled. I stopped. All of a sudden, I’m exhausted. There’s an imposing letter “E” flashing on my internal dashboard. I hadn’t noticed that before, I must have been running on low for a while now. It’s a wonder that I can actually type these words on my beaten-up computer and its struggling word processor. But here I am, spewing the last few gasps of coherent thought to who ever might read this. I’m only a few weeks short of finishing this all out, finally leaving college and going for the next step and suddenly I’m stuck.

Its possible that I’ve completely exhausted myself. Looking back, it hasn’t exactly been an easy four years. I’ve been sleep deprived for about four years, averaging a solid four to five hours per weekday. Some days I get less. You’re not a college student if you’ve never pulled an all-nighter, I’ve had a few of those. I’ve read thousands upon thousands of pages, whether it be historical texts, literature, or the occasional writing manuals that told me how to write certain things. I’ve written countless pages of material for courses. The quality varied from totally made-up from the thinking throne (ie the toilet) to graduate level works. Within all of this, other things have occurred. I’ve moved several times (moved from a country once, moved from houses twice), lugging my belongings through long trips. I’ve lost a few friends and gained a few others (this too is tiring, let me tell you). I’ve even fallen in love and had my heart broken (the latter happened twice). Its been a crazy four years. But I don’t think that’s it. At least that’s not all of it.

Its not merely exhaustion that’s led me into this emptiness. I’ve worked through so much with great fatigue and I don’t believe that I’m in this rut because of it. It has to be something else. Perhaps it’s the one thing that I haven’t considered so far. Maybe I’m just afraid, afraid of all the things that lie in store for me. Afraid of the promise of a real world. Afraid because, soon enough, I wouldn’t have the safety-net that college provided. Afraid because it’s the soon enough, there’s no turning back.