we <3 the sipag boys

in UP, with the exception of ate con, the library never really held any allure for me. it was just a place one goes to to either borrow the bar review questions for an exam or to get cases and photocopies, and once in a blue moon, to actually study. god knows my legal bibliography teacher tried his darn best to teach me what "shephardize" means. unfortunately, all i ever picked up on it was the knowledge that it meant me going to the second floor.

and the second floor, with all those serious law students, isn't really the place you'd expect to see me in.

the ateneo professional schools library, on the other hand, is a different matter altogether. that electronic thing-a-ma-jig where you swipe your ID to gain entry, in my honest opinion, is more fun than words. (i swear that sometimes i go out just to get the thrill of having to swipe my ID as i go in. i'm shallow, i know!). there's also the pocket gardens where you can answer the phone while surveying the environment. there's the free internet - which i've yet to use - and the mezzanine reserved for bar reviewees. there's the swivel chairs and the outlets for charging your ipod and phones right smack there on your table as you study.

then there's the sipag boys: harry potter, one banana boy, the guy with a girlfriend, the guy who's friends with everyone, apple, feeling-head-kahuna-but-isn't ...

*sigh*

the sipag boys. no, scratch that. the HOTT sipag boys. darn. these men aren't just smart, they're HOTT.

makes me want to go to the lib every single frigging day of my life.

makes me wish it were may all over again and i picked up the library habit earlier.

makes me thank god and all the angels and saints that they're sipag boys and they're in the library every single day.

makes me - the totally lame bar reviewer - want to end this post now to hustle over to the library and begin staring at the sipag boys and try, albeit unsuccessfully, to read commercial law.

things i wish someone told me while i was in law school

1. codals are your friend. yes, it's okay to spend time reading the commentaries, and yes, you do have to read the cases, but codals, you gotta read the codals.

2. the bar is real. midterms and finals are nothing compared to the reality of the bar.

3. OLA, if taken seriously, will be your friend if you've coasted by law school with crappy remedial law teachers.

4. don't just cut and paste your legal forms. read, understand, and when desperate, memorize.

5. review classes, boring as they may be as electives compared to CSI, will be the best thing you can do for yourself.

6. don't mind the crappy teachers. forget the fact that they don't teach crap. study. study. and when you're really tired and cranky and hateful, study some more.

7. "coasting" through law school, while possible, is stupid.

8. it's just five years (or four, if you're in the day class). it's not going to kill you if you hide under a rock and forget shopping for a while.

incidentally, no one also told me that apparently, i had dated two guys from law school the five years i was there. wow.

don mclean*

you're a world class ass, and everyone else thinks so too.

but what they don't know is that you'd wake me up at 6:30 to tell me to get started studying. they don't know that you not only know how to cook corned beef but surprises that involve corned beef as well. they don't know that you'll drive the 34 kilometers between here and UP Diliman to make sure that hotel dues are paid and the chocolate donuts from cello's are bought and delivered. you spoil me, and that's not even the half of it.

they don't know that you can tease me so, me and my so-called cabanatuan accent when i speak in english. they don't know that you're the type who'd mock how a girl says "bag" and "sandwich" and "water" and "center" and force her to say these words over and over again until both of you are having the biggest laugh of your lives. they don't know that you enjoy my attempts at a british accent and that somehow, you noticed that i speak "can't" funny.

thank god that they don't know that you can say "baby" in ten million different ways and somehow, be able to send a thrill down some girl's spine. or that you write the shortest but sweetest of notes. they don't know that you refuse to put down the phone until the short goodbye becomes a long drawn out conversation, involving a couple more jokes and smiles.

thank god people will never know about our "phone-e-oke" and how i sing quite poorly next to you. or, that when i tried to sing you a song you ended up singing cause i botched up the lyrics. and while they - nor i - will ever ever figure out how we manage to stay on the phone for hours on end, i know that it's something that'll be very hard to give up.

thank god i learned all these about you before you had to go and say goodbye. some lucky girl has won your heart and you know that's forever. but thank you for being a friend, just like you said you were, and for showing me that behind every big ass is an asswipe.

an ex-boyfriend isn't supposed to call.

he's not supposed to call two months after your last hurried phone conversation, not after he told you he won't help you "fix" your ipod because, as he said, "kaya mo na yan."

he's not supposed to ask you how you are, and how your day was. he's not supposed to ask what you'll be doing the day after and how review is coming along.

most of all, he's not supposed to ask you if you're seeing someone else, and in the same breath tell you that, no, he isn't seeing anyone as well either.

god, i hate the rush of emotions that go through me when i hear him on the phone months after i've given up on him. i hate not knowing it was him when he first says "hi", automatically assuming it's someone else i was expecting to call. i hate the feeling i get thirty seconds later when i finally realize that it's him on the phone and that for some reason, he still knows my home number.

sometimes i wish he'd just stay away, stay dead insofar as i am concerned. it took a while for me to be able to drive by his house* without breaking, shifting to first gear, and looking through his bedroom window hoping i'd see how he is. it took a while for me to stop having these visions of him walking hand in hand with some sexy chick in atc. and, most importantly, it took a while for me to be able to go through a single night without crying.

and so, while i know i'm over you, and while i know that the possibility of me keying your car in frustration has died down to a minimum, i'm going to ask you to stay away for the meantime. forget we're going to be friends, forget we said we were best buds, and i'd appreciate it if you don't call me at all.

that is until you finally realize that i was the best you ever had and you want me back.

and maybe, just maybe, i'll think about it.

*no i'm not a stalker, it just so happens that his house is right smack there on tropical avenue. it's sheer torture. had i had the power to do it, i'd rezone bf and make him transfer to where i won't have to see his window every single effing day.

funny how when you least expect it, when you're wearing a ratty UP LAW gray shirt, jeans and sneakers and when your hair is all over the place, you get a card and two pieces of cadbury chocolate.

it's been a while.

but, i must admit, i was touched.

thanks, w. i know it freaked me out that it seemed like you waited for me to go to the washroom to hand over your present and it freaked me out so much that i couldn't go back to the washroom alone after that. i know i'd probably hide in the mezzanine for a while and study there, instead of on my favorite table by the garden because sometimes it bothers me when you just sit beside me and be your really nice self. i know that it will probably be awkward for a while and the smiles will be a bit forced for the next couple of days. but, one day, i'll be able to tell you that that tiny "thank you" card that you gave which had about five handwritten hearts in black ink at the bottom right corner, somehow, made me feel really good about myself.