ang grade mo sa Bio30, parang score ng Barcelona sa Real Madrid.

I FAILED.

I failed! We failed. I failed Bio30 and I have never been happier in my entire life. I failed. As in. Singko. Clasico. I failed Bio30 and for the first time in my life I have no idea what I'm going to do. Having no idea what I'm doing is normal. Having no idea what I'm doing is par for the course. I have no idea what I'm going to do and it is so glorious you have no idea.

I failed and I am not Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov and the only thing I know is that I'm not going to be part of UPCM 2017. Aside from that, nothing. I burned all my ships at the shore and I'm never going to have my dream summer and who actually cares. And when it comes down to it I can still see myself as a med student- as a doctor I'm not so sure- but that's when it comes down to med student or nothing, and if that's the only way then what the hell am I still doing here?

And look, this second sem, I never want to do it all over again, but if I had to I'm not sure I'd do it differently. Doing it differently might mean not coming out of it failing Bio30 and ridiculously, inexplicably glad just to be alive. It might mean not needing a reason not to commit suicide.

Because I only learned one thing this last sem, with all the classmate insanity and the writing and the football and the fanfiction, with all the suicide pipe dreams and the near-consistent need to get out, and that is that it's good to be alive. I like being alive. It's not the reflexive physical impulse; it's not a matter of getting used to it. This is life, it's tiring and funny and sometimes it makes you want to sleep for three hundred years, and sometimes it makes you want to stop and stare. It's utterly fantastic.

So I failed Bio30. We can think about the rest later- I still have to figure out just what to tell my parents. But later. Right now I just want to sit here and drink in the world.

ang grade mo sa Bio30, parang score ng Barcelona sa Real Madrid.

I FAILED.

I failed! We failed. I failed Bio30 and I have never been happier in my entire life. I failed. As in. Singko. Clasico. I failed Bio30 and for the first time in my life I have no idea what I'm going to do. Having no idea what I'm doing is normal. Having no idea what I'm doing is par for the course. I have no idea what I'm going to do and it is so glorious you have no idea.

I failed and I am not Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov and the only thing I know is that I'm not going to be part of UPCM 2017. Aside from that, nothing. I burned all my ships at the shore and I'm never going to have my dream summer and who actually cares. And when it comes down to it I can still see myself as a med student- as a doctor I'm not so sure- but that's when it comes down to med student or nothing, and if that's the only way then what the hell am I still doing here?

And look, this second sem, I never want to do it all over again, but if I had to I'm not sure I'd do it differently. Doing it differently might mean not coming out of it failing Bio30 and ridiculously, inexplicably glad just to be alive. It might mean not needing a reason not to commit suicide.

Because I only learned one thing this last sem, with all the classmate insanity and the writing and the football and the fanfiction, with all the suicide pipe dreams and the near-consistent need to get out, and that is that it's good to be alive. I like being alive. It's not the reflexive physical impulse; it's not a matter of getting used to it. This is life, it's tiring and funny and sometimes it makes you want to sleep for three hundred years, and sometimes it makes you want to stop and stare. It's utterly fantastic.

So I failed Bio30. We can think about the rest later- I still have to figure out just what to tell my parents. But later. Right now I just want to sit here and drink in the world.