The 2010 National Schools Press Conference in Tagum City ended yesterday, but I’ve been unable to get you out of my head.

Hi, I’m Dean. I don’t know if you remember, but we “met” in a souvenir stall in Tagum City National High School. I was wearing a red-and-yellow Caraga shirt and an unbelievably stupid face, and you were wearing a simple shirt, a nice pair of shorts, and one of the sweetest smiles I’ve ever seen.

I was waiting for my shirt to get printed and you were looking at the designs they had put on display on one side of the booth. I vaguely remember  us stealing sidelong glances at one another, but that could have been just me. At any rate, there I was, standing stupidly, secretly admiring your presence, while you leisurely looked for a shirt design you liked.

Then you made the exclamation that made me squeal on the inside: “Uy, yun oh, cute ‘yun!” (or something to that effect) while pointing to a design. Right after you said that you looked sheepishly at me, giggling to reveal that smile and those dimples that made me melt. I don’t know if you were making pacute or if you’re just that adorable by nature.

All I could say in reply was, “ok lang ‘yan, ate *giggle*.” I barely even got the words to leave my lips, and I highly doubt that you heard what I said. The reply might have been obfuscated by the corny laugh and the one hell of a f—face I said it with.

We didn’t speak any further, and soon you moved to the other end of the stall—whether to look for more shirt designs or to escape from my weirdness, I’m not sure. I wanted to make conversation so I could get your phone number (or at least your name so I could add you up on Facebook). I even moved to your end of the stall, pretending to sift through the piles of shirts on the table while thinking of ways to start talking to you. I wanted to strike up a chat, but you seemed too busy and I was too shy.

Before I cold utter a word, you got the shirt you wanted, haggled all you could, and left the stall and my life as quickly as you came—possibly forever.

I spent the rest of the night thinking about you, about the brief exchange of giggles in the stall, about how I was too shy to say a word, about what would have happened had I been brave enough to try to strike up a conversation. I spent the wee hours of the next morning writing this, forgoing sleep I needed much for the homeward journey I made a few hours later.

I learned many things from my NSPC 2010 experience, the chief of which I learned from you: the window of opportunity can stay open for as briefly as a few seconds, and if that window isn’t seized, many what ifs can come to mind, which is bad since life isn’t supposed to be lived in regret and thinking “what if?”

I know the chances of you reading this are slimmer than Heidi Klum, but I’m a guy who’s grown accustomed to hoping against hope, so here goes:

If you are the girl who stood next to a silly-looking guy in a brightly colored CARAGA shirt in a souvenir stall in Tagum City National High School on the night of February 25, 2010, and if you made a remark to the effect of what was described in the fourth paragraph of this piece, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE get in touch via Facebook or by using this page. Please please please. I really want to be friends. =)

With warm regards,

(sgd) Dean.

(Now, there’s another five words I have never imagined myself saying.)

I admit—back when Twilight rose to fame among teenage girls, I was quick to shrug it off. Back then, I was convinced that vampires and teeny-bopper love stories just didn’t mix. Add to that the fact that most of the addicts of the novel were girls (who are wont to be overly jumpy when talking about cheesy love stories), and you can imagine my aggressive indifference (if not distaste) for it.

Apparently, the capitalists of the movie industry, spotting the sizable demographic Twilight appealed to, decided to go ahead and convert the book into a movie for the silver screen. Oh boy, were these capitalists ever any happier—despite a fledgling global economy, Twilight the movie raked in something like $20 Million 20 minutes after it hit the Box Office. The movie aficionado in me finally caved into all the hype surrounding this (oh, clever marketing and teenage girls!), so this afternoon, a few friends and I headed down to the local cinema and caught a screening of Twilight.

Twilight is the story of Isabella (“Bella”, she insists) Swan and her romance with Edward Cullen, a cunning vampire, which occurs in the damp town of Forks, Washington. Edward’s family’s enemies take a bloodlusty liking to his girlfriend, jeopardizing her life. Edward goes through every hell on Earth to ensure the safety of Bella’s life. Soon, Bella’s mother is implicated into the situation, and she goes to save her—even if it means having to die.

The cast of Twilight. Credit: http://www.filmonic.com/

The movie was made to appeal mainly to the teenage female demographic, and it did so very well. The uniqueness of the love story sets it apart from other teenage love dramas, although the vampire aspect of the movie may (and has) turned off some film buffs who have labeled it the “worst vampire movie ever”. Don’t be mistaken, though—although the story wouldn’t be what it is without the vampire element to it, it shouldn’t disqualify the movie for those of us out there who don’t like Nosferatu-type flicks. (It has been noted that the “vampire-resisting-human-blood” element of the movie may be a sort of metaphor for something more real, which I will discuss later.) My friend Marielle (who, like me, has not read the book and dissed the novel instantly) may have a point when she said that the movie was a bit too teeny-bopper, but then again, as I said, that’s the demographic it appeals to. Certain scenes in the movie can stir both women and men (well, at least me), and if you know how to listen, you can learn a pickup line or two from Edward to use in your dating misadventures.

(Okay, about the whole “I’m a vampire, and I could very well bite you in the neck” thing, I came across something on the Innarnetz (link forgotten; sorry) that said that Edward’s lust for Bella’s blood could be likened to a man’s sexual lust. As easy as it would be for Edward to simply suck Bella bone-dry, he kept himself back from temptation because of his love for her—something guys undoubtedly have difficulty doing (with some people *cough*classmateofmine*cough* failing to keep their pants on).)

For those of us who have not yet read the novel, the movie can ignite your interest in its novel version, and even the whole Twilight series in general. It’s the quintessential love story—something we all once liked, but have grown tired of, thanks to Hollywood—reengineered.

For its beautiful storyline and interesting uniqueness, but for its just-a-bit-too-cheesy teeny-bopper-ness, Twilight (2008) receives a Deantastic A-.

(Now, if you will be so kind as to give me a full set of the novels in the Twilight series, you may kindly ask for my shipping address by reaching me through my contact form. [Hey, it's worth a try!])

I haven’t been able to post to the blog this week, and for that I apologize. I’ve been swamped with schoolwork this week despite the fact that there were no classes from Monday to Wednesday. The Science Investigatory Projects are due really, really soon, and while we’re nearly done with our manuscripts, there’s a lot of work to be done yet.

So, anyway, there are some stuff I want to talk about. Let me yap now.

Sarah Palin is McCain’s veep

Sarah Palin, a single-term governor of Alaska for two years now, has been chosen as John McCain’s running mate. I watched Gov. Palin’s speech after McCain introduced him, and right then and there I figured their camp was getting panicky. Here’s what she said in her speech (full transcript found here):

“I think as well today of two other women who came before me in national elections. I can’t begin this great effort without honoring the achievements of Geraldine Ferraro in 1984, and, of course, Senator Hillary Clinton, who showed such determination and grace in her presidential campaign.

“It was rightly noted in Denver this week that Hillary left 18 million cracks in the highest, hardest glass ceiling in America. But it turns out the women of America aren’t finished yet, and we can shatter that glass ceiling once and for all.”

This was clearly an attempt to pander to Clintonians who were disappointed at the fact that Hillary’s name isn’t on the Democratic ticket—a clever attempt, in all fairness. This is how I interpreted the speech, though:

Hey, Hillary Clinton didn’t win the primaries, which only means that I’m the right person for Veep and Grandpa Johnny’s the right one for Prez.

Photo credits: http://blog.cleveland.com

It underestimates the logic of American women everywhere. It seems like the McCain campaign has assumed that people will vote for Palin (and maybe even her running mate) simply because she has a vagina. This election was supposed to transcend all boundaries. After all, a charismatic African-American by the name of Barack Obama is the first black to be nominated for the presidency by a major political party, and by golly, Hillary Clinton would’ve made history were she the nominee. Why then have the Republicans assumed that people would decide who the next vice president will be by virtue of sex?

This article from Jon Soltz explains why Palin is a bad choice, and strengthens my initial reaction about it being more of a political pick than concern for the nation. Palin is simply less experienced than what Republicans say. She has been governing Alaska since 2006. Let’s not forget that Alaska has a sizeable amount of money in its coffers thanks to the fact that it’s bursting with natural resources and has a smaller population to spend its money on. Translation: no fiscal quandaries, which at least partly explains why she is well thought of in her home sate. As for foreign policy? “Alaska’s close to Russia, so she’s gotta have some experience” is all they’ve got. Surely, Barack Obama, who legislates and therefore knows about the issues and concerns of the John and Jane Does of America (and not just the John and Jane Does of one sparsely populated state), has more experience to boot. Alas, the hypocrisy of John McCain and gang (regarding Obama’s “inexperience”), is revealed.

(She looks like Tina Fey, though.)

In other news

Things are finally looking up for me in the love department. (OK, teenage stuff ahead—brace yourselves.) The wounds of the past look like they’ve finally healed and new doors are opening up. I couldn’t be happier.

However, school’s been nothing but a load of shit. The first quarter of the school year has come to a close, and our grades (for which I expressed my indifference in an earlier post) are starting to pour in. The long wait to find out how high (or low) our marks are is nerve-wracking, and I can only hope it all goes well. I’m in deep trouble with my Statistics and Physics grades, though. I’ll update you on my fate as soon as I get information.

I’ve also decided to go ahead and participate in Blog Action Day 2008, where bloggers will write about one common topic to try to raise awareness for it. This year, the issue in focus is poverty, something I’m not alien to because I have encounters with it everyday. I’ve been struggling to write as of late though, but I’ll try my very best to get a post ready for the event. (Mark it on your calendars—October 15′s the date.)

Jaiku is back from the dead. Well, sorta. Google, in an attempt to revive its entry in the microblogging arena, has opened Jaiku up to the public. No more “give us your email and we’ll see what we can do” nonsense—just sign up (or sign in), agree to the new Terms of Service, and you’re off jaikuing (or whatever the appropriate verb is). Whatevs. My microblogging platform of choice is still Plurk, with a little tweeting thanks to TwitterFox, and a sprinkle of Tumblr to complete the recipe.

Lastly, but not the least, I want to mention a great blog I discovered recently—Putting Blogs First, which is written by Muhammad Siyab. There’s a whole load of great content in there, like Thursday Link Roundups and Top X lists for your perusal. Check it out! (The author of the blog did not approach me asking for a plug. No compensation was provided for this mention. I don’t even know if Muhammad knows I’ve linked to his website, lol.)

I’ll catch up with you in a bit, and hopefully next time I’ll have more good news to report. Toodles.

[Editor's note: this was first published in Thoughts from Dean on April 25, 2008.]

High school, they say, is the most enjoyable part of the education process. Well, if acne, armpit odor, newfound pubic hair, and insecurity appeal to you. Of course, we’ve all encountered this precarious stage. For me to be able to blog about it as I’m actually going through the process is exhilarating (as weird as that may sound).

High school is also where most people meet their first love. Many will argue that they met theirs in elementary. I maintain that love is improbable to find in those younger days. You’re too immature to differentiate infatuation and love, and too stupid to make a move. High school–which coincides with the onset of adolescence–means the development of your adult emotions. Your libido stirs. Suddenly the bathroom is more than a place for pooping and showering. You become explorative in many ways.

You fall in love.

That is every person’s tragedy.

It seems funny that I’m writing this. I’ve never had much luck with love, and have vowed to keep away from it (although my efforts have so far been less than successful). Nevertheless, here I am, in the darkness of my room, typing on Windows Live Writer as my neighbor’s radio is playing, tuned into Love Radio.

How cliche.

I can safely say that I got my first taste of love in my freshman year. There was this girl, my classmate, a timid chubby woman who liked me. At first, I paid her no attention. She was just another one of my classmates who I wasn’t really close to. We started text messaging each other, and it was always small talk. Did I eat my dinner yet, she’d ask. Yeah, I’d reply, how about you? She’d reply yes, too, and then ask if I did my homework. The conversations never touched anywhere near the topic of love, and I was fine with that.

In school, I slowly became attracted to her  (even though I’d told myself before that she wasn’t my type). It was her timorousness that appealed to me. She would always duck her head a bit and giggle silently whenever she thought of something humorous. Every day, when we would meet, she’d always say Hi to me in a passive but cute way.

With my sense of love still not fully bloomed at that time, I succumbed to her timidity. Soon, she occupied my thoughts. I bought a notebook which I assigned to be my diary, but it ended up being a sort of confession book about what I felt about her. I couldn’t muster the courage to tell her straight up that I liked her, so I poured all of my emotions into that notebook. That little notebook I covered with bond paper and plastic wrap. On the front, in Arial Black, the words “CONFESSIONS OF A DELUSIONAL WEIRDO”.

She herself kept a journal which she affectionately called “Blue”. Little did I know that she was writing all the stuff I was. One day, I made her an offer. “Look, I’ll let you read my journal if you let me read yours.”

With her face tomato-red (as was mine), she agreed, and we swapped journals.

Here I was, walking with her towards school, reading her journal, reading everything she thought about me, while she was doing the same thing. Two of our friends (who knew what was going on between us) were walking with us, as well, and they were bursting with delight at what was transpiring.

It was on that day that I told a girl I loved her when I knew I really meant it.

So, we’d become acquainted with the fact that we had this mutual feeling for one another. Now, in other countries, this would’ve meant we were automatically boyfriend and girlfriend. But here where I live, that didn’t hold true.

I should’ve courted her, but I didn’t, although with all sincerity, I thought she would’ve said yes in a heartbeat if I did. We exchanged I Love You’s several times over text messaging (mostly while our Math teacher was explaining this particularly confusing equation), but there was nothing beyond that. No stolen smacks on the lips. No secretive hugs. Just a bunch of “I Luv U” texts, maybe a few knowing glances at each other, and nothing else.

She called me on the phone one night and asked, “Are we in an official relationship?”

I seriously wet myself a little at that. A little. This was a big step for me. I hadn’t had a girlfriend before. Ever. I was that guy in class who, despite his decent looks, couldn’t get a goat to say “Yes” to his proposal even if he was wearing a tuxedo made out of grass. And now, this girl I liked and who liked me as well was asking me if we were in a full-fledged relationship.

I made what was possibly both the smartest and the dumbest decision I’ve ever taken in my 13 years of existence. I answered her question with, “Do you think we’re in a relationship?”

“I don’t know,” was all she said.

“I’m not deciding. You decide. You’re the girl,” I argued, and then added, “So, is it a deal or no deal?”

She replied in a whisper, “DEAL.” She said it in such a low voice that I could only just hear her breathe the words.

“What?” I said, unsure if I heard her right.

“DEAL,” she repeated, in the same low voice.

“Are you sure?” I said. I made it sound more like, “Uh-oh. Wrong answer.”

She said she wasn’t wholly sure, and I encouraged her to think really long and hard about it. I don’t regret telling her that, because I knew that if I made it official right then and there, I would soon regret it and break both our hearts.

We had to break the awkward conversation (I forgot why). The next day at school, we pretended like the phone call never happened, although for the rest of the day, and of the week, and of the month, the question really stuck with me: were we in a relationship?

I was never sane enough to answer that. But now, I guess I’m going to answer it once and for all. You could say that we had a special relationship, but the term “boyfriend and girlfriend” wouldn’t be the right one to describe it. We sure felt like we could take our friendship to a whole ‘nother level. At least, I did.

For some reason, I lost that love I felt for her, and life moved on. Still, even these days, more than a year after I fell in love with her, I still pause and ask myself, “If I said yes to her question, what would have happened?”

It seems weird to think about it now. I’ve had at least three crushes after her, and I was even seriously thinking about courting two of them. (The only thing that hindered me from courting the third one was her immaturity. I’m not going to expound.) Still, I won’t ever forget about that first love.

That chubby, timid woman whose aura appealed to me, whose dimply face once made my day, whose cute giggle made me all warm and fuzzy inside. That first love I will always cherish. Not because I choose to, but because love has this uncanny way of never letting me forget things.

Earlier in this write-up, I said that when people fall in love for the first time, it is their tragedy. I guess I’ll have to correct myself. In the time I spent spontaneously forming this article, I realized finally that love and pain come in one package. Pain equals learning. The scars may look gross, but the knowledge we gain is never a downside.

I will rephrase what I said earlier about love and tragedy.

It is in high school that people fall in love. It is a manifestation of emotional maturity, proof that we are ready to handle things greater than crushes and admiration.

It is in high school that people fall in love.

It is not a tragedy, but a coming of age, which might seem painful in the immediate aftermath, but is ultimately a stunning experience.