Pineapple Orange

The return to the ritual-happy schooltime draws near, yet I still do not want to go back. It is not due to the heavy workload I must once again bear on my shoulders, being a Senior AVP of IT in the Placement Office, the project head of Parada: The Fine Arts Festival, and of course, a fourth-year student as well. Sometimes, I think I've developed a craving for work nowadays, too much in fact.

The last few weeks of classes left an awful taste in my mouth like an expired can of juice, and no matter how long you brush and gargle, the taste of it still lingers in your tongue and in your mind.

I did not leave for the Christmas break happy. Unthinkable moments happened, something that if one knew me heard about those stories, they would tell that person that it was not me who did all of those things. However, it did happen, and I hate myself for not being able to resist all those provocations. Sometimes, a can of juice explodes when applied with enough pressure like placing that unopened can in a microwave.

I never usually get angry, but people must know that all humans have a certain boiling point. Sure, I may play a martyr most of the time, but they must know when to stop repeating the same thing over and over again. You do not need to repeat it when it's liked bombarded me for the past hour. Yes, there was a meeting, and ever since the start of the meeting, the same "be professional, we have to give in to their likings since they're the one's paying" has been repeated. Is it my fault for being pissed for such an inconsiderate request? Yet, I never dropped my work into another person's hands, isn't that professional enough? Afterwards, here comes this guy who repeats the same message again after the meeting as if it was my fault for all the problems that existed. C'mon, I get it already, so I apologize for putting my hand in front of your face and letting you talk to it.

Now I am the bad guy. I am the inconsiderate one. I've destroyed the harmony of the four seasons juice we've together mixed up. I apologize for voicing out my opinions instead of being the suppressed robot I should've been. It was way out of the line, and I must get my hands and feet attached again in their bondage ropes. Money is power, and I do not have that. All hail the almighty power of the dollah-dollah bill.

I've sent a new design, and I understand why no one commented on it, or probably even saw it. I am the evil that must be punished by ignorance. I'm sorry for what I've done -- to stand up and be a human.

I'm sorry. Let me be part of the bandwagon once more. I submit. I must be one again, to be drunk like pineapple orange, together once more in a harmonious entanglement.