writing bad poems instead of good ones

I got really vain and decided to look up my name on Google, and I found this very sweet and very old entry from my schoolmate Sandy's blog:

You know why I couldn't study tonight? I was too eager to surf the net and search for Aimee Capinpuyan's blog - I've heard she's sensational! I did try to review my skills in Math Proficiency but when I got to question number 16 or so I gave up and just hooked the laptop to get some form of recreation. And I searched for Aimee's blog - swear, it's so super! Super funny because of the way she says the stuff on her mind. Super honest because that entry about the Nursing Exam Retake almost made me cry. Super cool to look at - her blog design's even cooler than mine!

Of course Sandy was talking about my ancient Friendster blog (which I stopped updating after I started using Blogger), but the entry made me smile nonetheless! Thanks Sandy. :')

I guess the real reason I'm writing this instead of writing the conclusion for my English paper (that's supposed to read like "a crazy dance") is that my own blog doesn't show up in Google when you search for my name. It's unnerving! My blog is the ultimate reflection of me (well, okay, apparently not, according to our Fil prof Sir Atienza, because nothing can ever fully represent someone), and years into the future when I'm dead and the Internet is still alive, I want people to search for my name (although my last name would probably have changed by then) and see my blog.

Hmmm. It'll probably be a different blog they'll be seeing though, since I'm not going to be "Bea in Manila" forever. (Quick explanation: my family calls me Bea because my real name was supposed to be Bea Isabel. My angkong protested because "Bea" sounded too much like "be," which is Chinese for "horse," so Aimee Lorraine it was, which doesn't mean anything in Chinese as far as I know. My parents still like "Bea" because it sounds like "be-ia," which means "butterfly." I wonder what's Chinese for unicorn.)

Which reminds me. Apart from me, there are actually TWO Aimee Capinpuyans on Facebook! :| I thought my name was unique enough, what with people mispronouncing and misspelling it the time (It's pronounced "Ey-Mi" and not "Ay-Mi," by the way.)

So, anyway. Hello, my name is Aimee Lorriane Capinpuyan, and this is my blog.
. . .

Sorry I'm being so self-absorbed. I just submitted a very bad poem for our Lit class folio. I wrote it in a rush while I was at Kenny Roger's with Jason last night (go click that link!). You might be wondering, "WHAT IN MERLIN'S BEARD WERE YOU DOING AT KENNY ROGER'S WHEN YOU'VE GOT SO MANY THINGS TO DO!?" Well, to answer your question Mom, I WAS doing my papers. I have trouble writing in the dorm now, for some reason. So Kenny's it was (hooray for free Wi-Fi!).

I DID actually manage to write something in the dorm, and that was The Best Poem in the History of, Like, Ever. And while it may seem rather lengthy, it'll all be worth it once you get to the end:

The Best Poem in the History of, Like, Ever

by Aimee Capinpuyan

We’re a ticking bomb.

No wire clippers.

Strangers stop us

To tell us

Love, and stay in love.

You nod because you

Know what sort of god,

(The hateful god)

Rules in you,

And stirs in you,

So binding you to

Do by his convictions.

I reach…

A hundred deaths, in

Full calendars.

Commitments to commitments,

What, who, where, when.

I’m but an ant

Thinking of a television set,

Of a thousand colored pixels I cannot comprehend.

You stoop behind your desk.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to

Get away-”

“This must end.”

“-from here-“

 “Any

Other day.”

Guy fears the god but

Never sees him.

“Gonna make up for it one day.”

Give it time, and

You will learn to lie better.

Up goes the silent prayer, to

Never stray or falter.

“Gonna give you the world one day.”

Let a million years pass, and

You will still have promises to keep.

Down the sole-worn carpet, footprints deep,

Never tired the church bells sing,

“Gonna make up for it one day.”

Run water through your hollowed words

Around the mossy, empty shells  

And the skeletons of love you couldn’t bury, couldn’t

Desert.

You have read a lot of this poem,

Never mind that you’ve got other things to do. Now I’m

Gonna reveal to you,

Make a deal with you, that after reading this

You must pass this on or you will

Cry… tears of joy.

Never mind I said that.

Gonna skip to the point now.

Say you’ve reached the end of the poem, and it’s

Goodbye for the both of us, and you’ll have to return,

Never without coffee or some brain food, back to your textbooks that are

Gonna be your friends for the next few days.

Tell them I said hi.

A few more lines left. I will not

Lie and tell you I didn’t have an ulterior motive in writing this.

And now, go back to the beginning of the poem, (I promise it won’t

Hurt), and read the first word of every sentence.

You have just shat brix. 

. . .

Yeah, I'm not to be taken seriously when I'm like this. I just learned that everything does come to an end, even time. And when that happens, the universe will implode, like a big, black hole, and we'll be nothing in the midst of more nothingness. The scary thing is when time ends we won't even be aware it's happening. It'll just happen.

You can take me seriously now.