You say job, I say panic

I tripped twice on my first day back in school. Though I didn’t kiss the ground, it was still pretty embarrassing since there were spectators.

“It’s a sign,” a friend said.

Not that I’m a superstition person, but I hate to think that I’d be tripping all over the school for the rest of the school year. But then again, I’m a major klutz, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I trip every now and then.

Now that school is officially in, we once again go through the customary “Hi, my name is…” introductions to the point where it becomes a mind-numbing activity. By the end of the day, you already know your classmate’s telephone number, date of birth, address and probably her vital statistics.

Yet one famous classroom question has continuously haunted me and many others.

“What would be your future career?”

I suspect that poking my eye out, would be easier than answering that question.

In the early days, that question was so easy to answer. “I want to be doctor,” was the most typical and dare I say, overused answer. (I used to want to work in a Circus, but that all ended when I developed a chronic fear of clowns. I blame it all on that psychopathic killer doll: Chucky.)

I do know what I want to do with my life, and I’m sure everybody else knows what they want to do with their own lives, yet it’s rather hard trying to figure out a particular path. I don’t want to sound philosophical, but in life we are presented with many paths to choose from and it’s quite hard to pick just one or two.

So for those who have panic attacks when asked about their future career: Try to stay calm and just keep your options open. There’s no harm in dreaming, may it be farfetched or close to reality. Hey, I hope to run a magazine someday and own a beach house where I sip champagne languidly and write international bestsellers.

I think, we should all stop panicking when we hear that question. It doesn’t bring us any good and will probably only give us an aneurysm. We all just got to have at the very least something in mind as our future career – after all, we are all going to college, aren’t we?

Great, now I sound like Dr. Phil.

So what would my desired future career be? I’d be a one-eyed professional writer. I’m keeping my fingers crossed – I really want that beach house.

Footballzilla

A friend of mine once said that he found football (soccer) stupid.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, while holding a basketball. “Running after a ball. It seems stupid.”

Hah. He’s the one to talk. He and his stupid basketball.

It took all the will power in the world not to throttle him and make him eat his stupid ball. My hissy fit lasted for about an hour. After the bloodshed (due to paper cuts - it’s the only way I know how to inflict physical pain without the guilt), death threats and serious threats of severing our friendship permanently, he finally agreed that football was indeed a spectacular sport.

He had to say it anyway.

With the 2006 FIFA World Cup in full swing, he no longer dares to even breathe his dislike towards the game, since I’d be on a war path. Don’t get me even started if somebody would insult my team – I turn into Footballzilla.

Aside from that horrendous incident, I’ve been in football heaven. I watched the opening ceremony of the 2006 FIFA World Cup at a hotel with two of my friends. For once in my life, I’ve overlooked my stingy attitude and set foot in a posh hotel just to watch TV. Normally, I’d have a heart attack with what I’ve spent there, but this was for the greater good of football – so it was all just well worth it.

It’s wonderful to see Germany again, never mind the fact that I’m seeing it through a huge, flat screen TV. Rabid German football fans, with face paint and booze is such a spectacular sight, I wished I could be there. Not to mention the fact, I got an eyeful of nice, tight lederhosen – ah sweet nostalgia. Tears welled up in my eyes.

The opening game was a treat. Germany beat Costa Rica 4:2. Now that was a good opening match. It was a good thing that Germany did win, or else I would have wasted all my money for nothing.

With more matches on the way, I advise football first timers to watch the matches at sport bars or at some random pub. Nothing screams “I’m a fan” than being with other fans and screaming yourself silly. Never mind the booze – mind the loser who booed your favorite team. He’s gonna get it.

Go Germany, go!

Coffee Shops

I am a certified seat-hog at coffee shops. I can just sit there, put my brain on auto drive, do nothing but drink copious amounts of coffee for about 5 hours. Call me lazy, but that’s what I like to do during my spare time – no wonder my social life is next to nonexistent.

Coffee lovers such as myself would agree that coffee shops are probably the next best thing to sliced bread. After all, we coffee aficionados have to live off something. Prowling the streets aimless, low on caffeine, just won’t do.

Entering a coffee shop has always been a different experience. Upon entering, you see businessmen doing what they do best – do business. In another corner, you see students pour over textbooks for their next exam – they either look smart or want to look smart, the latter more often in most cases.

Depending where you enter, there are two worlds you can find in the coffee shop. The outside world, and the inside world. Naturally, you find the coffee drinkers of the outside world smoke themselves to high heavens.

In the inside, you’ll find royal bums such as myself, hogging the sofas and doing practically nothing. On occasion, these bums bring books to read, but this is a rare occurrence since we allow our brains to turn into mush the second our posterior comes in contact with the plush sofa seats. After sipping our coffee idly, we soon doze off and deprive other bums of wonderful seating for the next 5 hours.

Outside, you see artists, writers; other bums hold their traditional coffee meetings. They talk about god knows what and often leave on a high – may it because of the caffeine fix or their smoking, we will never know.

On occasion, bums like me come with every intention to write. After all, the sophisticated ambiance has to be good for something, right?

So armed with the infamous yellow pad and a cheap runny ballpen, I set out to write. If Rowling was able to write an international best seller at a roadside coffee shop of some kid with a stick, think of the wonders I would be able to write.

Three cups later, this article was born.