LOL. Something’s wrong with me. I’m in a public place and I can’t stop laughing about something I just heard over a jeepney’s AM radio. In an interview over a recent fishkill in their town, the mayor issued this public health warning:
“At present and until further announcements, the residents are advised to avoid eating dead fish.”
Hahahahahaha. I’m sorry. This is completely shallow, I know. OMG I have to stop. Hahahahahaha.
You’ve read The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Books of Lost Tales, The Silmarillion and everything else Tolkien has written – heck, everything he’s even touched – more than ten times.
No one in your family is allowed to speak, breathe, or otherwise suggest their existence while you’re watching the trilogy for the 57th time.
You know exactly what the characters in the movies are going to say next because a) you’ve watched them 57 times, b) you actually have the script and have read it over and over again, and c) you recorded the sounds with your mp3 player and keep listening to it all day.
You’ve been caught talking to trees and sympathizing that “nobody cares for the woods anymore”.
You want to petition your school to add Elvish 101 and The History of Middle Earth to your curriculum.
Anyone who dares to criticize, or heaven forbid, compare The Lord of the Rings to Harry Potter gets treated to a passionate two-hour rebuttal from you.
You’ve memorized quotes from the books.
You’ve memorized quotes from the movies.
You’ve memorized Elvish phrases.
You’ve memorized EVERYTHING connected to Tolkien!
You use “mellon” as your password.
You take more notes and pay more rapt attention when reading The Books of Lost Tales than when studying for your final History of Civilization exam.
Your mom warns visitors who have limited time to never mention “Tolkien”, “The Lord of the Rings”, and other similar words to you.
You start saying “eleventy-one” instead of “one hundred eleven” and refer to potatoes as “taters”.
There are more Lord of the Rings posters in your room than pictures of your family and friends.
You try to convince your married friends to throw their wedding rings into the fire.
All your favorite things are your “preciousssss”.
You decide whether the people you meet have good taste or not by asking them what they think of The Lord of the Rings.
You refer to your friends as your “Fellowship”.
You feel proud that you’re only five feet tall, because even the smallest person can change the course of the future.
You refer to meetings as “councils” and “Entmoots”.
You are seriously considering plastic surgery on your ears.
You think the world has changed. You feel it in the water. You feel it in the earth. You smell it in the air.
You know who Glorfindel is.
You seriously consider wearing green on your wedding day and walking down the aisle holding a banner.
You try to buy lembas bread at the bakery.
You know what LOTR, FOTR, TTT, ROTK, BOLT and Sil stand for and use them often.
You know exactly where and how the movies deviate from the books.
When you have no load or you’re in a place where there’s no network coverage, you try use beacons to communicate long distance.
You’ve memorized Middle Earth geography while you can’t quite remember whether Samar is in Visayas or
You’ve spent hours looking for “There and Back Again – A Hobbit’s Tale” in the library.
Fifty percent of the sites on your bookmarks are about The Lord of the Rings.
You know what happened in the Second Age of Middle Earth but don’t know the year that the Japanese landed on Philippine shores.
When you’re worried, you say that “a shadow and a threat is growing in your mind”.
When you’re sick, you ask for athelas, or kingsfoil. You’re also convinced that the doctor is a king in disguise, because “the hands of the king are the hands of a healer”.
I can’t. Really. You see, when psychology students graduate in the near (or more often not-so-near) future, we thank God with all our hearts and then finally become psychologists. Or we may come to our senses sooner than that and shift to a course as far away from mental health as possible. Anyway, we won’t become psychics. Ever. Nope, not even with tutorials from Freud himself. (I can’t speak for The Professor, though. I mean, who knows?)
So with that out of the way, I would like to say please, in the name of all things good and beautiful, stop asking me to guess what’s on your mind. Seriously.
If you don’t (sigh), I would have to be a little tough and tell your classmates you were thinking of telling your teacher that she really should make the final exam right minus wrong.* So don’t push me, ok?
Your Non-Psychic Friend
* Of course I’m kidding. What, you still believe I can read…wait. You mean you were actually thinking of telling your teacher exactly that? Really? Oh…my…(faints)
I think about him all the time, I copy his favorite expression every chance I get, heck, I even dug up my old scrapbooks last night just to look at his pictures again. It’s all coming back to me. They were right, true love never, ever dies.
I’m talking about Buzz Lightyear here, people. Yup, the main man of Star Command himself. The white knight of the universe. The nemesis of Zurg. The love of my life.
Sigh. I thought I was over him. It’s been many, many years since I felt this obsession, back in the days when my sister and I quoted movie lines to each other and tried to guess which Disney flick they were from. Then out of the blue, my friend’s little brother popped a The Adventures of Buzz Lightyear vcd into their player while I was over at their house, and suddenly, poof! I’m Mira Nova, Tangean princess, all over again, and he’s not just my captain but the interplanetary hunk I secretly love as well.
Forgive me, John Smith, but it’s Space Ranger fever now.
People are plagiarizing my stories off peyups.com. This, so far, is the closest I’ve come to being a celebrity in the literary field.
So. Let’s celebrate!
*Ehem* (Tearful sigh plus a whispered “This is so unexpected.”)
I would like to thank those bloggers who clicked copy-and-paste and posted my stuff in their Multiply, Xanga, Blogspot, etc. sites. Even if most of you didn’t include the byline. Even if some of you are 15-year-olds who seem to harbor disturbing suicidal tendencies. Even if one of you did post a Cueshe song in the same category. Thank you, thank you. You guys make me feel like a star.
Now. Autograph signings will be on Tuesdays and Fridays only. To join my fan’s club, contact my mom. Requirements for membership application will be posted outside our house, beside Coffee the cat’s favorite windowsill.
“The more you sweat in training, the less you will bleed in battle.” (That’s probably because we’re already sweating blood, so there won’t be anything left to bleed when we go to battle. That is, if we survive training long enough to actually get there.)
“We all have our little imbalances. The good thing about being psychologists is that we know them. Other people, they pay us to tell them.”
“Neurotics are people who build castles in the air. Psychotics are those who live in them.”
“There are only two good kinds of defenses. One is Run. The other is Fast.”
“What’s your most difficult subject?” “This one, sir.”
“Oh, this isn’t difficult. This is life-threathening, but it’s not difficult.” (Whew, thank goodness. Not.)