Seasons of Law

A whole school year of being in Law school has passed elapsed. Now we're blissfully spending our potentially last summer when we wouldn't be compelled to do any law-related work, unaware of our final grades from the second semester and of our eligibility/ ineligibility to enroll for certain subjects next term. Ignorance is bliss, they say; but I think the person who said so might have died not knowing what hit him. There's this anxiety creeping every now and then which I brush off when I remember we can't do anything about the exams we already passed or failed. To pray and pray hard is all we could do, aside from just enjoying every moment of freedom we have for now.

How was a year in law school... I'd borrow a song from Rent the musical to describe it. There are some feelings which words alone cannot express, and I think the whole year couldn't be summed up in a few lines. Nonetheless, here it goes:

525,600 readings. 525,000 moments so dear
525,600 readings. How do you measure, measure a year?
In highlights, in recits, in midnights and cups of coffee. In cases, in piles, in digests, in fives.
525,600 readings. How do you measure a year in the lib?
How about laaaaaw? How about laaaaw? Measure in law. Seasons of law!

Yes, that's how it was and how it will continue to be. FUN! A classmate suggested the "law" be read/sung with a German accent. After a full school year, I would like to believe we're still the same idealistic young people who dream of changing the country, or the world. We don't look like vicious soul-eaters just yet. While our college batch mates were tweeting about finding jobs, exploring, soul-searching, quitting their jobs, or in other words -not being in school and simply living their lives, we were inside the old, cold and dark building we now call our second home.

For those who didn't go digital for their copies of assigned cases, I think they each have at least a 10-ft stack of white paper. That's literally a mountain of readings. More trees will be cut down for our future use. Some might switch to tablets by next sem to help save on paper. Photocopying is expensive, btw. 500-1,000 pesos a week is how much a student would have to shell out to buy photocopies of all assigned readings. #truestory

Here's the cheesy part of this pizza blog: law school was made more fun thanks to these guys. We'll have to bear with each other for three more years. I kid, but only about the "bear with each other" part. Let's all love one another! For the next three YEARS! (years, years, years, years, years, years, years, years.... *fade*)

My apologies to those whose were cut (and also those who don't want their faces in my page.
PM me for violent reactions, if any).
I didn't want our faces to be so recognize-able so I used this app and it kept cutting the edges.

Have you met Simsimi?

A couple of weeks ago, my timelines in different social networking sites were flooded with Simsimi posts. People were posting snapshots of funny, witty and sometimes touching convos with the bot. I don't think their lack of social skills pushed them to start talking to a bot through an app. Boredom, curiosity, and the urge to do something else other than what we're suppose to do (aka procrastination), if I guess it right, are the reasons I see for people my age to try this out. It took me two weeks to get me curious enough to try out the app myself, and boy did I end up with dead end convos like this one:

Real people will always win. HAHA. Still not clever enough to fool someone in to falling in love with a "person" named Simsimi. Who knows? It's only been 10 years since the app was made available. It's been "learning" since then. After a bajillion years it might even end up as a sage. A repository or human knowledge! Or maybe not. It's just an app. But who knows? Who knows.

How many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb?

How many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb?

Three. Two opposing counsels to argue on how to do it, and a judge to render a decision and order it's execution.

Pictures to burn, I mean memorize

While I still have had time to spare thanks to the holiday break, I tried a different way of memorizing. I don't know if it really worked or if it's just the lots of spare time I had to mumble the phrases over an over again. Making nerdy wallpapers was fun. 8) Here's one:

I don't think I'll be able to make a lot, with the break ending in a few days. Boo-hoo. So far I only managed to read 1 case out of... lets not talk about that. I'll read all of them before classes resume. :|

The pictures/wallpapers are uploaded here in Photobucket. I'll post others as soon as I well, finish them.

The ghost of netizen past

The internet is a cruel, cruel media. Unlike TV and radio where a moment on-air is just that -on-air and fleeting, a post could possibly be there forever, with the potential to be seen by people (or robots/aliens/whateverlifeformtheremaybe) eons later. It's like leaving permanent handprints/footprints/buttprints/fingerprints/whateverprints in an immensely huge canvass for everyone to see.

Humiliating videos go viral on YouTube. Typographically erroneous and misleading tweets get re-tweeted. Justin Beiber trends. Innocent and well-meaning posts are read and re-read until we find something in it to criticize. It's like giving your present self a bite off a golden apple or a serving of ambrosia. When you later morph into someone else as you grow older, that immortal piece of you remains existent and unaltered. It basically becomes a different person posing as you, someone you can't disown because it IS you -from the past.

How much of "past me" is in the web, I do not know. I might be all over the place, hiding along with all the other junk and past versions of other people. Least I can do is control whatever damage that past me could possibly do by deleting some of it. I mean, that's the reason why only a few posts are left now. hoho

I'm not in tune with the idea of leaving a manipulable me -a text that can be read in whatever way the reader would want it; a text that may seem physically or theoretically unalterable as courtesy to creator but nonetheless ascribed with different, and even conflicting, meanings. What and how much of me I would want to leave, I do not know.

Let's call this the ghost of netizen past. There is a chance of it haunting the ever-changing real-world person. Nonetheless, whatever fear of such chances are overridden by the need to express and to be. So I resolve to choose which ghosts I can afford to let loose. And I leave one now.

Since there's the word "ghost," here's for an eerie Christmas!