When there are hours to burn and bored med students with laptops, throw in movie class projects minus the lights, and you get an instant theater. And embarrassment.

Let me elucidate.

Last Friday lecturers were scarce. Maybe they had to attend a 2013's Lecturers' Convention somewhere? I dunno. Anyway, some classmates decided to watch movies that the class made for a project last semester. When a local disturbance- i.e. boisterous laughter- caught the attention of the general public, a few interrogations were made, and a discovery was made. To the horror (or secret pride) of a few, the Lateral Entrants population cheered for the movies to be moved to the Big Screen (a white board, LCD projector, and lousy sound system).

The crowd was quite small when the first movie was playing- which was not ours. The same blunders were being laughed at (ehem, dancers), the same areas were being cheered for. I must say, it's quite different seeing the Jackpot (or Dyakpat, I forget) after a long time of NOT watching it incessantly. You get to appreciate the overall plot, although some stupid part of you still kept on nagging at the details.

Anyway, when it was our movie's turn to be shown, the Director at first did not want it exposed to the public. But due to public demand (which was growing by the minute), the instigator of it all (Miguel, ehem!) excitedly played the no-subtitles version of KPMM (which I'm sad to learn that some of my groupmates still cannot, for the life of them, memorize the unabridged form, that is- Ang Kapanapanabik na Pakikipagsapalaran ni Manuel Magiting).

It was still funny. But comparing it with the first group's output (bar the rape + kidnap scenes), our movie was quite serious. Hello, autism, suicide, teenage pregnancy, parental love, drugs, and homicide. But what was quite funny was that people did not recognize me, playing my character. It took them quite a while to realize that it was I who was pseudo-driving that trike. After watching the movie, I can feel that all of us who participated in making those movies glowed with inner pride at such accomplishments.

Immediately after the lights were turned on, people only had two things to say to me:
1. That they didn't recognize my being the driver 'til after a moment of guesswork/elimination.
2. Did I really know how to drive a motorcycle?

It was all good fun, and it made me love the iMed gang more, bar a specific someone. Or several. But meh. I hope we could all hang out again. I miss being sick to death of seeing the same 33 faces for weeks at times. Oh heck. If we really wanted to, we could, roight?