Tadaima.

I’ve been home only for 13 hours—arrived in Naga at 5.00 via bus.

They haven’t been expecting me; they thought I was arriving tomorrow instead. So they are mildly surprised when I appeared at the doorstep 6.00 today.

And here are random conversations I had which each of them, so far:

King: Morning, you creep!

Raph: ‘Yun. Tapos dinala nila ‘yung mga archeons sa ISS—International Space Station. Then, may isa dun, ‘yung malapit sa mga experiment nang daga nag-expand.. dahil walang pressure sa outer space, di ba? Nagfloat siya, tapos kinain ng lab rats.

Tapos na ang chapter one, chapter two naman.

Papa: Basahin mo ‘yung French Lieutenant’s Woman. Or ‘yung Death of a Schoolboy. Harry Potter?

Me to Mama: Bading ka po Mama.

Had I posted the first version of this narrative, it would’ve ferried me directly to hell with the all the sacrilege contained in it.

I’ve done a few sorting out of my emotions, and hopefully I should sound more reasonable and unbiased now. Atticus Finch (To Kill a Mockingbird) once said, "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it,"—and I did just that, I think.

Rovina. 6.45. R. Papa Station.

I’ve been waiting for forty-five minutes—where in the world could she be? And I woke up pretty early, too! Why, oh, why can’t she be early even just this once?

She could be worried or irritated or both. Sometimes, she would pace the platform, at other times lean on the railings. Then, Jan and his father would come and Rovina would tell them that Patricia, that late-comer, was still as late as ever.

Patricia. 7.10. Blumenttrit Station.

What time are we supposed to meet anyway? Am I too late? Is this even the right place? But I’m pretty sure, I’m supposed to be in an LRT station. Rovina could’ve only gone by the train.

My fingers are starting to hurt from holding these paper bags. This is why I always travel light.

I’ve kept my eyes open for Rovina and Jan’s dad on every LRT station along the way, but saw neither—not even in this station.

So, I resolved to wait for ten minutes. If I don’t see any block 12, I would return to D. Jose, and head straight to Katipunan station.

Patricia 7.30. Blumenttrit Station.

The three trains that passed heading to Monumento were all fully packed, and I was even in the Female Area.

Please let the next train to D. Jose be miraculously empty. Please; there are no more space for my backpack and paper bags.

Ms. Staring-at-me-across-the-train. 8.00. LRT2 train to Santolan.

Could she have been crying? But she looks standoffish still.

My eyes stung, and tears threatened to spill. I kept my gaze beyond anyone sitting before me, onto the window. The clouds were growing grey.

Mr. Guard-of-the-Katipunan-Station-South-Entrance. 8.30. Katipunan Station.

Did that girl even understood the instructions I gave her, anyway? She looked like she was spacing out.

It was my first time in that place, but I knew I wasn’t lost. I could easily make it back to my house. I just couldn’t what I was looking for.

Camille-neesan. 11.00. House.

I really don’t understand what she’s crying about. But a pat always helps.

Patricia. 11.00. House.

Am I being childish crying over a Christmas party?

But I can’t help it, the tears keep falling anyway. At least, I’m indoors now, I can let it fall freely. I must’ve looked like a total idiot earlier, crying as I walk.

I hate this day.

And I want so badly to blame someone for ruining my day. Note though: it’s only 11.00—today’s barely halfway through. But I’ve had enough; those four long hours exhausted me enough to sleep for the rest of the day.

Just let me sleep. Let me forget that it is my fault that I couldn’t attend the freaking party anyway. It was my fault I didn’t get my phone fixed. It was my fault I didn’t ask my cousin to please let me use to internet to log-in to my facebook account yesterday. It was my fault that I didn’t ask for the resort’s name in the first place. It is my fault for waking up at 5.00 instead of 4.00. It was my fault. My bad.

Why can’t I stop being so fucked up in the head?

I tell you, this post doesn’t cover half the agony I felt all the while.

When I tried to walk under someone else’s skin, I must’ve still been biased. So when you walk under mine, I still doubt you’d feel the entirety of my emotions still.

`Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.
to a future that never ends.

I turned over and tried to sleep again but couldn’t and so lay on my back looking at this gray burlap sky. Very gradually, like one instrument after another being tentatively rehearsed, beacons of color began to pierce the sky. The ocean perked up a little from the reflection of these colored silvers in the sky. Bright high lights shone on the tips of waves, and beneath its gray surface I could see lurking a deep midnight green. The beach shed its deadness and became a spectral gray-white, then more white than gray, and finally it was totally white and stainless, as pure as the shores of Eden. Phineas, still asleep on his dune made me think of Lazarus, brought back to life by the touch of God.

`Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.
to a future that never ends.

It’s the third time I tried to write this post. The past two trials I have discarded for they were too nondescript. My writing style hasn’t improved a bit; the thought makes me want to whimper.

I have nothing important to say, actually, but I felt the urge to write all of a sudden. Perhaps, it’s because I was reading a new book—Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. Starting with a book always gives me that yearning to also pen an equally pleasant literature of my own.

So now, I settle with writing about some completely random thoughts I had for the past three weeks.

Date/ Time: Does Not Matter

It’s been a year, hasn’t it, since I started hanging out with them. Now that I think about it, we don’t have an exact anniversary date. Not like our high school gangs and crews that required celebrating founding anniversaries. Who cares anyway how long we’ve been together? All I know is that we’ll be with each other till forever. For me, that alone is worthy of a celebration.

Date/ Time: Some Saturday

Toss here, turn there, draw the blanket above my head, clap my hands on both my ears, grunt, cover my head with a pillow, and turn the other way—that’s what I’ve been doing for the last thirty minutes I’ve been trying to sleep.

A growing kid like me needs my sleep: my body yearns for a peaceful sleep, yet my mind forbids me from doing so. It’s been echoing a single song for the whole half-hour. And it doesn’t help my case that the same song is actually playing on repeat on my cousin’s iPod.

I vaguely remember the song to be one of my recent favorites—but I deeply loathe it now.

Date/Time: Forgotten

I want a new laptop. But it’s not exactly something that can be bought on a whim—especially by a jobless kid like me. And I cannot burden my parents over it anymore. That is an inconsiderate demand; my old laptop is still working. At this time of crisis, I should be helping them generate more money for the family than throw it away for my own selfish needs.

Date/ Time: Tonight

For I understand that fear is a manifestation of lack of trust in God, I resolved not to be afraid anymore. But upon hearing that my tita is arriving on Wednesday, I cannot help but be terrified. Gravely terrified.

So help me, God.

`Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.
to a future that never ends.

I am weird.

I am studying the situation in Myanmar seriously. I’ve been reading articles about it from the New York Times website.

I am studying the International Humanitarian Laws. I’ve downloaded various pdf’s explaining the basics of these laws.

I’m taken with poetry. Mostly Pablo Neruda’s and my old love Edgar Allan Poe’s.
And Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince, I’ve been reading it too.

I’ve also read various articles about international issues, especially those concerning the relations of countries.

They are so fun to study. Really.

Oh, and I’m taking the Japanese language seriously this time.

And of course, my usual school stuff. :D Physics is ok, math is ok, speech is ok, CMSC subjects are ok, and PE is fun. I think I like this semester. :D

`Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.
to a future that never ends.

I saw him today, waiting beyond the gates of the school, peering curiously past the railings—past me—seeming to look for someone. And he must have waved when he saw who he was looking for, but I had averted my gaze by then; I didn’t want to see him. Or more like, I didn’t want him to see me, to even notice me.

My heart still pounds against my chest whenever I see him. I’m glad it still hasn’t changed. It could be uncomfortable at times, but it was my only way of knowing I am still with an inspiration, I still know how to hope.

But why do I hope? I know I don’t want to meet him in the first place. I’ve been presented with numerous chances to talk to him, to be formally introduced by a friend, to be his friend, but always, always I run away when it gets close to happening. Somehow, I can’t. I don’t want to.

I think, I’m afraid, that when I do meet him, and grow friendly with him, this feeling would be lost. Probably I’d think of him no more than a friend. I would probably want to stop there. Be contented of his friendship.

That’s why; I don’t want to meet him.

I want to become a better writer. So, anyway, I might tweak my blog posts a bit so that it becomes more heartfelt and catchy (I think). But whatever.

`Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.
to a future that never ends.

A phone call that doesn’t get through.

A sink clogged with grime and grease.

A soup too salty.

These were the things that made her head ache dully, along with the shrill falsetto sounding from her iTunes. Promptly, she hit the next button, and after a few seconds of silence, a random R&B song started playing.

“How do I breathe...” sounded her player, beginning a whole three-something minutes of self-pitying song.

And while How Do I Breathe by Mario was playing, she was also wallowing in her own head.

How do I breath, indeed, when my chest feels truly heavy as though it’s about to explode? I’m so sick of this feeling. Why can’t I do anything right, even when I try so hard to make it perfect? Are all my efforts never recognized?

A phone call that couldn’t get through.

She’d been trying for three days to call her mother’s mobile phone but all she could her from the other end was a series of cold beeps, and the line would strangely cut. Naturally, she didn’t want to think too much of her mother’s lack of response or her inability to, but when three freaking days had already passed with her mother still not communicating, how could she not worry?

And now she finally understood why her parents get so mad at her when she doesn’t reply to their text messages for days on end.

A sink that was clogged with grime and grease.

It was probably her fault that the sink clogged, but she would not admit entirely to it. Before she set to wash the dishes yesterday night, bits of rice had already been dumped in the sink so that when she turned on the faucet, the bits of rice fell into the drain. No doubt they were probably what caused the clogging.

As she was washing the dishes this afternoon, the water in the sink won’t go down anymore. And it was filled with oil too because included in the pile she was to wash, was a frying pan.

A soup too salty.

It was a common knowledge that she couldn’t cook. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried, because she really did loads of times, but she was still a complete failure. But of course, in the first place, she didn’t like cooking, so what else could you expect?

Tonight, she tried to make another dish, after days of not having held a ladle. Yes, merely days passed yet all knowledge of cooking had been sucked out of her as if she had never been trying to learn at all. Tonight, though, she wanted to just surprise everybody with a deliciously cooked meal.

But maybe it was better if she never tried.

When she tasted her soup, it wasn’t edible—unless you would fancy living with a damaged liver for the rest of your life.

In the end, it was a waste of time, waste of energy, waste of money, waste of ingredients.

She shouldn’t have thought of trying.

So, how then, can I change this fate?

The answer is: she didn’t have to.

She didn’t even have to worry, for worrying will only deepen the worry lines on her otherwise smooth face. All she had to do was take it easy, and trust that everything will come out right.

And when she did just that, she received an email from her mother, fresh from work, explaining that she never got her messages in the first place. Also her dear older cousin arrived in time to unclog the sink, and make another warm soup.

All she needed to do was trust in Someone so dependable.

`Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.
to a future that never ends.