So, here I am. I have all the time bestowed on me but just keep on going up and down the stairs of the building. I am not really sick other than the worries which the wound on my leg keep causing me.
This morning, upon waking up, I had my meal, had the make-up class, took a nap, listened to music, took a nap again. I feel uneasy though I know I have the faculty to do something worthwhile but I don't have the nudge. It's so hard to deal with this kind of feeling. For now...
Upon getting off the bus obviously tedious from the trip, I looked both ways to check if he was there waiting for me. I felt so tired that carrying the heavy luggage both in my hands aggravated my condition.
Earlier, while on the bus, he just sent me a text message reminding me of our rendezvous. I was really excited. He gave me easy to follow directions which ironically I had a hard time reckoning.
I just thought, I hit the right spot, waiting, searching, and feeling his presence. I moved to a vacant slot on the side walk. Mesmerized by the speeding vehicles and buses on the big road, I kept wiping the sweat rolling down my body. Put the towel on my shoulder, took it, wiped and put it on my shoulder again. The weather in Manila was really hot that I couldn't imagine staying here for good.
Then, a bus, stopped a few meters past my location. I waited eagerly for the disembarking passengers. "I hope he is there." I thought. The bus moved again but he wasn't there. I wandered my eyes to the surroundings. I knew I must be right there at the meeting place which he described to me through his text. Moments later, I saw a guy in his mid-40's. He was very uneasy busying his fingers on his cellphone. I just realized I was doing the same thing too, and he could be him.
But "No", I wanted to back out. He was not the person I imagined to be with in my life. That bulging stomach, that face, aaargh, and he kept looking at me. Maybe because I kept looking at him also. But what if he was my textmate. I wanted to run away from the scene and go back to my hometown. I thought I just did the craziest thing in my life. Meeting a stranger whom I would be disappointed with later.
I was feeling hungry and I decided to go to a nearby cafeteria. Then, I received a text message from him saying that he was on his way. I felt relieved. I was excitedly waiting for him as he got off the bus from the other side of the road. He was wearing a cap. Tall and lanky, he looked obscure but I felt some kind of intense passion. We met, he helped me with my luggage. We took a bus ride and the ride was never ending. We are still on it.
It's TGIF and it always makes me feel good to prepare for dinner as I am with my boyfriend. (Usually on weekdays, I find it convenient taking my meals at Ate Liza's Cafeteria.) I feel zesty whenever this day comes which is extremely the opposite with how my students feel. Most of them don't show up online. That means more time for me to attend to my proclivity to blogging. (Thanks God) (Sigh) I can't wait for the weekend to come.
Every Friday, it has been a tradition (LOL) between me and my boyfriend to buy a kilo of rice at a nearby store and cook it ourselves. We just love stuffing ourselves with too much carbs but we dont' think the next meal is the end of the world.
So, I decided to go to the store and I had to pass by the guards post downstairs. I was looking at the familiar guard stationed.
"Do you use a mop in your office?" He asked. The hell, why would he ask such a question in the first place?
"Yes," I replied and I felt strange.
Then, he went. "Don't tell the administrator you do, a mop fell earlier from the upper floor. He'll surely get mad at you 'coz his car was hit by the mop."
"How could you postulate that was our mop in the first place just because it fell from the upper floor?" I asked with the surging pressure in my blood. "Can I see it?" I continued.
He led me to the store room and pointed to a mop with exploited fibers.
"Excuse me, we regularly change the fibers on our mop. That certainly looks cheap, thus it is not ours." I chucklingly said and I know that wasn't me. But that's how I get along well with "Vaughn"-the guard downstairs in his late 30's.
I left right away for the store.
I don't know but teenagers find excitement in their misadventures. They want to be domineering as possible. Understanding and communication are always the last resort. Whenever they feel they are aggravated, reprisal is likely the initial response.
One of our hangouts many years ago then was to gather in group at a particular place in the neighborhood. The place was private and we felt more freedom there from the nagging of our parents.
One time, Noel, one of my closest friends invited me out for some drink. It was one of our friends' birthday. They drank, we drank, and we split from the group. We obviously felt bored as the night progressed. Though we were already in spirits, three of us sneaked out of the hangout and went to town to continue the fun.
Noel, Harry and I went to a bar catered to folk, rock, and country music lovers. It so happened I met some friends in college. They were the same people I worked with as a News Editor for our school publication not until I dropped out.
When everyone was pickled and tipsy, Noel invited Harry and me to go out and buy some cigarettes. I told him I didn't have to go with them, I'd rather wait inside while talking with some college acquaintances. But Noel ejected me out of my chair saying that we went to the place as a group and we should leave as a group.
The moment we stepped out of the bar's patio, we were caught off-guard with multiple attacks from several youngsters outside. They all started batting and hitting us here and there. Some had bats, some had knives, and some had bats with attached knives.
There was a stir, I could hear the sound of jabbing and physical attacks. I never knew until I was left behind crying and pleading for help. The attackers had gone and so were Noel and Harry. I sat in one corner of the bar outside. I knew I was safe and I was drunk. I was crying. I was alone.
A few moments later, I felt some pain in my back. I started to move my hands, pressed them against my shirt as I felt some wetness, then viscidness. I moved to where the light is and then I freaked out. My white shirt turned bloody red and so were my hands.
I rushed back to the bar and asked my college friends to take me to the hospital. I was starting to get sober. I didn't feel weak though much blood gushed out of my system. I never imagined a small spree would put my life in jeopardy. I was so young and full of dreams.
The KNIFE used to stab me according to the doctor was a semi ice pick, had it not been two centimeter away from my lung, it would have plunged me to death.
As for Noel and Harry, I had the impression that they were recreants but we met again and we each had a story to tell.
Whenever I feel the urge to smoke, I go to my room, grab a pack of cigarette I usually lay on the table inside, take out my lighter if there is or go the kitchen-like area in the office and get the matchbox. It pisses me off when a lighter I buy disappears shortly and is nowhere to be found. I must be very careless and forgetful that I can't keep a lighter for more than two weeks. I have to buy a lighter every now and then.
So if missing my lighter irritates me, how much more if I have run out of cigarettes? There are times, I crave for cigarettes at past midnights and I have no choice but to control the addiction. Most of the time, "Manang" saves the day.
I call her "Manang"-it is an honorific vernacular to refer to older women. Manang is from Capiz, a town notorious for evil creatures or "aswang", the Philippine version of vampires as portrayed in movies. When I first saw her, she caught my attention one rainy afternoon. She was trying to fix an umbrella she just picked up from the garbage to keep herself from the rain. It was last year when I got the chance to to learn more about her life and the people behind it.
"You are from Capiz?" I asked in awe.
Rumor has it that there are indeed a lot of evil creatures in the town and I want to hear it directly from someone who hails from that place.
"It's a word of mouth sir, but I have never seen anything yet. I was born there, spent some years but I had to settle here in Manila when I married Boy."
Boy is her husband who works as a valet. He has been working for the same building where our company is located. Imagine, he receives, less than 200 dollars in a month. He always crosses his fingers some drivers and tenants would be generous enough to give him tips to get through.
They are a common sight everyday. They work hand in hand no matter how meager their earnings are to support a family of six. Manang tends a small space where she sells cigarettes and some candy. She is my survivor when I really have no money.
I don't know but I feel happy whenever she tells me she makes some earnings in a day and is able to send some to the country. She is saving up for the construction of their shelter in Capiz where they plan to settle for good. So far, she already has bought a tricycle to add to their livelihood once they go back to her hometown.
"Sir, life here in Manila is not what I expected. It is really hard. I am glad that you pay your debts on time but I am worried that a lot of workers here in this building who owe me cigarettes and they disappear like bubbles." she once told me with a sigh.
Manang takes out an old notebook from an old bag which looks like a rubbish. I see a lot of items listed under the names written. They are clearly written as mine but she just starts crossing out my name. I am cleared. She looks at me and smiles.
On weekends, we would go to a friend's house, drink, sing, watch TV, smoke, and that's all. Our closeness and sometimes being intimate elicited doubts and suspicions from among our neighbors but we had to ignore them.
One time, I decided to enjoy the company of some friends. They were singing, drinking and smoking. They were in a certain abandoned house in the neighborhood. I was shocked to see Arlene smoking for the first time. She was a highschool student and she was the daughter of a nun whom I have considered as my own aunt because she was my dad's close friend.
They knew I never smoked in my life though I had had my taste of gin and beer. I had never been pickled before though the first drop of alcohol on my palate welcomed the start of an addiction.
They seem to be having fun as they were trying to make circles while puffing cigarette smoke.
"Hey,come on try it, it's fun," Arlene said.
"This is her first try but she can make circle smokes, you can also do that," another friend added. I HESITATED...
I am human and as a teenager I was so gulliblle and naive to reject enticing desires. The situation was a concoction of curiosity and peer pressure at the same time. I gave in though I remember vehemently abhorring smoking when I was younger. How could people just burn their money into ashes and make themselves sick by exposing their lungs to smoke? The hypocrisy in me was unfolded, or was it a weakness?
Nicotine is addictive...
We were enjoying dancing and singing some disco songs while the others were playing bowling. I was dancing and gamboling in one corner of the bowling place with two of my newfound friends who also happened to be gays. They were older members of the club though. I was a newbie.
An old woman in her 50's after hitting strike turned her direction to us. She came nearer, smiled at me and initiated a small talk.
"Are you gay?" she asked.
"Yes." I replied.
"I thought you are straight." she added with some unexplained smile in her face.
It was not a smirk, as I immediately felt comfortable talking to her. That was the first time our paths crossed. Who knew she would be an important part of my life?
The other day, she kept sending me text messages asking if I could watch her game in the bowling tournament.
"Hi, Miss Universe, happy birthday! Come and watch me for the tournament and I will treat you some beer if you really insist and some appetizers too." That was her message.
I had to turn her down though her idea was inviting. I had had another appointment with my other friends and I didn't want that to be compromised.
It seems that she is still confused with my personality. Sometimes, she would call me a son and sometimes Miss universe. It doesn't really matter to me whatever she wants to call me. Though honestly, I feel I have long hair when she thinks I am the most beautiful woman on earth (LOL). I am happy with the fact that she treats me so dearly to her heart. Since then, I have thought of her as one of my guardian angels, a surrogate mother while I am away from home.
I have had happy moments with her. She showed eagerness in knowing all the details in my life. When my boyfriend just arrived home from abroad. She was quick to remind me that I would have to introduce him to her. We ate out then and it was her treat.
She was one of the few people who first responded when I got diagnosed of hepatitis. She is truly a blessing. She is not my mom but it is sweet to belong.
