Painful to be Private Preoccupations [III]

III.

It’s almost 3pm, and I am thinking of something. I am thinking of what I was doing exactly a year ago, February 14, 2006—Valentines Day. Of course I was not dating that time, not making a feeble attempt at manipulation of someone from the opposite sex by wooing her with gifts, not waiting in line at a branch of Sogo or Wise. I was in Quiapo, in our dojo, training, striking canes and bags, which I have done also two years ago, will be doing dozens, hundreds of times in the future. Yes, I would do that, because the concept and the very sense of this day eludes me, is not worthy of my time. As far as I know, it is a foreign concept, a dubious one, not originally indigenous of the Filipino culture. I do not believe in it; do not have a use for it except as a fodder for trashing in conversations with my friends. There seems to be no internal logic in the celebration or anything of this day. Why celebrate a day dedicated to such a mundane concept such as love? And I cannot do anything but cringe seeing a lot of guys, a lot of wuss, carrying flowers—which I believe happens to be the plant’s vagina—around in the university.

I’m having a break from the usual training-during-valentines regimen, as I am not training right now. Because at this very moment, I am here, sitting idly on a bench in front of the Audio Visual Room of our faculty, waiting for freshmen class presidents for final announcements for the educational trip tomorrow. Five of them came already and gave me the remaining fees of their classmates for the trip, and god knows what is keeping the president of 1jrn2 from showing up.

3 o’clock in the afternoon, “The Hour of Great Mercy”, and the waiting is starting to get uncomfortable. After a while someone in her usual long skirt appears, shuffling in the lobby towards my location.

“Pambihira” I say, feigning relief.

“Ayun! Kuya Zaldy, eto na yung mga bayad.” Joyce says. Her tone seems startled. She hands over the payments for the trip. She’s holding two roses.

“Salamat. Oh, andami mo yatang rosas, kanino galing yan?”

“Ah, wala.”

“Ok, sige, kitakits na lang bukas.” I’m squinting, noticing something wrong, and as she notices me noticing something, she asks me.

“Teka, bakit?”

I point to my face, then to hers. “Makapal, punta ka sa CR, retouch ka.”

“Talaga?” She squirms in her uniform, as if it’s too tight for her already small build.

“Oo, {rolls eyes} makapal.”

“Oh sige.” She seems to be convinced now. She turns around to walk away.

But then I start roaring. She turns around, frowning at me.

“Nanggagago ka?!”

“Hindi! Hala, retouch na!”

“Oo na nga eh!” She walks away again, stomping, towards the women’s restroom.

It’s unnatural, her makeup. I don’t know but her face is so white, too thick with that creamy powder thing.

I sigh, what a relief. Now all I have to do is fix my things, go home, take a nap and prepare for the party this night.

□ □ □

It’s good that they have invited me to this party, as I really need a break after months of schoolwork. We’re all having a good time, although most of the people here are not of my own demographic. We’re only a handful of young people here, sitting on the carpeted floor, and I’m the only one still studying. A friend of mine, Lenlen, a news reporter, have been tugging on my Arabian pants, noting how pretty it is, and asking if she could have it.

“Akin na lang.” she says.

“Hindi nga pwede eh. Ihahanap na lang kita sa ukay.”

“Please? Sige na.”

“No. No.” And I tell her that even if she would have it, it wouldn’t matter because it wouldn’t change her looks anyway. We both laugh because we both know that I am kidding. “Maganda ka na, wag ka nang magsuot ng ganito. Exaj na.”

“Sige na nga!”

She stands up, another friend of mine, Lyndon, slides in and asks me about the Exposure Trip tomorrow, if all things are set and good to go, and I tell him of course we’re ready.

“Eh yung first year?”

“Ah, si Joyce? Ayos naman, patawa nga kanina eh.” I tell him what happened in front of the AVR, her makeup, all of it. “Mai-text nga kaya?”

“Oo nga, go!”

I send her a text message asking if she already removed her makeup. She replies that she only did that because it’s Valentines Day. To have a “peek” on her preoccupations at the present, I ask:

“And that makes you special because?”

She says she’s special because she doesn’t need any man at the moment to complete her. Then it occurs to me that she might have had a heartache recently, an obstacle for someone like me. I do not want someone who is presently preoccupied with the past, of getting rid of this or that thing, of proving everyone that she is not bitter with anything.

We continue sending text messages to each other for quite a while, until the party is over. When I and my friends were riding the jeep on our way home, I tell her to sleep because it’s already late, and we both have to be early for the trip tomorrow. She tells me that its brownout in their house so she can’t sleep, and I tell her to try nonetheless, because now it would be harder for her to sleep, implying that it is because of me. She didn’t get it though, she is not calculating, not anticipating enough. This is the problem with digital communication: you cannot decipher subtle clues other than the messages themselves. The human brain is not “hardwired” for such things. I tell her that I’ll see her the next morning, that she is not to be late because she is the president. I doze off, and when I woke up I am already at España. It’s going to be a long day hours from now.