Painful to be Private Preoccupations [Part IV]

IV.

It’s mid February, and it seems to be unseasonably cold this morning so I hasten my pace. Even though I just slept for about six hours last night, I feel refreshed. I’m quite excited today because it is the first day of the two-day Exposure Trip to Bilibid Prisons that we have organized, even though I have been there for several times already. I am walking towards the university and as I enter the gate, I saw the buses already lined up beside the catwalk, warming up their engines. Half of the students have already arrived, and some of them greet me and I return it with an upward jutting of my chin or a simple wave, while I begin calling our staffers, giving orders and checking things that are to be checked. It’s routine, really—it’s my sixth time being an usher, my fourth time being the organizer.

But because I want to impress someone in her usual long-skirt-and-unbuttoned-bottom-button-blouse attire this morning, I do this in another manner, as casual as I can, maintaining elegant composure all the time. I squint, almost whisper, make significant gestures while minimizing facial expressions. I begin to move and speak like a secret service agent, short on details, half expecting that my staffers already know what to do because I have briefed them already. I pace around the catwalk, snapping my fingers, attending to stupid and redundant questions of cheeky boys holding their guitars because they were not attentive to the orientation we gave two weeks ago. And even though I am pulling this off, I’m suddenly startled when a girl gives a scream from behind, greeting me. Chesca, as I expected.

“Kuya Zaldy, asan na si Ma’am Gamo?” she asks. She is wearing an orange jacket.

“Nandon na sa Bilibid. Taga-Cavite kasi yun kaya hindi na pumunta dito, sayang lang, so dun na nya kayo imi-meet.”

“Ha? Eh pa’no yun, sinong kasama naming prof sa bus? Akala ko ba sya?”

“I’ll attend to that later.” I lie, because I have been planning to be with them in the bus in place of my professor. Then I tell Joyce, who is beside Chesca, “Buti hindi ka tinanghali, hindi ka na-late.” And before she can answer, I follow up, “Get a large piece of paper, write the name of your section, ilalagay natin sa windshield mamaya.” She wants to clarify something and because I am a master of strategy, I assume that it’s not really necessary; I turn around and go to the other sections to tell the same.

I am determined to purposely ignore her a bit this morning, because we already chatted last night via our cell phones, and it is not very advisable to drown her with my attention now because it’ll just bore her. Besides, it conveys too much interest, and I cannot afford that, it’ll be such a waste not to keep her guessing about my motives, not too keep her a little confused, not to keep her thinking of me. I need to build and consolidate attraction because now, I think I’m beginning to like her, as cynical and critical as I am of such things, like, say, her current thoughts and preoccupations which I had a glance last night. At the same time, it’s not really good thinking and being preoccupied too much of what she thinks, as it would only consume my time and energy instead of thinking what I really need to do to ensure that what I am feeling would be reciprocated. Anyway, you’d be surprised if you’ll know how seldom people think about you. Always anticipating, not to mention worrying, about what other people think of you would only lessen one’s confidence, and I don’t want that to happen to me while trying to date this girl. And because I am not a chump, I plan such things so as to lessen the probability to fidget and get tense while, say, asking someone out, though not too much because of the same reason mentioned above aside from the conventional wisdom of being spontaneous.

A half hour later, the students boarded the bus. After checking all the things that needed to be checked with the other buses, I climbed up to the one that I would be ushering—1jrn2. I tell everyone to settle down. After realizing that they wouldn’t, I dig the sarong in my bag and wear it around my head, and then I stand up and tell everyone to settle down because we’re leaving in a minute. The class shut up, surprised with what I was wearing. Somebody asked me if I am a Muslim, which I denied because I am not. Then:

“Kuya Zaldy, bakit ikaw ang nandito sa bus namin?” someone asks.

“Siyempre, sub ako kay ma’am Gamo.”

“Baka naman dahil nandito si Joyce!” the class laughed. Dianne, a staff of the exposure trip, was giggling on her seat opposite to mine. She knows about Joyce.

“Ah oo,” I replied, rolling my eyes “magdasal na tayo.” I lead the prayer and thought that I’m getting used to this teasing, and I’m sure more of it would come after the trip. Joyce was sitting in the back, which disappointed me. Now every instruction that I would give her would be needed to be relayed to her other classmates or sent to her through text messages. On top of that, I’ll not gonna be able to talk to her en route to our destination.

“Paano ba yan kuya Zaldy, nasa likod si ms. President?” Dianne said, still chuckling.

“Babawi ako mamaya.” I replied.

To keep the class from being bored, I entertain some questions regarding their professors and subjects, the current events in our faculty and the people behind it while speaking through the microphone. I kid around with them, particularly with the girl wearing the orange jacket, who is as lively as always. I also gave some advice about their academics and when the topics were exhausted, I sat and waited for the bus to arrive at Bilibid.

□ □ □

The program went on smoothly earlier. The participants were entertained by the presentation of the inmates, the inmates were happy to see new faces to mingle with during the lunch break. Seeing it all happen, it makes me realize, time and time again, that our effort and time for preparing activities such as this is worth it. This day again confirmed my thought that trips like this are badly needed by such institutions.

I am still wired from my nap; I look out the window and notice that we are in Lacson already. Its rush hour and the traffic is murder. I look at the seats in the back and saw Joyce combing her hair, she just woke up too. I call her and tell her to sit beside me. She reluctantly agrees and plows her way through the isle with some of her classmates on their seats in it. Dianne is smiling from her seat opposite mine, I am given a look. Then the president finally arrives.

“Bakit ba? Ang kulit mo ah.” she says.

“Dito ka nga. Mag-uusap tayo” I say. She scoffs and sits beside me. “So kumusta yung program?”

“Ayos naman, astig.”

“Nagwawala ka noong tumutugtog na yung rock band nila ah.”

“Oo nga. Astig kaya! I mean, Wolfgang pa yung tinugtog, gusto ko yun eh.”

“Buti na lang matino pa ang taste mo. Hindi pogi rock.”

“Oo nga. Paano kayo nakakapag-organize ng mga ganito?”

“Mahabang proseso, minsan hindi ko na rin alam kung papaano nangyayari.”

“Kailangan ba talaga sa Sociology majors yun?”

“Hindi naman, officer kasi ako kaya kailangan talaga. Tsaka marami din naman siyempre akong katulong sa mga projects. Ikaw, kumusta ka naman sa major mo?”

“Ok lang. Adjustment period pa rin.”

“First choice mo ba ang journalism?”

“Hindi. Communication Arts talaga dapat ako. Ito yung second choice ko.”

“Ano ba ang gusto mong career?”

“Gusto ko talagang maging newscaster or broadcast journalist, ganun.”

“Ah, so it makes sense kung bakit second choice mo ang journ.”

I look outside; somebody in the marketplace is quarreling with a vendor. The vendor is going nuts. Then I see Dianne giggling to herself, shaking quietly. Then I look again at Joyce, both for dramatic effect and to see if she’s still listening. She is so I continue.

I tell her not to pursue that anymore, that she would look awful in TV, she talking there with a trace of her Alabang Girl accent. She disagrees and this is what she tells me; she of the long-skirt-and-unfixed-collar-blouse standard issue:

“If I know, magiging fan lang kita.” She gets the paper posted on the bus’ windshield and writes something on it and what on earth does this girl think she—

“Oh ayan, babasahin ko sa ‘yo ha. ‘Dear Zaldy, stay as loyal as ever. Yours truly, Joyce.’”

— and she signed it, with strong lines, arching curves and all. She thinks its funny, well, I think it’s funny. We laugh and she asks me my career plans. I tell her that I want to be in the Thomasian academe while participating in community organizing, and no, I don’t want to be a newscaster and no, she isn’t included in my plans. She raises an eyebrow, smiles and tells me that she doesn’t want me to be her professor someday. We both laugh and noticing that she is about to say something and we are already in the campus, I interrupt her, saying:

“Oh tama na. Bumaba na tayo, baka magbago pa isip mo eh” I motion her to stand up.

We got off the bus and said good bye to each other. Her classmates did the same to me and Dianne. Walking back to our building, Dianne is teasing me, pinching my arm.

“Ayos ah! Ang kapal din ng mukha mo kuya Zaldy!” she says.

“Ethnomethodology yun” I say. She didn’t get it though, “oh wag mo nang isipin.” I follow up.

When we arrived at our building, we checked the things that are to be attended for the trip tomorrow. Then I briefed my co-staffers about it. After that I start off to go home, singing “Arise” by Wolfgang.