Painful to be Private Preoccupations [Part V]

V.

I am staring at the monitor for almost half an hour already, trying to edit a poem even though it became obvious to me a while ago that it would be futile to do so, because at the moment, I am preoccupied with something. Joyce would be arriving soon here in the office to conduct an interview with me regarding the community service projects in Bilibid. At first, she wants to have it on the phone, but I wouldn’t have that because I have no phone in my boarding house. Besides, it’s another chance for us to be able to know each other more, a possible entry for me to ask her out.

A knock on the door, here she is.

“Sorry late ako.”

“Anong petsa na?”

“Eh kasi…”

“Hindi, joke lang. Ayos lang yun.” I motion for her to sit down. She sits on the chair in front of me, the punching bag. I begin to be a little thoughtful of my words, trying to make them more memorable. I am energetic but not too eager, not maintaining eye contact too long. I cross my legs. How? The manly way or the womanly-elder man’s way? If I do the latter, would she think I’m gay?

We go quickly over the technical aspects of the programs, and then she asks me to tell more about of the projects and events spearheaded by Sociology. She is surprised that such programs do exist in the faculty. She begins to tilt her head, an indication of interest—and attraction!—and so I make big gestures pointing to this and that, using my hands as parentheses to emphasize ideas. She begins to smile while nodding, and as I look into her pupils I see them dilate, and I see not only a dating possibility but something more. This is not a mere interview any longer but a merging of souls, friendship transcending into—

“Patingin ng mga pictures ng immersions nyo!”

— We go to the computer and I show her the pictures, and I wonder if this would increase my chances with her.

“Wow… may ganoon pala sa AB.” She says, eyes widened.

I check the time and tell her that her class would be starting soon. She gets up and fixes her things, thanking me. Then I get an idea.

“Ano ‘to, TY?” I say, grinning.

“Ha? Ay token! Eh kasi wala akong…”

“Ok lang yun.”

“Teka, ano bang gusto mong—”

“Wag mo nang alalahanin, kontakin na lang kita pag nakaisip na ‘ko. Tara, hatid na kita sa taas.” I open the door and start walking with her while chatting idly. As we reach her room, her classmates looked puzzled, seeing us together, walking side by side. I open the door for her.

“Salamat ulit ha.”

“Wala yun. Yung token ha.”

“Oo ba, bye.”

“Bye.”

I walk back to the office, smiling to myself. Now I have to think where we would go out as her “token” for the interview.

□ □ □

Today is Luncheon Meat Day, and as the name implies, I would be eating that canned food for lunch and supper. It’s almost a week after I went to the grocery store to buy a 10-day supply of instant food for me to eat while saving for this day. It’s like the first two years of my college life: eating instant food for weeks, even months, usually sardines, even tuna was too expensive for me then. When I get a little lucky, I’d cook and store adobo way back then, eat two or three morsels per meal for one whole week—even when it’s sourness would be too inedible for human consumption. When I’m short of luck and allowance, usually because of voluminous and expensive readings, I’d resort to eating fishballs, adidas or betamax during dinner, my plate overflowing with the sauce, would keep some for breakfast the next day and hope that days like this wouldn’t come again while knowing all too well that that’s not the case. I don’t know how I survived, how I don’t have stress-caused nodules on my chest anymore like the ones I had two years ago, must be a trick I somehow pulled—a jump from the stratosphere, the hiding of Eiffel tower.

Hours later, I’m at The Flame office, playing a computer game, while waiting for 1jrn2 to be dismissed. Today I would be taking Joyce out to lunch, even though it’s almost 3:00 pm, as I know she haven’t eaten yet because of her class schedule. I am determined to give her a new experience this day, would be dining in a restaurant she haven’t dined in yet, absolutely no fast food but a healthy meal. When its five minutes away till her dismissal, I go to the restroom to wash my face. When I returned to the office, our literary editor, Ron, is grinning, hands on his lap, and begins to tell me something. This is gonna be good.

“Uy, may naghahanap sa ‘yo kani-kanina lang ah. Yung freshman yata ‘yun.”

She’s already looking for me, I knew it! I’ve seen this coming, the eagle has lan—

“Marami daw siyang gagawin eh. Pasensya na daw, hindi daw siya pwede ngayon.”

I sit, slumped on a chair in front of the computer. I send her a text message asking where she is.

“’Yun na ba ‘yun?” Ron asks.

“Ha?”

“Yung freshman na dinidiskartehan mo raw, siya ba yung pumunta dito?”

“Ah oo, si Joyce. Bakit?”

“Hindi naman pala maganda eh.”

“Ano?”

I can’t believe his comment. I look at Ron with disbelief, then scorn. I want to pop his skull like a water balloon. And that FHM calendar! I’m leaving anyway. I stand up; go to the lobby not knowing what to do. I scan the place while pretending not to look for her. It’s stupid, really. Ron already told me that she was too busy, and I am here, still looking for her, assuming that she is still here in the building, perhaps idling in the corridors. Busy people have things to do, busy people are on the move. But still I am here, doing this, because I am a stupid person who does stupid things. She is not replying yet.

I return to the Flame office, where some of my friends have arrived, playing cards. I sit again on a chair. I sigh, feel my head getting heavy so I massage my temple with my fingers. As expected, Ron already briefed them about what happened. They begin to tease me, and we all have a few hearty laughs about it. Then they ask me what I would do now. I kid around, telling them that the question must be posed on Joyce, as she is the one compelled to do something now. After someone suggests that we eat merienda at Asturias, we all go outside.

I don’t know what this means. It’s the first time someone I asked out canceled it the last minute, and to be honest, I’m quite surprised, caught unarmed, not anticipating this. I’m thinking what prompted her to do so, what kind of activity she is doing right now that she cannot be bothered with anything. I must find a way to ask her out again, while not implying that I must, so that she would not think that I am needy, since I am not. We arrive at a burger stand in Asturias; I open my wallet and look at my savings. I order a footlong sandwich and a fruit shake—it’s the first time in a week that I am to eat something that’s not out from a can.