[M]ethanol na may Babad

- Ano’ng nakasulat?

- San?

- Dun sa article, kung article mang matatawag yun.

- Column.

- Whatever. Ano ngang sabi?

- Tinira yung AB, nothing new except… her basis.

- Which is?

- Basta may hybrid siya ng assessment at estimation sa quality ng education ng Journ at CA. Alam mo kung san niya binase?

- San?

- Sa equipments at facilities pare.

- Oh? Labo. Tapos nag-jump kagad siya sa overall situation ng AB?

- Ganun na nga.

- Sick. Dapat hindi siya nag-generalize kaagad no?

- Oo nga. Hindi katulad mo, sinusuri talaga ang bawat bahagi ng issue para walang masagasaan, may pasintabi.

- Naks, binola mo pa ako ah. Gago. Tumagay ka nga muna.

- Eh akin na yan.

***

- Sino ba siya?

- Eh di taga-AB, malamang.

- Oo nga. Ang sinasabi ko eh kung kilala mo siya.

- Hindi eh. Never heard, never seen, just read. Ngayon din lang yata.

- Oh? Ano bang nagawa nya para sa AB?

- Malay.

- Gumawa na ba siya ng ibang ingay liban dun?

- Malay.

- Sumasali ba siya sa community work?

- Malay.

- Kahit ano’ng movement sa AB?

- Malay.

- Eh wala naman pala siyang malay sa AB eh.

- Yun na nga eh.

- Maganda ba yun?

- Tanong ba yan ng isang barako o ng isang bading?

- Hmm… Pareho dear…

- Sa tingin ko hindi eh.

- Uy, playing safe.

- Gago, tingnan mo kaya pic nya sa dyaryo.

- Naiihi ako. Samahan mo ‘ko, kailangan ko ng bird handler.

***

- Ang banas pare.

- Kanino ka nababanas?

- Ang “banas” sa probinsya namin ang ibig sabihin eh mainit.

- Ah… Malamang, summer ngayon eh.

- Alam ko.

- E ano yang nginangalngal mo jan?

- Bawal bang dumaing?

- Hindi naman.

- Paano kaya didinggin ang daing ng mga estudyante dun?

- Naks, metaphor ba yan?

- Ay siya nga ano? Haha, gawa tayong tula tungkol dun!

- Pakyu.

- “Ma’am, san po kayo nakakakuha ng mga metaphors nyo?”

- Sinong may banat nyan?

- Yung bago, binanat nya kay kuwan.

- Seryoso?

- Oo men, wasak talaga.

- Ano’ng sabi ni lola?

- “Campus journalism is a shot in the arm.” Haha!

- Wasak! Kanino mo nasagap yang tsismis na yan?

- Sikret. Bili ka muna ng pisbol kay manong.

***

- Pagdaing ba yung ginawa nya dun?

- Parang hindi eh. Parang papansin lang.

- Wag kang ganyan. DL daw yun ah.

- Sinabi nya yun sa columns nya?!

- Gago e di hindi naman. Usap-usapan lang, pero totoo yun.

- Ay tangina DL din kaya ako. Half of my stay in college DL ako. Tapos tatae ako sa gitna ng lobby, sasabihin ko “Performance Art!”, tapos wag na silang papalag kasi consistent DL ako.

- Haha! Para mo na ring sinabing humane leader si Makoy dahil topnotcher siya sa Bar noon.

- I rest my case!

- Rest ka muna, wala na tayong cheyser. Bili muna ako.

***

- Ano yang cheyser natin? Mukhang matabang, ang linaw ng laman ng pitsel o.

- Inumin mo na lang. Tsaka hindi naman to pangtanggal-uhaw eh, pangtanggal lasa.

- Pa’no to makakatanggal ng lasa kung matabang?

- Natikman mo na ba? Hindi pa nga di ba?

- Ano nga kasi yang tinimpla mo?

- Lemonade.

- Leche.

***

- May gulo daw nung pageant ah.

- Scam?

- Parang.

- Pinagtatalunan nila yun?

- Oo.

- Anak ng tinapang gubat. Pati ba naman yun? Yun ngang rationale ng pageant eh wala nang kwenta tapos yun pa ilalagay nila sa diskurso nila. Yun yung mga bagay na pinagtatalunan ng mga walang mapag-usapan. Ang dami-daming issue ngayon tapos yan ang pinag-tatalunan nila.

- Oo nga eh. Naturingang liberal arts.

- Artlet.

- Eh kung Philets kaya sila?

- Ganun pa rin yun. Iba kaya ang milieu, no point in comparison.

- Yun na nga eh. Dapat sensitive siya sa time and space. Iba noon, iba ngayon. Liban na lang kung may nilatag siyang grounds.

- Maglatag na kaya tayo dito sa labas, para pag lasing na tayo eh deretso tulog na.

- Ayokong lamukin. Tsaka takot ako sa palaka.

- Para namang kakainin ka ng palaka.

- Baka ihian ako, magkakulugo pa ako.

- Dapat nga may palaka para walang lamok.

- Palaka o lamok? Mamili ka.

- Tatagayin mo ba yan?

- Ang taas eh! Bawasan mo.

- Gribbit!

***

- Mehn may sasabihin ako sa ‘yo.

- Ano yun?

- Pare mahal na yata kita.

- Stop it pare, prove it na lang.

- Kiss?

- Ayoko, amoy alak ka.

***

- Ok rin naman yung point na magkumpara ng graduates noon kaysa ngayon eh, kaya lang not up to that extent.

- Iba nga kasi ang panahon, mas maraming distraction ngayon eh.

- Excuse ba yan?

- Hindi. Para kasing if you always refer to the oldies, to the past as being better, you’ll just feel miserable about your own time.

- Meaning?

- Halimbawa, yang pag-aaral ng kasaysayan. Sinabi ni Durkheim na may problema sa kombensyonal na approach sa pagtuturo nyan. Masyadong nago-glorify yung mga historical figures, so ang dating sa estudyante eh ang gagaling ng mga taong yun at sila eh hindi.

- Talaga?

- Something like that. Ang tanong kasi talaga eh kung ano ang magagawa mo bukod sa nagawa nila.

- Sabagay. Paano mo makikita yung “saysay” sa kasaysayan kung puro memorization? Kasi history’s a giant narrative di ba? Isang malaki at masalimuot na kuwento, hindi listahan ng petsa, lugar at mga personalidad.

- Korek! O higop ka muna nitong sabaw ng papaitan.

- Initin ko muna sandali, nagmamantika na eh.

- Ayos na yan, mamantika ka rin naman.

- Sabagay…

***

- Ano nga ulit ang ibig sabihin ng welt?

- “World” sa deutsch.

- Oo nga pala. Mahilig ka talaga sa Frankfurt school.

- Siguro.

- Sabi ng tito ko ayusin ko na daw sarili ko, kasi nasa “real” world na daw ako ngayong nakatapos na ‘ko. Labo…

- Ba’t nga kaya ganun ang karamihang mag-isip? Pag estudyante ka pa, wala ka pa sa “real” world. Eh hindi naman sila si Plato. Para naming maraming mundo ang kinalalagyan natin, iisa lang kaya.

- Oo nga eh.

- I mean, why the dichotomy? Kaya walang natututunang konkreto ang estudyante eh, kasi ayaw silang payagang makialam sa isyu sa labas ng pamantasan, sa mundo sa labas. Akala tuloy ng karamihan eh dun lang sila dapat manatili sa loob ng eskwela, na pagkagradweyt nila eh saka lang sila dapat makisali, na hindi rin naman nila magagawa kasi nga dapat na silang magtrabaho.

- O dahan-dahan, puso mo, tachycardia na yan.

- Eh kasi naman nakakainit ng ulo. Alam mo naming ganyan din pinoproblema natin noon eh.

- Pare tama na, lasing ka na.

- No I’m not drunk! I speak English when I’m drunk!

- Magsitigil ka!

***

- Ang galing no?

- Ng alin?

- School kasi ang isa sa mga pangunahing architect ng social stratification eh.

- Go on. Regale me.

- Kasi binibigyan tayo ng grades eh, yung mababa yung grade, sila yung bopols. Yung mataas yung grade, sila yung matatalino.

- Yung mga bakla eh—

- Magsitahimik ka. Tapos siyempre yung mga matataas ang grade, most probably sila yung magiging successful, yung hindi eh di hindi.

- The “suck” in success.

- Tapos siyempre yung successful eh yung mayayaman, tapos yung hindi eh di dukha.

- Eh di wag na lang dapat mag-aral ang mga tao.

- Ah hindi naman ganon. Pwede nating mabawasan yung gap sa stratification through education. Authentic education.

- Uy, Freire yan ah.

- Hehe...

- May nabasa akong libro.

- “A Different Kind of Love”?

- Gago. Hindi. Basta sabi dun na the school is one of the best venues for community organizing.

- Sabagay. Oo nga no. Maganda kung naka-tutok lahat o karamihan ng activities ng students sa immediate community kung nasan yung school nila. O kahit san mang extension community.

- Eh ang kaso, karamihan dun sa mga activities sa AB—

- Hep, walang bastusan ng pinanggalingan.

- Parang hindi ako taga-dun ah.

- Ok. You were saying…

- As I was saying, andami-daming org dun eh kalat-kalat. Marami nga, wala namang saysay, walang natutulungan, walang unity, kanya-kanyang focus. Iilan lang ang may ginagawang mabuti. Feckless pluralism—chopsuey na walang lasa.

- Puro pa kabadingan yung karamihan dun.

- Sexist!

- Eh ano naman?

- Hindi ko naman to ginusto a!

- Yan ang ayoko sa ‘yo…

***

- May sasabihin ako sa ‘yo. G-14 classified.

- Oh? Ano yun?

- Come closer.

- Oh?

- Kilala ko na talaga kung sinong bading sa tropa natin.

- Sino?

- Pa-kiss muna…

***

- Pababa na daw ng pababa ang kalidad ng edukasyon sa college natin.

- Lumang tugtugin na yan ah.

- May accreditation naman.

- A double-edged sword.

- Oo nga no, kasi… Kasi ano?

- Maa-upgrade nga status nyo, eh in the long run mabibigyan ang university ng right to increase tuition ng hindi napapakialaman ng CHED.

- Ganun?

- Ganun ang naririnig ko eh.

- Ang saklap naman.

- That leaves everybody with no choice.

- First choice mo ba course mo?

- Hindi.

- Second?

- Hindi.

- Third?

- Hindi rin.

- No choice ka rin?

- Lady’s choice.

- Corny mo ulol.

- Nauna ka.

- Ano ba ‘tong binabad mo sa lambanog? Parang fruit cocktail eh.

- Apat na prutas lang yan eh.

- Ano nga?

- Pasas, ponkan, mansanas at langka.

- Wow, dami ah. Kaya pala ang sarap inumin.

- Hindi tulad nyang lemonade mo.

- Ba’t ba ang bitter mo sa lemonade?

- Hindi bitter, maasim.

- Whatever. Bading ka.

***

- Nag-noise barrage daw sa unibersidad in support for Lozada ah.

- O? Ayos ah. Nakikisali na rin ang mga dominikano. Pero ganun pa rin, hipong tulog, pag talamak na, saka lang sila sasali.

- Pero may catch.

- Ano?

- Yellow Jackets yung nag-lead. Ayun, nagtatambol sila dun sa may España, parang gago.

- Haha! That defeats the point of the noise barrage.

- Malamang, may beat yung katatambol nila eh.

- Korni talaga.

- Bias talaga, unhealthy bias. Bakit nung nag-candle lighting kayo sa España eh kino-condemn kayo ng admin?

- Eh ganun talaga, Nestle eh, sponsor sa cheerdance competition kung san laging champion yung iskul nyo.

- Natin.

- Oo na.

- Wala naman kaming ginawang pananakit.

- Dapat talaga sinunod na lang ng mga pari yung sinabi ng Political Dynamics prof nyo, sana naglagay na lang rin sila ng mga pro-Nestle posters.

- Eh Katoliko nga kasi.

- Sarado-Katoliko.

- Haha, Katoliko na nga, sarado pa!

- Di ba “universal” ang ibig sabihin ng Catholic?

- Yata, and the term doesn’t live up to that meaning these days.

- Sinabi mo pa.

- May diyos nga kaya?

- Ewan. Itanong mo sa kin, dali.

- Ha?

- Nevermind. Magtayo kaya tayo ng bagong relihiyon? Konti lang ang capital, hundredfold pa ang profits!

- Oo nga no? We’ll gonna change the world with it!

- You can’t change the world, mofo.

- And you ain’t gonna tell me what I can’t do, niggah.

- You can’t make it.

- I can! I can…

- Ano?

- I can make the run or stumble/I can make the final block/And I can make every tackle at the sound of the whistle/I can make all the stadiums rock.

- Tagay na tol, para ka nang tanga eh.

- Sandaleh!

***

- Sana maging prof na ako.

- Oo nga. Tapos tutulungan mo akong mang-chics ng mga menor de edad no?

- Ulol.

- Ah hindi tama yan, ang lagay eh ikaw lang ang makikinabang?

- “…”

- But it’s your bread and butter man!

- Alin?

- Corrupting the young.

- Magtigil ka nga. So what if I happen to like young girls lately?

- Paano na ako? Ang mga gabing pinagsamahan natin?

- Tawag ka lang ng laman ko eh.

- Bastos!

- Gago ka kasi eh.

- Pa’no yan eh wala ka pa namang M.A.?

- Oo nga eh, kaya nga malabo.

- Isa rin yun sa pinoint-out nya dun sa dyaryo ah. Yung sa accreditation.

- Ah oo. Mas preferred ng accreditors na may degrees yung mga teaching staff kaysa dun sa mga practitioners talaga.

- Samantalang yung ibang mga may degrees nga, kahit pa Ph.D.—

- Puro Hangin ang Dating?

- Oo, ganun na nga. Hindi naman magaling magturo, sa pangalan lang may ibubuga. Buti pa yung mga practitioners kahit laging late dumating sa klase e sulit namang may matututunan ka, they know the real deal.

- Nagtataka nga ako kung anong dissertation nung ibang prof na may Ph.D. tapos bobo magturo eh. Napapublish kaya sila?

- Haha. Sana hindi.

- I mean for example, san ka magtitiwala sa subject na may kinalaman sa pagsulat, dun sa may Ph.D. o dun sa napapublish talaga?

- Syempre dun sa nalalathala.

- Bingo. Di ba?

- Nailed it.

- Ano yun? Naaamoy mo ba?

- Alin?

- Amoy chemical eh.

- Ah, itong nail polish, walang takip. Gusto mo? Green ‘to.

- Gago ka ba?

- Sungit mo pala sa personal.

- “…”

- “…”

- May magenta ba? Pa-try nga.

- Teka’t titingnan ko…

***

- Uubusin ba talaga natin tong isang litro?

- Ba’t ngayon ka lang nagtatanong eh paubos na?

- Wala lang. Tayp kong portion-in yung mga naka-babad eh.

- Wag na. Gagapang ka sa lakas ng amats nyan.

- A ganun?

- Oo.

- Sayang.

- Try mo yung isang piraso ng langka, kahit kagat lang.

- Sige, mamaya sundutin natin nitong istik ng pishbol.

- Isang bantog na senador ang unang nilapitan ko/at dalubhasang propesor ng malaking kolehiyo/ang pinagpala sa mundo/ang dyaryo at ang pulpito/lahat sila’y nagkasundo na ang tawag sa ganito ay bahay.

- Ayan nanganganta ka na naman. Hayaan mo at matatapos na tayo.

- Drunken words are sober thoughts eh.

- Op kors!

- Ubusin na natin yan, maghahanap pa ‘ko ng trabaho bukas eh.

Painful to be Private Preoccupations [Part VIII]

VIII.

I have been in my hometown for a week, and am back to Manila for the Baccalaureate Mass yesterday. The event, while everyone else is glorifying it, made me annoyed—and so called for the parodying and satirizing that I am known for. Some of my classmates were into it, too—we walked through the parade like we’re in a demonstration shouting phrases meant to be written on picket signs, which usually fall deaf to the ears of 400-year old administrators. When evening came (the event goes for almost 3 hours starting 5:00pm), I began shouting profanities at the top of my lungs, standing on my chair while holding a balloon with a penis drawn on it, courtesy of a classmate, which appalled many students and teachers alike; staring at me like I’m skinning babies. It was one of the best moments of my life. It’s my act of protest against this extravagance in general, and to the VTR being shown in particular, containing many socially-irrelevant “accomplishments” of the institution.

Now I’m going back to the province after getting my things at the Flame office earlier. As I walk in the university on my way back to my boarding house, I see familiar faces in a familiar fast-food chain; a group from 1jrn2. They waved, and gestured me to come in and join them and I oblige. We chat idly for a few moments with the usual long-skirt-and-unbuttoned-bottom-button-blouse girl, now wearing a red shirt and a pair of black jogging pants, rarely uttering a word to me. She seems too preoccupied with eating her food, almost pecking on it like a bird. After their meal, we walk towards a nearby basketball court where, I was told earlier by a girl in the group who borrowed a hundred pesos from me, their sport-inclined activity is going on.

We sit and idly watch a game of basketball. After some moments of talking about the ball games she knows, I ask Joyce to take me to the gate because I was leaving. She agrees and we stand up, walk towards the sidewalk outside the gate. This is us, talking:

“Malayo ba ang province mo?” she asks.

“Hindi naman, three hours lang. Para ka lang umuwi sa inyo sa Las Piñas.”

“Sabagay. Eh kasi naman laging traffic.” she says, chuckling.

“Kalahati lang ng traveling time papuntang Zambales. Tara!”

“Ano? Saan, Zambales? At ano naman gagawin natin dun?”

“May picnic kami ng classmates ko, isama daw kita kasi gusto ka rin nilang makilala.”

“Eh ‘di ba nakilala na nila ‘ko?”

“Iilan lang ‘yun eh, gusto kang makilala nung iba siyempre.”

“Ayo—I mean, hindi ako pwede. Busy sa summer, got a lot of work to do.” She is looking downward, her shoes scratching the pavement.

“Maganda dun, tsaka masaya kasama yung mga kakla—”

“Eh basta!” she scoffs.

“Ok.” This is stupid, I don’t need this! I look at the vehicles passing, the traffic is breathing lighter now that the classes are over for the summer. I change the subject; I read aloud a poster demanding the president’s resignation posted on the wall.

“Trapo kasi eh.” she says.

“Parang kanta nung banda na Yano?”

“Trapo, trapo ka kasi” she sings, in the tune of the song mentioned.

“Trapo, trapo ka kasi” I sing too. We begin singing the chorus, alternating, pointing to each other when the other one’s part is next. We look like a children’s show.

“Tama na.” I say. She stops and begins talking about something while kicking me on the outside of my left thigh lightly. I tell her that it’s wrong, stating corrections to the pivoting of foot and the swinging of hips—the standard roundhouse. She adopts a primitive kickboxing stance and kicks again, doing what I told her. After three or four times of indulging herself in this sadistic frenzy, my leg begins to hurt like a mother.

“Tama na, masakit na.” but she ignores me, still kicking my leg. “Ay naku, bumalik na nga lang tayo dun sa court!”

“KJ!” we start walking back to the court. When we step on the field, she kicks me again, I slap her lower back, knowing well how it stings.

“Aray!”

I back off and Joyce starts towards me, ready to chop my head off. She gets a running start and so I run too, she chases me in the field. After a few meters I feel conscious of what we are doing and realize that we look like a Tirso Cruz-Nora Aunor teen flick. I stop and she catches me, banging her fists against my arm. Joyce’s friends call her and we walk towards them and she is summoned by a senior to help with the buying of food for the participants. We sit on the grass, talking about a gamut of topics like movies and professors as they wait for their dinner. After about an hour Joyce arrive and they eat, after which I say that I should be going now because it’s late.

“Alis na ‘ko, bye.”

“Sige kuya Zaldy, bye.” her friends say. I turn to Joyce.

“O pa’no? Keep in touch na lang. See you again soon.” I say.

“Bye, ingat sa byahe.”

“Alam ko namang mababalani ako sa iyong haraya.”

“Ha? Ano na naman ‘yun.”

“Sabihin ko na lang sa ‘yo next time.”

“Ewan ko sa ‘yo. Sige na.” she turns away.

“Bye guys!” I start walking away, backwards, waving to them. I sigh, thinking that it’s downhill from now on, that my effort earlier was futile and so made itself probably the last one because it called for such a rejection, one where its loathe was poorly hidden by a lame excuse because it’s a lame invitation. Surely I’m going to miss her and her friends. I don’t want to think about these thoughts, not right now. I make a note to myself that if ever there’s no interesting movie shown in the bus, I must sleep during the trip, whatever it takes.

□ □ □

A week later I am in Manila again to attend my graduation ceremony two days away. Strangely enough, I am not excited, not anticipating something special. Instead, I am preoccupied with the fact that no one in my family would probably attend because of financial matters, and I am being cavalier about it. What if my friends attend instead? I estimate the odds and conclude that it’s possible and would be fun, though I am not exactly sure how. Could she attend? I entertain the thought, my friends and I have a few laughs about it. We are at Paul’s house, staying here for two days because this is a routine for us—he seldom gets out of the maritime academy and so when he does, we always see to it that we, together with Lyndon and Ken, spend a weekend at his place, we catching up with him, vice-versa. Then, there is the inevitable question.

“May bago ka daw dinidiskartehan ah, kumusta na kayo?” Paul asks.

I tell them that since my vacation, we rarely talk to each other via our cellular phones or internet, the only feasible way. I tell them that as I get farther away from her, the gap between us widens, and now begins to swallow me, wearing me down, beating me into a pulp. I relate to them that I plan on just fading away. To strive in pursuing her begins to be a dubious idea for me because recently nothing is being reciprocated. It’s downhill, really, and I confirmed it when she sent me a text message yesterday, answering my question why she now rarely replies:

“Bakit? Kailangan ba na mag-reply ako lagi sa mga text mo?”

Which implies another one—leave… me… alone!—that hit me in the gut. And to think that a month ago she would spend all her credit when we send messages to each other, eventhough we’re both inside the campus. We agree that it is indeed a downhill battle, one that is not advisable to fight anymore because you’ll only lose. We think and talk about her thoughts when she sent me that message, that maybe she wants me to be butchered, pulled and torn apart by four horses that are each tied to one of my limbs, see me flayed and pecked at by crows, or just wish me to leave her alone.

“Eh kung tawagan mo kaya sa bahay nila para malinaw mo ang kailangang linawin?” they say.

“Bakit pa? Para saan? Mamaya lalo pang magalit ‘yun.”

“Basta tawagan mo na lang! Kundi kami ang tatawag dun.”

I reiterate that we might be thinking the same thing right now, that such a girl who barely knows how to decipher subtle clues pertaining to attraction is not worth my attention, that I was just wasting my time and effort on her, that she has nothing at all to do with what I offer, cognitive or emotional-wise, except that she—

We clamber for the phone. I make the call. She is not at home.

We change the subject and go downstairs to help prepare dinner. Minutes later, I eat like I haven’t eaten in days, as if I have to fill something other than my stomach.

Fierld [BUS] Report

Dahil sa pagbabasa ng experiences ni Nachi sa blog nya ay may naalala ako.

[Last week of October, from San Pablo Laguna to Buendia.]

After I had a bathroom break at the stop-over, I popped some mints. Minutes later, while waiting for the bus to roll, some cute girl boarded the bus. I move to the next seat, offering mine to her and she conceded. A few minutes later…

{Zaldy digs out the memoir in his bag and pretends to read it. (thanks to Joyce!) After some minutes…}

Zaldy: Uy, pwedeng favor?

Girl: Yes?

Zaldy: Could you read this sentence? Parang off eh.

Girl: Alin, ito? {reads the freakin wrong grammar in my prose} Hmm… Parang off nga ah. Kasi dapat plural ito eh, tapos blah blah blah.

Zaldy: Oh ok, ok. Salamat ha. How stupid, hindi ko napansin nung sinusulat ko.

Girl: Ah, pero hindi rin naman eh. Kung hindi mo rin pinoint-out sa akin hindi ko mapapansin.

Zaldy: Talaga?

Girl: Yup.

Zaldy: I have this problem with details. Kahit yung mga lower years namin sa school napapansin. “Kuya Zaldy may mali sa ganyan, may sablay sa ganito”. Oh that’s my name, Zaldy. You are…

Girl: Kris Ann

Zaldy: How do they call you? As in yung dalawang pangalan na yun?

Kris Ann: Um {looks sideways}, oo.

Zaldy: {looks at the ceiling} I wonder where Kris Ann is headed to…

Kris Ann: Sa tita ko sa Manila. Medyo napaaga nga ang luwas ko eh, exams kasi namin starting tomorrow. {shows me a piece of paper}

Zaldy: Hmmm… Amphetamine, cortisol, sali—pharma? Pharma course mo?

Kris Ann: {chuckles} Ang bilis mo naman, nalaman mo kagad.

Zaldy: I have friends that took up that major kasi, so yun. Ganyan ang inaaral nyo? So kulong din kayo sa classroom? Must be hard, huh?

Kris Ann: I guess. Ganun talaga yata sa UST.

Zaldy: Wait wait wait, you are from UST?

Kris Ann: Oo. Bakit?

Zaldy: {chuckles} I graduated from UST. AB Sociology, batch 2007. Wow, coincidence.

Kris Ann: {chuckles} Oo nga no. Nakakatawa naman.

Zaldy: No, its nakakaTUwa. Gets?

Kris Ann: Oo nga no. Nakakatawa ay humorous, nakakatuwa pertains to something that makes you happy.

Zaldy: Yep. Unlike that reviewer, wag na yan ang aralin mo, ana-physio na lang. Para maka-relate ako.

Kris Ann: Alam mo rin subjects namin from your friends?

Zaldy: Well, sort of. If you have anatomy and physiology then, freshman ka lang?

Kris An: Oo. Hirap nga eh. Adjustments, pressure, new friends, highschool stuff lingers—

Zaldy: Lovelife.

Kris Ann: Hmm… Oo rin. Hahaha.

Zaldy: Uy, may text ka oh {points to her phone, evil surges in, reads the text message sneakily and finds its from the friggin bf}.

What follows is idle chat and flirting about the movie being shown on the screen, Zaldy’s vibe recedes. Unfortunate girl is faded to memory.

Sa Pagdududa ay Naroon ang Katiyakan (from interview to kuwentong inuman)

Mag-iisang taon na akong walang trabaho, mag-iisang taon nang sinisikap na punuan ng kahulugan ang mga bakanteng oras ng mga lumilipas na araw, at mag-iisang taon nang nagdududa kung ano ba talaga ang natutunan ko sa apat na taon ko sa pamantasan. Sa tatlo kong nabanggit, ang huli ang pinakamabigat dahil naririto ang nagbabadyang kaba na baka nga nag-aksaya lang ako ng panahon sa aking kurso. Ngunit kahapon, sa gitna ng agam-agam kung bakit hindi ako sinipot ng dalawa kong kaibigan sa mga napag-usapang lakad, ay hindi ko akalaing doon ko matatantong hindi pala ako nagtapos ng walang dunong sa iilang mga bagay.

Nagpaunlak ako ng isang panayam, ayon na rin sa pag-uudyok ng editor-in-chief ng The Flame, sa isang sophomore ng kursong journalism na news staffer din ng nasabing pahayagan. Kung gaano kalamig ang org room ay siya namang init ng panayam na di naglaon ay naging diskusyon na rin, pinagpag ng aming mga bulalas at halakhak ang katahimikang nakalatag sa silid. Interesado naman ang nasabing news staffer na matamang nakikinig sa aming pinagsasasabi, dahil ang mga bagay na aming binabahagi ay may agarang pagkakaugnay sa kanya hindi lang bilang isang mag-aaral kundi bilang isang tao na rin. Sa kanyang balintataw ay makikita ang kahali-halinang puwang na nakakaengganyong punuan hindi lang ng kaalaman ngunit mas lalo na ng silbi. Sa bawat diin ng aking sinasabi ay kasabay ang kumpas ng mga kamay ko sa pagtatangkang pawiin ang pagwawalang-kibo na nakatalukbong sa mga isyu.

Marami kaming napag-usapan bukod sa paksa ng kanyang sinusulat: aktibismo, layunin ng isang institusyong pang-edukasyon, layunin ng isang mag-aaral sa pamantasan, feckless pluralism ng mga org sa pakultad, pamamahayag sa pamantasan, ang silbi ng kaalaman sa lipunang kanilang ginagalawan, at pati na rin ang mga karanasan ng klase namin sa kontrobersya ng Nestle Philippines. Sabihin man ng isang tagapakinig na kalat-kalat ang mga paksang napag-usapan, alam naming ito’y tagni-tagni kung pag-iisipan. At lahat ng mga ito’y lapat sa napapanahong konteksto at hindi lutang sa apalaap.

Upang mapagaan ang bigat ng mga isyung aming pinag-uusapan ay nagbibiro kami matapos makapagbatuhan ng iilang mga ideya. Ngunit bawat halakhak na aking pinawawalan ay hindi lamang dahil sa pagtawa ngunit dahil sa masaya ako nang mga oras na iyon—marami na pala akong ideyang nabungkal mula sa hukay ng aking alaala simula pa noong nag-aaral ako sa kolehiyo. Masaya ako dahil may bukas sa ganitong diskursong mga mag-aaral, mga kabataang mula sa henerasyong tagapakinig ng Soulja Boy sa ipod. Masaya ako dahil sa gitna ng aking pagdududa, hindi rin naman pala ako nagtapos ng walang dunong sa iilang mga bagay.

Mas masaya siguro kung nangyari ito habang lumalagok kami ng alak. Hindi man kami lango sa serbesa ng hapong iyon, tiyak kong lango ang aming damdamin at isipan sa mga usapin.

Si Emman Lalin

ka-text ko si kumag kanina at ito ang palitan namin ng mensahe

________________________________________________________________________________


Zaldy: Magkano bili mo dun sa turtle neck na suot mo nung debut ni annie? San mo nabili?

Emman: Sa SM. Mga 400 pesos.

Zaldy: Ah. Masyado bang makapal yan?

Emman: Mejo.

Zaldy: E kung akin na lang kaya yun? Tapos bili ka na lang ng bago tutal may trabaho ka naman eh. Nakakahiya naman sa yo kung sa akin yung bago di ba? hehehe

Emman: Ok.

Zaldy: Yan ang gusto ko sa 'yo eh. haha

Emman. Txt ka lang pag kukunin mo na. Color black un ha. Bakit mo kelangan ng tuttle neck? DI ka na ba?

Zaldy: Haha! Hindi gagu niloloko lang kita. Naniwala ka naman. haha!

Emman: Ok. (this one's unclear to me)

_____________________________________________________________________________

PANALO! haha

anong problema mo?

I rarely write in my blogs when i'm upset about something. but here goes...


ano yung kilay na yun? ano yung irap palayo sa direksyon ko bago un? anong problema mo? Kung fucked up araw mo tulad ko nung nagkatext tayo, sana sinabi mo. sana sinabi mo na lang na "zaldy xenxa na, saka na lang tau magusap" at hindi "wala akong panahong makipagtangahan". Akala ko pa naman e maaasahan kita non, na makakapag-open ako sa yo.

really, the people who could hurt you the most are the ones who you consider to be close at the moment.

we're the people whom you run to when trouble comes up, especially emotional ones. we know your strengths, we know your weaknesses, we know you flinch easily from blows of the heavens.

Do not Fuck with Us.

Painful to be Private Preoccupations [Part VII]

VII.

Even though there are no more classes for senior students, I still go to the university because of extra-curricular activities. At the moment we’re busy with the annual literary folio scheduled to be released this week although we know that we cannot push it through. Also, I am obviously busy with something, or someone, for better or for worse. Today we’re scheduled to go out, and I have this creeping feeling that it’ll be postponed again because she’s not replying to my text messages. My frustration with my entries for the folio now mixes with those for her. I decide to check upstairs if she’s still there, and when I arrive at the lobby upstairs I see a long line of students; the final examination for non-graduating students is scheduled next week and their tuition fees are due this day. I see Joyce pacing around the lobby, holding envelopes. I call her and she excuses herself, apologizing because she has tons of deadlines to meet. I walk towards her classmates seated on the floor in front of their classroom, discussing something.

“Kuya Zaldy, ang dami naming ginagawa oh!” Chesca says.

“Ano ba yan?”

Charlene, their classmate, slides in. “Sa Sociology subject namin. Buti nga na-extend yung deadline eh. Kaya nga hindi rin kayo natuloy ni Joyce ngayon.” It seems that their whole section knows that we’re supposed to be going out, unbelievable. Charlene continues.

“Pwede mo ba kaming tulungan? Paki-explain naman nitong theories, paki-check kung tama yung ginawa namin.”

I check their papers and made comments about it, suggesting some editions and omissions, correcting some errors. An hour after leafing through their pages, we start to talk about the professors for a break. Someone suggests that we go to McDonald’s and Joyce asks me to come along. Of course I oblige, anticipating that this would be fun.

After ordering food, we settle on a table beside the glass wall. Joyce’s classmates are teasing us. We’re sitting side by side.

“Eh kuya Zaldy, may gusto ka ba talaga kay Joyce?” they asked, giggling like high school girls.

“Ha? Eh…”

“Ano nga?”

“Tanong natin kay Joyce.” I turn to her and ask, “Joyce, ano sa palagay mo, may gusto nga ba talaga ‘ko sa ‘yo?”

She blushes, smiles nervously and hides her face behind my shoulders, slapping it.

“Ano ka ba? Ano ba kayo? Tigilan nyo na nga yan!” We all laugh. We continue to talk, random topics, while we make fun of each other using exaggeration, sarcasm and false flattery.

“Wala ka bang kalaro nung bata ka?”

“Ang ganda naman ng boses mo, sana boses ka na lang.”

“Manganganak ka ng kikiam!”

We’re all having a good time, and my attention is not only on Joyce but more on her classmates, her friends, her support system. It’s incredible.

After eating, we leave and Joyce asks me to accompany her to the catwalk where her friend, Kat, is waiting for her. Minutes later we see Kat, who looks nothing like when she is in her uniform, like now, looking pretty. She is from Japan, or China. Or Korea. I think of Lucy Liu in her teenage years and bamboo stalks, and I ask myself if she is bulimic because she looks so thin.

They sit on a bench, and I stand behind Joyce, giving her a back rub. While kneading her slumped shoulders, I feel that it’s ridden with cold bumps. Heavy bags? They begin to talk about something, about a guy who apparently has caused them trouble for the past weeks. They hate the guy, but at some point in the past they both felt the opposite.

Who is this little prick? I’ll break him into pieces. I want to bury him up to his neck and leave him with two hungry huskies, who would be tearing his flesh from his face while being unable to do anything but scream at the top of his lungs.

They continue to talk about the jerk, not minding me, as if I am non-existent. How dare she talk about such while I am here! I want to wring Joyce’s neck, bump her head against Kat’s.

I change the topic after the back rub; we make fun of each other because I sense that they need to be diverted from the previous one. After the sun sets, Joyce says that we all should be going home because it’s already late. We take her outside the campus where she hails a jeepney, we say goodbye to each other. Kat is supposed to get a ride from an FX on the other side of the road; we take the overpass and wait. I look at Kat, so cute in a way, looking like a little girl, at least to me, even though she looks like a bulimic. Then I think of a friend, Ken, a guy who looks much younger at his age, the type whom little girls would steal glances at and would hurry to sit beside while attending mass. Would Ken and Kat like each other? Surely they would. We could go on a double date! Ken and Kat, Joyce and me, would dine in an Indian restaurant, go to exotic locales and look at its shining stars in its immaculate skies at night—

“Zaldy.”

We could build a bonfire—

“Hoy Zaldy!”

“Ha? Bakit?”

“May gusto ka ba talaga kay Joyce?”

Why this question again, twice a day? “Obvious ba? Meron syempre.”

“Plano mo ba talaga siyang ligawan?”

“Uhm, oo. Bakit mo naman naitanong?”

“Eh kasi… Atin-atin lang ‘to ha. Sa palagay ko kasi hindi ka niya papayagang manligaw.”

Then, in the distance, was the sound of rolling thunder, a crack of lightning striking what seemed to be a goat.

“Ha? Bakit naman?” I ask, nervously.

“Kasi masyado siyang maraming ginagawa bukod pa sa school. Tapos scholar pa siya, so wala siyang panahon sa mga ganyan.”

Is this an excuse? I look at Kat, she is biting her lip, as if she doesn’t want to hear what she is saying. The traffic is terribly slow.

“Ganun ba?”

“Oo.”

I change the subject and we resume making fun with each other’s looks. She asks me a lot of questions; the feeling of someone graduating in weeks, the hassles of my major, my past relationships (which I don’t have), why on earth does there have to be rush hour. An FX finally pulls over and we say goodbye to each other.

I don’t know why Kat told me such things. Is it an excuse? Or is she concerned? I really hope it’s the latter. I begin to think of other ways, detours en route to Joyce but my mind’s all too clouded to come up with a solution to this labyrinth. Why is it that when I ask what’s the matter with her, something comes up that I can’t do anything about? Maybe I have to stop asking questions, to anyone or myself, because it seems that everytime I do, my face is being shoved against a wall, the answer being more peculiar and appalling than I expected, and it only builds up, my cumulative frustration in any of this. Now I have to prove something, that even though she is preoccupied with all those things, she could make an exception for someone like me. But it’s too much, too complicated, and I don’t know if it’s worth the effort because now my time is being expended in this endeavor although honestly, I have been giving up one important thing in dating—opportunity—for someone who isn’t even sure if she likes to go out with me, oblivious to the fact that I like her. Now, I begin to fear something, that what I am doing is just chasing the wind: all useless.

Painful to be Private Preoccupations [Part VI]

VI.

At last, I’m finished with the final revision on my thesis. I’m quite lucky that the modifications I have to do are only minor ones, and now I have polished and printed all three copies of it, two days before the final “finally”. I already had my own copy unbound; I am keeping the most untidy one for myself. I need binder clips for this so I go outside to buy some. Outside, I see Joyce sitting in the pavilion, sighing through what seems to be her homework. I sit beside her, ask what she is doing and she answers it’s her assignment in logic. She tries to apologize for our postponed appointment, and I interrupt her, telling her that it’s fine. I don’t want to talk about it, have no reason to blame her because her excuse was legitimate anyway, do not see a reason why I have to pour it on her because it would only convey that I am still preoccupied with it, that it’s really a big deal for me (was it?). We chat idly while I massage her hand, her perfect small—

“Ano ba yan, nagpapawis.” I say.

“Heh, yabang!”

We kid around; tease each other while going through her assignment. Her classmates pass by, look at us, then to our hands and we are given a look like we’re burning crosses. When they leave, they say something that Joyce denies, out of my earshot. Then I hear a sigh.

“Zaldy…”

“Bakit?”

“May ishe-share ako sa ‘yo.”

“Mamaya na, samahan mo muna ako sa Asturias. May bibilhin ako.”

“Ano?”

“Binder clips para dito sa thesis ko.”

We leave the pavilion and head for a bookstore outside the campus. It’s almost noon, the summer heat begins to be unbearable. When we arrive and I pick out some binder clips, she says something.

“Zaldy, alam mo ba, nagparamdam si ex kagabi. Nagtext siya sa ‘kin—”

“Wait Joyce. We’re not going to talk about your ex boyfriend. What we’re gonna talk about is how are you going to have fun with me.”

“Ha?” she says, her mouth agape. “Ok, sige.”

“Tara na, balik na tayo sa AB. Malapit na ang klase mo.”

We part ways when we arrive at the lobby. She is caught off-guard, dumbfounded by my remark. This girl, she might be thinking that I am her friend. Well, I am, but not the friend-friend sort. She is not on her toes, not calculating enough, not seeing that things are pulled taut. Is it not obvious to her yet that I like her? Does she wants me to tell her that first before we go out? It’s too conventional, which of course I am not. Actually, I planned on telling her what I feel the day I was to take her out for lunch. It seems that she has trouble sensing and confirming subtle clues about these things. Then it dawns on me that I have another problem: that she does not know how to flirt. This means that I would be having a hard time because half of the things that I would express would be meaningless to her.

□ □ □

It’s our final examination next week, and I am feeling something weird. Half of me is feeling relieved, as it would be my last exam in my stay here in the university. No more expensive tuition, cluttered boarding houses, last-minute ironing of school uniforms and unbelievable deadlines from demanding professors. But at the same time, the other half of me is missing it already. Before, I was often told that high school is the best, that college would be boring and too pedantic, but now I defer. Though I am not certain that college topped off my high school life, I’m sure that they’re at least even. High school never gave me satisfaction on my intellectual vanity—college just did that. My high school peers always thought that my line of thinking is weird, that I was being too unconventional, misshapen because I’d rather be in Book Sale alone than be with them at Penshoppe, window shopping. They still think so now, but I have my theories and paradigms to back me up, to show them that I am doing not only what I want but what I need to do, I as a denizen of the growing penumbra between mainstream and alternative. Years ago, I also told a friend of mine, while drinking brandy mixed with Sunny Orange coating our throats, in a snug condo unit, that if I’m not getting any girlfriend in college, it would probably turn out that having one in the future would be impossible too. We both had some hearty laughs about it but now that I remember it, I’m feeling a bit concerned. With the semester ending in three weeks—a week for senior students—it’s one of my top preoccupations now, and I am dubious if I could make it.

It’s The Hour of Great Mercy, and I go to the faculty to submit my thesis to one of my panelists. I see Joyce in the lobby and I invite her for a snack. She concedes, then begins to complain about her school work.

“Ang dami-dami naming ginagawa! Magkakaroon na ‘ko nung… ano’ng tawag dun? ‘Yung puting buhok?” she pulls up her hair, “Ayun, unat! Magkakaroon na ‘ko nung unat!”

“Huh? Eh uban kaya ‘yon!” I say, cackling.

“Basta ‘yun na rin ‘yon!”

This Alabang Girl needs a Filipino dictionary; this is not the first time that she said something that exhibits her being tongue-tied on the language. I almost always feel disheartened because of people like her whose tongues—and therefore mindsets—are fluent with foreign words without being on average on speaking the national language. But then again, why is she using that old-model cellphone? Well, it’s not my business anyway.

After walking idly outside while still telling me that she cannot believe the end-of-semester requirements that they must work on, she realizes that she isn’t hungry after all.

“Eh ano palang ginagawa natin dito ngayon?” I ask.

“Ewan. Ikaw kasi eh.”

“Anong ako? ‘Di sana hindi ka na lang sumama, nakakapagod maglakad, sobrang init na.”

“…”

“Ang mabuti pa ihatid mo na lang ako sa AB.”

“Ano? Ayoko nga, babae kaya ako.”

“So?” Although she is refusing, backing up her static-gender-oriented reason earlier, she is in fact walking me back to the lobby of our building. I think of cognitive dissonance. When we arrived, some of my classmates see us. I introduce her to them and even before my classmates could pull off some jokes at my expense, she excuses herself after seeing her classmates and leaves us, waving. When they are gone, Ces, a friend of mine, speaks to me about her.

“Siya pala yung Joyce.” She says.

“Oo, siya nga”

“Saan kayo nanggaling nyan?”

“Sa labas, dapat kakain. Eh hindi pala siya gutom kaya nagpahatid na lang ako dito.”

“Ay ang kapal! Ikaw pa ang nagpahatid. Mahiya ka naman, freshman lang yun, ang bata bata—”

“Manahimik ka. Wala na akong kaso dyan, 18 na yan.”

“Kahit na.” We chuckle as we kid around with both our ages, then I tell her that I’ll just drop by the faculty room to submit my thesis. When I arrive, Ma’am Gamo is there and she asks me something appalling.

“Hoy Zaldy! Nanliligaw ka ba sa presidente ng 1jrn2?”

“Po? Sinong president?” I deny, smiling nervously, my face admitting it.

“Kunwari pa ‘to, eh ‘di si Joyce!”

“Hindi naman. Bakit po ba?”

“Eh tuwing magkaklase ako sa kanila eh ikaw ang tinatanong sa akin ng buong section, tapos hinahanap ka daw ni Joyce. Ikaw ha, kaya pala kahit na tapos na ang Bilibid nakikita ko pa kayong magkasama.” I tell her it’s nothing, barely managing to hide my grin. I bid farewell to my professor and leave the faculty room, still chuckling. Now even their whole class knows the score, but she doesn’t seem to acknowledge it. The issue, I hope, would be an edge, would be a background to amplify even more that which is already obvious. Social proof!

Later, when evening arrived, I and my classmates went out drinking in one of the drinking potholes around the university. Everyone seems to miss each other already, drinking every other night after school, taking advantage of the fact that we all have only a few requirements left before the final examination. When we finished, we got out to the street to hail a cab for our other classmates. Then I and some of the ones left started walking towards Ces’ apartment. When we were at the front of the campus’ gate, we saw a group of students in uniform—Joyce and her friends. I introduce them to my classmates. One of them, Jen, looks at me and says something totally unexpected.

“Kuya Zaldy, kailangang lumabas na kayo ni Joyce!”

“Ha? At bakit naman?” I ask

“Eh tingnan mo nga, ang lungkot lungkot niya oh.”

“Ganun ba? Sige.” I look at Joyce, broken, haggard from all the school work she has been doing and whatever that reason that made her lonely tonight. She is lost in thought, her eyes heavy and flushed—she appears to have been crying a while ago. She is staggering, her feet dragging something heavy at every step. Her classmates hail her a jeepney and we bid farewell after she boards on it. I head my way back to my boarding house.

I want to know what happened, the cause of her teary eyes earlier. Is it about the person she wanted to talk about with me before? It might, it is. Her feet appears to be so heavy, every step filled with weary hesitation, as if they were chained to something that prevents her to walk, to move forward. I’m perplexed, at a loss for an explanation. Another piece of the puzzle appears before me, only to discover that it doesn’t match anything, the piece being another riddle itself. I know that this is not the time to be perturbed about what she thinks but I can’t help but worry, worry that this is another obstacle, that this would be both our preoccupation for a while that we would try to put aside—a stone that stubbed our toes that we would both try not tripping over again.

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.