Everything is a cycle in its own time.

I left a little bit later than usual, walking a little bit slower with smaller steps. It was already 6:10AM and I was still in the vicinity of the south, when I should already be up north. My stomach was churning pretty chaotically, as I feel the bile run up my throat. I wasn’t going to throw up, though. And I’m not being too overly dramatic when I say: I feel like I’m dying every second. Exam results today.

Even with much effort to slow down the day, I arrived earlier than usual. Good thing that our prof decided to be lazy yesterday. She wasn’t done checking them. One more day to breathe, and another stomach churning morning tomorrow. Even nervousness procrastinates.

—–

I’m sitting on my little chair. Facing front, it’s on the third row last column. I am where the cool air of the A/C falls, and where everything else seems oddly detached. I don’t belong. I feel like a third person watching. My mind was somewhere else, wandering through stray memories and things to do. Anything more interesting. I could only catch snippets of the lesson. Something about relative minimum, and relative maximum, open intervals.

The prof suddenly wrote down “rel” on the board, even taking the time to explain that “rel is short for relative.” Of course, we knew this already. She’s defining some function f(x) and I can’t help but think that the only thing familiar is where I am at. When, isn’t defined.

I’m sitting on my little chair — the very same chair and place as I had two semesters ago. The very same chair I sat on during my first class of my college life. Everything is a cycle in its own time. And I hope, fervently hope, that this is a sign. Anyway, one can never really rely on the stars to align especially for themselves. The universe simply doesn’t work that way. And I just thought, if we believe in fate and that the future is predetermined (somehow) — then, why do we even bother? Why?

The sun was glowing fiercer than usual — it was a subtle reminder that it’s supposed to be summer as opposed to the rainy season we’re having.

“Decreasing functions, where the function f(x1) is greater than f(x2).”

My mind wanders again to a point where time is transformed into memory.  I was probably between 6 or 8.  I loved Math so much.  I wanted Math, I was good at it.  We were learning about finger math.  We held our mini fingers up, showing 10.  Ten, take away four. Four fingers fold, and in a chorus the class answers.  Six! It was magic, and it was amazing.  I think: this is the easiest shit in the world!  Sans the swearing of course.  I was, after all,  a sweet little toddler.

The next thing I know, I’ve fallen asleep.

And I’m awake.  Somewhere, I’m already on the bus on my way home.  It’s like a dance floor, only it’s not.  When you’re (un)lucky enough to sit along the aisle, all you do mind is the body parts being shoved at you.  Skinny legs, flabby stomachs, bony ribs, the occasional ass.  And the occasional crotch.  I try hard not to think at all, and I focus on ignoring my motion sickness.  And we arrive.

Fog hung low over the Metro.  But I guess smog is a more appropriate term. It was a blanket that lulled the busy city into a state of pseudo-passiveness. It was ironically beautiful — the smog, I mean. It was barely six in the morning and yet the city was already awake. You wouldn’t really notice from afar. The massive concrete jungle that is the city was awake, buzzing with the sounds of the business class — from the street vendors, to the office guys. It was all a blur of slacks, and torn jeans; perfectly ironed blouses and disheveled second-hand shirts; clacking heels and bare feet. It was a tragi-comedy of everyday life. Yet, one really never notices. It is, after all, everyday life. Routine.

Taft avenue station. My dad drops me off, and there I am on my own. At least I felt like it. Alone, I mean. For a while, I try to keep my balance. Then I was drifting in and out, trying to keep up with the world. I blend into the world of slacks, and clacking heels — only I’m in jeans and I’m wearing Converse. Without much thought, I went my way.

It was my brother’s first time. It was an unusual day, really. He’s the kind of guy who’d rather stay at home and bum around. Sort of like me, sort of. But he hates going out, when I love it. So, it caught me by surprise when he decided to offer to go to the mall. I jumped at the chance of course. So there we were, riding jeepneys along Baclaran. And it was his first time. I realized how lucky he is, having someone to show him the way of the streets when all I had to teach me was trial and error. It’s good thing I have good instinct with direction, or else it would be errors and errors. Good thing. It was a good day. Bonding over chocolate cakes, overpriced coffee and searching for the perfect laptop. And having a good laugh when he rode a public bus for the first time. He almost landed on a guy. The poor guy.

Infinitely downtrodden (by the tragedy we can all call Math), I hoped for something that could make me feel better. Of course, I wasn’t too hopeful. I had to feel something, disappointment probably or regret. My mom complains how stoic I’m being. How stoic I am. But, I really can’t help it. This is my defensive mechanism. And though, there’s nothing to “defend”, I guess I just learned to live with it. It’s hard to change. Maybe I would. Maybe I’d never. I found the alleviation when my friend asked me to drop by her class. And so I did, and she gave me a copy of The Time Traveler’s Wife! It has been on my wish list since I’ve never really had the budget for books lately. Just like that, I forgot about Math and all its complications because I knew I’d find myself lost later. Lost in fiction, and I don’t mind. Math can wait.

—
These days that stretch beneath us,
are all we have.

Random notes from random days.

CHAPTER 3: I Will Follow You to The Dark

PICK A CHAPTER: Prologue | 1 | 2

It was October 11th.

Stumbling into the house, I distinctly heard the crash of expensive ceramic against the bathroom door.  I imagined it swiftly falling to the ground and breaking into a million pieces.  I didn’t mind it at first.  It could have been a rat, for all I care.  But then, even in my drunken stupor I was able to make out ragged, muffled cries. Instantly, I knew.  Who, and why.

Even in the enormity and emptiness of the house, she still muffled her cries.  It was probably in an attempt to shelter the truth, which was evidently itching to burst.  I knew that every piece of ceramic was a part of her. Broken so finely, without so much as a chance for repair.  My mom was obviously hurt so bad.

In my eyes, there was nothing I could do.  I was just her son; whom she hadn’t even noticed coming in.  I imagined her gentle tears caressing her motherly cheeks.  A flowing river across the valley.  I stay up at night and I wonder, how in the world could this have happened?  She isn’t perfect, but she’s the best.  Nothing should have hindered her happiness.

But even as I stood convincing myself, a vivid image of my father swept across my mind.  I tried to reconcile the facts, but I just couldn’t.

This was one of those dark nights.

—
This is part of a story in progress (that might as well be forever in progress). Just so you know, nothing is final and these are mostly just notes.

Filler post. Haha.

Maybe I’m not as undecided as the weather, but not as sure and full-forced as it is now. It’s supposed to be summer and my pants got soaking wet from the rain. It’s all ironic. I ran around the campus earlier clad in my rainproof jacket (which my friends tease me about since it’s not the normal cartoon-y hoody).  I tried my best to protect my bag.  My life – for the moment – was there.  My calculus notebook, my calculus book, calculus exercises.  My planner.  Letter of appeal for late payment.  Student loan.  Screw health, I needed my bag more.  I never really get sick because of the rain anyway.  So there I was, running around like a maniac clutching my bag as close to me as possible.  Prior to that, a series of unfortunate events led to my initial bad mood.

In summary (the series of unfortunate events):  I left home early, but some accident happened (from what I’ve heard from the radio, a truck overturned and spilled molasses over the pavement — turns out molasses was actually “Roxas Boulevard” … I don’t know where I got that.)  therefore I was late and sufficiently downtrodden (since it’s the time of the month).  When I arrived, our prof was discussing a topic I’ve never really understood.  We had a short quiz afterwards — which I really couldn’t answer (but I knew how to!) since my mind was clouded.   And since I was absent last Tuesday, I went to claim my evaluated exam.  Let’s just say the combination of everything  from my day so far (and it was just 10 AM, then!)  kept my mouth shut for most of the morning.

Then of course, since I was saving up I didn’t take the jeepney.  I walked.  Then the skies decide to rip the streets with blades of water.  This is exactly the point where I started my post.

All I wanted to do was rip my jacket off and shout:  “Today’s my birthday, damnit!”   And cry.  I wanted to cry so bad.  Of course, I didn’t.  I just went home, leaving my task undone and a friend waiting.  Sorry about that.

My day is a haze of disappointments and, probably regrets.  My head is swimming with the laws of derivatives and limits.  And, may I repeat, I just want to shout: “Today’s my birthday, damnit!”  But the day’s about to end anyway.  It’s 11:11 PM,  I’ve made a wish.  Everything will turn out to be great.  I’m legal, after all.  I’m 18 today.

The obligatory birthday shot.

I haven’t been home for more than a week.  It’s good to be home.  The familiarity is calming.  I was finally able to kick of my summer — though, I can’t say it’s the way I planned it.  Nothing extravagant, just family.

A few more hours ’til meltdown. I’m talking about my 3-hour Math period.  The Summer Semester starts tomorrow.  I will be armed with P10 coffee and a celebratory breakfast.  Celebratory?  Yes, the end of my summer - or well, the temporary suspension of it.  I can’t say I dread it completely.  Not really.  I used to love math, you know?  Maybe this is a time for reconciliation.  I’m praying to God that I won’t have the same professor.  Or else everything I did last semester would be pointless.

Oh, and I’ve decided to have a party.  I guess not the traditional debut, but something more casual and laid back yet glamorous.  This is my super unreachable birthday wish list.  Dreams.

1. Money.  I’d rather they give me money really, but that’s just rude to ask of them.  I know they’re in it for the “thought” and the sentimentality.
2. DSLR.  I don’t need to expound right?
3. A new iPod (the Classic one, please).  From the time that I deleted all my songs, I’ve only just reached the 1k mark again.  And so, my old school 4 GB iPod Mini can’t hold it all in.
4. Lifetime (not really) supply of 120 mm films for my Holga.
5. A piggy bank (srsly).  Preferably the one from Dimensione.
6. My own room!  I keep on picturing it in my mind.  I thought I wanted red walls, but I guess I’d go with purple.  I’d buy solid color sheets and pillowcases and print out my favorite artworks.  I’ll dedicate a wall to my books.  I’ll save up for speakers.  Drool.
7. A ticket to the Harry Potter theme park and the Harry Potter movie premiering this year.
8. A wireless router because it sucks having a laptop and being stuck in one place with crazy wires.
9. A vacation out of the country, out of Luzon, or just out of the near Manila vicinity.
10. Money to fix my Motorola.
11. And for my fat to magically disappear.  Pretty please.

—

Sorry, yet another sabaw post.