Ending with a Smile and a Frown

“What a relief! No more English and Lit. classes.” This was the first thing that came into my mind upon finishing the Lit final exam. I felt like there was something that was lifted off my back and it felt great. I walked to the dorm with a smile on my tired face. I was absolutely ready to face what is in store for me as a sophomore.

Upon reaching the dorm, I immediately cleaned up my place and gathered all the papers and notebooks scattered on my bed and on my table. When I was fixing all the materials in English and Lit, the first thing that caught my eyes was the bundle of papers of some of the group work done in class. I looked through the papers and examined the people I worked with for the past two sems. I just smiled while looking through them but eventually that smile disappeared.

I prefer not to smile not because the scores of the papers were getting bad but because I am not going to work with those people anymore. Maybe I still can but I think that it will never be the same experience. As I looked through the papers, I tried to remember how we introduced ourselves to each other during the first day of classes and how we started to chat, tell jokes and laugh. I smiled as I remembered how I became close with some of my English block mates. However, as I folded the papers and kept them in a box, I can’t avoid to frown. I will certainly miss those guys.

Then I moved on with my cleaning and gathered my drafts and papers. As what I’ve did with the others, I also looked through the marks done by the teachers on my papers. I was slightly ashamed for the mistakes I did on some of my drafts. As I went through the reading of my teacher’s comments, I remembered how they disagreed with the class transferring to the third floor because of some injured guy. I, for myself, was pissed since I still have to go up the third floor and stay in a warm room. When that injured guy was already able to walk, my Lit teacher requested that we go back to the air-conditioned ctc 102 even if the sem is already about to end. It was good news. That proves how we love that weird-smelling room.

As I kept those drafts, I felt lucky for having them as my teachers. I certainly learned a lot not like the disappointing teacher I had during the first sem. They made the classes fun but boring sessions were unavoidable. They made my second sem englit classes memorable. And one more thing, they’re cool teachers. (I am expressing nothing but the truth. Promise!)

My englit experience will never be complete without my english group mates. They’re the best even though they bully me every single englit class. I think it started last January and since then their teasing never stopped. It is sad that I won’t be able to work with them now. How fast time flies.

Every englit class is always spent with laughter. Maybe it is due to the people comprising R49 or maybe the kind of interaction that these people make. Whatever it may be, I will certainly miss them and the atmosphere the class makes. It is sad that there will no longer be R49 classes in that weird-smelling ctc 102. Goodbye and I am hoping that we be block mates again in the future.    

I closed the box and placed it in a corner. I smiled and wiped my sweat in the forehed as I sat in relief. I am done with my cleaning, I am done with englit. I smiled on the outside but frowned on the inside for I am facing a new start and ending a good part.

       

“Manila, here I come!”

             Staring at the clear blue sky overhead the green tall trees, I daydream of the big university in the big city and the adult and independent life. I join the chats and chuckles of my girl friends about how wonderful and exciting college will be while waiting for that ever familiar ring of our school bell. I untiringly talk about my plans to my supportive parents and my hardly attentive sister. I eagerly answer any question regarding my future and my replies carry tones of certainty and carefreeness.

           

            “Puwera bisita, puwera bisita.” The familiar call that ships send through its dusty speakers announces its near departure. I and my mother look down to the port where the familiar figures of my tubby father, my lean sister, and my adorable baby brother stay fixed. However, their faces express unfamiliar sadness to my admittedly shocked heart. I grip my mother’s shoulders, look into her eyes and ask if I could bear the distance.

            “Calling passengers of Cebu Pacific flight 518J bound for Manila. Boarding is at gate 4.” I and my mother enter the plane and search our seats through the familiar dull cushioned seats, thick carpeted aisle and stale scent of the aircon. We try to comfortably fixate ourselves to the narrow seats and enclosed space made to look comfy and light by beautiful stewards and stewardesses. Suddenly, I feel nostalgia growing inside myself as I were about to leave Visayan ground. I touched my mother’s hand, look into her eyes and ask if I could take the change.

“Nauuhaw ako. Gusto ko ng maginaw na tubig.” Laughter breaks the serious atmosphere. It is certainly an embarrassing moment. Who could blame a Boholana for making such mistake? Hearing tagalog words everywhere is familiar to my ears. It is not like I am ignorant of such language. I hear it on TV and during Filipino classes. However, it is not enough that you know the Filipino language. You should be spontaneous in it. This spontaneity is unfamiliar to my speech. I feel alienated surrounded by words I know but enable to respond to. I feel alienated surrounded by humans who seemingly aren’t. The familiar language. The familiar crowd. The unfamiliar inability. The unfamiliar culture. No more mother to clutch but still I ask if I could survive in this new world.

            “Magbasa muna kayo ng rental law!” Tension grows in the middle of the street where the confrontation is happening. Tears fall. Voices rise. Finger points. Nothing seems familiar. I am just 17 years old. This is my first time to be away—to be in Manila. Same situation with my housemates. We are victims of fraud. Ten teenagers and a house help. Ten sisters and a mother. Unfamiliarity overshadows my perception of a beautiful and easy world. New words arrived at my ears, comprehended by my mind. Blotter. Sign documents. Within three months. Payments. I have no mother’s hand to touch but I got ten pairs to hold. I ask no more. Asking is useless. Blaming is more appropriate. The blame goes to none other than…ME. If I just didn’t choose this place and this school. If I just didn’t allow myself to be deceived. Was I just too ignorant? Was I just too overwhelmed? Pathetic Boholana teenager.       

           

            “I am not happy anymore.” Seems like a break-up line, isn’t it? But it isn’t a romantic kind of break-up, it is an academic one. I just realized that the path that was so clear when I was daydreaming during that clear day was gone. I can’t see it anymore. I seem confused and unsure. I feel that continuing education and life in this place won’t lead me to that path, won’t help me find that path, won’t help in focusing myself again. Everything is just hazy. However, one thing is certain. I am not happy. “Papa, Mama, gusto ko mobalhin (I like to transfer).” “Anak ka namo. Di mi masuko. Ok ra namo ug asa ka gusto. (You are our daughter so we won’t get angry. It’s fine with us since you want it.)” Their words grip and touch my heart. I look into myself and ask if I can start college the second time around. I have to start from the beginning since I am not taking minor subjects at present. I could if I would. Movie shooting even does twenty takes to perfect a scene. I should be thankful I am just having two takes.

           

            “P’rung, it’s like, I’m going to Katips because you know.” Going through freshman the second time around is difficult since the culture is different from what the already unfamiliar one in Las Pinas had. I have to only adjust to all of this. Well, easily said than done. But somehow I managed adjusting but retaining the Boholana person I was and will be. It is somehow manageable by recognizing the always unfamiliar culture but familiar world. It is already familiar because I learned from what I experienced in my previous school that the world is uncertain, absolutely not beautiful, changes people to be gripped, makes asking unavoidable.

            “Reality Check.” Daydreaming doesn’t do anything good since it leads you to be idealistic—to think of things as if you are in a fairytale. Studying in Manila will bring you far away from the clear blue sky overhead green tall trees so enjoy it now while it lasts. Once you step on university ground, things will never be the same again. Expect good education under a sea of dark smoke, hot air, and noise. The culture is alien. Don’t repress it nor force it to your system. Just flow with the unfamiliarity. Accept the fact that life is a not-so-pretty-and-awesome one here not only because you are far from home but also because the real world Manila offers you hide deception, danger, and ugliness somewhere. Most importantly, don’t be overwhelmed with the unfamiliarity that will welcome you. Stay focused. This will not only accomplish your mission but also will temporarily drive nostalgia away.

            “Calling passengers of flight C-O-L-L-E-G-E bound for Manila, board with your dreams. Plane is departing in two months.”       

Over my Dead Body

What is the inevitable truth of our lives on earth? For some people, thinking about this truth haunts them, leave them sleepless at nights or even send them to tears. For some, the existence of this truth causes their joy, their virtues, and their contentment. We all know that someday everything our eyes met and will meet will decay and vanish. This is the inevitable truth. Everything and everyone just turns into trash when their time arrives. I will become trash. I accept that truth-my fate. However, as long as I have a pulse, nobody can ever associate me with trash.

A Dream’s Prophecy

Do you know that people have an average number of 250 dreams during each sleep period in the night? Yes, you read it right and neither is it a typographical error. It really is 250! But how come we only remember very few of our dreams. There are even times when we don’t remember any at all. I don’t want to be scientific so I would just say that we simply forget most of our dreams and remember at most five to seven dreams. I believe that one of those 250 dreams seemingly foretells an event of personal importance.

Life on Speedy Wheels

Maneuvering his way through the busy tracks of Katipunan and the smooth curves of Ateneo and Miriam, he is able to place food in the family table. He rides his wheels non-stop around the dusty and noisy streets of his workplace. Dust-covered skin and fatigued arms and legs are just part of a day’s work for him. He goes an extra mile everyday to drop some more round metal pieces into his safe. Day in and day out, he drives the fast lane with his green side car bearing in mind the faces of his children eagerly waiting for their baon the next day, and the face of his wife hoping for a larger budget to spend the next day.