something I wrote for Kat Encarnacion

THE DAY THAT CAME UPON HIM




Finally the day came – he knew long before that that day would arrive. He had hoped that it would not be anytime soon, although even ten years were too fast for him. He imagined what it would be like if that day was to come knocking on his door; would he see it from afar on its way towards his home to give him ample time to prepare at least, or would it surprise it just when he was taking a relaxing nap. He never knew. But now he did.

He had been waiting for her for almost half an hour when she arrived. The delay wasn’t so bad – he arrived fifteen minutes earlier than the time they agreed upon so it meant that she was only fifteen minutes late. He saw her walk into the bookstore, and since he was in no mood to be coy he immediately walked up towards her. Offering to take her bag he tried to welcome her with a little hug, or to put her arm around her at least, but the moment she gave her bag to him she started walking towards the exit.

“Let’s go,” she said.

It had been like this the past days. At work whenever he tried to show any gesture of sweetness she would either get irritated or not respond at all. At home when he texted her, she barely replied. Then after many attempts he finally found out that whenever he sent a joke she would actually respond; then after a couple of messages she would say goodbye and not text for how long he never knew.

When she agreed to watch a movie with him at Megamall he became hopeful again. Finally she said yes, he thought. For the first time in his life he felt nervous before going on a date. So nervous that he even bought a new red shirt and perfume just so she wouldn’t have anything to say about his outfit or what he smelled like.

When they got out of the bookstore and headed for the escalator, she paused for a while and asked for her bag. Rummaging through her things she got her cellphone and zipped the bag and started walking again.

“Who are you texting?” he asked, even if he already knew the answer.

“Ryan.” she answered monotonously. She didn’t even bother to look at anywhere else when she answered. she was too engrossed texting as she walked along. Seconds later still while texting he noticed that she was starting to smile.

He knew from the very beginning that she had a boyfriend. She and that Ryan guy had been going on for years already before he met her at the office. It just so happened that when she and Ryan encountered a few roadblocks on their relationship, he was there to rescue her. But now that she was able to fix things between her and her boyfriend, he would soon have to move out.

While going up the escalator and just as she stopped texting (she probably had sent her usual “Did u hav ur dinner n? Lov u babe! Il txt u l8r k?” message to Ryan), he tried opening a conversation with her. While talking she gave him a certain look, grinned and said, “Bata ka pa talaga. You act like a child.”

He was a kid – maybe too young for her. He was still 19 while she was already in her mid-20’s. He was just a kid and that’s why he acted like one and talked like one. She told him before when they were just starting to get to know each other that “for a person your age, you’re so mature.” Nowadays she never says anything like that anymore. At the back of his mind he knew that the though he can be childlike in some ways, the way he spoke and the way he acted was still far more mature than guys his age, maybe even guys her age. And he was childlike, not childish, unlike some yuppies he knew.

When they got to the third floor where the cinemas were located she started texting again. He asked her what movie she wanted to watch and she just nodded towards the poster of an action flick. A few minutes later after he bought tickets he went back to her and just then they ran into some friends of hers. Immediately she kept her cellphone and started giggling and chatting with them. She seemed so enthusiastic when she met those other people and completely ignored the whole world, even her cellphone. Even him. After a few minutes of talking she finally said goodbye. “Sige na, mauuna na ako. Manonood pa ako ng movie nitong ka-opisina ko eh.” With an introduction like that he decided to approach her friends and introduce himself cordially.

Later while walking towards Cinema 9 where they were supposed to watch the film he started asking about her friends.

“Barkada?”

A nod.

“College?”

“Yup.” she answered, then she pulled the cellphone off her pocket and checked if there were any messages.

“You haven’t seen each other for a long time now?”

“No! We see each other at least once a week. Gina, the tall one, was with me here the other day and Macky, the short one, went shopping with me last week.”

“Macky? You mean the girl in blue?”

“Yeah. Why? You like her?” For the first time that day she looked at him in the eye.

“Huh?!”

“You like her? She’s pretty naman eh. If you want I can give you her number.”

“Wha-? No! No I don’t want her number!”

“It’s ok if you like her,” she said. “I mean, I don’t care. I got a boyfriend, you know.”

That phrase stumped him. She’s got a boyfriend, you know, he thought to himself. She’s got a boyfriend so she couldn’t care less. She’s got a boyfriend that’s why it’s ok if he sees other girls. He is not a loss.

So they entered the cinema and watched silently in the darkness. Every two minutes or so she would pull her cellphone up, and would text Ryan or whoever would text her. Just to get her to notice him he pulled his phone up and miscalled her; she responded by saying, “Epal. Papansin.” when she read his name on the miscalled list.

“Just wanted your attention…” he murmured.

“Don’t try that drama bit with me,” she snapped.

He let out a huge sigh. Things weren’t like that when they started out as friends. She used to be so talkative and she always laughed at his jokes, no matter how corny he was. She used to be amazed with his ideas and his stories and with everything there was in him – he felt the same way towards her. When he called her up and said that he was starting to have feelings towards her, she couldn’t hide the joy in her voice. Although she did tell him that she loved her boyfriend very much and there was no assurance that she would be able to reciprocate his affections, he said it was ok. She didn’t need to return the favor – just accept it. It was ok with him.

It was ok with him. Was. But now he’s not so sure. Because she was not accepting the love he is showing her – she was rejecting it. And what’s worse was he was in no position to demand. After all, he was just an officemate.

Suddenly she stood up. “Excuse me,” she told him, “Ryan is calling. I have to go outside.” So he hoisted himself from his seat and let her pass. Then, as she left him in the darkness of the movie house, he got the instinct to rummage through her things, got a pen and a piece of paper, and started writing.

It took her around ten minutes before she got back. This time he did not stand up to let her through – he just allowed her to pass in front of him. And in silence they watched – or at least he did while she continued texting – the remainder of the movie.

She never allowed him to take her home. Whenever they came from work or a night out, she would only allow him to hail a cab for her and then it’s goodbye. Once she allowed him to ride in the cab up to a certain point where she would be safe enough and he got off. But today it was only up to the cab station and there they parted ways – her going home up to the high mountains of Antipolo while he went down to the smoggy streets of Quezon City.

Just as she rode the cab he handed to her a piece of paper. “Read it when you get home,” he said, and there he shut the door and waved goodbye. She didn’t hear it, but from his lips she knew that he gave an “I love you”, just as he did everyday before they parted ways. She also knew that he noted at the back of his mind or in his cellphone the license plate of the cab, just in case something happened.

In the cab she opened the paper, and there was a letter he wrote while he was in the cinema and she was outside talking with Ryan. He said there that things were no longer the same between them. She no longer laughed with him or shared any stories with him nor did she call him every morning or send him a goodnight text. He said there that she was either too tired or in a hurry for him.

Also in that letter he apologized. He apologized for being too young for her and for being too passionate about life and too idealistic. He apologized for not having a car to drive her home and for being too nosy about stuff he shouldn’t have bothered to know about her. He apologized for not coming in her life earlier than her boyfriend – otherwise it would have been him in his place. For being jealous of the attention she gave to other people. And he apologized for tearing a piece of paper in her notebook to write her a letter while waiting for her.

But in that letter he also said that he would never leave her, that he loved her still, and he didn’t care whether she showed affection towards him or not. He said that he knew this day, the day when he would begin to feel neglected and when he would be hungry for her love, would come. He had long prepared for this day, and now he’s ready to tell her that he will stay by her side, maybe not as a significant other but maybe just someone she could run to when she needs someone. He still wanted to ask her out next time, but only as a friend. He said that Ryan was a lucky, lucky bastard, and if ever she and Ryan do get married, he would be there at the church to shake the man’s hand. He said in that letter that he’s not letting go; he’s just accepting reality and he doesn’t care whether he goes single for life. He will commit himself to her even if she’s with somebody else. He said in the letter that he knew that that commitment was stupid, and he may give up soon, but he said he’d rather try than not do anything at all. He said in the letter that he loved her so much, and she’s the only one who has made him once in his life happy.

And finally, he said in the letter that one day, one day in the future, he’d get to make her happy. And when he does, he’d die a happy man for her.

She closed the letter and slid it in her bag. She thought of the days she always spent with him and told herself that she was lucky to have someone like him. She asked herself why had he not come earlier. She wondered what would it have been like to allow herself to be hugged by him, to be kissed by him. She wondered how his eyes would look if she said I love you to him. In the cab she prayed to herself that hopefully one day he’d understand that she did not want to be cold to him – she never wanted to be rude to him or anything. She just wanted him to go away naturally and look for another person to make him feel they way he makes her feel.

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for Ivy Escalona

this was written for an English assignment...



MS. MIKKI



These late office hours really get to me sometimes. I usually don’t mind working until midnight here in the office, tonight is just one of those nights where my mind isn’t focused. It was probably all the sweat and hunger that kept me alive the previous nights; despite my huge built and usually scruffy appearance, I really can never relax without taking my cold shower and eating my scrumptious dinner. But tonight, when the rain just would not stop tormenting the glass window and the flood would not subside, it seems that the both of us will be spending the night here.
Relax; don’t worry. It’s not like me to have sex with girls who don’t want to. So unless you’re gonna feel kinky tonight and invite me for a little activity that would keep our bodies warm in this cold night, I wouldn’t lay my skin on yours.
How old are you again? And is this your first job? What kind of writer are you, the late-bloomer-who-never-knew-that-she-could-write-until-some-bloke-picked-up-her-essay-
and-said-“Man,-this-thing-kicks-ass!”? Or the all-so-talented-individual-that-was-born-in-a-family-of-writers-and-it-just-naturaly-runs-in-
the-blood type? Seriously? I’m a little bit of both; I grew up in a family of writers. Almost all my relatives see their bylines in newspapers and magazines – the rest have already released their books. But I never really imagined that I would be working for a news organization.
I met one of the coolest English teachers during my senior high school stint. It was that same teacher who inspired me to take writing seriously; she was the adviser of the school paper while I was a reporter. “Keep the flare alive” was the greatest advice anyone gave me. Her name was Ma. Mikaela Mariella. Yes the name sounds weird, that’s why she wanted to be called Ms. Mikki.
It was around 10 years ago. I was your typical high school popular guy that time. It was also raining then, a rainy evening of July 3rd. at 8:00pm I was still in school, unable to go home because of the usual flood. The streets of Manila were not as good back then as it is now. Well, it was that evening when she offered me a ride home. I’ve been studying in that school for four years already, but it was the first time I saw her. Tired, hungry, wet and eager to get home, I accepted the ride.
Ms. Mikki was fresh from college when she began teaching in our school. She handled English for freshmen. During the ride home, we talked as if we had known each other for the longest time. The words putangina and fuck came in every sentence. When she asked where I lived it was the only time that we discovered that we lived in the same street, hence we made a pact to always go home together. It was a two-way deal; me getting a car ride for a cheaper price if not for free (she never wanted to charge me for the rides, but I always insisted) and her getting a companion, bodyguard and baggage lifter.
Needless to say we got really close. I became the editor of the school paper, and she became the adviser. So immediately, with the school’s consent, became a tandem.Ms. Mikki and I went to school together, ate lunch together, went home together. Both of us had other sets of friends, but Ms. Mikki and I were different. “We were like peas and carrots,” as Forrest Gump once said.
She told me that I will have my place in the future in writing. “It’s not gonna be easy; writers are not supposed to live saintly lives,” she said. “But keep the flare alive. It’s that burning passion for a byline that will keep you going and will guide you through the darkest of times.”
But there was this one time that things took a different turn. I was home alone one night when she came over. She was sobbing, and when I asked what was wrong she said she was just feeling so lonely and asked if she could spend the night there. For the rest of the night I was just there, lying on the couch with her, holding her tight. Her eyes were closed but she wasn’t asleep; it was then when I realized that eyelids, too, can be cute. Sweet Ms. Mikki. I heard her murmur “don’t ever let go of me, Raf… please…” I don’t know what got into me that moment, but my response was to brush my lips softly against hers.
After that night things changed between us. I never took a ride home with her again; she never joined me for lunch again. We only spoke with each other during meetings and layouting of the newspaper, and even that felt totally awkward. Kissing an older woman can give a high school boy complicated emotions, you know. And I can just imagine how much more complicated a matured woman’s emotions would be if she allowed a high school boy kiss her.
I saw her during my high school graduation. She simply gave me a letter, gave a cordial handshake, and left. The letter only had one phrase in it: “Keep the flare alive – between us.” I never saw Ms. Mikki again until college.
I pursued a creative writing degree when I was in college. I followed her advice: keep the flare alive, not only for writing but for her as well. I’ve had several relationships in college, but all of them were short-lived.
I was insecure when I was in college. All my friends and my classmates were achievers during their younger years, excelling academically and receiving various honors from different non-government organizations and private sectors, while the greatest achievement I had was becoming part of the high school news staff.
I was hungry for a byline when I was in college. I joined several publications but only a few of my works were being published. So I resorted to being a contributor to the mainstream media. After a couple of years of unpopularity, I was depressed. None of my contributions were being published. I wasn’t academically good either. I felt depressed.
But I wasn’t gonna stay down any longer. The first semester of my sophomore year, a professor asked us to write an article on writing. Yes, write about writing. So I did. The title of my article was “And To Those Who Write, I Salute You!” I wrote about how it feels like to be an unpopular and unrecognized writer. I wrote in there how hard it really is to keep the flare alive, but going on and letting it live within you.
My professor returned to me the article, but attached to it was an application form for the United Nations Icon in Literature Awards. He scribbled something in my article: “this is the best essay I’ve ever read in my life.” That gave me enough courage to fill in the application form and submit my work.
So I joined, and I won. Winning a UN award can sure change your life. I was invited to be a speaker for a seminar in UP Los Baños, and guess who attended that seminar? Ms. Mikki.
We joined each other after the seminar until that evening; we talked and talked and talked and talked like there was no tomorrow. It was like old times again; we had to catch up on the few years we never heard from one another. She was glad to know that I was doing well as a writer; I wasn’t glad to know that she just got off from a real bad relationship.
She noticed how much I changed over the years; “hindi na totoy” . She, on the other hand, didn’t change much. She had her hair cut into a chic style, but she still had the cutest eyelashes and it was only then when I realized that she had small dimples.
She joined me and my friends for a little shindig that night at a friends’ house. My friend spiced the punch pretty good; needless to say I got heavily drunk. So did she.
Both of us were walking (or is there another term for walking while drunk?) home when rained poured like hell again. We took refuge under a great acacia tree and we stayed there, drunk and wet. She smelled so fresh, even her breath smelled fresh with a twist of lime and alcohol in it. I was there, she was there. Looking in each others eyes made us continue what we started at my place. It wasn’t the first time I touched a woman, but there I realized that what they’ve been telling me was true; it’s a different sensation when the one you’re feeling is a person who is truly special. The rain ended quickly, but we spent the rest of the night together under that acacia tree.
I never saw her again since. I didn’t get her contact number or the address where she stayed or anything. It was a one-night stand, a moment too good to last.
I received word that she and the rest of her family had migrated to London, weeks after we last saw each other. So the first job I tried looking for after graduation was a job that would get me closest to Europe. Now you know why I’m working here in Reuters. I’ve been fighting for the request to be transferred to Reuters HQ in the United Kingdom for three years now; if this still doesn’t push through this year, I’m going to take a crash-course in caregiving and apply as a nurse there. Meanwhile, I’m really getting hungry here. I think a got a couple of instant mami noodles in my drawer. Why don’t you heat some water from the kitchen so we can eat a little something while you do the rest of the talking?
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