The past few days have been exhausting. Aside from preparing and conducting exams, mas mabigat sa mental load yung pagmumunimuning need mong maging patas sa paggawa ng exams without compromising yung actual purpose ng assessment. Dumagdag pa na nagkataong umaga at 7:00 am halos lahat ng schedule ng pa-exam ko.

Nataon din ang celebration ng Teachers’ Day sa exam week. Noong first day of exam, binati ako ng advisory class ko kasama ang isang karton ng abuloy. May nagbigay ng lollipop, Fudgee Bar, Piatos, at kung ano-ano pang makukukot (makitkit). Yung iba may nakadikit na sticky notes na may mga maigsing mensahe. Sabi sa isang sticky note, “Happy Teacher Ma’am!” Natawa ako. Binati na rin kasi nila ako sa chat. “Sana happy nga ako,” reply ko sa kanila kasabay, syempre, ng pagthank you. Napaisip ako kung ito ba yung reply nila — na para bang wala akong choice, dapat maging happy teacher ako. 😅

Nilagay ko sa office yung karton. Every time bago magpa-exam, bubunot ako ng isang baon. Salamat sa pantawid-gutom. Pero mapapaisip ka eh. Yung mga nagbigay kaya na nag-eexam din ngayon, natawid ba nila ang agahan bago mag-exam? Baka inagawan ko pa sila ng baon dahil sa binigay nila. Habang nagchecheck ng papel, bubunot ulit. Pang-alis konti ng sakit ng ulo. Kaya ba masakit sa ulo yung sagot nila kasi ‘di talaga nila naintindihan? O kaya absent sila. nung diniscuss? Mapapaisip ka talaga eh.

Nakakahappy naman talaga ang ganitong gestures. Kung iisipin, napakagastos maging student sa panahon ngayon. Kahit pa free ang. education sa SUC, minsan marami pa ring gastusin at babayarin. Paminsan nga kahit pamasahe papuntang school, wala. At ‘pag pumasok, sulit kaya ang gastos nila sa pag-upo sa klase?

Kaya naman sa mga nagbigay, maraming salamat! Sisikapin kong maging deserving ng ‘Happy Teacher Ma’am!’

09/29/24

My phone lit up, and I shifted my eyes’ focus to see the time displayed on its screen. It says 2:52. I turned around from my phone hoping to slow down time. The blanket that covered my waist down to my legs slipped. It left my bare skin feel the cold from the little breeze that comes from the cracks of the stuffy, makeshift room.

I forced myself to get ready. I put on my favorite Artwork shirt and ukay cullottes. I looked around the room, failing to find any mirror. My hands fumbled through my hair to achieve a halfway ponytail. Feeling satisfied after several tries, I let out a sigh. I picked up my sling bag and stuffed my phone, coin purse, and school ID inside.

The walk through the badly lit narrow hallway was uneventful. When I reached the gate, a tricycle was passing by just in time. I hurriedly waved my hand. I got in at the back seat and said, “Oval po, Kuya, sa may CBDEM po banda.”

Unlike every day, I will not be the tricycle’s last passenger. At the university entrance, I started counting my barya. In just a few minutes, I’m already at the CBDEM facade. I handed my barya as fare and jumped off the tricycle. I briskly crossed the road while reaching out for my phone inside my bag. I looked at the screen. 3:05 it says. I slipped it back inside.

There was only one entrance. Its arc looked shifty. Two bamboo poles served as support and barely half of its length was buried to the ground. Looking around, the rest of the booths were the same. Shifty, made of bamboo, and temporary.

I walked past many faces. Some looked a little bit familiar, many I do not know. I hold onto my sling bag handles tightly and strained my neck looking for the faces I know so well. I heard someone calling out my name. It was almost drowned by the laughter and shouting around me. I followed the voice and found them at the center of the oval. There they were at the center, watching everyone. It was the perfect spot.

I ran to them. I asked for the precious piece of paper that would dictate our entire future, wrote down my name, and signed it. With our backs at each other, we sat on our slippers and sandals to at least comfort our butts from the dry prickly grass. This would be our last Pasiklaban.

“Laro tayo!” one suggested, nobody objected. Feeling like free-spirited kids with no thoughts of tomorrow, we played at the center of the field. The dust and dry grass went flying. The stares were uncomfortable, humored, and countless.

At that moment, time stopped. I wasn’t looking at my phone screen, yet I knew I existed with them. We were together at the right place and at the right time for a perfect shot. The timing was perfect.

Photo: USM Campus Stolen Shots

sa conspi theory ng sims

sa mga sinabi ni Karl

sa unearthly beings

.

Patuloy kang maglaro

ng Transport Fever, DOTA,

Cities, PUBG, Survivor.io,

FruitMerge, at Polytopia

.

Ipagpatuloy mo ang ‘yong mga hilig

sa martial arts at nature-nature

sa Coke o Mocha Java Chip

o ika-nth rewatch ng The Godfather

.

Ipagpatuloy mo ang passion

sa stress at accent effects

sa ating mga kultura, tradisyon,

sining, at Philippine languages

.

Kahit pa sa palaging

pagtaas ng kilay mo

kahit naman narinig

sagot pa rin ay ‘Ha? Ano?’

.

Saan o anuman iyong marating

sa pagpapatuloy mo sa pagkanta

ng “I am not afraid to keep on living”

lagi’t lagi mo akong makakasama

.

BETTER THAN TWENTY-FINE

However, there was one story that amazed the faithful observer. It was a story that included him, his sturdy branches, lustful leaves and most of all, the small hollow in the bottom of his trunk.

Summer was almost over. Mr. Tree noticed that some of the neighborhood kids had come back from vacation. Most of them tan from the beach. One boy even had crutches due to an accident from a camping trip.

Early in the afternoon of a Friday, Mr. Tree was dozing for his nap when warm small hands touched his trunk’s bark. It was queer. As far as Mr. Tree can remember, no one has considered to touch him with such warmth. Only the street sweepers had ever come close to him but not even to touch his crisp barks.

He bowed his head to look at this queer human being. There leaning on his rough bark and sitting on his fallen leaves on the ground was a young little girl intensely reading her book. She has black wavy hair that was tousled to a bun on top of her oval-shaped head. Her face was brimming with delight. Her dark brown eyes move from left to right, her long eyelashes blinking from time to time, and her plush lips silently mouthing the words she’s reading as her delicate fingers gently turns each page.

Mr. Tree could feel…

“Bakit hindi ka na naman pumapasok?”

“‘Di ka naman bobo, napakatamad mo nga lang.”

“Kapag ‘di ka papasok kahit makapasa ka sa exam, babagsak ka.”

“Ano bang problema mo?”

“Hay naku! Napakatamad mo!”

“Sayang ang binabayarang tuition ng magulang mo kung hindi ka naman pumapasok.”

“Oh? Ano? NagDOTA ka na naman ano?”

Pero may isang subject siyang gustong pasukan. Hindi niya naman gusto ang subject. Hindi niya rin gusto ang oras: ala-una ng hapon. Ang init at nakaka-antok. Siguro pumapasok siya dahil kay Ma’am.

Si Ma’am ay balingkinitan. Tamang-tama lang ang kanyang tangkad at ang kulay ng kanyang balat. Hindi naman siya tulad ng ibang babae na ‘pag nakita mo ay mapapanganga sa ganda. Napakacorny din ng kanyang mga jokes. Pero may something kay Ma’am na gustong gusto niya talagang pumasok sa klase niya na ‘yon.

Siguro pumapasok siya kasi magaling magturo si Ma’am. Kasi kahit mahirap ung subject, marami pa rin siyang natutunan at nag-eenjoy siya. Siguro pumapasok siya kasi matalino si Ma’am. Siguro pumapasok siya kasi natutuwa siyang pinapanuod si Ma’am na nagsasalita sa harap at nag-eexplain ng kung ano-anong bagay.

Minsan napapatingin si Ma’am sa kanya. Minsan tinatawag at tinatatanong din siya ni Ma’am at mabuti na lang at alam niya rin ang sagot. Nakakahiya naman kay Ma’am. Minsan naman sinasabayan niya si Ma’am bumalik sa kanilang opisina. Tinatanong din ni Ma’am bakit paminsan minsan umaabsent siya sa klase niya pero hindi naman siya pinapagalitan. Nagbibiruan nga sila ni Ma’am eh. Siguro kasi masaya kausap si Ma’am. Siguro kasi gusto niya si Ma’am.

Kahit ganoon pa man, hindi alam ni Ma’am na may pinagdadaanan siya ngayon kaya naman hindi siya pumapasok sa ibang klase. Si Ma’am lang kasi ang nakakaparamdam sa kanya na parang wala namang masamang nangyayari. Ang ibang niyang mga guro kasi tingin sa kanya malaking problema siya sa klase.

Hapon na naman. Uuwi na naman siya sa kanila. Uuwi na naman siya sa isang bahay na walang laman. May mga tao nga pero ramdam niyang nag-iisa siya. Bakit kasi ganoon? Kung sino pa ang taong pinaglaanan niya ng panahon at pagmamahal, siya pa ang nang-iwan sa kanya. Sa bagay, lahat naman sila sa buhay niya, umalis. Lahat sila iniwan siya.

Alas-singko ng hapon ang uwian pero ‘di pa siya umuwi agad. Naglakad-lakad pa siya sa university. Nagmumuni-muni. Napakaganda ng panahon. Mahangin. Hindi mainit at hindi rin makulimlim. ‘Buti na lang may mga malalaking acacia sa pedestrian lane at nakakagaan ng pakiramdam ang paglalakad-lakad. May isang puno siyang nadaanan na kulay rosas ang mga bulaklak. Nangahulog na ang iba dahil sa malakas na ihip ng hangin noong nakaraang araw. Naging kulay rosas na rin ang daanan. Napakaganda pagmasdan. Instagramable kumbaga. Kaso hindi niya dala ang kanya cellphone. Pumulot siya ng isa sa mga nahulog na bulaklak at inipit sa librong kanyang dala.

Pinahiram siya ng libro ni Ma’am. Sa halip na magDOTA na nakaka-ubos ng pera o kaya magmukmok sa kwarto na nakakadepress, may gagawin na siya ngayong gabi.

Lumipas ang tatlong lingo…

Dali-dali niyang chinat si Ma’am sa Messenger na may kirot sa damdamin.

Siya: “Ma’am! Bakit pinabasa mo sa akin ang librong ito?”

Ma’am: “Bakit naman? Maganda naman ang libro na ‘yan. Marami kang matututunan patungkol sa buhay. Tsaka isa ‘yan sa mga paborito kong libro.”

“Bakit ba pinabasa mo ito sa akin? Sinabi ko sa’yo mga pinagdadaanan ko tapos pababasahin mo ako ng ganito? Manhid ka ba? Akala ko naiintindihan mo ako!” Sinisigaw niya sa kanyang isipan habang sinisikap maging mabait sa reply niya kay Ma’am.

Siya: “Ma’am!”

Ma’am: “Oh?”

Siya: “Nagpakamatay siya.”

“Lucky huh?” I mumbled to myself. “This new umbrella I bought won’t even budge. I’d be soaking wet before I’d even brought it some justice.”

I despise automatic things that were supposed to make our lives better. They actually don’t; they make life more complicated.

After murmuring to myself how stupid the umbrella was, the button finally worked, but I was already soaked.

I was slushing through the rain, running and soaking wet. The water has risen to my ankle along with cola cans, plastic bottles, food cartons, and leftovers thrown around people’s yards. It was not a very good sight.

“I’ll take one big shower. I hope people will be more responsible about their trash. Ugh!” I spoke loudly in my mind. “This is disgusting!”

I was still ranting about the garbage management in the neighborhood when I arrived at the doorstep of my just-right backyard. Aside from my piled-up garden chores, in the damp corner between the spades, hoes, and tiny pots, a gray, fury ball was shivering from the cold with its soft whimpers almost inaudible because of the pouring rain and cracking thunder.

Four years ago, her innocence was taken away from her. Beguiled by the belief that it would grant her the satisfaction she had been looking for. It shattered her soul but her mind was clouded of that poison; she barely noticed. She was used and overused. Her very core was screwed to the point that she thinks so little of herself, no more than filthy rags. Her self-worth, well, it does not exist anymore. On the outside, everyone adored her. She was praised for her achievements, honored for her courage and supported in her goals. People shook her hands and smiled like her as if she was an angel, a beautiful damsel. No one knew that inside she was a rotten witch, a whore. Everything was a deception, an act she had put up.

However, tonight, it all ends. Her fingers began to tremble and the dagger almost fell from her hands. She was filled with a mixture of excitement, anxiety and rage. At long last, the day has arrived for her to avenge herself of all the guilt, hatred, jealousy and pain that chewed out the kindness from her fragile heart. She cracked her knuckles and her neck, took a deep breath and inhaled the chill of the night. The gentle smile that once played on her lips was torn by a crooked evil grin. The glitter in her eyes turned to a burning furious rage. Tonight it will all end.

======

The cold breeze pushed back her every step. But she fought it the way she fought the urge within her to forgive and forget. “No!” she said. “I’d get my revenge. Besides, they call me an evil witch. Then let it be.” She fought the freezing breeze as it numbed her to the bones. The chill and the shrill inside her bubbled with excitement. She was almost there. A few more steps and this will all end.

The neighborhood dogs stopped barking as if they had their voices slashed out from their throats. The street lights suddenly burned out. Even the crickets paused chirping. They smell blood. The witch slipped her hands on the door knob and creaked the door open. It wasn’t locked. It was as if heaven and hell were putting her act on a pedestal. She floated in front of the bedroom door and there she saw her persecutor. Her love.

He was peacefully sleeping. Her eyes fell on the silhouette of his face. His aquiline nose, his bushy eyebrows, his manly lips and jaws. She heard his gentle breathing. The moon was shining down from the window and she can see his chest in rhythm with his every breath. ’Twas a beautiful sight. The calmness…

I’m a coward.

Instead of talking about how I feel, I’d rather shut it and shyly wait for the feelings to fade away. I don’t think they matter.

Coward, right?

Instead of asking people what's wrong, I'd rather silently observe and hesitate even to help out. Maybe, I might get things even worst.

Yes, that's cowardice.

Instead of sharing what is going on with me, I'd rather keep it to myself. People in the world have enough troubles; they don't need more from me.

Coward.

Such cowardice. Such pride. We are all cowards. We shrink away from things we are not able to grasp. We hate the feeling of not knowing, of not being able to see through, of too much, of less than. We want things to be just right, but there is no such thing as 'just right' in this world.

We hate honesty but we despise lies. Such pride. Such ego.

We are all cowards.

I am a coward.

Oh, I remember. You were timidly sitting at the corner of the room while everyone was so engrossed into blabbering about life. You had that assertive yet vulnerable aura around you. It seems like you were luring people to come talk to you while shouting “back off” at the same time. So, I didn’t bother talking to you at first because I was waiting for you to peek from the tiny cracks of your stone wall. I waited. I am still waiting. Yet, deep inside I knew. Way back then, I already knew.

It took me ages. It took me years. It took me too long to admit that what I realized that moment when I first met you, when we first gazed into each other’s eyes, that there was something. I didn’t want that something. You didn’t want it either. But it was there. I know it was there. Do you? Would you also be willing to admit that it was there? I guess not. Maybe not now. Maybe never.

I heard what you said. Perhaps you think I didn’t, but I did. I understood the many hints you gave, and you’re actually good in playing it cool. But for me. It was chaos. It was a thunderstorm of chaos. And with that chaos, I think that I should be contented to have seen that glistening sparkle in your eyes that twinkled in broad daylight. That for a few shifts of gazes, that glistening sparkle was meant to start a flame in us, but no one set it ablaze.