The Weekly LitWit Challenge 4.4: Classes, Books, Teacher’s Dirty Looks
One of our favorite books in high school was The World According To Garp.
Every time we think of Garp we are reminded of high school.
So this week’s assignment in the Weekly LitWit Challenge: High School.
Write a story of 1,000 words, preferably less, set in a secondary school. Could be autobiographical, could be fantastic, could be a musical, as long as it’s in high school.
Deadline for the submission of entries: Sunday, 16 January 2011 at 12 noon.
The prize: A paperback of John Irving’s latest novel Last Night in Twisted River, signed by John Irving.
The Weekly LitWit Challenge is brought to you by our friends at National Bookstore.
Answers to questions you might be asking, unless you wandered onto this site purely by accident >>>
January 11th, 2011 at 09:38
The bell rang. As was- and still is- the standard operating procedure every nine o’clock in our school, the bell means recess time. As a person who was – and still is- grade conscious, recess time does not imply food, drinks and gossips but instead it means The Library( not the comedy bar but the room frequently taken for granted by students).
I don’t know how I managed it but I finished high school without ever stopping by the canteen every recess time. I drowned myself reading the Iliad, Encyclopedia Britannica, Time magazine, and some Harlequin romance books that make me gag but I’m a romantic so all are forgiven.
Our high school is a Catholic school, complete with prayers before and after class, daily rosary every October, and Biblical readings every day. It was a nice set-up but it did not work for me. I struggled with agnosticism back then. The words of Marx, Nietzsche, and Confucius make more sense than Peter’s letter to the Corinthians.
My friends told me that I was- and still is- different. The reasons behind my eccentric antics, according to them, are my urge to be different and to know things as much as possible. That’s why i read when they’re busy eating junk foods and ogling sweaty varsity players when I’m reveling on the works of Pico Iyer, Frances Mayes, John Grisham and Sidney Sheldon. That’s why I became a self-proclaimed agnostic and studied intensely while they implore the help of saints every exam. In the end, I managed to get higher marks than them.
Finally, after all the readings and the ‘urge’ to be different, I finished high school with flying colors. Graduating valedictorian in a class of 200 is not a small feat. My graduation speech was littered with semi-hypocritical remarks about the beauty of prayer and how it helped me to survive the four years in the school. Deep inside, I am silently thanking Marx and all the books I voraciously ravaged.
Looking back, i realized I missed a lot about life. High school is supposed to be a time for fun in preparation for the eye-callusing stress of college. Instead, I did the opposite. I stressed in high school but I’m carefree now.
I’m currently a sophomore college student taking a course I hated since ‘parents know best’. I wanted to take up Literature and to teach students and write in magazines. Instead, I am forced to understand the pathway of the blood and the kinds of parasites.
Life is short. I regretted making some choices in my life particularly during high school. Reading is not bad but I should have done it in moderation. After all, balance is essential for survival. I should have eaten, drank, gossiped,ogled and other things adequate for my age. It’s sad high school’s over and i can’t atone for my mistakes.:(
January 11th, 2011 at 09:57
Aha! Another opportunity for self-flagellation. Nyahahaha!
January 11th, 2011 at 21:07
lol chronicler. we’re all masochists. so let’s start writing.
January 11th, 2011 at 23:09
It’s Monday. I feel blue. I feel like not going to school. I feel like not attending manic monologue of Sir Piggybacking whose bloodshot eyes are as deep as a freakin’ zombie’s. I feel like abstaining from the torturous therapeutic sessions for insomniacs. I feel like lying down and giving myself a break. I feel like watching TV.
Click.
Oh, it’s me. On the idiot box. Right in the middle of two gangsta inhumanoids. In a bus. In the middle of heavy traffic. On my way to school. At my left side is someone who appears to be more dim-witted than Ed, Edd, and Eddy blendered. Whose face would remind you of a complete asshole prototype, minus the stinking drool and the ogre voice. His phone rings. A melody from hell fills the air. He reaches the phone in his pocket but waits for the bloody piece of ringtone to finish. Show-off. He speaks with that shuddering drunken twang. “Oi, pare. On the way na ko pare. Oo pare (Laughs). Sige pare!” Pare…pare my ass! This guy’s one of the “most stupidest” I’ve ever met. To be redundant is to be emphatic. The ignoramus looks at me. I look at him. He looks at his cellphone, staring at the LCD for quite some time. Like it was the first time he received a call in his entire life. Sheesh.
The other one, I suspect, is illiterate. And probably will die tomorrow of lung cancer. He puffs his nicotine-filled stick despite the yellow sticker on the wall that reads: NO SMOKING. Any person who has had a brush with the English language can comprehend what the sign means. Unless, of course, he is an alien that speaks an indecipherable gibberish. He puffs again. This time, a thicker screen of smoke shrouds my view. My eyes become blurry. I breathe. I cough. I look at him. He looks at me with that what-are-you-looking-at sarcastic face. I glance at the yellow sticker on the wall. He puffs again. Ignoramus’ phone rings again. And he waits for the ring tone to finish.
Click.
Two girls in the library. Talking. Chatting. Their noses are closely attached to the pages of thick books. A perfectly striking pose of studious academic learners. A perfect disguise for a nonsense pathetic chatter. Girl Number 1 anxiously asks Girl Number 2 about last night’s wretched tear-jerker.
G1: I didnt watch (name of sappy soap) last night. Had to finish this pesky assignment.
Girl Number 2 willingly starts the rant. With brimming excitement. With overflowing ardor.
G2: OMG! You missed one half of your life!
G1: Really? Why? What happened?
G2: (Name of male lead character) has finally kissed (name of female lead character) on the lips. (Giggles) As in it was so sweet and romantic and all. And (name of female lead character) said she loves (name of male lead character) after all.
G1: Awww…Too bad I missed that episode. So what happened next?
Girl Number 2 shrieks. Feisty librarian spots the both of them. Girl Number 1 and 2 meet their doom.
Click.
On a public utility jeep. On my way home. The driver is voicing out his opinions on politics. He says he’s not against the 12% VAT. “Two percent lang naman. Nagrereklamo agad.” Intellectually stimulating. “Tsaka di naman ako kumakain sa Jollibee.” Very intellectually stimulating. He looks at me for approval. I give him a blank stare instead. I reach for a twenty-peso bill and give it to him. He gives me a rusting faded gold coin in return. I look at my change and then look at him with slit eyes. “Manong, estudyante.” He pretends not to hear. I repeat what I said. He responds. He gives me the additional two pesos. I receive the coins and look at him with pure loathing.
Click.
At a department store. I’m looking for a shirt to buy. Friendly Saleslady greets me. “Good Morning. sir!” I proceed to look at their displays. She follows. I take out a red shirt with black sleeves from a file. Friendly Saleslady quips, “Sir, maganda po ‘yan.” I look at her. I force myself to smile. I put the shirt back and walk in other aisles. She follows. Again. I look at her. She smiles. I take out another shirt with black and blue design infront. She utters. “Sir yan ho. Maganda rin yan. Bagay sa inyo.” I force myself to smile again and put the shirt back. I walk in another aisle. Away from her. She still follows. “Sir, ano po bang size?” I walk out of the shop. Friendly Saleslady is not friendly anymore. Friendly Saleslady is already annoying.
Click.
Again on a bus. It’s already getting late. And the wind is becoming chilly. I sit beside a man and a woman who appear to be inseparable. They remind me of that tree-clinging tarsier in Bohol. Lovers, I utter. Sweet. The woman suddenly takes her arms away from the man’s body. She becomes uneasy, moves her behind, and gets a tight grip on the man’s shoulders once more. The man responds by leaning his head on hers. They become distracting. The man then turns to be uneasy on his seat, moving here and there, and proceeds to finally nestle the woman in her arms. The woman reacts by embracing him tighter than ever. They become anoying. The woman moves restlessly. Again. She lets out a moan. She places her head on his chest. The man cuddles her with the tightest clutch he can muster. He becomes a human lizard. He kisses her on the forehead. The woman moves. They become irritating. I move to another seat at the back.
Click.
At a fastfood restaurant. My stomach is grumbling. I queue up in the counter. A crew with a pen and paper in hand approches. “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to (name of fastfood restaurant)! Ano pong order nila?” I order a meal. “Number 7. Dine in.” “Sir, baka gusto po nilang i-try yung (name of food product promoted)?” he suggests. I stare at him. If looks can kill, then he’s dead by now. “Hindi. Yun lang.” “Sir, baka gusto po nilang gawing large yung drinks nila. Additional P5 lang po.” I look at him again. I try to stretch my facial muscles and smile at him. I turn my head from left to right. He gives me the order slip and vanishes from my view. I wait in the queue.
Click.
At a radio station. The DJ’s on cue. He’s blabbering nonsense. Incomprehensible. He cracks a joke. Complete with that crazy laugh-out-loud sound effect. I feel morose instead. He reads the text messages from the listeners. “O, wanted daw. Boy Textmate. Naku, magtago ka na!” Laugh-out-loud backdrop ensues. “18-21 years old. Thoughtful, caring, and cute. Uy, ako yun ah!” Laugh-out-loud backdrop follows. “Text (cellphone number). O, text niyo ha. Basta wag niyo lang tawagan.” Laugh-out-loud backdrop comes afterwards. I get a headache.
Click.
Inside the classroom. It’s examination week. Five essay questions to answer. One hour to say your piece. I’m halfway from finishing the second question. The Tibak Teacher begins to be a chatterbox. He says our public servants are corrupt. He says our value is slowly degrading. He says the taxes he paid are going only to the pockets of unworthy government officials. I look at him. He’s disturbing me. Us, fifty souls. I try to ignore him.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Yadda. Yadda. Yadda. I stop writing. I’m on my third question. I can’t seem to speak my mind due to his loud annoying litany. He says we should be aware of the things happening around us. He says we should be responsible citizens of this society. He says the whole country is going to the dogs. I look at him again. He’s getting on my nerves. I try to get him off my system.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Yadda. Yadda. Yadda. I’m on the fifth question. But I’m having a hard time stringing my thoughts. The blabbermouth is pain in the ass. He says he’s disappointed with the way student leaders perform their functions. He says the Student Council seems to be mum on the student issues going on. And he begins to narrate his crusade as a student leader back when he was still the SSC President of the school. He brags his accomplishments. All of which we have heard for the umpteenth time. All of which we have learned by heart and memorized like The Lord’s Prayer. I try not to hear. I concentrate on the last question.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Yadda. Yadda. Yadda. At last. I finish my piece. I instantly submit my paper. He looks at me. I look at him with pure abomination. He tries to open his mouth. I get the better of him instead. I get out of hell before he could even mutter a single word.
Click.
January 11th, 2011 at 23:12
*I feel like not attending the manic monologue of Sir Piggybacking…
was too hasty and forgot to proofread. my bad.
January 12th, 2011 at 12:53
Sa isang Mataas na Paaraln ng Bulubundukin Ng Bulakan ako nag mula. Mayroon lamang apat na section at ang lahat ng magagaling ay nasa star section habang ang pangalawang section naman tinawag na falling star section. Kilala ang paaralan namin bilang may pinaka mababang marka sa NCEE sa buong Luzon ( at mas lalo pa kaming sumikat nung batch namin).
Malabo ang aking mata at letter z nag sisimula ang aking apelyido,kayat lagi akong nasa dulo ng classroom dahil alphebetically arranged ang lahat. Hindi ako naging magaling sa math dahil hindi ko nakikita ang pisara pero ok lang dahil mas mataas parin ang marka ko kumpara sa mga naka dukduk sa blackboard at hindi ko rin naman masasabing tama ang itinuturo ng guro. Lagi ako pinapadala sa mga essay writting contest, at kung anu anung laban pero lagi akong talo,paano naman ako mananalo ni hindi ko man lang alam na may laban pala ako basta bibitbitin na lang ako at isasabak.
Nang araw ng pag labas ng resulta ng NCEE bumaha ng luha sa kabundukan na labis kong ipinagtataka pagkat wala naman silang balak mag college bakit sila iiyak? Naintindihan ko ang lahat ng sabihin ng adviser na kami pala ang may pinaka mababang marka sa buong Luzon. Ang valedictorian namin ay nakakuha ng 77% average ang salutatorian ay 79% ang honorable mention ay 54%. Ako ay nakakuha ng 88% pero mas may naka lamang sa akin na 89% ang score gusto ko siyang sunugin o i salvage.
Sinugod kami ng principal namin at pinag mumura ang mga estudyanteng abot nya ay nakatikim ng batok buti na lang Zuniga apelyido ko. May mga estudyanteng zero ang score dahil pag fill out pa lang ng pangalan ay hindi na alam ( dibat iba ang test paper na ginagamit ganitong test ). Nag tapos ako ng walang medalya dahil 3 lang daw ang binigay na medal ng DECS ( hindi pa DepEd ) at pang apat lamang ako, hinatak ang marka ko ng grade ko sa Values Education at Math. Wala rin akong notebooks na pinasa dahil wala naman akong sinusulat dito nakikinig lang ako dahil nga blurred ang blackboard.
Hindi ako nag sisisi na dito ako nag aral naging matalas ang pandinig ko, lumaki ang braso ko dahil pinag pupushup ng isang damakmak ang laging late at nag karoon ako ng excuse kung bakit hindi ako naging marangya.
January 12th, 2011 at 17:32
Unfortunately, whenever I think about stories of my high school – Utos ng Hari comes to mind. >_<
January 12th, 2011 at 17:40
Qsdn: That’s a great story! Thanks for reminding me, I’ve been planning to translate that into English.
January 12th, 2011 at 21:04
the ending of that one is soooo classic and very symbolic.
January 13th, 2011 at 15:40
Kakatulog ko lang eh!
I scream inside my head as I am shaken awake by my aunt-in-law. She and her husband – my late mother’s brother – took us in a year ago after my mother died of a heart attack.
I lie still, hating how it always felt like I had just closed my eyes a few seconds ago and now I have to get up again to go to school. I get off the bed, take my school blouse off the hanger by the windowsill (where I had put it the night before so it would dry) and go to the bathroom.
After my bath, I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. I take off the towel and take stock of my body. My breasts have developed – and how. But, I had no waist, no hips. I was like a boy with big boobs. I sigh and cover myself up again.
I gather my notebooks and pens and stuff those in my backpack. After getting my daily allowance from the floor by my uncle’s bedroom (he leaves it there at night, so I wouldn’t have to knock on his door and wake him up so early) I head out .
On the jeepney, I think about the letters I had hidden in my bag’s inner pocket. I had several of them, from a girl at school 2 years older than I am. We met at an org meeting a few weeks back. She was president and I – somehow- was elected treasurer. I was smitten with her from the start and had given her small gifts and passed her love letters almost every day.
She was a coy one. Her letters were brief, but cheerful, showing just enough interest to keep you hoping, but never really saying anything at all. I was helplessly charmed by her use of chocolate bar wrappers as stationery, carefully gluing them back at the seams before handing them to me. She gets lots of chocolates, I noticed.
I arrive at school. With no time to go up the stairs and into our 3rd-floor classroom, I dump my things on a pile of other late-comers’ bags and run for the quadrangle for the flag ceremony. We file up in neat lines back to the classrooms afterwards, stern-faced pimply marshalls standing by the stairs to make sure we don’t dawdle, roughhouse, or even make eye contact at one another.
The day drones on, and I find little that interests me. It was Thursday. We had double-period Physics followed by double-period Algebra, and then double-period Christian Living. My views on God were lukewarm at best, but I find myself asking him to smite down whoever had the brilliant idea of creating double-period classes.
At lunch, I sit down with my friends: girls much prettier, livelier and more graceful than I was. They open their lunch boxes and I unwrap my customary cheese roll from the school’s indifferent cafeteria. I had been eating nothing else for lunch since the year before. I miss Mama’s cooking too much to eat any dish she might have cooked for me when she was still alive.
My friends think I eat like this to lose weight.
As I munch on the stale, sugary loaf, I see her across the dining hall, surrounded by her friends. Unlike me, she was the crown jewel of her clique. She caught my eye and smiled at me. My roll tastes better.
After lunch was P.E.
Coming up the stairs from the gym, I hurry to the girls bathroom, eager to be the first to change out of sweaty gym clothes. My classmates giggle and laugh and playfully grab at each other’s boobs and asses when changing. Besides, I am avoiding a repeat of an incident three months ago, when a girl in my class turned to me while we were changing and said, sniffing:
Pang-lalaki ba yang deodorant mo?
It was my uncle’s. I steal his half-finished deodorants because I’m too shy to ask for money to buy my own.
Emerging from the bathroom I walk down the hall towards the library (next period was Study Hall, my favorite time of the week). I pass by her classroom where I observe the general rowdiness that takes over an all-girls class when the teacher is out. I spy her sitting near the door, with a group of girls clustered around her as she plays a popular tune on the guitar. She sees me, and smiles as she sings and I grin stupidly, my hand waving non-stop at her as I walk, savoring this oh-so-sweet moment, having her eyes on mine.
I walk face-first into a post.
A burst of laughter from her fan club mingled with a smattering of concerned gasps. I never learn if she was laughing too, because I am now running down the hall in embarrassment. I reach the library, my face red and painful and my heart wailing, and I bury myself behind the latest issue of Discovery Magazine. There are polyps on the cover.
Fifteen minutes before the period ends, I get the shabby copy of The Complete Father Brown from the spot behind the thicker encyclopedias where I hide it and take it to the Xerox lady. She presses the buttons of the clanking old machine with sooty hands and accepts my coins without counting them. I photocopy one chapter of the book every week. This beats having to buy them yourself.
The day ends and I make my way back home. Today I choose to walk the last leg of the way, instead of taking a jeepney. It is good to delay your arrival to an unexciting destination, to enjoy the trip a little bit longer even if the sights offer nothing more exotic than vulcanizing shops, stray dogs and the occasional fish ball vendor. It gives me time to think. I like to stay inside my head.
January 13th, 2011 at 19:17
These are just some of the things I’ve learned in my entire four-year torment in high school.
1. High school is more of a chaotic rite of passage for puberty-bound people than a level of education that should supposedly prepare youngsters for college.
One could say that my high school life nearly resembled High School Musical: it was pretentious, annoying, painfully boring and totally unreal. Every time I hear news of someone’s excruciatingly superficial drama, I feel like slashing myself with a butter knife.
I had a batchmate who threatened to use a razor blade on himself after a particularly rough break-up with one of my female classmates. I secretly wished him success; it meant there’d be one less idiot in school.
Of course, there’s the never-ending gossiping, backstabbing and butt-kissing. Typical of the majority of the girls in my batch for some odd reason. Someone once described me as “autistic” just because I minded my own business. I wasn’t offended by it. It simply showed that the girls in my class didn’t have the brains to look up the real symptoms of autism to even correctly diagnose it. I could be a borderline sociopath. But autistic? Jeezus.
2. High school romance? Meh.
Nothing cuter than young love, right? Wrong. In my freshman year, a sophomore took a fancy to me and started dropping by my classroom everyday just to ask if he could borrow an extra pencil. Being an artist, I was never without my stock of pencils. It came to a point that my pencil supply diminished and my post-school afternoons were plagued by his phone calls. Whenever he calls, the first thing he asks is, “kumain ka na ba?”
Since when did courtship rituals involve inquiring one’s love interest of their household menu? The conversation usually went like this:
Him: Kumain ka na ba?
Me: Uh… yeah?
Him: Anung kinain mo?
Me: (pause)… um. Adobong manok.
Him: Aaah. Masarap ba?
Me: (internal conversation) Please hang up and spare me this awkward form of torture.
During our school’s Christmas party, he asked if he could speak to me. Alone. Instinctively, I said “No.”
“But I have to ask you something.”
“I already know what it is and the answer is no.”
The nerve of him. Lesson 2.1: A guy who doesn’t return any of the stuff you lend him is not boyfriend material.
There was a cute guy from a neighboring school who tried to court me but we just didn’t click. So I broke it off. A week later, he started courting my best friend. Charming, really.
3. Don’t work hard. Work SMART.
During my senior year, CAT was no longer required for high school students. For some reason, the school still held the trainings anyway. I watched as my batchmates turned themselves inside-out for training that was no longer graded or required.
As they huffed and puffed under the blazing heat, I casually sat in the shade catching Pokemons and going to quests with Zelda using my friend’s Gameboy Advance.
One of my self-righteous classmates asked why I wouldn’t join their training. I shrugged, “what’s the point?” He said that the training would come in useful someday. I am turning 21 this year and I have yet to see anyone applying their training.
The point of this lesson: use your resources if you have to and know when your efforts will be wasted.
4. You won’t die from missing prom.
Junior prom was sooo lethally boring that I never went to my senior prom (they said it was equally boring). The faculty was determined to sanitize the event and made it so formal that I thought I was gonna have to beat the bejeezus out of someone. On the flip side, I had my first dance with my crush. I actually thought he was joking when he came over to my table because the dressmaker I had hired to make my gown totally botched the intended design and my make-up was so pink, you’d think Barbie and I had a bitch fit.
No matter what my crush’s reason was to ask a pink abomination to dance with him, I don’t really care. At least my first dance wasn’t with the guy who took all my pencils.
5. Being a valedictorian does not a person with common sense make.
I attended my older brother’s high school graduation, even though I’d be miserably bored off my derriere. Looking back, his graduation was sort of hilarious. Their batch’s valedicatorian must’ve mistaken the event for the Oscar Awards.
Instead of a brief, informative and inspiring speech about academic excellence and all that snotty stuff, she started rattling the names of her friends one by one. By friends, I mean half of the graduating population. She thanked her friends for being there in the good times, bad times, all times (“I want to thank Natalie for letting me borrow her notes when I was sick.” “Thank you kay Mary Ann sa pagtulong niya sa akin sa Trigo”). She was giggling and teary-eyed throughout the whole thing and even mentioned a few professors. A parent in front of me looked at his watch and grumbled, “30 minutes na siyang nagsasalita.” After her 40-minute speech was over, the school directress looked like she was ready to slaughter the nearest person within a five-foot radius.
6. Question authority.
It is possible to be smarter than your teacher. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
January 14th, 2011 at 04:08
…a boy on the cusp, his stash of girlie mags, a sex columnist and a little problem of geography.
====================================
LOADED, January 2011 Issue, Dr. Q’s Manscapes, Page 149:
Hi Doc Q,
I’m a junior at an all-boys Catholic high school in Diliman. Since I joined the varsity last year, my life’s all been about swimming and books. I’ve read your columns and, I thought, you might be able to help.
Here’s my problem.
Our coach just scheduled the team’s physical. And the prospect of my FIRST rectal’s been bothering me. A LOT. I’m no queer. I mean, I’ve never stripped, bent over and had myself poked down under. I’D HATE THAT.
Is that necessary? Can’t they just scan me or something? Help!
—Holden Caulfield
====================================
Dear Catcher,
First, let me put you at ease.
It doesn’t have to be a dry and vexing search on Arrakis, young Leto. Lubes. Yes, they’re the necessary fictions we wield to pry ahead in life and to quell its frictions. Remember your white lies to hide your stash of THIS magazine? Lubes are customary norms. Trust me, the doctor or nurse would know. And don’t worry, it’s sugar. It’ll help make the medicine slide in a most delightful way.
Second, DON’T HATE THAT.
There’s a good rectal and there’s a bad rectal. Either color, it is essential, if you want to know the truth. It’s one of those sins that men have to suffer repeatedly—like having your hood clipped (ok, not this one) or your penance served. Stirrups aren’t only for women, believe me. The universe abhors disequilibrium and we, as a subset, must comply. It’s our human condition.
Besides, scans can’t poke about the world inside you as thoroughly. Only a clinical eye and a personal touch can rule out cancer, warts, hemorrhoids, parasites, appendicitis et cetera.
Third, life’s a game, kid. Life’s a game that one plays with rigged dice.
And, wait for it, luck demands hard work and supplication. Ergo, if you don’t miss your laps and the Sacraments, the Paraclete might inspire the coach to reward you. Your dessert? Depending on your team, you might be tamed by Elle Driver, Lady Croft, Nurse Ratched or the Little Prince—who knows. No worries, we don’t judge here.
Last, aim for balance. Rituals are duty and dalliance in equal measure.
You’re no queer, you say? Man up then. March toward your rite. Can’t skip it? Own it. Bask under the ministrations. Have fun with a little romp and recreation at the clinic. There’s reason why Bruce has embraced his wonderland of gadgets at the Wayne manor, especially when Batgirl or Robin can’t play.
You’re young. Don’t exile yourself in the pool and among the books. Probe new frontiers. There’s a big continent down under to explore.
—Dr. Q
PS: BTW, Maroon 5’s Adam Levine went naked, too. I think he also had his afternoon delight at a clinic, just saying. Bottoms up!
====================================
January 14th, 2011 at 04:48
Last minute edit, last part of Dr. Q’s letter: “There are big continents to explore, down under—and beyond.”
Thanks!
January 14th, 2011 at 11:20
I am the exact opposite of relax. Whatever that is, that’s me right now. Almost everything that I felt a while ago in the library is now replaced by this sense of dread. I’m dead. That rhymes.
I feel sweat dripping on my back. My undershirt is soaked. I hate it when that happens. It’s so uncomfortable. I can even feel myself sliding from my chair. Even my ass is wet. They would need hose this chair after I use it.
I’ve been here in this meeting for some time now, just hearing the exchange of words. I can’t quite get the progress of the discussion although I keep wishing that they just go on and on with it. Each moment of silence could mean that it’s my turn.
“This is the third time you’ve been caught smoking and drinking in that “hut”. Do you know you’re facing expulsion?”
“But that’s outside the school, Sir. Aren’t we allowed to do anything we want once we go beyond school premises.”
How could he say those things to a faculty, let alone the Disciplinary officer? Call me stupid but in situations like these, I think it’s best to let them see that you feel sorry. Should I talk like that when it’s my turn?
“That’s the same thing you said the last time you were caught. Besides, this time you’re caught during a class period. You were cutting classes. You went there with a bunch of guys from your section whom you refuse to name. You tried to escape from your teacher by shoving her. But you were a little drunk to run away. Do you remember now or are you still drunk?”
“I told you I’m not drunk. I didn’t push her! I couldn’t run because she took hold of my arm and tried twisting it. She hurt me. Shouldn’t she be held accountable for that?”
“I didn’t twist your arm. You tried to run away that’s why you got hurt.”
That’s our English teacher. To be honest, I’m more scared of her than the Discipline Officer. She held that post last year with her English load. I guess she really has it in her to be a police of some sort. She wouldn’t go around the school “hot spots” trying to catch wandering students if she doesn’t. But she just might be my escape right now.
I’ve thought of her as an excuse even before I decided to take the books out of the library. That’s just it. I didn’t just plan on taking it out. I wanted to keep it. What was I thinking!? Stealing! That’s a Type B offense!
I was really frustrated with my Algebra teacher. I swear half of the time she doesn’t even understand what she’s saying. Every now and then she would stop talking, look at the board and then move on to a new problem set. She would grade our papers differently even if we have the exact same solution and answer. What was she basing our grades on? Hand writing?
She was late for our period so I went to the library. I cut class! My very first! Of course I thought I could give the excuse that she was late, but still! I was just feeling lazy. 2 hours of her droning would be too much.
I was really bored. And I really liked that Green McDougal Littel book. Ever since we went through it on my first year, I really wanted to have a copy of it. It’s full of great stories. Daniel Keyes’ Flowers for Algernon was my favorite. There was one titled The Cereal Garden, The Hitchiker, the radio play “Sorry, wrong number” and short parts of Helen Keller’s story. I really wanted it. Of course, I couldn’t afford it, thus the stealing. Plus there are at least 20 copies in that shelf. That’s excluding copies that the teachers keep for class use. I told myself taking one wouldn’t really be too bad or noticeable.
The other one, Season of Ponies by Zilpha Keatly Snyder, was my excuse in case I get caught. We have a monthly book report for English class and I could just say that the book was for that. They could argue that I should have just borrowed it but I disregarded the idea. I just decided to go with it. I really thought that blasted alarm by the door was not functional yet. And I also like that book. I like children’s books. The Green one, I don’t know, I could just say for reference or something.
“You understand we would have to call your parents about this? We would have to set another meeting to settle this. Maybe tomorrow”
“Yes Sir. Of course Sir.”
My time was up. What’s worse is that I still haven’t decided on something. Should I go with my planned excuses and lie? They are half true anyway and reasonable. My school records could stand for it. I get good grades plus this is my very first offense. The most I should get is a warning. Also, the phrase “we couldn’t afford it” should amount to something. I could get pity points.
Telling the truth would actually be lame. “I took it because I really wanted it. I like those books”. Yeah that would get me somewhere. The truth is really simple. That’s what’s bad about it. Any other statement would still go back to it. On the other hand, that would take me out of all the other possible arguments. Maybe they would just make me talk with a counselor or something.
I can feel some sense of recklessness coming back. But my hands are shaking and literally dripping from sweat.
January 14th, 2011 at 13:40
Error! “They would need TO hose this chair after I use it.” Thanks!
January 14th, 2011 at 23:43
I am the vortex of boredom. Well, that’s what my sister says. She’s a freshman now, while I am on my sophomore year. And while I am the vortex of boredom, my sister seems to be the vortex of fun, friends, fierceness (her word), and…never mind the other f-word. She’s still my sister. How she managed to make that transition from cute and innocent elementary school girl to hot high school babe (again her word), I don’t know. What I do know is that I have maintained my own, uhm, “look” as far as I can remember. I’m pretty consistent.
The vortex of boredom. I find it lame and witty at the same time. At least my sister knows what a vortex is. Or does she? Maybe she read it in some teen magazine. “How not to be the vortex of boredom,” it might have said.
I remember that comment now as I sit in the library poring through Swann’s Way and came across the word. The plural form of the word, that is. Vortices. Proust’s vortices, though, are those of pleasure and not of boredom.
I think a person can only be one vortex of something or even of several things. He or she cannot be “vortices.” Like my sister is just one vortex for a lot of things. Or Mrs. Cruz, my Religion teacher, is the vortex of kindness and paranoia. Mr. Lim, my Chemistry teacher, is the vortex of passion and incomprehension. Ms. Te, my English teacher, is the vortex of generous understanding and theatrics. Jay, my seat mate, who is the vortex of good looks, great taste in music, unintelligible remarks, and lack of enthusiasm. Oh, Jay…
Shoot. Why do I even have to think of Jay now? I remember the last thing he said to me was,”hey, #@&*!” before he hit the locker floor. That was months ago. Looking back, I think “hey” was really the only word he ever said to me in the three years that we have been classmates, two years of which we even sat next to each other. Seating arrangement was based on alphabetical order.
I miss Jay. He’s just within the school premises, but I really can’t see him. Or even if I attempted to, he wouldn’t really look the way he used to. Sometimes I wonder what he thought of me before I hit him with that baseball bat and what he thought of me after that. Did he even think of me?
I know he thought of my sister. Well, I didn’t exactly hear him say that he thought about her, but I have caught him several times looking at her. At the canteen when she passes by with her teeny-tiny friends. At the soccer field when she’s running around those teeny-tiny shorts. At the library when she approached me and made me feel teeny-tiny with the remark, “you’re the vortex of boredom, sis.”
Staring is thinking. I don’t have to be some psychic to know what went on Jay’s head when he looks at my sister. I really wouldn’t have minded my sister’s comment if Jay hadn’t been around. She’s still my sister. But I do wish I could ask Jay right now if he thinks my sister’s right. Am I really the vortex of boredom? I know, it’s really lame.
January 15th, 2011 at 00:59
7:03 am
How come every time I see him in uniform I have this urge to go up to him and smell him? He reminds me of bedsheet that was just ironed.
9:12 am
I love him and hate him for the same reason: he packs too much into his writing. He writes in condensada; I think in evap. (How long again ’til recess?) It takes me at most ten minutes to finish my algebra seatwork, but it has taken me half an hour to process one of his paragraphs. My brain is choking on him.
11:15 am
I should not have written down “diarrhea of the mouth” on that teacher’s evaluation sheet. Now I am sitting across a guidance counselor with knees that have–I don’t know what to call those–knee jowls? They look like my grandmother’s, and my grandmother also talks to me as if I were still seven years old. Miss, you and my grandmother have a lot in common. I know you both care, but dammit, those knees.
1:18 pm
“And so all the night-tide I lie down by the side of my darling my darling my wife and my bride.” I enjoy saying that over and over. I bet I can even rap it. Haha. How can Edgar Allan Poe be associated with the morbid when he shares a last name with Da King? Ooh mental image! Da King who raps in Poe. Hahaha.
3:21 pm
I think the school admin is missing out on the irony that someone with a muffin top is teaching physical fitness.
3:23 pm
We’ve jogged eight laps around the basketball court and I still want to smell his shirt.
January 15th, 2011 at 07:37
“… Claire looked soulfully at Ernie’s eyes. A hairbreadth separated them. Silence permeated the air until Ernie broke it. “You’re beaut—”
“’The Princess of the Moon’ by Arthur Gold. Really? Aren’t you supposed to read medical journals or something like that? What with your poor health,” at this Michael wrapped his lanky arm around William’s neck, a parody of friendship, “Will, really, I’m concerned about you. Why do you waste your precious time with trifle things? You should –“
William didn’t let Michael finish the sentence. He grabbed his book from him and ran. William has been running from vampires since he was six years old when a playmate of the same age bit him and his blood pressure skyrocketed into 200/160. He didn’t like the feelings vampires induced in him. He didn’t like feelings period.
In the town of Levon, William was an aberration – the only mortal around. His guardian, Uncle Simon, was also human but even he won’t die. William was the only creature who would pass away eventually, forgotten by the hands of time.
William ran down ten flights of stairs, ignoring the burn of his lungs. Michael can catch up to him any time but he once confessed that he liked the anticipation of the chase. He looked at his watch, five minutes to one o’clock. What could Michael possibly do in five minutes? Flushing his head into the toilet seems a bit redundant and he already suffered a fall yesterday. It was a good thing William was able to extricate his beloved book from Michael or else he won’t be able to read the ending. He was so looking forward to it, the protagonist seemed really conflicted, would she choose sweet, loyal Aaron or daring, exciting Ernie? William paused to catch his breath. Did he lose Michael? He decided to head back to the classroom. Lunch time was almost over.
“You should’ve seen his face! I thought he was going to faint. Made him dash from the roof and scurry like a little rat frightened for its life.”
“What else would you expect from a puny mortal? When do you think he’ll die?”
“Who knows? William’s quite sick. He has this wheezing cough called asthma – gets aggravated every time he exerts himself,” Michael scoffed.
William felt the pit of his stomach drop from hearing those voices. They were laughing at him, again. Apparently, Michael just wanted to scare him. He breathed deeply and held back tears of frustration. “Don’t let them get to you. Otherwise, they’ll taunt you more,” was what Uncle Simon always said to him.
He entered the classroom chin up only to trip over Leo’s foot. “Your bravado fools no one Will. Can smell your stinking fear all the way from the corridor.”
“Ignore them. Ignore them. Ignore them,” William thought to himself.
“Look at that. Will, you look adorable. Trying to fight those tears off your face. I’d wipe that snot off your nose if I were you though. I mean, you are already sixteen. Not a toddler anymore.” At this Michael, empathically shook his head.
William sat beside him – the designated seat according to their adviser. Good thing, that it was Earth 101 next – his favorite subject. He took calming breaths and got his inhaler. He could already feel the shortening of his breath from the effort it took to get away from Michael.
When he took a drag of the medicine, everyone in his class laughed. Good thing that was when the teacher came.
The teacher walked in and wrote the subject on the right corner of the board: mourning. As incentive, the top five students to get highest in the test would be able to go to Earth for a short field trip. William couldn’t believe his ears when he heard the teacher announce the prize. He had to be one of the top three.
The lecture was incredibly interesting: apparently a lot of people died on Earth and whenever death occurs all kinds of rituals take place. Michael scribbled down furiously. He won’t be able to memorize everything unlike the vampires who had eidetic memory. He concentrated on what the teacher was saying. It was also important to understand what she was talking about then paraphrase it in his notebook. This was the method that worked for him.
When the lecture finished, Sam approached him. He was quite surprised as the angel never really talked to anyone. “Can I copy your notes afterward? I couldn’t hear at the back. Ma’am Herald’s voice was too soft.”
William nodded, not believing how lucky he was today.
With Sam shadowing his back, Michael dared not approach. Angels were powerful creatures – could turn completely invisible at will and not even vampires could sense them. William tried making small talk, “So you excited about that field trip or what?”
“Not really, but I reckon it’s good to have a bird’s eye view of what to expect from humans. I mean a few years from now and I have to guard one.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Whaddya mean?”
“I mean guarding them, don’t you hate that idea? I mean you’re more powerful than them.’
“That’s what I’m gonna do in the future though. That’s what I’m meant to be.”
“I wish I knew what I’m meant to be.”
“You’ll figure that out.”
“Yeah… I guess. Oh wait, the notebook. Here are my notes. Um could you copy them here?”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
Sam flicked through the notes. It’s seven pages long. Can’t I just return it to you tomorrow?
For a minute, William considered it. Sam could be sincere. He was after all an angel but this could also be some con where he would end up getting laughed at again. He needed those notes too – if they were gonna hide it from him then he wouldn’t be able to qualify for the trip to Earth. He needed to take certain precautions.
“Those are my terms,” William said boldly. He almost expected Sam to turn invisible, beat him then get his notebook but he just shrugged.
“Whatever.” Sam got out his notebook and sat down on the picnic table. He started to write.
William sat down on the bench as well and got out his paperback. He turned to the page where Michael interrupted him then he started reading.
He was on page 178 when he looked up to see Sam staring at him. “Are you finished?”
“Uh yeah. You like Arthur Gold too? I think he’s phenomenal.”
“Really?! What do you like best among his works?”
“’The Slave of a Duke.’”
“Oh my gosh! That’s my second favorite. Melissa was so strong and so loyal.”
“Plus the sex scenes were hot.”
“That too.”
“I never knew bathtubs could be used for that purpose.”
“Yeah! Although my number one favorite is still ‘Knight of Night’”
“Ugh! How could you like that! Hernan deserved to be the one Julie ended up with.”
“No way! Julie was right to choose Brian.”
“You think so huh?”
“Definitely.”
“Hey you want to get some dinner? My parents aren’t home yet and I’m starving.”
William bit his lip. His uncle was expecting him. They always ate dinner together. He would probably be worried. Not to mention, that other thing… On the other hand, this was a rare opportunity. It felt good talking to an angel. Maybe he could extend this moment. Sam would likely not speak to him tomorrow. After all he already got his notes. “Sure.”
They went to a pizza parlor.
William thought he would’ve enjoyed his pepperoni pizzas more if he weren’t rushing in time for his appointment. Hell would spill over to epic proportions if HE gets hungry. William chewed his lip. He couldn’t believe the time! One moment, William checked his watch and it was only after sunset. William and Sam squeed and gushed over Arthur Gold’s best novels that they didn’t notice the fast passage of time until eight o’clock. This is so not good…
“Hanging out with the angel huh? Trying to move up the food chain Pachowsky?”
William inhaled then exhaled. Raging emotions can induce another asthma attack. He controlled his breathing. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Michael was in his face so fast, William felt his spine crack from whiplash. “You listen to me you punk. I’m the boss here and you do as I say when I say it.”
William, stunned, nodded. “Roll up your sleeve.” William did as Michael bade. In a second, he felt the prick of Michael’s fangs and the rush of pleasure that followed from the feeding. God, he hated this.
Vaguely, he thought of ‘Knight of Night.’ In one scene, Julia described Hernan as that cruel moon who dares show his face during a midsummer night. Michael was exactly that – a cruel moon who kills the joy out of small triumphs: making a new friend, discovering shared interests, eating oven hot pizzas and cheese off your fingers. In turn, he replaces every thought, every feeling with this white hot desire of…
“That’ll be all for tonight,” Michael intoned.
William bowed out of the room. He needed to study for Earth 101.
January 15th, 2011 at 14:53
Hi Jessica, made a mistake with the first post. Here is the final draft. Thanks!
—–
October 1, 7:30 a.m.
The flag ceremony has just ended, and I started to walk back into my classroom while reciting Hail Marys for the first sorrowful mystery. I was not late. I have never been late in my entire schooling life, but this ritual every October makes me feel like I’m being punished for that insufferable offense.
While mechanically praying the eighth Hail Mary, I looked at the girl in front of the line beside me, half-expecting that she’d look back. She didn’t, but that’s fine. We were praying. We don’t look elsewhere when we pray.
It’s irritating why lines in school should start with the shortest student and end with the tallest. Can’t we be more altitude tolerant? What’s even worse is that I can’t talk to her every morning because we are heights apart.
I know she’s almost half my height, but whenever she looks at me, it feels like my head is bowing down to her feet, worshipping her like some Greek goddess. And her hair! I could fill my entire journal just by describing her smooth, shiny, swear-I-could-die-when-it-touches-me hair!
She took the first steps up the stairs on our way to the second floor where our classroom was located. When it was my turn to take the stairs, I could no longer see even the tips of her hair. But before I could go any further, someone behind me called my name. It was the batch representative.
I forgot to lift the bottom of my pants to show him my socks. He called me back to check if I was wearing the white-colored ones required to match the school uniform. I reluctantly stepped out of the line, forgot the number of Hail Marys I was praying, and showed him my socks. His eyebrows met and for me it meant missing my first subject.
I asked him what’s wrong. He said my right sock had a round borderline on the ankle part. I defended myself by telling him that it’s just a negligible line, and that I accidentally picked the wrong pair since my left sock was plain white. He only shrugged then squinted at my ID to get my whole name. After that, he made me stay while he finished checking the other students.
We went to the prefect of discipline to have my clean record tarnished. I was asked to sit on a chair near the door while the prefect searched for an offense slip in her file cabinet. His suck-up job done, the representative left the room to get to his class. I explored the room with my eyes and did not bother to greet the authority figure in front of me.
After finding a slip, the prefect asked for my name, wrote it down on the slip with her other notes, and served me her verdict. Since it was my first offense, she told me, I wouldn’t be suspended but would have to miss my basketball practice in the afternoon to do community service. That means my coach will be hurling invectives at me while I waste time sorting papers in the discipline office. Just great!
As I was about to leave the room, someone entered that made me almost drop my slip. It was her. The girl who’s always in front of the line. She smiled to greet me. I didn’t feel my jaw drop until the prefect told me to return to my class. I was stunned but somehow managed to step out of the office.
I wondered why she was sent to the discipline office. What did she do? I decided not to return to class yet. I stayed outside and waited for the girl to come out. It only took five minutes before the door opened again. And there she was!
I was about to ask her what happened, but she preempted my attempt. She said that she didn’t know girls should wear ladies sando inside their long-sleeved uniform. She only wore her bra because it was a humid day. Our class adviser caught sight of her bra strap right before starting the lesson and was sent here immediately. She was asked by the prefect to simply do community service in the afternoon since it was just her first offense.
I could not contain the happiness swelling inside of me, so I told her I’d meet her there in the office at five.
January 15th, 2011 at 21:01
“It’s raining money outside!” my grandmother screamed at the top of her lungs. It was 6:30 in the morning. My grandmother continued “How do you expect to make it in this life if you spend your time in bed?” She recites this tirade every morning at exactly the same time during school days. “You are going to be late!” The flag ceremony starts at around 7:10. There was still forty minutes to go. Plenty of time. I started to drift back to sleep. “If you don’t get up I’m going to give your food to the cat!” I stood up and went to the toilet because I needed to go.
I stared at the shower head while waiting for my conditioner to work. The opening guitar riffs of “Basket Case” started playing in my head. Billie Joe Armstrong sang in his nasally voice “Do you have the time/ to listen to me whine…” He was in the midst of “I went to a whore/ who said my life’s a bore”, when my grandmother rudely interrupted “What are you doing in there? What is taking you so long?” I immediately turned on the shower lest she accuse me of sinning with my hands and the lather.
Around 7:15 am, I strolled up the ten-meter rope held at opposite ends by two student police. The students on my side of the rope were considered late and would be seeing their respective year coordinators to explain their tardiness. “Are you late?” asked one of the student police. “No” I replied while adjusting my student police ID. “I was just over there to see if some students sneaked over the hedge. I’ll go back there in a while.” After the tardy students were rounded up, I went to patrol the hedge behind one of the school buildings. Actually, my first period was Geometry, but as one of the student police, I could come in late.
When I was sure that no one was around, I spread out my arms and mouthed “Power Extreme!!!” I was Max Ray of the Centurions, Brilliant Sea Operations Commander, my bulging backpack was the Cruiser, and the hedge was a large coral reef. As I waited for Doc Terror to show up and seize the coral reef for ransom, I saw a student run up to a part of the hedge that was fifty meters away from me and leap over it. I did not go after him because I could never catch him. I looked at my watch. It was 8:00 am. I decided to go to class. On my way, I met the student body president. “Did anybody try to sneak in?” he asked. I wanted to say “Yes my liege. Our defenses have been breached” but instead said “Nope. I’m going to class now. Maybe you’d want to take over?” He went.
My Filipino teacher droned on and on about the pandiwa and panghalip. My mind suddenly played a scene from the Lion King:
Scar: Simba? Simba… I’m surprised to see you…alive!?
Simba: I have come to take my rightful place(or something like that)
Scar: But the pressures of ruling the kingdom…
Simba: Are no longer yours. Step down Scar.
Scar: Yes, I would. But there is one problem. You see them? They think I’m king.
Nala: Well we don’t. Simba’s the rightful king.
Simba: You either step down or fight.
Scar: Yes, as you wish…Your Majesty!!!Nyaaaarrrrr!
I snapped out of my reverie upon feeling that somebody was lifting the back end of my polo barong. Kirk was trying to see if I tucked my undershirt into my underwear again. The boys at the back snickered. I rolled my eyes and muttered “I just can’t wait to be king.”
Around 3:00 pm, during Algebra, I was agonizing about Gilgamesh. During morning recess, I had gone to the library to start reading the 2000-page Myths and Heroes, which I discovered the previous day. It was the only copy in the library so I was not allowed to take it out. The book contained all the myths and legends from different cultures and the first part was on Sumerian myths. I’ve read about Gilgamesh in Walt Disney Encyclopedia, Volume 2, Myths and Legends, 1979 Edition(Disney was hardcore then) when I was around seven. Back then, I was so bothered with why he had to fall asleep after getting the plant of immortality thus making it easy for the snake to steal it. Now that I was able to read the full text of his adventures, I was in despair. How could a demigod with super strength who singlehandedly built a defensive wall for his people and even defeated the Bull of Heaven, fall asleep after taking a long swim? While I pondered on this matter of great importance, my teacher was calmly explaining how to factor polynomials.
At 7:00 pm, I was trying to recreate Sailormoon’s transformation sequence in the privacy of my room. The sequence lasted about a full minute. She would raise her compact and shout “Moon Crystal Power, Make Up!” Pink ribbons would spring forth from the pink crystal and envelop various parts of her body. The ribbons would then turn into gloves, boots, a body-hugging suit, skirt, and, yes, hair accessories. I was in the midst of a pirouette, when my grandmother announced that it was time for dinner. I hurried out so that I could finish dinner quickly and then teach myself how to play Mortal Kombat using Sub Zero.
January 15th, 2011 at 21:15
public high school 2010
Dear Tin,
Finally, you are in America! Boots and Coats. Is the campus that big? your students, OK? I already accepted you on my Facebook account. The teachers here asked me as in every recess if you contacted me. Our third quarter exam is next week. I am well-rested because the practicing teachers from Ateneo came in last week. My plan is to process my GSIS despite its bad reputation and utter corruption.
Nik
Dear Guard,
Please allowed this 4 students to go out. They will buy illustration board’s for there project. Thank you.
Mr. J
MY GOD, Franz and Echem! You are already graduating students. And look at your grammar?!! I WON’T SIGN THIS NOTE! There is (looking at the creased paper. I am fishing my pants for my red pen.)no E-D in allow, c’mon cinnamon, because YOU ARE requesting! (Sir,hinaya pud imo tingog—sir, please lower your voice. I agreed. Because we are at the library’s hallway! Ten students are applying floorwax.) Both boys are half-embarrassed, half-enlightened, fully dismayed both as graduating students and as former students back in their 2-Mahogany Days, where their adviser was a skilful performer of high heel dart game if one student out of 80 would not listen or be in the state of unwakefulness!Eraser, high heel,desk fan, eyeglasses’ case. Upstairs, one teacher is fond of throwing the shoes of her advisees if the room is unclean. Ma’am L threw back those shoes that landed on the ground when she passed by; she’s wondering where it came!) AND students is plural therefore use the demonstrative pronoun THESE, not THIS! Oh geez, Echem! No apostrophe of boards. There is THEIR. Ila means their. dadto is there! so ilang project means THEEEEEEEIR project! (The paper has a belted word here, and a moustached word there. Courtesy of my red ink!)
Public HIGH school 2010 reality gives you an insight, a wisdom, a shudder, a constant tutorial, a charitable heart because one student—well, most of them—are poor: breakfastless first subject concentration, projectless all-quarter dilemma, oplan: shoes because their shoes are pathetic and ugly!
Dear Tin,
Yesterday, my breakfast was literally heavy. Macel with her beef and I with my bibingka. She revealed that her student was a prostitute. What the FfffFirst year student! Just to support her education and little life! Macel described the student because I was close to her advisees: that petite girl who sat at the last row and having long painted fingernails! The description made me realize how poignant our school was. I didn’t finish my meal. We talked about the girl’s life, family, and the spot along Velez Street where the pimp awaits for her nightly.
PS. Could you e-mail me the website of the school and your students from I-Aristotle were happy because you would come back in May. No more pulling of sideburns! No more statue Aristotleans! I asked them who prayed hard for this “blessing”? Everybody was laughing!
Dear Maam Flores,
I was absent in your Math class last Tuesday because Sir Birkin told me to find some armchairs in the campus. You see, We are already 108 students in 3-Nickel and as a class president, I must help my adviser about our sitting problem. He bought one chair but very expensive. Hoping for your kind consideration.
Vince
Dear Ding,
Do you still remember that I read all the Nancy Drew books in the library? that your bestfriend slash band majorette gave me that Sidney Sheldon novel, promising me that the novel had no graphic sex? that I rearranged our 4-Aguinaldo armchairs and mounted each to form a spongy mound and placed the flower vase on the peak to disable the coming long test because we were not ready? the crushes: Romnick Sarmenta look-alike and Raymund Lauchengco look-alike. We shall not talk about those things. Our topic now is the janitor. That thin tall silent man. Do you still remember his name? Nong Sixto: we called him everytime we used the gym;he cleaned the halls; called by teachers; fixed those lights. Miko said that she saw Nong Sixto driving a car along Carmen bridge and I suddenly remembered Kating’s words that Nong Sixto strived hard to go to school. He was one of the first graduates when our school opened its college. His daughter married a rich foreigner, a businessman. Nong Sixto, according to Bochok, is now living at Xavier Estates!
Dear class,
Silence! (A man enters the room heaving this water dispenser.)You are so lucky here because when I was in China, I witnessed the heavy schedule of Chinese students! Life of a student there is hard. Wake up at 5, eat breakfast, at 6.30 classes start. Then 10.30 ends, in the evening. Classes stop Saturday afternoon then the student be back at Sunday evening. They have three English classes. They have harsh winter conditions. And they bike long distance…(Adviser enters and examines the water dispenser for 2-Pasteur!)
Dear Tin,
How’s the scholar over in Ohio? Do they really kiss inside the classroom? Sandy said that every Tuesday, a school authority gives condom to male students. Speaking of condom, do you still remember those 3 first year girls who were the victims of that policeman? According to them, one was the pimp who was also their classmate. They were fetched by a car by the gasoline station around 7 o’clock in the morning. Then went to the lodging house. The policeman was OLD, married, and well-CONNECTED!
(FROM the novel Teacher Man by Frank McCourt) On the first day of my teaching career, I was almost fired for eating the sandwich of a high school boy… page 13. (emailed to a friend)
DEAR SIR,
Please help me. I want to be in the day department. Because last night, when I went home, some Muslim near the school just approached me and punched me on the face.
Alexis
January 16th, 2011 at 08:23
Flagged
“Ang mamatay ng dahil sa’yo!” It was the only part of the national anthem that I would sing so fervently. Not so much for love of country but for love of Mrs. Palomares.
Okay, love may have been too loaded a word. What did I know about love, anyway? But I was convinced it was. So were all the boys in school.
Who wouldn’t love a woman like that? Dusky, tall, well-endowed. It didn’t matter that I barely understood most of what she was yakking about. I was hopeless with numbers. To me, calculus was lobotomy no matter who was teaching it. But one set of numbers did stick with me all the time. 36-25-36.
There were other numbers rattling in head. Twenty five. Probably her age. Five. Probably the number of times she wore a thong in a week. Ten. Probably the number of times she and her husband made love in a day. Lucky bastard. Twelve. Probably the number of kids she would eventually have. And zero. The chance she would leave her husband for me.
But who would know?
None of us had ever gone to her house nor had seen her husband. Mrs. Palomares wasn’t exactly the warm and friendly type. If it wasn’t for the “mrs.” in her name, we wouldn’t have been surprised if she ended up as an old maid despite her beauty.
But the more she kept to herself, the more desirable she became. Surging hormones served as fuel to all sorts of imaginings. The most popular of which was that her husband was gay, making her an unhappy and unfulfilled wife. Emphasis on unfulfilled.
So it was another Monday and another flag ceremony. But it was Mrs. Palomares who was leading the assembly that day. Of course I had every reason to sing at the top of my voice, raising it a few decibels higher on certain words and phrases.
“Alab ng puso,” “sa dibdib mo’y buhay,” “bundok,” “langit,” “minamahal,” “luwalhati’t pagsinta,” “ligaya.” And yes, “ang mamatay ng dahil sa’yo!”
I couldn’t remember if I was signing with my eyes closed or if I was simply in a trance. But the next thing I knew there was silence. Then giggles.
I looked around to find out what the fuss was. Everyone had this big smile. Even the teachers couldn’t hide their teeth.
And they were all looking at me. That was when I felt it.
The bulge.
Whether it underwhelmed or threw my gay schoolmates to fits of adoration, I had no idea. But it protruded far enough for everyone to notice.
Then the lyrics started ringing in my head. “Ang mamatay ng dahil sa’yo.”
Yes, I was dead at that point. But it was because I was reborn. From then on I was Mister Tigasin.
As for Mrs. Palomares, it was the first time I saw her with such a wide grin.
Maybe all our imaginings were true, after all.
January 16th, 2011 at 10:02
Naranasan mo na bang magkaroon ng kasalanan sa isang taong inosente, isang kasalanan na bumabagabag sa konsensya mo magpakailanman?
Ako, oo…
Malungkot ang susunod na kuwento. Iisipin mong napakasama kong tao, ngunit nais ko nang magbago, at magsisimula ako sa pag-amin sa mga kasalanan ko.
I dedicate this to Leon…
(Leon, kung nasaan ka man, tanggapin mo ang aking paghingi ng tawad sa ngalan ng lahat ng nagkasala sa iyo namely Dyan, Wilfredy at Brian. Sana mabasa mo ito.)
Kaklase namin si Leon noong high school. Payat sya at tahimik, medyo malamya. Sya yung tipo ng kaklaseng wala namang ginagawang masama sa amin, tahimik lang sya sa isang sulok, pero sa isang buong maghapon ay lagi kaming naglalaan ng panahon para gawing miserable ang buhay nya. Mula flag ceremony hanggang flag retreat.
Sinimulan muna namin ang panglalait sa kanyang outdated hairstyle, kung saan mahihiyang tumabi si Gat Jose Rizal sa kanyang one-sided. Pareho din sila ng facial structure, yun nga lang, laging naka-ismid at nakasimangot si Leon, na para bang sya ang na-death sentence sa Bagumbayan sa kalagitnaan ng isang powerful na diarrhea.
Tapos next naming nilait ang kanyang wardrobe, lalo na ang kanyang shoes na may gulong. Mahal yung sapatos na yun, yung may fold-up na gulong sa ilalim para pwedeng gawing rollerblades. May dalawa syang ganun, isang black at isang white. Minsan namin syang nahuling nagrorollerblades sa corridor at nilait namin sya nang nilait na para bang wala nang bukas. (I’m sorry Leon kung nasaktan ka dun, kasi hindi na namin nakitang ginamit mo uli ang rollerblade shoes mo. I’m so sorry!)
Next naming nilait ang mga barkada nyang sina Bernaliza at Lovely. Kapag nagsama-sama silang tatlo, parang may Virginal Convention. Parang pagtitipon ng mga inosenteng kakatayin para i-alay sa mga lamanglupa. Minsan parang gusto namin silang igapos at sunugin just for fun. Wala naman silang ginagawang masama, in fact ang babait nila.
Alam kong mali na magsanib-pwersa kami nila Dyan, Wilfredy at Brian versus Leon, Bernaliza at Lovely. At nagtatagumpay noon ang pwersa namin ng kasamaan. (I’m really sorry Leon patawarin mo kami please!)
Hindi pa diyan natatapos ang panggugulo namin sa buhay nila.
Kapag naabutan namin sila sa library at nasa pwesto namin sila, pinipilit namin silang paalisin. Sinasabuyan pa sila ni Wilfredy ng alcohol (na kunwari ay Holy Water) habang sumisigaw ng “Alis! Alis!”
Tapos kahit tahimik lang nilang pinoprotektahan ang sarili nila sa pagsasaboy ng alcohol, isusumbong namin sila sa Librarian na nag-iingay sila, at papagalitan sila ng Librarian at paalisin.
Si Leon yung tipo ng taong may mabuting puso. At alam naman natin na kahit saang alamat, nobela, o pelikula, yung mga may mabubuting puso ang laging minamalas.
One time may dumating na mga Karate athletes sa school namin para manghikayat ng martial arts sa aming mga kabataan. Matapos magspeech ay humingi kami sa karatista ng isang demo.
Habang hawak-hawak ng assistant ng karatista ang isang notebook sa ere ay sisipain ito ng karatista nang ubod ng lakas upang ipakita sa amin ang kanyang skills. At sinipa nya ang notebook nang bonggang- bonggang strength, lumipad ang notebook…
TUGSH!
…diretso sa mukha ni Leon.
Super nagtawanan kaming lahat putang-ina!
(Na-realize kong masakit yun Leon, alam kong napahiya ka sa buong klase nung tumama ang notebook sa mukha mo na hindi mo in-expect. Para bang sinupalpal ka sa mukha. Siguro tumama din yung bakal na spring ng notebook sa mukha mo at nag-iwan ng bakat, at nakuha pa naming tumawa nang tumawa kasi naman asintado yung karatista. I think masakit talaga iyon, I’m so sorry Leon!)
Dumating ang mga araw na parang may phobia na sa amin si Leon, dahil umiiwas na sya sa amin. Hindi namin alam kung bakit parang ilag sya, lalo na kapag tapos na ang klase ay pumupunta kami sa tindahan nila ng barbecue at balut sa harap ng simbahan. Sa school, lagi syang sinisigawan ni Brian ng “Baluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut” tuwing dumadaan sya sa harap namin. Pero hindi naman namin sya tutuksuhin sa harap ng pamilya nya, in fact, bumibili pa nga kami kami ng barbecue at balut. Pero kapag nagpapatulong kami sa kanya piliin yung mga barbecue na malalaki ang laman, lagi nya kaming pinagsusungitan at pinapaalis nya pa kami!
Instant flashback:
“Leon, ipili mo naman kami ng malalaking barbecue–”
“Umalis na kayo!”
Nasaktan kami dun Leon. Ang sakit sakit sa damdamin namin na kahit gusto naming makipagkaibigan sa iyo ay tinataboy mo pa rin kami!!!
So next naming nilait ang pagiging virgin ni Leon. Gumagawa kami ng mga kwento tungkol sa kanya at sa mga kabigan nyang si Lovely at Bernaliza. Pinanonood namin sila kapag break, habang nag-uusap sila, at nilalagyan namin ng sexy voice-overs ang pag-uusap nila.
(Paumanhin Leon. Ngayon ko narealize na mali ang gawin kang kasangkapan sa mga kalibugang kwento namin noon… Napaka-imoral ng gawain naming iyon.)
Sa tingin ko ay naging matagumpay kami sa mga kalupitan namin kay Leon para magtapos sya ng high school na ubos na ang self-esteem.
—
Leon… sana lang maaga kong na-realize what a great person you really are at busilak ang puso mo, siguro naging magkaibigan pa tayo simula high school at magpakailanman… Siguro naging masaya tayo sa ating pagkakaibigan, ako, ikaw, si Dyan, Wilfredy at Brian, at sina Lovely at Bernaliza. At mabubuhay tayo habangbuhay na magkakaibigan na laging nagpi-picnic sa damuhan sa ilalim ng mga rainbow at mga ibong nag-aawitan na nagbibigay galak sa ating mga puso.
Kung maibabalik lang namin ang nakaraan, hindi na namin kayo wiwisikan ng alcohol kapag nagrereview kayo, hindi na kami mag-iimbento ng mga sexcapades nyo, hindi na namin kayo sisiraan sa librarian, at hindi na namin kayo pagtatawanan, kahit pa tamaan kayong tatlo ng notebook sa mukha…
Sana hindi pa huli ang lahat! Sana hindi pa tayo lubusang winawasak ng aming kasamaan!
Kung mapapatawad mo lang ako Leon. Pati na rin sina Dyan, Wilfredy at Brian. Tinext ko sila kanina, sabi ko “Gz2 nu n b hingi tawad k Leeyowne?” at ang reply nila “xur.”
Narito kami at lumalapit sa iyo upang hingin ang kapatawaran mo…
Kung pinapatawad mo na kami, please pakilagay “Yes” dun sa blank.
____________________________________
(Pinapatawad ba o hindi?)
(Nga pala Leon, yung nagkalat ng tsismis noon na ang hilig mo raw mag-masturbate, si Dyan yun. Sorry daw.)
—
Whew. I must have rewritten this half a dozen times. By the way, Leon is a real person, and we really did bully him in high school. He’s now my friend on Facebook. He still doesn’t talk to me.
January 16th, 2011 at 10:34
“Shitshitshitshitshit…SHIT!!!”
“Bakitbakit…ay puta…tangina!”
* * *
“Hello, Dad, I passed the entrance exam! 13% lang daw ang passing rate this year!”
“Good…See you at dinner”
———–
First day ng klase kabado ako kasi expected ko matatalino lahat ng kaklase ko. Mas magagaling ang competition. Mas grabe ang pressure.
Unang subject kailangan ipakilala ang mga sarili.
Starting from left to right, isa isang nagpakilala mga estudyante. Karamihan valedictorian, may mga nanalo sa mga quiz bees, pati ‘Battle of the Brains’ di pinatawad.
Turn ko na:
“Hi, I’m Dave Hansen Bernardino, like most of the students before me, I also graduated valedictorian. I was best in Math, Science, Computer…”
Inabot ata ng 5 minutes introduction ko, akala ko magpapalakpakan mga classmates ko, pero pag-upo ko dedma lang. Actually, hindi exactly dedma kasi ang daming nagbulungan.
Lunch time, mag-isa akong nakaupo sa cafeteria. Pakiramdam ko tuloy may sakit akong nakakahawa. Walang lumapit sakin maliban kay Caloy. Kaklase ko na isa pang overachiever nung elementary. After ng introduction naka-tag na sya sa isipan ko as my greatest rival. More or less magkasing tagal kami ng introduction.
“Pwedeng maki-share ng upuan?”
“Sure sure”
“Alam mo kung bakit walang lumalapit sayo?”
“Kasi may dumi ako sa mukha?”
“Na-iintimidate sila”
“Huh?”
“Oh c’mon naman. Huwag kang magpacute dyan na para bang hindi mo alam na alam namin”
Dun ko narealize hinding hindi talaga ako makakawala sa anino ng Dad ko.
“So kaya pala sila nagbubulungan kanina”
“Ano pa nga ba? Ang balita ko e first time lang magkaroon ang school na ‘to ng estudyante na anak ng mayor.”
“Ganun. E ikaw, di ka ba naiintimidate?”
“Sus, tatay mo ang mayor, hindi ikaw!”
Dun nagsimula pagiging magkaibigan namin ni Caloy.
——————
“Hello, How was your first day?”
“Ok naman Dad, ok naman mga classmates…”
“Just make sure you are always on top. Good is never an option in this family. You will never amount to anything if you are just good. Best! That’s the key word. You should be the best!”
Parang tape recorder, ilang beses ko na bang narinig yun: Best best best
——————
Buhay ko noon, school at bahay lang. Pagkatapos ng klase, nakaabang na ang driver sa gate. Madalas tumatambay na lang kami ni Caloy sa library lalo na’t alam kong makakarinig na naman ako ng ‘best best best’ pagtawag ni Dad sa bahay.
Doon kami sabay nagaaral at gumagawa ng assignment. Doon ko rin unti-unting nakilala si Caloy.
Boring daw buhay nya: Middle class family, only child. Akala daw ng mga magulang nya di na sila magkakaanak noon kasi lumabas si Caloy, 48 na ang nanay nya.
“Kaya ka pala autistic”
“Mas autistic ka, anak ka ng mayor pero sakin ka sumasama. Andami dyang rich at popular kids”
“Naiinsecure ka? Oh my, bading ka”
“Gago!”
Natapos ang first grading, top 2 ako at top 1 si Caloy.
Pagdating ko sa bahay, nakita ko si Dad naghihintay sa sala.
“What is this I heard na top 2 ka lang?”
“Dad, it’s only the first grading”
“And that is supposed to make it alright? It’s only the first grading and you are already showing that you can’t compete with them”
“Matatalino sila lahat Dad”
“I know, that’s why you’re there! Anong gusto mo, ilipat kita sa pipitsuging high school para lang maging top 1 ka? This is unacceptable, you better make up for this inadequacy. And lastly, right after school deretso ka sa bahay!”
Shit kang driver ka
Sinunod ko utos ni Dad, after school deretso agad sa bahay at deretso sa pag gawa ng assignment at pag aaral.
Natapos ang second grading, top 2 pa rin ako at si Caloy pa rin ang top 1.
Galit na naman si Dad
“Whats the matter with you?
“Matalino talaga si Caloy, top sya kahit nung elementary”
“And you’re not? You should stop this nonsense, you will never be a politician if you continue to be like this!”
“Hindi ko naman po gustong maging politician”
“Bullshit!” sabay suntok sa mukha ko.
Nawalan ako ng gana mag-aral. Nagkukulong na lang ako sa kwarto at nagkukunwaring nag-aaral pag nasa bahay si Dad. Sa school naman, pinapakopya na lang ako ni Caloy pag may mga exams kaya maganda pa rin mga grades ko. Pero sa huli, pagkatapos ng third grading, di na ko nasurpresa na pareho pa rin ang resulta.
Di na rin ako nasurpresa sa ginawa ni Dad. Huling salita sakin habang nakahandusay ako sa sahig:
“Do something about this. I don’t care what or how, you should finish your first year at the top of your class!”
Dun ko naisip na magmakaawa kay Caloy.
“Caloy, pwede ba pagbigyan mo na ko, ipaubaya mo na sakin to”
“Kaibigan kita pero di ko gagawin yan. Parang niloloko mo lang sarili mo”
“Sige na please Caloy, gagawin ko lahat ng gusto mo”
“Wala akong gusto”
“Bibigyan kita ng pera, babayaran kita, magkano ba? Sabihin mo lang”
“Gago! Anong akala mo sakin mukhang pera!” sabay talikod sakin
Sabi nga nila, ‘Desparate times call for desparate measures”
“Manong sige na, tatakutin lang natin. Alam ko kung saan sya umuuwi, susundan lang natin tapos isasakay. Magmamaskara tayo para di tayo makilala. Gamitin mo yung isang sasakyan ni Dad”
Simple lang naman talaga gusto kong mangyari, takutin lang sya para gawin nya yung gusto ko. Isasakay lang tapos ibaba din agad. Ganun lang kasimple…sana.
Naisakay naman namin sya sa loob ng sasakyan, kaya lang nagpupumiglas kaya nilagay namin sya sa trunk ng sasakyan.
Gabi na nung makarating kami malapit sa bahay nila. Bumaba ako ng sasakyan para buksan ang trunk.
“Shitshitshitshitshit…SHIT!!!”
Nakita ko si Caloy nakabukas ang mata pero di gumagalaw.
Bumaba yung driver
“Bakitbakit!…ay puta…tangina!”
May tumutulong dugo sa mukha ni Caloy. Galing sa ulo
“Hello, Dad…Si Caloy… napatay ko po. Di ko po sinasadya! Dad, tulungan mo ko”
“Calm down, nasan sya?”
“Nasa trunk po ng kotse”
“Ibaba nyo at iwan nyo. Make sure walang nakakakita sa inyo”
“Dad!?”
“Don’t’ worry, I will make some calls. Everything will be alright”
January 16th, 2011 at 10:48
The essay topic for the contest read like a “Which personality are you?” questionnaire our self-identity crises loved to sink teeth into:
“How do you view history and how would you have changed it?”
It was both a weighty and naïve question. Nevertheless, my imagination ran wild and proposed a stream of multiple choice answers for me to turn into a lengthy essay – there was no other kind of essay for me, after all.
I wrote in speed tiny letters that my teachers and parents never failed to bemoan. ‘It saves ink and paper! And because the personality quizzes say that I have an introverted personality so I write tiny!’ (cue eyeroll)
I eloquently expanded my points with all the naivety of a high school student whose facts were spoon-fed from one textbook, one teacher, no questions. Eventually, my good sense kicked in and said: “Hey! You didn’t answer the first question!”
Oh. Well, I wasn’t a clever student for nothing. I pulled a roundabout and jaded Oscar Wilde ending to my fancies: that history will still end up the same anyway. I added that history is a series of mistakes made to arrive in the here and now. My ‘reforms’ would probably have pushed progress farther due to the lack of mistakes.
I was proud of my work. I wasn’t arrogant to think that I would win, but I definitely wanted a copy of my essay into my ‘Hey! I’m a writer!’ folder.
*****
There was a school assembly that Thursday. Assemblies were nothing more than a mind-numbing start to the morning where we suffer to stand for an hour to the drones about new rules and inane explanations why there are new rules spoken in faulty English of the esteemed administrator. But my ears were perked that day: I saw the history club behind the stage, waiting for the babble of the administrator to end. I know that I talked about not being arrogant – but I had a good feeling that day.
The history club officers finally walked center stage, while behind them, their adviser frantically silent-motioned to their backs to ‘come back!’ but pulled away as soon as they started to talk. Huh.
The club president got right into announcing without fuss the winners of their essay contest. I’d be hard-pressed to admit that I enjoy the unabashed scrutiny one gets just for having her name announced, walking a length of floor, a small step-stairs up to the stage and into the eyes of everyone, but the prizes are a natural high. No flimsy blue ribbon or a useless certificate for me – club prizes are undeniably cute since hey bought their stock from Sanrio or Fully Booked.
By the time I walked back to my spot, I was fingering the corners of the wrapper I got for winning first prize. A collection of stationery paper, perhaps? I finally ripped the paper open when I reached my friends to find that I won a – math textbook? Adding insult to injury, it was a yellowing, outdated math textbook?
*****
The history club adviser, also my history teacher, approached me later that morning. They had mixed up the prizes for this another contest they had with the school library (which my still insulted brain thought was convenient since the prize for that contest were old library books) and she was so sorry in behalf of the club.
“But miss, why didn’t you exchange our prizes anyway?”, I whined. I hated math! And I know there was an opportunity to speak to the other contest winners politely and give back our rightful prizes.
“Nakakahiya kaya yun!” my teacher said.
Nakakahiya my foot. I never did set store into the dubious virtue of hiya as I had rather be either unapologetic or apologetic, whichever worked. I stomped back to my classroom vowing to return the math textbook to the corner of overflowing, outdated books of the library. I’m sure there’s still use for it there.
January 16th, 2011 at 11:54
My high school forehead was nothing like a star chart. It was the real night sky flaunted on broad daylight! Constellations of zits kept appearing on it and changed at their whim. Amanda was the one who started this constellation thing because my zits broke out in various patterns. That’s the North Star. There’s Orion with his sword and club. Hmm, what could this be, Andrew? Oh that must be the Great Bear!
I guess I was still lucky because my zits avoided the other spots on my face. I swear I would have worn a sack over my head if they then decided to crawl down to my cheeks. They haven’t, thank God. I still got to school with an uncovered face. I just needed to keep my hair brushed down.
But the winds. They were traitors
Hey Andrew, that’s Aries up there!
Amanda, can you just stop it? It’s as if you really know your constellations.
Of course I know them! Do you think I’m just making this up?
Really?
Really! Now tell me a horoscope.
What?
Come on, just for laughs. Close your eyes, meditate, and then say something.
Okay, you are trying to make me look stupid.
I am not! Just try it, okay?
Okay then! Hmm, today is not a good day for friendship. Keep calm for quarrels over little things could happen.
Haha, that sucks.
Well, that’s what I read in horoscopes.
So you’re interested then?
In horoscopes? Not necessarily.
How about fortune-telling?
Oops, Ms. Esteban is here.
God, I hate home economics!
Lunch time. Two of my classmates entertained the whole class with a boxing match wherein punches were thrown like in a lightning storm but nothing really landed. I was copying Amanda’s math assignment when it happened. According to my bystanding classmates, it started off with a pencil. The two were poking each other with it until things got a little out of control. After this was relayed to us, Amanda reminded me of the horoscope.
They’re both born under the sign of Aries, Andrew.
How did you know?
Of course I know!
I laughed it off.
The next week, Libra visited my forehead. Amanda started at it again. She wanted me to trundle out the weekly forecast. I predicted that Libra people had a very good chance of getting sick. Amanda’s seatmate got the chicken pox the following day.
This time, I am really sure, Andrew. Janine is a Libran! October 15!
I laughed it off.
Another week. Gemini was up. Amanda was more excited than usual. Apparently, it’s her star sign, and I felt more obliged than ever to give her dose of horoscope. I did the usual thing. I closed my eyes, meditated, and blurted out whatever.
Gemini, keep a safe harbor. Danger, even death, is nigh.
What was that about, Andrew?
Well, that’s your horoscope.
That sounded like a bad joke to me.
I mean it! I mean, I didn’t mean to give that forecast. It just came out as it always did.
At least you are improving. Safe harbor? Nigh? English is your best subject anyway. Oops, it’s math time. It’s my time.
Amanda!
To solve for the square of a binomial…
Amanda was really frustrated. This was her idea anyway. I wanted to think that everything was just a coincidence. Not all Ariens killed each other. Not all Librans got the flu. And definitely not all Geminians will die. Well, maybe some will. But not my friends. Not now.
…then add the products of the inner and outer terms…
There must be something, like an antidote, to reverse this. Gemini. Gemini, Gemini. What should I do?
…okay? So let’s have some board exercises…
I started tracing Gemini with my forefinger. This one is Castor. And this one, Pollux. Wait. The sons of Leda, the brothers of Helen. The great Twin Brethren to whom all Dorians pray. Wait. Hmm.
…item number 2, does anyone want to volunteer? Let me see…
I got it! The mortal must die! Castor must die!
…Andrew?
Huh?
Yes, Mr. Andrew Yap? Can you please solve the second example?
Uhm…
Mr. Yap, your forehead is bleeding.
Commotion. All heads turned towards me. My own head felt like it expanded twice its size. My ears rang; it was the only sound that I heard at that moment. The room shook a bit, but only for a split-second. I did it! I destroyed Gemini. The prophecy is not going to happen.
I scrambled for my hanky and wiped my forehead with it. I had to wipe it thrice; the spot where Castor existed bled profusely. I searched for Amanda. She mechanically covered her mouth the instant my eyes met hers. I smiled. Instead of going to the board, I was excused to go to the restroom. When I got back, math class was over. I immediately went to Amanda’s seat.
Andrew, you’re obsessed.
What did I do?
You need to consult a dermatologist. If you can’t stop picking your pimples, you better have those cleared.
Well, I wasn’t just picking them. I blocked it off.
What?
Your horoscope?
Oh my god, so know you really, really believe it? Hahahahaha!
Well, at least you can go home safe later. We no longer need to worry.
That’s sweet, Andrew. Thanks! Hey, Mr. Dayrit is here.
The rest of the day was uneventful. When I got home, I went straight to the bathroom and inspected my forehead. There were still a lot of other zits. Amanda’s right, I ought to go to a dermatologist. I washed my face, ate dinner, did some homework, and slept.
The next day, Zeus listened to the cries of Pollux. Castor’s alive!
January 16th, 2011 at 14:41
request to extend deadline
January 16th, 2011 at 15:05
Dear Ineng,
How are you doing right now? It has been about twelve years since I last saw you. I remember vividly that you were laughing like you won the 6/49 Grand Lotto before everything became dark. I would like remind that my dating career had been officially retired on Uno High School Senior Prom 1999. Let me refresh all the wounds that have become scars not only in my skull that resulted to my “poknat” but also deep in my soul.
It all started when I discovered somebody had slipped me a 2-page pink scented note during trigonometry. It was a request for me to become a date to an unnamed lady claiming to be the girl of my dreams. My mind went into daydream mode; and I thought of Amanda. The whole school from the grade school students to yayas waiting for their respective little masters knew that I had a major crush on Amanda. Back then, my chances were not too shabby, she had just broken up with her jock ex, Jake; and prom might be my last chance before she totally forgets about me in college. The second page was a reply form where I need to affix my signature to finalize my prom date. Little did I know that I unknowingly signed myself into a notarized contract obligating me to accompany you to the prom.
I had no problem being date with the ranked 91st in hotness among 92 girls in campus including the brown paper bag twins, notorious for being so ugly, you’d want to cover their faces with brown paper bags. But what you did to me was evil, as in Chavit Singson-evil.
Being a gentleman that I am, I arrived an hour earlier on prom night in your doorstep only to become dinner to your cute, puffy, angelic-looking pooch. That maniac was straight out of Resident Evil and bit a whole chunk of my behind. It was too severe that it became an advantage to me now; sometimes I only pay half when I ride the jeepney because I get to sit only on one cheek. Never mind being literally half-assed, but the prom date must go on; I had a breach of contract lawsuit waiting for me in the local court in case I bailed out that night.
You finally showed up after I finished the 120×120 advanced-level Sodoku while waiting for you. You could have easily won the Gown of the Night title if only yours were on the right size. You were better off wearing SUV-size Kapal Gooms tires by BF Goodrich as your dress than squeezing yourself into your tube dress that could put the banana leaves that wrap glutinous rice to shame.
I appreciated the sweet gesture of you giving me flowers that night; I ought to be ashamed of myself, I was not able to find a corsage to fit your python-like wrists. The flower arrangement was simply beautiful although a bit on the gloomier hue; it was placed in a tall bamboo tripod with my name written on a sash. I was very proud of the flowers that I carried them with me to the party; and I think I made some friends jealous because they were teasing me that those flowers were meant for funerals.
Because Nokia has not yet released its camera phone in 1999, having our pictures taken by the souvenir photographer was crucial to me. The pictures will not only serve as memento to my prom but it will also be useful as court evidence when the need arises. When I received the developed photographs in the next few weeks, I was surprised to see myself in a photo with Sarah Michelle Gellar, who coincidentally was also the FHM Sexiest Woman that year. Then I remembered you instructing the man, who looks every bit like Gerardo Biong, behind the lens to “enhance” the photos; he really did a superb job overhauling those photos.
I didn’t get enjoy much of the food even all of my friends were raving how delicious the feast was. You planted a few live slugs with shells in my salad and said that it was a French delicacy. You unscrewed the salt shaker cap so my soup tasted as if it was the sea with a salt-making machine below. You substituted a shoe sole with my steak, no wonder it was rubbery-tough. My chocolate drink tasted nutty and I dare not ask what was in it. It was a combination of diarrhea, nausea, hypertension, toothache, jaw dislocation, and I also wanted to wash my mouth with isopropyl alcohol.
All of those physical pain were nothing compared to the emotional trauma you had put me into. You had a secret agreement with the brown paper bag twins to become my sub-date in the dance floor. They were feuding who would get to dance with me first. It was like being a referee between a wrestling match between Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees; I was even groped on my good butt cheek. Unfortunately for me, I was on the receiving end of a wayward Jaworksi elbow on the head which knocked me unconscious and also gave me the “poknat.” My juvenile life flashed before me, you laughing at my suffering being the last flash.
Presently, I am still renewing my restraining order against you from time to time. I do not wish anyone would suffer such fate like me in your hands. I hope someday I will be able to recover from this trauma and start dating again soon.
Dodong “Poknat” Reyes
January 16th, 2011 at 17:04
Hahaha, sorry, couldn’t help myself, but the zit-zapping picaresque flashfic was just dope! Way to go angus25!
January 17th, 2011 at 18:54
Ahaha, Wickemouth! Galing! Ikaw na ikaw ang storytelling! Haysowlavet!
January 17th, 2011 at 18:54
Sorry, Wickedmouth pala :)
January 18th, 2011 at 15:30
You know what they normally non-bull mean about existence? Well, I just hope this exceptional Wickedmouth right here no longer has it, even if its entry’s meant to be ironic. Vote is for Qsdn’s Utos Ng Hari, then iamdowa’s.
January 19th, 2011 at 01:45
flatbutnotso, Did you just refer to me as “it”?
January 19th, 2011 at 04:16
affected ka flatbutnotso?
January 19th, 2011 at 08:33
# 32 flatbutnotso — Eng? Can’t make heads or tails of it. Anyway, you cast your votes, sir, on the other post. Thanks! Go Wickedmouth!