My Scratch Pad

:: complete and incomplete thoughts, daydreams and illusions ::

Bookworm in Distress

No, it was never my intention to be this short. I just, really didn't like to sleep in the afternoons, and I just didn't like the taste of vegetables, and I really genuinely forgot to take my vitamins when I was a kid, it's not like it's a crime to forget, right? And it's not like the people in my family are giants. It's just the natural order of things that some people are tall, and some people are short. We didn't exactly choose to be this way. So when it happens that a book that I like is on the top shelf in the bookstore, it's not my fault that I will struggle to reach it, and that my struggle, will be obvious. No, it most definitely is not my fault. So don't blame me for looking helpless. I'm just using what I've got.

I literally jumped, so I could reach the shelf. But it was to no avail. All I managed to do was get the tip of my fingers to lightly graze the spine of the darned book. Why do all the interesting ones have to be so high up in the shelf, anyways? And why, despite those shelves being insanely high, do the bookstores still refuse to put small stools for people like me to stand on?

I groaned, crossing my arms and looking up at the book, staring at it as if I could do jedi mind tricks. I was carefully planning my strategy. If I jump high enough, I might be able to get the book to at least stick out from the rest. And when that happens, easing it out will be no mean feat. I took a deep breath in preparation, and was about to bend my knees when I felt someone behind me reach over, and effortlessly get the book I had been staring at for the past 10 minutes.

He scanned the cover briefly and then handed it to me. "It looks interesting," he said and I scowled.

"I was going to reach it you know," I told him. "I had a plan."

He nodded. "I know. Your plan was to look incredibly tired in the hopes that some tall guy would notice and come to your rescue, right?"

My whole face cringed in anger. "Like it's my fault that I'm short and that this stupid shelf is so high?!"

He chuckled and raised an eyebrow, obviously not believing me.

I gave him another scowl and then turned to walk away. But in a split second, he was in front of me, blocking my path.

"Look, it's fine. You don't even have to say thank you," he said, shrugging.

"Who's saying thank you?!" I said, rolling my eyes.

"I know you didn't mean to look like a damsel in distress," he said. "But don't you think it'd be a lot easier if you just asked for help?"

"Without trying first to see if I could do it myself?" I asked, incredulously.

"When you know something's impossible--"

"Nothing is impossible," I cut him off, and turned to walk away, but he moved in front of me again.

"And you've been trying for 10 minutes already," he pointed out. "It's not your fault you're so short, no one's going to blame you for asking for help you know."

I ignored him and turned to walk another direction.

"Some people might even be glad that you asked for their help," he called, but I didn't give an answer. I'm sure I could've gotten the book myself, if I'd made that last jump. Who did he think he was, ruining my plan?! I turned and shot him another angry look, but he just waved at me and smiled in a friendly way.

"Hmph!" I muttered, stalking off faster--almost as fast as... how my feelings changed from angry... to flattered. I clutched at the book in my hand, and bit my lip like I always did when I was angry. Only this time, it was to keep myself from smiling.

by: distantorigin at 09:06 | link | comments

The Second

A/N: I guess this is under the genre of "creative non-fiction", because really, I'm sure, that the actual events are not as dramatic as I would depict them here, but for literary's (or should I say art's) sake (and my girly imagination), let's all just be open-minded and accept that some descriptions will have to be exaggerated.

The Holiday Declaration

As much as I try to avoid the phrase 'too good to be true' and the word 'surreal', I'm afraid I am not smart enough to know how else to put such feelings that I have into words. No, it is not the first time that I've been asked by a guy to go out, but it is the first time, that I've been asked a second time to go out.

Recently, I had almost stopped believing in fate. It wasn't fate that made us meet. It wasn't fate that got him to ask me to see a movie with him the first time. And perhaps it wasn't fate either that got him to ask me a second time, but it definitely seems like fate, who wouldn't allow us to have only one 'date' to remember, and a semi-lousy one at that. After all, wasn't it also fate, that for the first time since I started in my new job, I was excused from working on a holiday? (More details about this 'holiday' here.)

The Call

It came on Saturday night. Late Saturday night. No, very late Saturday night. 11:30PM to be exact. Blame it on my family's addiction to the internet, and his having come from Olongapo. Though I can't really say I'm not used to talking to people that late.

We didn't even bring up our "date" in the conversation until, around the last 15 minutes. It was 2:00AM and he said he had to go. And I asked him why'd he have to call so late anyhow, and he said it was my fault, because I didn't pick up at 10:00. So I told him that even 10:00 is already too late to call. But then he said that he'd just come home at that time.

"Ibig mong sabihin, pagka-uwi mo ng 10 o'clock tumawag ka agad sa'kin?" I asked.

"Bakit? Hindi ka naniniwalang umuwi ako para tumawag sa'yo?" he replied.

"Yuck," I said, taken aback. I don't know why but usually my first instinct, when given "compliments", is to either make a joke, or be disgusted.

"Yuck 'no?" he agreed. And for some reason, I found this particular line more flattering than what he first said. Almost like, he was implying what Mr. Darcy said to Elizabeth in that scene from Pride and Prejudice; 'Against my better judgement...' Despite knowing that it wouldn't make him look good, he did it anyway. It feels so much better to know that, than just knowing that he called me as soon as he got home.

"Tuloy ba tayo sa Monday?" I asked still, even if his being home on the weekend probably meant that we would see each other on the holiday.

"Ililibre mo ba'ko?" he quipped.

I rolled my eyes. "Sige, pero kung manlilibre ako dapat sa Alabang Town Center tayo," I shot back, intending it to be a trap--he'd most probably rather just be the one to treat me, than travel such a distance.

"Sige," he'd said. And the shock in my voice could not be more apparent when I said, "Hindi nga? Ang layo kaya no'n!" To which he just replied, "Basta sabihin mo lang sa'kin 'yung directions."

I was too suprised to actually word the directions in a way that would make sense. "Inaantok na'ko 'eh, bukas ko na lang sasabihin," I made an excuse. But he agreed anyway. "Sige," I'd said afterwards. "Tawag ka bukas."

He didn't call until midnight the next day (which technically, would make it the next-next day 'cause it's midnight). Informing me right away that he called late because he was actually at a friend's house and they were drinking, but not apologizing. Only saying that he did wonder, how he was going to call me, and was relieved when I missed-called his phone, thereby indicating that I was still awake. And the vain part of me thought that for sure, he'd memorized my phone number, if he could call me from his friend's house.

The Book Shelf

He was late. Only for 30 minutes, and I never rely on guys' sense of time anyway. Besides, I am also usually late, and despite his tardiness, he still got to ATC before I did (but I'm such a cheater because I said that I'd only leave the house when he texts me that he's already in McDo). We met around 1:00PM. And I said we should buy the movie tickets first because they might run out. Cars was at 3:00PM. And he suggested Omen, but I told him I hated scary movies. Besides, my sister said never to watch a scary movie with a guy who isn't your boyfriend, yet. And I believe her.

He must've really wanted to see it though, because he asked the girl behind the ticket counter if she'd seen it (Omen) and if she thought it was good. Truth? I totally didn't understand what she said. I was probably still in shock from the fact that he'd actually asked her. And by the way, he paid for the tickets.

I took him to Power Books. My mom asked me to look for a Latin Dictionary for my dad (on Father's Day), and I wanted to show him the bookstore, too. Maybe it was weird to have parted inside the bookstore, because we came in together, but I like it better that way. I don't want someone looking over my shoulder as I was looking at books, and I gather he doesn't either. We were apart almost the entire hour that we were there, just looking at books in different sections, though winding up at the same corner.

The Philippine Literature section and the Graphic Novel section are right next to each other in that particular Power Books branch. I don't know why I didn't predict that we would naturally end up on the opposite ends of the long shelf. I was having difficulty returning a book I'd gotten from the top shelf, and he came by, taking the book from me, and returning it himself.

It's such a seemingly manipulative maneuver, for short girls like me. But I honestly did not intend for it to happen. I didn't even expect him to notice that I was near where he was. But he did. And I can't believe that such a picturesque scene happened in real life, much less my life.

The Comic Book

We were inside the cinema when he remembered it.

During our conversation that Saturday night, he mentioned a scene in one of his favorite comics, Wasted. He couldn't explain it very well and I didn't understand. So he said he'd just lend it to me. I had no idea what it was about. All I know is that even in his Friendster, he mentioned this particular comic, and that he really liked it.

There's something about being lent a 'prized possession' that makes me feel so special, like, he's sharing something he really likes with me, because he wants me to like it too, and in a way, understand him, become part of his world...

I checked it out as soon as I had it in my hands. His copy is even autographed. Maybe he's just dumb, for trusting me with something as valuable... But it elates me to no end. I don't think I can ever do the same for anyone.

Gomoku Chahan
(This refers to the Japanese Fried Rice of Tempura Restaurant)

The movie finished, and although he said that he was going to decide where we should eat, he let me decide anyway. I said Tempura, of course. The Japanese restaurant near the ATC cinemas, with the best Tori Teriyaki and Citrus Green Tea that I've come to love so much would be just perfect. Nevermind that I'd have to pay for dinner. He was the one who went all the way to Alabang, and paid for the movie, after all.

A table for two was easy enough to find, there weren't that many people in the restaurant after all. We even got the table near the wall--the kind that has a comfortable couch on one side. I sat on it, and maybe because he wanted to sit on the comfortable chair is why he asked me what he did.

"Saan mo ko gusto umupo?" he said, referring to the seat beside me or across from me.

I pointed to the seat in front of me. And then proceeded to order all our food. He didn't even get to touch the menu. Yeah, I can be such a tyrant sometimes, but really only when it comes to food. Besides, he didn't seem to mind. And rather than take a long time in deciding what we were going to eat, I rather he just trust my taste and know that I'm bossy now. Anyway, seriously, I have such good taste in food, right?

What I don't understand, to this minute, is how I wasn't able to finish all my food. Because I always finish my food. Sometimes I even finish other people's food! But maybe I had too much tea? I really don't know. But when all the chicken and the shrimp were gone, my rice cup was only about two-thirds empty. It's fried rice anyway, so you can eat it on its own. And really, usually, I can finish it. And especially after swearing that I would never let any guy (other than my Dad or my brother) finish my food for me, I really didn't want to ask him to finish it. But then he went on this whole lecture about how there were lots of people who were hungry, and how hard it was for the farmers to grow wheat and all that, that I just had to tell him, that he's just going to have to finish it for me, if he was that 'nanghihinayang' about it. He was hesitant at first, even saying that he was on a diet and whatever excuse, but he ate it anyway. And he finished all of it, too.

It's funny how I'm usually so repulsed when I hear things like that, and how I hate it when people don't finish their own food, and then how sweet I'd find it when it's done for me. Guess I'm a real hypocrite at that. Or maybe there's just something about the way he reached his hand across the table to take my bowl and transfer what was left in it in his. I couldn't keep myself from smiling.

The Pose

We'd just come from my favorite part of ATC--where Papemelroti and Books for Less are located, when I went to the restroom. As is usual with most mall restrooms, you'd have to pass through a sort of hallway before you actually got to the doors with the Male/Female signs on them. When I got out, he was leaning on the wall of that hallway, waiting for me, as is what any friend would do. Although I don't know many friends of mine who would be posing in such a way that it was like he was being shot for a magazine.

(This is the part where I describe what he looks like)

He was leaning on the wall, in blue jeans, and a black polo shirt that is so far, the best shirt I've seen him in. (Note: I asked him before about his favorite colors and he mentioned that he wears black "'pag gusto kong pumorma") His shoes were new (I'm sure--they wouldn't be that clean if they weren't), red and white Adidas. And the gray backpack that he was carrying was on his side. Add to that a cellphone in his hand, and his neck craned slightly downward to read a text message, and you have what can very well be an ad in a magazine for a cellphone (if only his unit was newer (it's a 5110, in case you're curious)). I'm not saying he looked cute. Just that, he looked like someone who might be cute, at least, from the distance that I was at.

I wanted to take his picture. But I hadn't even got to my phone when he turned to look and saw me approaching.

The Gentlemanly Gesture

I wasn't even complaining about the stuff that I was holding. I mean, a book, 2 pads of stationery and 2 greeting cards do not qualify at all as baggage. And I believe, my exact words were;

"Argh! Hindi magkasya sa bag!"

It's just a simple statement of a fact, without any implications whatsoever. I don't know. Maybe his "gentleman" instincts kicked in because he immediately took the things I was holding. I took them right back. No way was I going to ask assistance for some measly sheets of paper! But he insisted on helping. So I gave him my sweater instead. He gave me an incredulous look, which I mirrored, and I guess he figured I was serious after all. He carried it until I got home.

The Walk Home

"Saan na tayo ngayon?" he asked.

"Uwi," I said. It was already 7:15PM and I told my Dad I'd be home in time for dinner (which, according to my Dad's SMS was at 7:30PM).

"Uwi na?"

I nodded. "Bakit, ayaw mo pa?" I said. "Hatid mo na lang ako," I told him. And I was really only kidding. I wasn't even half-joking, I was all-joking. But then he said, "Sige," and if it didn't shock me so much (yet again), I'd really seriously consider that maybe he does have a chemical imbalance. "Hanggang sa sakayan lang," he said, and I was actually relieved. But when we got to the jeepney, he went in, too. And paid for two.

I totally hated it. Even in high school, I wanted everyone to know that I was capable of taking care of myself, and I don't need anyone carrying any of my things, or paying a cent of my fare. I handed him my P7.50. But he didn't take it, saying it was fine and all. I looked at him and wondered if he wasn't just a time traveler from the 18th century stuck in this millenium.

We got off the jeepney, crossed the street, and like with everyone who's been to my house, I told him that we didn't need to take the tricycle because our house was near the gate anyway.

I must have daydreamed about walking that avenue with him about a thousand times.

I don't even remember what we talked about. I think I mentioned the haunted house along that street, and that there's currently a wake in the chapel in front of our house, and that he shouldn't show himself to my Dad because I actually didn't tell the people at home that I was out with him. And I remember laughter, and some awkward smiles...But everything else was just a blur.

The Reminiscent Goodbye

Reminiscent because I'm beginning to believe that he's got issues with saying Goodbye. Perhaps it's only because parting is such sweet sorrow, or he's just really lousy at it. But as soon as he realized that the next house was mine, he stopped walking. He handed me my sweater, and then turned away, so quickly, I didn't even realize how far he was from my house.

It was 7:30PM, and pretty dark out. I hardly saw him wave his hand goodbye, and I didn't hear him very well either. Did he say goodbye? Or goodnight? Or Ciao? The only thing that clung to my memory is his shadow, fading away...

I opened the door and went inside, wondering if there was the slightest chance he'd done a double take and looked at our house, if only to remember the color of our gate. Perhaps in the fictitious short story I'm soon to write? Or next time...

by: distantorigin at 09:18 | link | comments