Froggy Afternoon

My youngest sister, Athena, texted me in her usual, demanding tone:

Athena: Ate Abick, paano tanggalin ang muscles ng frog? Textback asap.

Me: Anjan ba ung globe number? [she used smart]

Athena: Thanks...[tas text na di ko naintindihan...]

Me: Ano? Yung pagkuha ng muscles ng frog, actual? [Kasi di ko alam. Nagmamagaling lang!]

Athena: Oo. Kasi para sa school at kelangan ko magdissect pagdating sa bahay.

Me: Hala! Natry mo na ba magdissect? Sa paghawak palang ng frog, kelangan ng practice!

Athena: Nahawakan na namin ung frog sa school. Kelangan ko kasi nung bones ng frog. Manghuhuli na lang kami ng frog dito sa bahay.

Me: Magdidissect ka ng real frog? Hindi yan pwede sa bahay! Alam mo ba magparalyze ng frog?

**di na nagreply! nasa bahay na...**

Athena: Ate Abick, hindi pala ako globe. Tapos hindi kami nakahanap ng frog dito sa bahay. Walang lumalabas na frog ngayon.

Me: Paano na ang project mo? Tawag ako. 

*******

Call convo. I asked her about what will happen to her project. She told me some details and what her teacher requirements were and she needs to dissect the frog and come up with frog bones! I told her that it will be messy and bone acquisition will be bloody [literally], and the frog will be pitiful. She answered me that boiling will be the solution. Onga naman, parang nilagang manok lang!

I finally asked her, what's their next activity in school...and she answered...

PITHING. [which i know! ahem, bio 11]

AND...

SMASHING! [may ganon pala?! kawawa naman ung froggy!]

We both laughed. I miss you! :)

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photo courtesy of quepid.org

Colored Stains

Thursday
Somewhere within the campus
1700 hours

“I wanna be where you are…where loneliness is far”, my phone rang with its new tune. I saw my good friend, Gerald's * name flashing at its scree and I answered with the usual, "Hello budz, what's up?" Before I could even hear his voice, I already know the immediate answer. He and his girlfriend fought again and he needed a confidante: ME.

"Bick, are you within the area? Could we have some coffee?”
“I know you, Gerald. Would you want me to meet you up somewhere?”
“No. I’m in my car now, so just tell me where you are and I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Okay, I'm taking a break from thesis work.”
“All right, boss. On my way now...”

Fifteen minutes later, I saw a blue BMW came towards the direction where I was sitting. Two signature beeps and I know it was him. I gathered my "self-help" books and walked towards the car.

“Nice one you got here. What’s the assessment of BMW's latest model?"

“So, so…”

“So… look straight to me in the eye and tell me it’s NOT your fault, dear.”

"Ask me that same question again when I get our Java frappe, okay? I think I’m going to burst.”

Gerald and I have been good friends. Since the very first day we were introduced to one another in an event, we were kind of inseparable [that is, if his girlfriend was not around]. People wondered for several years why we never became an "official item". We both dig cars, cartoon, comic books (or graphic novels), coffee, cheese pizza, computer games; I'd say almost all, except chem (he prefers sheer numbers)! 

Somewhere outside the campus

1745 hours

We got a nice place at our favorite coffee shop and upon arrival of what we ordered, Gerald began his qualms.

“I was a total idiot.”

He began his story with the days of "bother-me-not-this-time" and I just sat across him listening that I noticed he was angry but was trying to hold back some tears. For thirty minutes, I didn't utter a single word to distract his pace. I just listened to him intently until I heard myself saying the summary of what happened. Deceit. 

from free stock image

My friend has been cheated by the girl he has been dating for five years. The very first day she told him not to bother her (after their latest misunderstanding), it was the day she entertained her high school classmate's "long time admiration of her". Their love story started that same day. [That b--ch!].

As Gerald continued telling me what happened, I could see pain in his eyes that I felt like hugging him. However, to my own surprise, I felt two hot tears  ruining my lightly painted face. 

“Bick, are you okay?”

“Uhh, yes, I am. I think I caught dirt in my eyes. Thanks.” I lied through my teeth though the truth just struck me right then and there. As I removed my glasses and wiped my cheeks dry with my fingers, I wished my phone ring and hear the same tune I heard when Gerald called earlier that day. 

Inside my bedroom
2200 hours

“I wanna be where you are…where loneliness is far. We’re a million miles apart, but I know in my heart” Registered: one missed call.

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Note: *fictional character and place

Dedicated to Someone I call “F”

Funny, of all the letters in the alphabet, I chose the letter F. Maybe because, one, your real name doesn’t have one on it, and two, maybe, because I am lucky; we’re Friends.

It was never my intention to write this dedication but I felt I just have to. It has been months since bits and pieces keep on whirling around my head. Nonetheless, I am very certain that you will never read this.

I am Sorry.

I didn’t expect a simple favor and planned information dissemination would lead to an extended getting-to-know-you-better conversation.  To tell you honestly, that event was not, and never, for you. I think I just let my side of being courteous entertain childlike tête-à-tête. On the contrary, I seemed to enjoy it. Thank you.

I am Sorry.

Accepting a simple invitation was indeed an agreeable mistake. It led to an opportunity to get to know the naïveté beneath your sometimes-somber personality. I admit it would never be easy to face the fact that time comes to pass and there was a need for goodbye’s for the earlier hello’s. The good nights and the good mornings that were something to look forward everyday had to come to an end. I hesitated because you did too.

I am Sorry.

I pity you for the times you said that you were happier and being “yourself” whenever you splurge time with people outside your clique. You mentioned that there was no pressure (the type I don’t comprehend much) at all.  I could still remember, one late night evening, you send me a note that you were inspired that I got curious about it. A short dialogue was entertained but it did not lead to a conclusion as to where does motivation come from. In the end, there were a dozen of what I call, effortful flowers I didn’t expect to receive.

I am Sorry.

The queries that seem to be unusual during knowledge assessment were honey to my bee. You are so affable that I could not brush off the idea of hidden agenda. One incident led to another and before I knew it, I tripped off to an edge of sanity. You’re nonchalant, gallant, and I fell into the trap of admiration.

I am Sorry.

It has been XX months. The last time I heard about you was about The Club. From then on, everyday, literally, I would see your face from everywhere. The moment I wake up, I would check my phone, hoping you sent me an inquiry or just a simple greeting. As I get myself dress to work, I would reminisce the moments I was excited in walking under the morning sun. And, lastly, as I let the wind kiss my cheek, I see you among the people I meet. I see your smile, and it just makes the day worth calling it one. Call it insanity and I would respond, maybe.

I am Sorry.

It hurts the most that by a string of words, everything went down to scratch. I wouldn’t even assure myself that you can keep secrets. I am sorry; you were just too good for me. I did a familiar feat and am proud to found a friend I will always keep even if I change my name.

I am Sorry.

I know there must be something behind those actions. I may be haughty and conceited but I am not dim-witted. It just hurts to know that the feeling may be mutual but you are not hu(man) enough to stand up for what you want. And I say it again, I am Sorry; for now, you’re just worth the tears. 

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11/30/2009