Schoolwork, Tuyo, and Stevie Wonder

She took out all of her books and checked each one if her past-self dog-eared any pages which meant a homework was supposed to be done. A bunch of papers crumpled inside her bag (why is it that she’s so against throwing trash from school in school?) and she checked if anything important was written on them. Pens and pencils were inspected and sharpened; and then, she got to work.

The house smelled like tuyo and she’s willing to bet that the next thing hitting the pan would be scrambled eggs with tomatoes. May it be sinangag and leftover sinigang from last night (a deadly and delicious combo) or suman rolled in sugar or even just tustadong pandesal dipped in coffee – weekend breakfasts are always the best.

Stevie Wonder blasting from the living room component meant it’s a Sunday morning. Her muscles ached from the general cleaning that happened yesterday – bathroom floor scrubbed clean, bookshelves rearranged and dusted, and closets cleaned out and organized. She burrowed further under the covers, repositioning her feet away from the patch of bed warmed by the sunlight streaming through the window. Can’t just the weekend stay here forever?

~*~

No Returns

 

Hey, do you still have my red shirt? Can I have it back?

I stared at my phone, openmouthed. Excuse me? You want what back now?

I walked around the house, trying to think of what to reply. I opened the pantry and saw a can of vienna sausage, tuna, and sardines.

Nope. I opened the refrigerator and got a jar of peanut butter.

Can I have it back? I mimicked the text in a high-pitched voice while lathering the peanut butter on to the bread, with some of the oil dripping on to the table.

I took the sandwiches and set up camp in front of the AC. I took a huge bite off one sandwich and open the message once again.

Hey, do you still have my red shirt? Can I have it back?

After finishing a third sandwich and downing a glass of orange juice, I picked up my phone and typed:

What red shirt?

~*~

Read More »

we are all villains.

 

You were the boy who played dumb just so you have some leeway to play innocent when shit gets real and tears are shed. You were the boy who knew just what to say to make girls think twice–to consider (or reconsider) that we actually have a shot with you when the reality is you just like the attention. You like that you have someone to talk to when you’re bored. And if talking leads to feeling giddy and sex then that’s just a bonus. You’re single. You’re enjoying life! That’s no crime, right? You’ve made your disclaimer. It’s her fault if things get messy. For you, you’re just going through carefree life. Getting tangled up with emotional shit with *yuck* girls would ruin everything.

Then, there’s the girl who was so eager to love and be loved. Despite being warned that anything serious is off the table, she continued to be overbearing. Bombarding questions on his whereabouts, what he’s doing, and who’s he with shot down any chances of things getting on the next level. She’s smart but dumb when it comes to certain things. Really fun to be with but just too intense and too crazy. It’s too much for a guy who’s just diving back in on love.

We’re both villains in each other’s stories.