I’m at the beach, standing, staring at sea. It’s strange. I really wanted to go swimming a few days ago but now that the dream’s right in front of me, I do nothing but feel the sand and water between my toes. I look around me. People are laughing, running, and frolicking everywhere. I was wrong to think happiness is contagious. My immunity leaves me standing, staring at the sea. It’s hot. I look up to the sky and dare myself to eyeball the sun. Of course, I lose. I hold my hand up in front of me and squint through my fingers.
I move my hand away and blink my eyes open. I focus on the small specks of stain that permanently adorn our ceiling. I grab my phone. It’s late. 9:00 AM and I’ve just woken up. My sister is still asleep and breakfast is yet to be cooked. My dad is probably famished by now. I want to lie on bed a little longer but I have to get up. I watch my feet descend the double-decked bed’s ladder.
Step one, step two, and step three. The pavement is eternally gray. The houses all around me are perpetually familiar. This road to the church is melancholic. It’s the same one I traverse from the jeepney stop to our house after a day of school. I pass the now empty space in front of a sari-sari store. An old man used to sit there on his monobloc chair and watch the jeeps pass by every day. I liked that old man so I would smile at him and wave hi whenever I’d meet his eyes. He reminded me of my late grandfather. I stare right through the metal bars of the store and nod at the lady in charge. I remember her. She was the one I asked when I noticed that the old man has not been on his usual space for a while. She was the one who told me that the old man passed away a few months back. The same month as lolo. I see the church as I round the corner. I impractically check the time again.
It’s 12:00 according to the wall clock. I check my phone. It’s 3:00 PM I close the book I’m reading and turn the television on. The three o’clock show I tune in to everyday is starting. The wall clock is wrong again. We’ve tried changing the batteries but every time, after a day or two, it runs late again.
Late. I’m late for the travel writing lecture at Fully Booked, Bonifacio High Street. In addition to that, I’m lost. I curse myself for following the directions I googled and found at Yahoo! Answers. I’ve just ridden the MRT, the first instruction. I walk a while but I still can’t find a single jeep labeled accordingly. I ask for directions. Then I ask somebody else again. I ride a bus. I ride a jeep. I follow my instinct through Market! Market! I instincted correctly. I found the familiarity of Serendra intoxicating. And then, I’m where I’m supposed to be… one hour and thirty freaking minutes late. They’re already doing a group activity. I resort to just exploring the bookstore and the lavish shops in the place. When I got tired I decided to start walking back to where I got off the jeep from. Uh-oh, there’s no jeep back to Guadalupe. Uh-oh, I didn’t google a way back home. The map I brought with me is useless. I walk around until my legs feel like they’re gonna detach themselves from my body any time. I’m dripping with perspiration. I’m so tired.
My shirt is soaked in sweat. Just one more time around the track field and I will complete my 10-laps-jog goal (with walks in between). One more lap and then I can go home and hydrate myself. I promise myself to drink until I felt like throwing up.
So I swig another shot of alcohol. My friends and I are just laughing, talking about anything that comes to mind, and basically just having a good time. At first I was wishing this and that were here but after a while I just forgot about it. The night could’ve been better or worse with them, whichever, but the point is, it would have been different. Maybe, I don’t know. At this moment I feel just right so why would I want to change anything or think of the what-could-have-beens that never were? Eternity would forever be injured. I do a mental shrug and check my phone for any missed calls or messages. I involuntarily chance upon the time on the bottom right corner of the screen.
4:48 PM. The wall clock is wrong again. It’s 6:22 PM here on my laptop. As I’m writing this essay, my eyes travel back to the timepiece. It’s not even correct at least two times a day like as the saying goes. Because the hands still move and so does its time. It is late, though. We should have replaced it a long time ago.
But it’s still there.
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