Wala akong pera.

Madalas, mga bandang kalagitnaan ko sinasabi ang mismong paksa ng aking mga sinusulat, pero ngayon? Ayan, ‘yung pinakaunang linya na bumungad sa’yo, ayan lang ang pinupunto ng sanaysay na ito.

Medyo nakakatawa na nakakairita sa pakiramdam na kapag sa ibang tao, hindi ako nag-aatubiling sumagot ng “oo” lalo na kapag may pabor silang hinihingi. Tapos pagdating sa sarili ko, parang dapat lagi kong pag-isipan ng maigi.

“Bilhin ko ba itong pantalon na’to? E kaso kung sa mall ko bibilhin, mahal masyado. Baka merong mura sa ukayan o sa online shop.”

“Lumuwas na kaya ako sa Maynila para doon magtrabaho? Hindi kasi sila nagre-reply sa mga email e. Teka, magkano ba muna ang upa doon?”

“Parang ang sarap gumala ng Tagaytay. Ay, magkano na nga bang pamasahe ngayon?”

Minsan, nayayamot na ako sa sarili ko dahil lagi nalang ako nangangako na babawi ako. Puro balak na pupunta sa kung saan para umaliwalas naman ang aking isipan, pero nauuwi lang rin ako sa kama ko. Lagi ko nalang sinasabi na bibili ako ng mga bagay na gusto ko pero kapag naiisip kong hindi pa naman sira ang mga gamit ko, isinasantabi ko muna ang kagustuhang iyon.

“Gawin mo lahat ng gusto mo.” Alam mo ba, sa tuwing mayroong nagsasabi sa’kin n’yan, napapatanong ako kung gaano siya kataas sa buhay para maging ganoon kadali ang lahat para sa kanya, para sabihin ‘yun sa’kin ng walang hirap — ’yung tipong hindi niya nararamdaman ang bigat ng aking paghinga dahil ang araw-araw niyang pamumuhay ay malayong pangarap ko na.

Palagi kong sinasabi na sumusubok ako — lagi’t lagi. Ito na nga yata ang pinakamatagal kong relasyon. Hindi ako humihindi dahil hindi ko kaya, kundi dahil wala akong pera. Mababaw ba? Kasi syempre, maraming magsasabi na dapat marunong akong sumugal. Kahit sa pag-ibig. Bakit kaya walang makaintindi na kailangan rin ng pera kapag may syota ka? Alipin naman tayong lahat ng salapi, mayroon lang talagang mas nakakalamang.

Mahirap maging mahirap — pwera nalang kung mayaman ka. Ang gulo no? Napapansin ko rin kasi na pwedeng maranasan ng mayayaman ang buhay ng mahihirap. Magsusuot ng daster na parang marites sa kanto, sasakay sa pampublikong sasakyan lalo na sa mga jeep na may kasamang camera, magiging pulubi, mamimili sa ukayan, at kung ano pa mang inspirasyon ang makuha nila sa Internet para maging perpekto ang karanasan nila.

Pero kung susubukin ng isang mahirap maging mayaman? Suntok sa buwan.

Laging may limitasyon.

Laging mayroong hindi pwede.

Laging may kwentahan na magaganap kung sakaling mayroong gala ang tropa, o kaya naman mayroong tumawag para sa interview at sobrang layo ng kompanya sa probinsya.

Ewan, huwag mo nalang sigurong intindihin. Nabasa mo naman na ‘yung mismong paksa nito, di’ba? Mahirap ang walang pera. Maniwala ka man o hindi, totoong ito ang nagko-kontrol sa atin. Kaya para sa mga taong nagsasabi na kapag ayaw, maraming dahilan o kaya naman nagtatanong na, “Dami mo namang sinasabi, bakit ba ayaw mo nalang gawin ‘yang mga plano mo?”

Nakakabaliw naman oh. Hindi nga kako pwede! Bakit ba ang kulit mo?

Pero sige, antayin mo rin ako.

Pasasaan pa at may patutunguhan din itong pagsisikap ko.

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There’s a chamber I long to wander once more. The kind of space that binds two lives together — the first one may already have set foot in this world, and the second one is always called a blessing. It’s a place where my name was constantly uttered in the most loving way, like it was meant to live on for eternity. Because it will be. I just know that it wasn’t just her voice; it was accompanied with gentleness and warmth that other people couldn’t give me.

My heart yearns for my mother.

My whole being craves the home she miraculously built for someone like me and called me a gift from God. My home is the chamber I stayed in long before I had a heartbeat. Everything we breathe for is a double-edged sword. If there’s kindness, there’s violence. If there’s joy, there’s sorrow. If there’s success, there are failures. And I am glad that she let me know first what it feels like to be comfortable with her by my side before I felt how daunting it is to live alone.

She gave me love so I could give more. Sometimes, I wonder if she has received the love she deserves that it overpours toward me or if she has not received it at all but still managed to look at me with her loving eyes. Nevertheless, she always told me that a mother’s love beats all kinds of love in this world. From the way my heart remembers her voice; the kitchen’s pleasing smell whenever she cooks my favorite meal; her smile whenever I do something she’s proud of; and her cries whenever there’s something wrong and she can’t tell me — I know that what she said is true.

To be honest, I have so many beautiful things to say, and it came to my mind to leave this article blank — just so I could share with the world how pure her heart was, and I considered her life a poem I couldn’t compose with words alone. People say that they write better when their hearts are broken, so how can I make sure that this is written at my best and with the perspective of endless love and happiness? I am scared that a single word would stain her name or that metaphors wouldn’t be enough to deepen the meaning of life that created every piece of me.

It was her first time being a mother, and even if I couldn’t count how many times she said that she’s not perfect, for me — the daughter who’s not blind enough to make her sacrifices invisible — it was the life I couldn’t ask for someone to give to me. I knew that I’d never experience it twice because what she gave me was the best. It was already the greatest; no one will ever make a copy of it. They will fail to notice the details, and they will not be ready to risk their lives to match her sacrifices.

Mom, thank you for building me a home I stayed in long before you heard my cries. I have built one for you in my heart, as I believe that you’re the greatest gift I received from above.

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I. The moment I saw the garden.

If I already entered, I’m hoping that I didn’t misread the flowers you gave for a whole scenic garden in your heart. My every fragment would want to walk on it barefoot, just so the ground would brush against my feet and deliver the love you have in my veins. In the middle of the void, one sees through naked eyes yet appears to have everything in your iris; there stood a home we both decorated with devotion. We’re always surrounded with beauty, with color, with light — but certainly, we’ll welcome the storm, the dried leaves, and the night where we could no longer see the stars.

Every morning, we’ll pick little flowers and display them in the vase by the kitchen counter. You’ll ready a glass of water for me, and we’ll spend half an hour cooking garlic rice, egg, and an additional side dish depending on what’s available. We’ll have picnics and we’ll draw each other. You’ll probably laugh at mine for how terrible it is, but I’ll ask you a million times if the one you draw was me, for I love how beautiful she turns out to be. I’d be happy to stay in this cloud nine, but I’m hoping that you’ll visit mine too, because I have learned how to fit two souls in a single heart that beats for my own sake.

II. Tell me what the flowers mean.

If it won’t cause you too much trouble, can I tell you that I yearn for clarity? You can leave the flowers at my door or hand them to me in person, but perhaps you can tell me what it means. I might keep it, but in a way where you don’t want to be held. I might dry its petals in between the books I’ll write about you, but it might not be the kind of letters you want to be written to. I might care for it enough to be my child, but it might be a future you want to build with someone else.

You can tell me what it means to you and how you want me to feel about it. However, my heart is currently beating as my own, my feelings are for me to be responsible for, my hands have their own mind, and I know that they won’t think twice to accept anything you give. Without the words you utter, I’ll be at fault for each paper strip I put inside a jar crafted for the emotions I felt even from the moment your gaze met mine. I’d watch it blurry; I’d feel it wholeheartedly. But you can teach me what to see beyond the flowers you wrapped and let me sleep soundly at dawn.

III. Or don’t let your garden know my name.

You can be interested and consistent, but you can’t cease the existence of one another. I am surely not big enough for my words, but I’ll carve them under my skin to let you see that I am capable of having these two. I will live a thousand lives if forever means a never-ending path of my needs to prove that the love I have will never break. The only thing I ask of you is to let me know the significance of your gesture… if it means something to you. I’d welcome anything, or you can save your time and not let your garden be familiar with my presence if all you want are indefinite confusion.

So, before you give me anything, I am telling you that I am a hopeless romantic enough to mistake the flowers you’re about to give for a garden you’re willing to let me stay in inside your heart. I apologize if it brought you too much pressure, but it’s just me saying that I’ve read romance books and listened to love songs all my life — and I have so much love to give in exchange for letting me take a peek in your life. Nevertheless, you can walk away right from the start and let these flowers die the moment it utters my name.

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The 7-year-old me would stare at the blank first page of a notebook. It seems like the intimacy of writing on it has gone through my veins, so I won’t write anything. I believe that it has been the tale I’m about to tell everyone when they want me to explain why I don’t have a diary.

Don’t get me wrong, I like memories, especially when they’re written; what I didn’t like back then is the responsibility I’m about to carry if I start writing one. Oh no, not the part where I need to write every day; it’s the fact that I need to be honest with it.

I’m already in my mid-20s, and I realized that I have not been able to write about my everyday life. What I felt, the people that made me laugh or made me mad, the places I long to set foot on, and what particular achievement I want to attain in a specific age bracket. I got nothing to look back on (well, only in terms of a journal.)

It doesn’t matter.

It hits you on a random day. Mine always knocks harder when the clouds gently tap on our roof by showering droplets of rain — it’s my favorite weather. What a combination, right? A weather that calms me down and a nostalgic feeling that kills me inside.

I won’t remember the date, but I’ll remember if the sun shines or it hides behind the clouds. I’ll probably forget the roots of an argument or the source of happiness I felt, but I’ll never forget how it made me feel. I won’t be able to replay what exactly happened, but I’ll surely recall the one I chose to stay on my mind.

You’ll know when it visits you and what it comes after. Pain? Maybe. Tears of joy? Rarely. Embarrassment? Not really.

Grieving for your potential that just sits in silence as it watches you live a different life than you had planned? Clock it.

It still feels like I have a diary written. It keeps on calling for my name, wondering if my attention would be enough to reclaim its spot as the lone reason for living my life. As if recalling the dreams I have would be enough to get it right back at the top of my priority. As if getting back my ambitious self would back up the happiness I long to receive and give back to people.

But how?

Solitude is all I know for now.

There’s a short phrase that gives me a bittersweet feeling: “used to be.” I used to be a young girl who knew how many pairs of hair clips she had in her drawer. I used to be a girl who learned that love would be the greatest medicine prescribed by a poet in order to regain humanity. I used to be a teenager who was eager to learn everything all at once. I used to be a college student who loved the program she took and has loved it as a profession.

You see, “used to be” carries both losses and gains. I have lost an identity I used to live for, but perhaps, in the middle of losing something I’ve considered precious, I have gained a sense of myself that is required to survive my present life.

After all, I chose this.

Over the life I pictured the moment I stared at the blank first page of the notebook I promised to write in. I used to be someone who saved every page untouched just to prove that diaries are cherished in my own way. Nonetheless, I should start writing one, not because memories could come rushing to me aimlessly, but because I would want every detail to be written by my own hands. To find the reason to continue. To look back at the broken fragments I have that will bear the future of the words that were written out of purity.

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Siguro, noong nakaraang buwan pa kami nag-usap ng nanay ko habang nagkakape sa kusina. Sabi niya sa’kin, may mga problema daw siya sa mga kapatid ko ngunit hindi niya masabi ng harapan. Nagkwento siya tungkol sa mga nagpapabigat ng kanyang damdamin. Nakinig lang ako ng tahimik, umaaasa na kahit papaano ay napapagaan ko ang kanyang pakiramdam dahil baka ang kailangan niya ay kausap lang.

Nang matapos siya, sumagot ako. “Nanay, kapag may problema kayo sa’kin, sabihin niyo lang.”

Tapos bigla siyang tumawa, “Mabilis kang mainis.”

Ngumiti ako ng abot sa aking tenga. Naintindihan naman niya agad ang ibig kong sabihin, humihingi ako ng paumanhin. Aminado ako, hindi ako takot magpakita ng galit — ngunit inilulugar ko rin. Lagi ko silang kasama sa bahay kaya sila rin ang madalas nakakakita nito. Hindi ako mahilig magsalita kapag wala ako sa kondisyon, mas gusto kong tumahimik sa isang sulok at magsulat.

Dahil sa sinabing iyon ng nanay ko, napaisip akong baguhin ang aking sarili. Sabi ko, mas habaan pa natin ang ating pasensya sa lahat ng bagay. Tutal, tumatanda na rin ako, kailangang ako na ang umintindi sa mga sitwasyong magulo para sa kanila. Ngunit bago ako tumayo sa aming hapag para sana hugasan na ang aking tasa, nagsalitang muli ang nanay ko.

“Mas ayos ‘yan, magalit ka kung galit ang nararamdaman mo. ‘Wag kang gumaya sa’kin na iniipon ang lahat.”

Hindi ko masyadong pinagtuunan ng pansin ang sinabi niya. Palabiro kasi siya, pero ngayong sinusulat ko ito, saka ko lang napagtanto na seryoso siya. Hindi siya madaling magalit katulad ko, palagi lang siyang nakahagikhik. Kaya naman kapag naghahari ang poot sa kanyang isipan, para siyang nag-iibang tao. Halos hindi ko makilala, ngunit sa lahat ng sasabihin niya ay maaalala mo kung kailan nangyari. Sasabihin niya lahat, pati na rin kung bakit iyon nanatili sa kanyang puso, at kung bakit hindi man lang namin naramdaman na sumosobra na kami sa linyang iginuhit niya para sa sarili niyang kaalwanan.

Sineryoso ko ang kanyang sinabi. Nalilimutan ko sigurong isama sa aking mga dasal ang pagpapasalamat dahil mayroong pinaglalagyan ang aking emosyon. Tinatapon ko kaagad ang galit at hindi ipinagpapabukas. Iniiyak ko gabi-gabi o kahit tanghali pa man ang lungkot na basta-basta nalang bumibisita. Kinakabisado ko ang taong malalapit sa’kin upang hindi lang kaarawan nila ang alam ko, kundi ang paraan kung paano nila gustong tumanggap ng pagmamahal. Kung takot ay magtatago sandali. Kung kaya na ay saka ako lalakad muli. Kapag pagod ay hahayaan ang sariling magpahinga. Kapag nag-aalala ay hihingi ng tulong sa iba.

Bukod dito, hinayaan ko rin ang sarili kong ipakita ang nag-iisang emosyon na lagi kong isinasantabi — ang kasiyahan.

Noong isang Linggo, nag-enroll ako sa isang pribadong paaralan para sa aking master’s degree. Unang klase namin noong Martes, at natapos ko kaninang umaga ang tatlong presentasyon sa lahat ng asignatura na pinasukan ko. Kumbaga, ayos na ako. Makikinig na lamang ako sa presentasyon ng iba, lalakasan ang loob na sumagot sa graded recitations, at gagawin ang abot ng aking makakaya upang maipasa ko ang aming pinal na pagsusulit.

Walang paglagyan ang aking saya. Siguro para sa iba ay napakaliit na bagay nito ngunit sa’kin, napakaespesyal ng umaga ko. Napagtanto ko na kung makikita ako ng sarili ko mula sa nakaraang taon, hindi siya maniniwala na kaya ko nang ngumiti ng totoo. Hindi rin siya maniniwala na sa wakas ay nagkaroon na ako ng salapi para makapag-aral muli, minamahal pa rin ang literatura, at higit sa lahat… minamahal ko na ang buhay na nais kong iwanan noon.

Gusto kong iparamdam sa buong mundo na masaya ako. Bumili ako ng paborito kong ice cream. Nagpost rin ako sa Instagram Story sa pribado kong account, at ngayon, heto, nagsusulat ako ng tungkol sa kasiyahang pinaghirapan kong makamit. Tama nga ang nanay ko. Pera lang dapat na iniipon, hindi ang ating emosyon. Kung hindi tayo nito papatayin sa dilim, lilipas ito nang wala man lang bakas kung kailan at paano ito nangyari.

Kaya sana, huwag mo rin isantabi ang iyong mga nararamdaman. Huwag mo nang isipin ang sasabihin ng iba, sapagkat hindi rin naman nila iniisip ang kapakanan mo sa tuwing may lalabas na mga salita sa kanilang bibig. Sana ay hayaan mo ang iyong sarili na makaramdam, at ibalik rin ito sa kung saan ito nararapat. Kung kailangan mo itong ibato sa kawalan ay iyo nang gawin. Kung kailangan mo itong iladlad sa harap ng maraming tao ay magkaroon ka sana ng lakas ng loob na gawin ito.

Napakaikli ng buhay. Iisang beses lamang tayong binigyan para ito’y maranasan. Nawa’y iyo itong gamitin ng naaayon sa iyong kagustuhan. Bakit? Sapagkat iyan lamang ang regalo Niya kung saan nakatatak ang iyong pangalan.

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I hardly pulled out the words I needed to pour on this piece for you. The phrase “You seem pretty fragile for a girl so strong” is enough for me to understand where you’re coming from, but it’s not enough for people to learn your whole being solely for that reason alone.

You’ll hate me for the subtle hint of pity I have in my eyes the moment your tongue talks about how devastating it is to live in your world. You just wanted someone to listen; you just wanted to be heard; you just wanted to be with someone who’d understand you without trying to call for a rescue from a room that tortures you, especially at four in the morning.

You are indeed strong for seeing the agony of people by making them your own.

As much as you’ll roll your eyes whenever you see a glimpse of concern from me, you’ll instantly loathe the souls we find indifferent for lacking the sensitivity to feel how easy it is to break someone like me. You’re brave like a mother who will do everything for her child — there will be words with so much depth to honor your courage, but I know that you’ll understand how poetic it is to compare your journey with a woman who carried you to reach this point in life.

That was for the resilience you’ve shown despite having the environment that pushes you down to your weakness.

How about a cup of iced coffee and a small talk about fragility?

Sometimes, I don’t quite get the people who say that a human being can’t be shattered if they already have a strong foundation, or that they can’t be strong and vulnerable at the same time. Perhaps, if I told them about you — a proof that both persist to coexist in a living body — I can sense that they’ll only choose one that fits their perspective. But strength doesn’t require the death of softness, nor does fragility require the absence of courage.

What we feel is humane. What you feel is yours to keep and yours to share as well. It’s honesty, unveiling a part of you that most have never seen before. A fragment that needs a lot of time to unfold, because the foundation it demands is trust. We often misunderstood vulnerability as something that breaks when it actually holds us in between. You started living in despair because they made you believe that you were born to endure.

Let me say it again, and I hope it’ll reach you in a good light.

You seem pretty fragile for a girl so strong.

Strength isn’t always loud. Your feelings don’t always need to be suppressed to create space for torment disguised as bravery. A strong girl like you sees love in hatred, turns chaos into stillness, and changes paths even if safety isn’t promised. Nonetheless, I hope you know that a strong girl also needs to shed their skin of hope and wear the ones that allow them to cry. A strong girl shouldn’t just listen to the screams that fill their silent nights; they need the hums of breeze, the singing of the birds, and the whistle of their kettle that will complete their hot coffee at dawn.

You can be fragile in front of me if you’re too ashamed of their eyes that bear judgment.

You can be strong in front of them if that’s the only way the world has allowed you to breathe.

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If I were a simple person, self-awareness would have to be my armor and shield from the world. It has to be a safety net, a sense of security — I mean, who would mess up their life when their consciousness is always awake even at night? I wish it were something that would protect me, an honesty that embraces me with warmth when I need to go through a chilly night.

It devours me instead.

As what people usually say, it’s grateful to feel, but what about the moment you let it consume you? That’s not something you should be thankful for — that’s torture.

You know, I kind of like kids these days. I am aware that we’re living in a different generation from theirs, and a lot of lonesome perspectives were shifted into positive ones. I remember we used to think about what our lives would be like when we grew up. We used to want the time to flow faster because we saw adulthood as freedom (it wasn’t.)

But the children that surround me today? They cherish the moments; they regret not having enough time to have conversations with their friends; they want their youth to stay a little longer even if they still have more years to experience it. They’re not afraid to hide their tears, to hide their frustration, to jump out of excitement, or to spend a little time sitting on the floor as they check their wounds from falling.

Today’s youth are afraid to miss out on living the life to the fullest, while most of us were afraid of not living based on a perfect standard.

Their self-awareness is so much healthier, and I pray that it stays that way even when they grow older. It’s funny when people say that kids should learn from adults when kids actually carry the kind of lesson we adults usually yearn for. I see it as a refreshment drink my whole body craves when the scorching heat is tormenting my skin. It’s natural, like returning to where we’re held, and hums so gently that it feels like we’re home in our mother’s arms.

I don’t know if I have lived my teenage years so differently from others that every time I stare back at them, misery starts to resurface more than memories that made me learn how to breathe without burden. Well, I didn’t live like a shadow in emptiness. I just wish that I could be much wiser, bolder, and carefree. I miss who I was before I understood myself too deeply. Back when self-awareness didn’t make me lose my mind.

Back when I didn’t have to give myself a minute or an hour to calm down when I wanted to crash out. Back when I didn’t need to look forward to the night because that was the only time I was allowed to shed tears. Back when all I see in the mirror is my reflection and not who I did not become. Back when my flaws didn’t equate to my insecurity, but rather a definition of me. Back when a replayed conversation doesn’t mean I have to second-guess every word if they mean it or not. Back when routine didn’t mean it was a pattern I was required to go through every day.

But sometimes I wonder if I notice too much that I’ve started to absorb even the things I should just let pass by, or did nostalgia disguise itself as self-awareness that quietly distorts the way I feel?

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You’d sit still in pure silence, but there’s actually a battlefield going on in your mind.

You’ll stare at your phone, waiting for it to light up with the subtle sound of a notification. Or did you adjust its volume so you wouldn’t miss a single message from them, hoping that they’d clarify that it’s just a misunderstanding?

First, you’d ask yourself if it’s one of your petty fights. If all of you let the heat pass by and let the time slip away as you spend your time alone with your thoughts, will it go back to the same old days? You’ll ask if this is all it takes to laugh at it later on, because you’ve been here before. It’s not like it’s your first time arguing… or was it really an argument or a signal from above saying that it’s over now?

You’ve seen this film before, but today, the ending was rewritten.

Let’s be real. “Hatred” is such a strong word to inflict on the people you love. News flash: it’s not even the emotion that dominates your heart right now — it’s confusion. Is it really the end? Who’s the enemy here? Is it you? Is it her? Is it the other friends who watched the argument happen and stood still behind her back? They were all muted, but the way they avoided your eyes and the way their feet naturally took a step back from you — it was loud enough for you to understand that no one else is on your side.

Oh, I know what you did later on. You blamed yourself, didn’t you? Perhaps they were right. Perhaps it was you who left them on read; it was you who didn’t notice that you were drifting away; it was you who missed all the nights where everyone was laughing out loud through the continuous and hilarious messages they sent. However, in the middle of blaming yourself, you should also consider that within you and all of these people you grew up with, you’re the only one who didn’t see this coming.

The enemy here is life, nothing else.

It just happens.

No one told you that you need to prepare yourself for losing someone precious, someone you relied on… Much heavier to bear than losing this friendship. You can’t decide the moments you wish to mourn; you’ll just wish that heaven was enough for them to bring joy and peace. You see it on a random Tuesday, on the teacup they use every morning, on the little garden they usually spend most of their time in, and on the sudden recommended song on Spotify — you’ll see it in everything.

Growing up faster than your friends — the same people whom you used to play sandcastles with in summer — wasn’t just an unfamiliar feeling; it was unbearable too. But you tried, right? You tried to eat everything that sat on your plate while maintaining a connection you thought would last a lifetime. You tried to go on those friend dates, to check on them when your bustling schedule isn’t as busy as yesterday. You tried to read those hundreds of messages after your shift. But with one argument, everything you tried protecting ended up being invaded by the people whom you wanted to protect from the beginning.

A little space for the things you can’t control would be enough, but you chose to gradually close that space and created another one where the version of you who’s familiar to them was present. Perhaps everyone cradled one another in a way their hearts can’t rest, as well as yours. In closing that space, the distance grew. Nonetheless, you weren’t hurt by the thought of them leaving. It’s when they don’t run after you, but with the others, it appears so easy to do.

It’s when your absence felt more like a presence for them.

It’s when you could do everything for them and never once feel like it was too much.

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May mga lugar ba na hindi lang basta lugar para sa’yo? Alam mo ‘yun. May malalim na kahulugan. Para bang napupuntahan mo lang ito sa tuwing may tiyak na mangyayari sa’yo, o kaya naman sa hindi malamang dahilan, dito ka lagi dinadala ng iyong mga paa sa magkakaparehong rason. Ako kasi meron, ‘yung mga 7/11 sa kanto ng eskwelahan ko noong high school, sa may plaza, saka sa kanto malapit sa unibersidad na pinasukan ko noong ako’y kolehiyo.

Ewan ko ba. Hindi ko rin alam kung bakit ngunit sa tuwing gustong-gusto ko nang lumipas ang araw, dito ako lagi napapadpad.

Tanda ko dati, takot ako bumili sa mga convenience store. Kahit gustong-gusto ko ‘yung mga paninda, hindi talaga ako papasok hangga’t walang nagyayakag na kaklase ko. Tingin ko kasi dati, pang-mayaman lang siya. Medyo corny, pero totoo ‘yun. Ang natatandaan kong unang produkto na binili ko ay ‘yung Goya Bits noong high school. May practice kami noon ng cheer dance para sa gaganapin na intersection tapos gustong-gusto ko na umuwi kasi sunog na ang balat namin kakaensayo. (Spoiler: Hindi kami nanalo, skl.)

Noong ako naman ay nasa kolehiyo na, naging suki rin ako ng 7/11. Ganoon pa rin, uwing-uwi pa rin ako sa bawat pagkakataon na napapadpad dito. May isang beses na alas siete y media na ng gabi ay naroroon pa kami ng mga kagrupo ko para sa presentasyon namin kinabukasan. Hindi naman mahirap sumakay pauwi, ngunit kapag gabi ka na babyahe sa lugar namin, magmamahal na ang pamasahe. ‘Yun ang iniiwasan namin, lalo na kapag Lunes o Martes palang. Kukulangin na agad ang aming baon na dapat ay pagkasyahin namin hanggang Biyernes.

Naikot lang sa sisig, giniling, tuna omelette, at best bite hotdog ang binibili ko para maalis ang gutom ko. Swak na swak lang rin kasi ang presyo nito para sa estudyante tulad ko, hindi masyadong masakit sa bulsa tapos nakakabusog pa. Nang ako’y makapagtapos ng pag-aaral, hindi ako naka-graduate sa mga ganitong engkwentro ko sa convenience store na iyon. Kung mayroong magtatanong sa’kin kung anong lugar ang nakakita ng bawat hakbang na ginawa ko sa buhay bukod sa bahay namin, siguro 7/11 na ang isasagot ko.

Doon kasi lagi ang punta ko kapag may inilalakad akong papel sa unibersidad, minsan kasi ay kailangan sa mga trabahong pinagpapasahan ko. May ilang pagkakataon rin na dito ako natakbo kapag lunch break sa trabaho para kumain. Kahit noong ako ay lumuwas ng Batangas para rin sa requirements, natatawa na lamang ako sa sarili ko kasi dito rin ako nagtanghalian. Ang natakbo lang lagi sa isip ko pagkapasok ko palang dito at narinig ko na ang bell mula sa pintuan, “Matatapos rin ‘to.”

Ikalawang linggo ng Marso, bumili ulit ako ng pagkain sa 7/11. Nagtuturo na ako, at dahil nga ito ang malapit sa eskwelahan, dito na ako dumiretso. ‘Yung tuna omelette na lang ang natira kaya ‘yun na lang ang kinuha ko. Kabisado ko na naman ang lasa saka pantawid gutom lang rin. Habang ako ay naglalakad pabalik sa eskwelahan, napagtanto ko na hindi na tulad ng dati ang aking dahilan noong nagpunta ako sa convenience store.

Hindi ko na hinihintay na matapos ang araw, sa halip, ang hindi ko halos mahintay ay ang oras na matapos kong kainin ang aking binili para makapagklase ulit. Tila ba ako’y napaisip kung ang pananaw ko ba ang nagbago o sadyang hindi naman talaga iyon ang tingin ko sa mga convenience store sa umpisa palang. Baka hindi ko talaga ito tinuturing na lugar kung saan maaari ko lamang parausin ang gutom ng aking kalamnan. Bagkus, ito ang aking naging takbuhan sa hindi ko malamang dahilan. Sa espesyal na araw ba? Sa pangkaraniwan? Sa tuwing ako’y nababagot? Kapag may importante akong lakad?

Ah, basta! Ang dami ko palang naipon na kwentong 7/11.

Ikaw? May kwento ka rin ba?

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Naalala ko kung paano ko gawin ang projects nya noon kahit gabing-gabi na. Hindi ako sanay magpuyat dahil kapag kulang ako sa tulog, para akong naka-droga. Nalulula saka alam mo ‘yun, kapag alam mong hindi mo naabot ang walong oras ng tulog, pakiramdam mo agad ay mayroon kang kailangang bawiin mamayang gabi.

Uunahan na kita, hindi ako halimaw magmahal.

Kaya nga kahit hindi ko alam kung paano gawin ang Chapter 3 ng thesis niya, inaral ko talaga magdamag. Kung anong computation ba ang kailangan niya, may kulang ba sa respondents, naabot ba ‘yung gusto niyang resulta, may kailangan ba i-revise sa dalawang naunang chapters, nasagot ba ‘yung statement of the problem niya. Basta, narealize ko na ang dami kong nagawa para sa kanya.

Sa mga gabing hindi siya pinapatulog ng mga alalahanin niya, pilit ko siyang pinakakalma. E paano, alam kong hindi siya makakatulog kapag sobrang dami niyang iniisip. Lagi kong sinasabi sa kanya, “Ang patagalin mo sa isip mo ay isang blankong papel.” Dahil kapag wala siyang isipin, doon lamang siya dadalawin ng antok. Pero ewan, madalas kailangan niya rin ang magdamagang iyakan. Kapag kasi hindi niya ito inilabas, naiipon lang.

May mga pagkukulang ako, aminado naman ako.

Minsan, kapag gusto niya pumunta sa lugar kung saan niya lubos nararamdaman ang pahinga, hindi ko siya madala roon. Paborito niya ang dalampasigan, ang tunog ng mga hampas ng alon, saka partner-an mo pa ng street foods. Ganoon lang kasimple ang gusto niyang pahinga. Gusto niya lang pagmasdan ang paglubog ng araw at kung paano yakapin ng kadiliman ang kalangitan.

May mga pagkakataon na hindi ko siya maintindihan. Paiba-iba siya ng pangarap. Minsan manunulat, minsan guro, minsan ‘yung may kinalaman sa teknolohiya, minsan nalululong sa ganda ng mga larawan kaya gusto niyang maging litratista. Ang dami niyang ipinipintang bersyon ng kanyang sarili hanggang sa malito siya kung ano ang uunahin. Kaya nga kahit kaharap ko siya ngayon sa salamin, hindi ko mawari kung kilala ko ba talaga siya.

Winarningan ko kayo noong una, ah? Sabi ko hindi ako halimaw magmahal… kaya nga pati sa sarili ko ay nagkukulang pa ako.

Marahil, para sa iba ay madami na akong nagawa para sa sarili ko pero para sa’kin, kulang pa ito. Hindi ko pa mabigyan ng puwang ang kahalagahan ng pagmamahal. Huwag na muna siguro. Ipagpapaliban ko muna. Saka na kapag nagutom na ang aking tiyan dahil sa wakas, hindi ko na kinakain ang mga sinasabi ko. O kaya naman kapag napuno na ang puso ko ng kasiyahan dahil sa simpleng paghinga ko sa mundong ito.

Tama. Saka na ako magmamahal.

Kapag mapagbibigyan ko na ang aking sarili na maging halimaw sa pagmamahal.

At kapag hindi na talamak ang mga nakakatakot na halimaw na posible kong mahalin.

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