Maybe Next Time

To refuse an offer is an insult. I know that.

But I just can’t. Or in the back of my mind, doubting if I can.

My High School alma mater asked me to be their guest speaker this graduation. Oh, IT IS A BIG HONOR. It is a dream.

But I said NO. For a number of reasons I guess.

First of all, I am not ready. I mean, I am in a stage of my life when I am still seeking success. I know being successful isn’t a requirement to speak in front and inspire graduates but I am doubting if I could really have the wisdom to say the right words to do that. I am young, and lacking experience. I can dive deep in introspection and deliver some sweet metaphors of encouragement and stories to share. But I am not contented of that. I know I can do better in years to come. It’s premature.  I want to be a full term bouncing baby up there.

Secondly, my time schedule is not my friend. Working as a nurse in a hospital has stretched me up to my sleep-wake cycles and untimely day offs. In as much as having a leave of absence would be that easy to do (I am afraid filing and providing a valid argument through a letter to the chief nurse is not easy), I am not risking the fact that I am still a trainee now. The school is in the province and I don’t know if my request for a leave could be considered. I’ll have to absent for two days the least. I could not afford that.

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Some other petty reasons would be:

I don’t have something good to wear.

I am afraid of speaking in public. Might as well distribute my speech and let them read it.

My ex would be there, I think.

I don’t know what to say.

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I am really dismayed of myself for not grabbing the opportunity. But I am sure that there will be a right time for me. I still see my self in formal wear and standing on that school stage delivering my speech in front of graduates —sharing a piece of my thoughts about life, the value of education, family, friends, and being thankful of everything; hopefully to inspire them to keep on striving hard for what they want. *sigh*

But I was comforted by the words of my past mentor. She said it’s ok, though they’ll need to find another one, but it’s ok. I breathed with that.

However, towards the end of the 4-minute call,  she said maybe next time.

I say, maybe. 

 

 

 

That One Crazy Girl: Stolen

CG is single again. So now, what?

I didn’t care. Really, the distance I had set when she was with that guy was comfortable. I was leaning to other girls around. Some are sensible, some can be good friends, but never a girlfriend material. Besides, I promised myself to focus on my studies.

Was I hurt? Yes.  As bitter as a Bitter Gourd. but at least it can still be swallowed. And nutritious too. 🙂

Another seminar workshop on campus writing was organized. This time, I enjoyed a lot. We were to stay at school for 3 days. Sleep there, that is. A training camp. Of course, girls were separated from the boys.  It was really intensive than the last one we had. Our school is becoming serious about the school paper.

A pool of young campus journalists were selected. I, despite being a Junior, was chosen to be the editor in-chief! haha It was just that maybe because of the article I wrote entitled “Be Proud to be a Muerteguinian” during the Feature writing workshop.

This might explain why I enjoy blogging. I was sent to represent as feature writer in the division secondary school’s press conference (DSSPC) and luckily raked in 6th place, earning a name for myself. (You’re right, I’m a bit boastful). And the winning piece? I’ve got to find my copy. It was about ‘family’. Thinking of it now, it might be a good blogpost.

Or not.

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Meanwhile, in school… ( narrator from a movie, eh?)

…CG was on top of her class; in section B that is.

…girl from Late Night debate was in tight competition with CG; for second place. (I was top 1, remember?) haha

…it was CG vs. Late Night debate girl…academic type of competition. Purely academic. Really, there’s nothing personal. But they’re not in the same circle of friends. Tension? I’m not sure.

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Does anyone still remember the stolen pic?

One afternoon, as I was walking home, I don’t know why I went home late that time, I bumped into CG’s fellow working student. They live in the same room and she told me something…disturbing.

That there was a picture of me under CG’s pillow…

That another one was on the altar…

That she has black candles lit sometimes…

Whispering chants I don’t know where she got…

That she is, a lunatic.

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I don’t know if that was all true. Or was it just an exaggeration. What i’m certain is, I’m not definitely eating or drinking anything in school. Who knows it contains a potion? A love potion? A spell? Should I let my friend take a sip before I drink anything?

Cut it. I’m just creep-ed out.

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One weekend, CG borrowed my notes, wanting to copy that recipe we need to cook in Home economics. We were neighbors then so she went our house, disturbing my sleep in the sofa.

When she returned my notebook, something dropped out of it.

A letter.

That One Crazy Girl : So Near Yet So Far

To all the readers of this crazy girl series. Here comes Part 4! Behold! 😀

To the new readers, here’s to save you from scrolling:

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3

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And just like that, we became neighbors. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. Somehow, I am uncomfortable but happy.

I found out her mother couldn’t afford to send her to high school anymore. So, the elementary school principal (which happens to be their distant relative) offered to send her to school until college. That, in exchange of her living with them ultimately becoming a working student. I am more amazed by that; she is really industrious and willing to pursue her studies.

Now she lives a stone-throw away. It’s a good 100 meters away from our house, but in the province, that distance is just near. That summer was a very hot one. Not because of her hotness, nor mine 😉 , but because of the El Niño phenomenon going on.

All the water supply is depleted. I have to manually pump and fetch water. That’s very tiring. Each day, our household consumes almost five five-gallon containers. That’s the least we can do to save the time and ample amount of energy fetching water. The good thing is, the artesian well is right beside the principal’s house. So I get to see her. Everyday. 4 o’clock. Time for fetching. And stealing glances. 😀

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When June came and our third year in high school started, I was surprised that we were not classmates anymore. The new high school principal ordered a reshuffle of all the students as to make each section a heterogeneous mixture of best and worst. Maybe to allow the bad ones to be infected by the goodness of the good. What if the infection might be the other way around? I don’t think he thought of that. My Crazy Girl might become Crazier.

So now, we live near each other. But, in a different section, different  classrooms. Lesser interaction in school. The only time I am happy somehow, is the walk going home. We have the same 15-minute tread to consume. I walk fast. I am always excited to go home. So as not to miss my favorite afternoon cartoons/anime. (Yes, I still watch cartoons that time!) She also keeps up with my pace. Only a few steps behind. I don’t really bother walking along her and her boyfriend.

My childhood neighbor, lets call her B (and her friend and still her classmate now) updates me about her. B is the only one who bothers to keep up with my pace. She calls me Kuya (Big Brother) though I am just months older than her. We were friends since grade school. She is now my spy agent.

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There was this one morning that I would never forget. Perhaps it would be a candidate for my most embarrassing moment list. I call it the naked incident. 

It was around 6 am. We were preparing for school. I was running late. I was taking a bath outside the bathroom so as to save time (since my sister gets the honor of taking a bath inside, of course). I was only wearing briefs. Trust me, you don’t really want to see me in trunks. I look like a wimpy kid. (notice the verb in present tense “look”).

There was the innocent CG (crazy girl), coming in our house giving a note the principal has left for my mother (who is a teacher by the way).  I don’t know if she’s just comfortable coming in through the backdoor or did my mother instructed her to just come in. The thing is, the bath towel is way across the kitchen. I’m all wet, outside the bathroom, covered with nothing but briefs, wet briefs. Did I get a boner? NO. I was so embarrassed. She was grinning. I was blushing. Much to my relief, she just left the note at the table and went out immediately. I was in my best poker face I could produce.

I was shivering. From the cold. From the shame.

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One afternoon, as I was walking fast home, my neighbor told me a good  bad news. I don’t really know if it’s good or bad. But somehow, it brought light up my face.

 

“They broke up.”