Sunday Morning I
A red car. We were sitting inside the red car, on which the doors were flung open for the 2AM breeze to blow in. A red car under the large mango tree, the mango tree under the vast starry sky above. It was a very fantastical scenario.
We were sitting inside the red car. Me and her. I was on the passenger seat, and she was at the back, probably curled up to lay. Or was sitting, perhaps. I wasn’t looking at her, I was just amazed at the star-dusted velvet blanket. We were talking of stuffs. Candid, sensual, funny stuff. If you think this is a love story, then you guessed wrong. This ain’t another 500 days of summer-theme as well. Though I was busy spotting the different alignment of the heavenly bodies, I was listening to her story. Her love story.
Oh wait. Excuse me. His love story.
Bad as it may seem, but we were having delight talking about this guy who’s silently courting her. Yet we can’t judge situation. I on my part had no right to judge as well. She, perhaps can, but it was heartbreaking too to break another heart. And seemingly, the breezy evening was not paying attention either.
“Victoria. Your choice, your life.“
The doors were flung open for the 2AM breeze to blow in. A cold summer mid-morning.
Sunday Morning II
The Marikina midnight moon witnessed five young lads walking on the suburban part of the Concepcion area. Even at this hour, the air was sticky and hot.
We were on our way to visit a post-celebration of wedlock. An unexpected turn of events for the day. Just an hour ago we were sitting inside a bar down Xavierville, enjoying the food and listening to earth music. On the struck of 12, we’re on this another feast. Astounded, I was astounded.
This night could be my enemy. This night could be a friend.
An unknown territory, a series of strangers, a flock of mature intellects. This spur of the moment adventures give me the thrill, something worth a milestone in my life. A memory to erase a dreaded feeling. I was supposed to be worrying about someone tonight. Anxiety, my worst disease. But I must not let that idea eat me on for the rest of the celebration.
Never in my life have I been to something like this. An unending rhythm of reggae fused music. Yes, it was Reggae Land. I’ve never been this happier. The sweet music absorbed me. The beats, the strums, the bass lines. I was the alien and they were the welcoming peace-huggers. The overflowing beer drinks were our rides to exploring the deepness of their culture. How I missed this. No wavering love stories to be told. Only laughter, only cheers. Such a lovely event to be marked in history.
The night was a friend. Silence began to brew in.
Sunday Morning III
It was an eerie feeling. Waking up twenty minutes half past midnight. On a Sunday again.
Some thousand miles up in the sky.
I looked over the window and not a sight to see. Darkness. The sea might just be below us, but nothing is still visible. It was uncomfortable too sitting on my seat. No one to talk to, nothing to see. Nothing to feel but that eerie spark inside me. Not of fear of flight. But of fear of forgetting.
That was the master plan. Forget everything. Forget everything, Casanova. Maybe this week’s worth of being apart may train me to make the final decision. No one, not even me knew the ending. But still, it was the plan.
A distracting month had passed. It should have been perfect. June was always the start of something good. This year, creeping beans of dread began to sprout. I should not have known these things. I was caught off guard. And yes, another thing to remember. Always be fucking ready. It drained me, so i needed this break.
The blinking light on the airplane’s wing was the the only visible thing to see outside. Planning to go back to sleep now.
But it’s how you say ‘em now that has changed. Nifty lyrics. It’s like someone is singing this to me right at this moment. Aiming at me. Locked on target, waiting to pull the trigger and shoot me to hell. Damn beat. I’m switching music.
The eerie feeling returned before i closed my eyes.