Trip.

Dec 29 '06. Friday, 2:19pm. Tired from harassing myself to finish my quota for the week, I gratefully sat on a vacant bench on the bus and proceeded to listen to my pod. I go to my Chill Out playlist and once the music starts I close my eyes and take myself on a ride I'm all too familiar with.

My mind processes the events which made me cry and left me with no sleep. I cringe at my feeble and cowardly attempt to profess my affection and a sigh escapes from my lips at the thought of getting no reaction whatsoever. Regret tries to enter with its ugly lengthy horns, but I close my mind to regret. If it hurt, it was probably worth it.

Flashes of Nitro IB pics, okrayan with Markie and Jamie, coaching session with my agents, 45-minute yosi breaks in Starbucks Valero, counseling sessions with Cha Ems, Astoria drinking nights.

My mind then scans through the QA room nightshift quartet (Vince, Jenny, Fats, Me): I remember the night when Fats went on leave. In an attempt to have Fats bring us some Julie baked goodies the next shift, Vince staged a hostage-taking photo-shoot of Fats' stuffed toy (using my crazy Nido pen and a plastic fork). The QA room conference table was laden with ensaymada, hotdog rolls, and sweet cakes the next night. I then remember the small gifts and thoughts everyone gave me when I had to leave the program to start a new one: the Jollibee cheeseburger, the Goldilocks pinipig, the sweet cards, the ref magnet...

And then the beach trips. La Union, Batangas, Bohol, Boracay. I begin to miss the waves of La Union and the awesome morning breeze in Batangas. I try hard to recall the feel of the ebbing tide around my ankles as I walk on the beach in Boradise. I long to lie in the hammock I slept in on a lazy morning in Panglao.

Faces of the people I love parade before me and I thank the heavens for my good fortune in spite of the hell-ish 12 months. I then tell myself: It's been a crazy year. I have no idea how I survived it.

I open my eyes and see the Pasig River, reminding me I have to be ready to get off the next stop. I stop my pod and stuff it deep in my bag.

I don't listen to music as I climb to the MRT and cross EDSA to ride a trike for home, but I still see the faces, the places and events. I regret nothing. I still hurt. I am not happy.

But I am fortunate enough to have lived through it.

Comments

Anonymous said…
it feels like you've just experienced the worst year of your life.

is 2006 the least favorite year of all?

cheers beach....mwah! ;-)
6:09 PM, January 06, 2007
... beachfreak said…
Is 2006 the least favorite year of all?

I don't know to be honest.

Things just don't seem right.

Whatta year. F**kit.
9:59 PM, January 06, 2007
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