stories & shenanigans

"You can go. You don't have to do this anymore. I can take care of myself,"

She said in sharp, piercing tone. It wasn't a mere suggestion, she gave her an out. A free pass to leave this life, unencumbered by any guilt or responsibility.

But what she was good in reading between the lines so she understood what she meant: "I don't need you. I'm sick of your drama. Leave."

It was the worst thing you can say to anyone who spent their life trying to make yours better.

Her eyes are nimbus clouds. She straightened her back and walked past this stranger she used to know; slamming the door and the rest of her life behind her.

(So I wrote this two weeks before the end of 2020 and forgot to upload. But here we you go)

Remember the time when we’re all so excited about the start of the new decade, when 2020 was a new year filled with hopes and possibilities? It felt like a lifetime ago.

Then it started dropping deuce one after the ther other, and as if natural calamities weren't enough, we got to witness and (hopefully) survive a global scale pandemic that packed us all home to quarantine without a foreseeable future, displacing many families and killing millions. We don't need to list all the misfortunes we've seen and encountered to remember how 2020 turned out to be one hell of a year, quite literally.

But we made it, at least to the end of this cruel year which seemed to have taken an entire chapter from Lemony Snicket's Series of Unfortunate Events. We're still here, even though sadly and heartbreakingly, millions of people aren't. I pray that those who we're left behind would find the strength to continue, to never lose hope.

Despite the anxiety, the anger, and frustration, the helplessness, the occasional highs and the lowest of lows and darkest of days, I am still grateful to just be here today— able to write this note about the year that has been.

This year transformed all of us in ways we never thought possible. It made us realize what's really important, it shifted our focus and priorities, and forced us to change on how we live our lives and do things. Drastically. I read somewhere that 2020 symbolizes 20/20 which the perfect vision, to be able to see clearly and in many ways it is true. This year has shown us with great clarity what's truly essential, what we can live without, and the kind of leaders our country have.

Being in quarantine unearthed so many unexpressed feelings, thoughts, and pains I never knew I had towards my family, particularly my parents.

Gone are the days when I could just sweep it all under the rug or shove it down like buckeyes into the pit of abyss and darkness. I still try though (not to deal with things) but Sigmund Freud has never been more right. Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways. And boy it wasn't just ugly, it was vitriolic. I couldn't count how many times I snapped at the people at home over the littlest things.

The worst part is, they think I am just stressing myself out, being a brat, or overly dramatic. No one even thought that maybe I was going through something— some sort of emotional and mental breakdown. No one cared to ask because probably they are all too wrapped up around their own heads trying to cope up and survive. It's one of the reasons why I never brought up about my anxiety and how it's been terrorizing me for months. How do you explain to your boomer parents that you're falling apart when they never even got a chance to pause and check in on themselves because they couldn't afford to stop working? I try not blame anyone, but sometimes I am just so angry about everything I don't even know where to put it, moreso deal with it only to get shrug or an unapologetic response that didn't even acknowledge what I said in the first place.

I've gone through bad bouts of anxiety this year still going through its roller-coaster kind of ride. It was in an all-time-high that it was so crippling there are days when I couldn't push myself out of bed. Before, anxiety only seemed like a feeling that occurs occasionally, but these days it stayed with me. Lingering on my mind like a black blob, laughing vilely at my face when it knows it won for the day. It's exhausting. I am exhausted most of the time, mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Powering through anxiety, daily vitriol outbursts all while working your best to keep your job, your house in order, and your sanity intact is taxing, to say the least. I needed to find other outlet (journaling and writing), new coping mechanisms so I turned to yoga, meditation, and other exercises, and onto less healthy ways such as retail therapy, Netflix marathons until 5 AM, and watching episodes of my favorite sitcoms HIMYM and B99 over and over and over again.

Well, this one turned out darker than I hoped but it's the reality. So let me just end this with note of gratitude. I am grateful that none of the people I hold dear to my heart has been infected and succumbed to the virus. I am grateful to my company and especially my team, for the job that continued to sustain us during these uncertain times. To my friends who kept me afloat. I am grateful to the Lord for providing all of this grace.

There is some nostalgia to this, to the feeling that once we reached the end of a cruel year, brand new hope awaits on the other side, as if it is where all the answers and the cure would be. It should. We all hope so. Hope is the best thing we do.

Last night an office friend of mine invited me to this virtual party for I don't know what via Zoom. She branded it as 'good opportunity to meet new people'.

"Wear red!" she said before quickly ending our call.

When the host let me in, there was about a hundred people in the call already, most them on video smiling all too friendly, dangling to the screen whatever they were drinking. I was flabbergasted, to say the least but even before I could look for my friend in the sea of men and women all dressed up for this event, the host started calling out participants to turn on our camera, starting with me.

She was energetic and all but boy, this is the fourth party I am attending this month and I am already exhausted.

So abruptly, I left the meeting. I never been to an actual party in years and being in quarantine for nine months, seeing too many people even on screen all at once could send me waves of anxiety.

The following night, my work friend called me again to check in.

"Hey I didn't see you at the party last night. Where were you?"

Finally got the clearance to enter the restaurant after the mandatory temperature check, disinfection, and scanning on the contract tracing app and health declaration form. More than two hundred days in quarantine, we've accepted that procedure like this now the routine, everywhere.

I looked around but could not find him in a room half-filled with mask-wearing people until he raised his hand and waved at me.

We both removed our masks when I seated across him and smiled. We watched each other through the acrylic glass between our table.

"You looked happy," he finally said.

"I am. It's so good to see another living soul other than my cats and mine,"

We both laughed because it's true, face-to-face dates are rare gems in the crazy world of Zoom meetings, parties, and whatnot.

The new regulations allow only fiftty percent of the total seating capacity of any venue. Acrylic borders are placed in the middle of the tables to maintain safe distance between diners. Crews are also wearing mask and face shield and entire place is squeaky clean, tablewares are sanitized and food are prepared in safest and most hygienic way possible. There are constant reminders on handwashing and maintaining social distance,

Kids are funny. One moment they were in their own world minding their own business, next second they are minding your business, asking you a bunch of questions you don't even think about as an adult. Like 'how come you can stay at home while they have to go to school? And why can't they eat pancakes for dinner. Or why does weekend only have two days while weekdays get five. Who gets to decide that?

"I am working from home," I told my niece Amelia, abruptly cutting her interrogation.

She looks at me quizzically as she taps the crayon on the counter. Her Disney coloring book still half finished.

I popped in the tupperware of Adobo to the microwave. Her parents are out of town for work so I am on Auntie Duty the whole weekend.

"Actually the weekend thing is not a bad idea. I also wonder why we can't have longer weekends. It's unfair right?“

She agreed but before she could follow up, I throw the question back to her.

"If you were to choose, how many days should there be on weekends?"

I learned this trick when I was babysitting my younger cousins when I was in high school. Kids are always curious but they always have honest opinion about things. And it is important that they feel heard and listened to. My sister and I are advocate of truths, so as much as we can we respond with honest answers so the kids won't grow up believing in ridiculous make-believe stories.

She was thinking hard about her answer when the microwave pings and she responded gleefully like a game show contestant

"I think there should be four days in a weekend and 3 on weekdays! You know so we could have more time to play!"

There was this part in one of my favorite novels from Junot Diaz that says, "when you start thinking of the beginning, you are already at the in end".

Many stories end the same way it started, we just don't realize it right away. As I stand by the door of my apartment, gripping tightly on the handle of my suitcase, I look around once more. One final look at the now-empty flat that has been my home in past two and half years. The white oak laminated floor and light cream walls are bare again.

Everything that used to fill up the space has either been donated, discarded, sold or boxed and off to my parents' attic.

My original plan was to stay here for only six months but then it got extended and extended again.

I took it all in. It's the same feeling I had when I first stepped into this place that summer of 2016. Back then, I was thrilled with all the possibilities the empty flat could offer and grateful to finally have place I can call my own. But now, I am thrilled for the next adventure waiting on the other side of the door. After the tangibles were cleared out, what remained are the memories of all the hopes and dreams that came true— just how I envisioned it on the same exact spot where I am standing right now. I am grateful beyond words.

It might just be some sort of graduation goggles, but my life of what-could-be and what-has-been flashed before my eyes in a split second and in that moment I knew, it's time to go.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" she asked me again for eighth time today. We just pulled over outside their house. I've driven her home handful of times but never really been there to meet her family.

"Look it's okay if you don't—"

"Well don't tell me I didn't warn you," she interrupted and got out of the car as fast as she can as if she would change her mind in split second.

"It's my lolo's birthday by the way, so everyone's here,"

I stopped for a moment. I didn't know what to expect but this is news. I told her that we should've bought something on the way.

She was already holding the knobs when she look back at me, smiling.

"Don't worry I'm sure he won't mind,"

And then we were inside. We were greeted by giddy children calling her auntie as they went in for a hug. I met the rest of the family as we pass through the living room and then the dining hall. The kitchen still seemed a little busy but I got to meet her mother briefly. She was wearing pink ruffled apron just like what my mom's.

Everyone seemed warm and welcoming. I asked where her grand father is and she pointed at the shelf hanging on the wall. There was framed monochrome photo of a man with a familiar smile. He was wearing glasses. It was an altar.

"How long has it been?" I whispered to her ear when we all got seated.

As the dinner went on each family member shares a story about his lolo. From her grandmother to her five kids and to the grand children who fortunately still got to meet him before he passed away ten years ago.

"He seemed like an amazing man," I told her later that night.

Flynn and I grew up having penchant for fantasy and hope to unravel mystery even in the most mundane things. A loose floor tile in the hallway going to the principal's office is a path leading to the basement which is either a refuge during the war or a torture chamber. A crack or the hollow sound a wall makes when you knock on it which likely to be a question of structural integrity could be a clue to some unsolved mystery. We exchange conspiracy theories and sometimes even play detective about little shenanigans in our neighbourhood.

Mr. Ramon, our shady neighbour who moved in few years ago doesn't celebrate any sort of holiday, rarely goes out during the day and his windows are always shut. Kids are terrified of him. We have a standing bet that his either a vampire or a member of syndicate. We almost got caught investigating his whereabouts one summer night but thankfully we camouflaged in the bushes. Since then we made a promise to leave him alone, unless of course something bad happens and he got implicated.

There's this particular part of the old bridge connecting our town to the city where phone signal gets lost everytime you pass by it. It was towards the middle where the arc that separates two the territories is.

We first noticed it seven years ago and since then we've had this theory that that part of the bridge has an invincible portal leading to another dimension. We even experimented several times to prove it wasn't just a sheer coincidence. It was impossible to jam cellular signal in one spot in an open air, right?

Today felt exceptionally odd. My dad is driving us back home, I was on passenger seat, talking to Flynn over the phone when our call got off. FM radio is playing this song from a popular 90s band started crackling like a pirated CD. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, like where entering a time warp. I looked outside and afternoon sky were spilling all sorts of cerulean, magenta and tangerine. There was no traffic but it felt like forever.

He's late. I was there thirty minutes before our agreed time because my grand mother raised me to be punctual, "it's better to be the one to wait than to keep other people waiting for you, it's called manners," she tells me. In any occasion, I also prefer be at the venue first so I can settle in and calm my nerves, especially now because it's my first time meeting him personally for an actual conversation, not just during a book signing event.

But I am on my second cup of latte, and he's still nowhere in sight. I've reviewed my questionnaire six times already. I texted his assistant to 'just check in' if our appointment is confirmed although he should have been here over half an our ago.

The cafe door swings open and the chimes announced his arrival, finally. But as he approached my table, something fades inside me. Something is off.

"Hey can we move outside I need to smoke," were the first words out of his mouth when he got to our table and he already reeks alcohol, bad convenience store coffee, nicotine, and disappointment.

He has turned his back even before I could respond. What an ass. I collected my things and my cup and scurry after him.

I know I should not judge him or anyone for that matter based on their current outer state but I realized that's what I've been doing since I read his debut novel when I was fifteen. I put him on pedestal for being this brilliant writer, artist, and entrepreneur or at least that's what I thought.

You've been waiting your whole life for the phone to ring. For that call back from the snob director of the film you auditioned in; for that guy you went out with one time who said he had a good time and swore to call you but never did. You've waited and waited for that ex-lover, your one great love, the one who got away, to finally call when he realized it has always been you, after all those five years he hass been gone.

You waited for so long that you learned there are some people you can't count on. But the doctors and nurses said they would call you immediately for any 'developments', so you don't need to worry and just go home for the night to get some sleep. They said they'd call you and for the first time you were sure that they will, but for the first time, you didn't want the phone to ring. For the first time, you believed in what your grandmother used to say, "no news means good news". Because more often than not, there's only one reason a hospital staff calls you in the middle of the night. So you stayed up for as long as you can hoping and praying for the phone to not ring. It was almost four when exhaustion hits you and you fell into a deep sleep. It was already 8:30 when you were awaken by the flood of light because you left the curtains drawn out.

You reached for your phone like you always do, first thing in the morning and found four missed calls at 6:30 AM that made youjolt up and fumble on your ohone to call back. Your hands are shaking, your heart sinks lower and lower as you try to steady your voice when a woman picks up after the second ring. Bright and cheery opening.

"She's awake. We tried to call a few times but she asked not to wake you up, you needed some rest..."

We're finally here, ten minutes away to the end of what has been a crazy year. Crazy is an understatement, he would say in between sips on his beer.

That's true. One bad news after another , political shenanigans exploding like bombs, all while we're in the middle of a fucking pandemic where people are dying— is not crazy. It's terrible, painful, depressing, infuriating, and all sorts of feelings imaginable happening all at once.

Like an wicked roller coaster ride no one lined up for but forcefully locked us into

But we're here, this year is almost over. And although we all know that a year turning over a new leaf won't magically cure the disease and resolve this crisis but still we hoped.

New Year's Eve looks very different right now but being surrounded by people who matters the most, still makes us feel blessed beyond anything.

The countdown to the last ten seconds began as one by one aerial firework rose up to the sky counting in unison. We stood in our yard looking up then around, then each other.

Nine..

Eight..

Seven...

Six..

Five..

Four..

Three..

Two...

ONE!!!!!!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

Everyone happily announced at the top their lungs, still wearing mask. The grand community fireworks display lit up the night like a carnival bursting with different colors.

After all the celebrations over dinner and the virtual parties with family and friends via Zoom, we all freshen up and went to bed with hearts full hopes that this new year will be better, kinder, and safer.

My phone alarm went off at six o'clock per usual but this time I wasn't hitting snooze and dreading to get up. I was excited to look at the date and confirm that we're in a new chapter. Fresh start. The kind that makes you smile like it's your birthday.

January one.

The year is 2020.

Wait what?!

Again?!

"I got your letters,"

the woman standing on my parents' front porch announced. She was wearing a denim jacket, ankle boots, and a familiar smile. I adjusted my glasses to see her face clearly. I just woke up from her impatient knocking on the door and I might be hallucinating but this woman is my doppelganger, but better in so many ways.

"You're in a crossroads," she said as she make her way to the house like she lived there.

"God I've forgotten how this house looks like," she murmured.

"I'm sorry who are you again?" I asked just in case I missed it when she introduced herself earlier.

She gave me a look, a very familiar look. The same one I use when someone asks me stupid questions.

"I'm YOU,"

My jaw dropped before I could catch it. It's like Barry Allen has come to life.

"You are about to make a big life changing decision right now and I'm here to make sure you're not gonna screw this up. For both of us,"

First day back, she woke up to the sounds she hasn't heard in a long time. It was an early morning, she could tell since the lamp post outside is still on. Normally it's the beep of the digital clock on the bedside table that would awaken her, then there's familiar humming of the city into another busy, vehicles slowly fillling up the road, a train speeding through the rails from a distance. She's gotten used to this by now that it automatically fades to background as she go through her day.

But today was a breath of fresh air. A very real and live rooster is crowing from the neighbour's yard, a dog barking, someone sweeping, the smell of woods and the earth seeping through the windows.

Her stomach grumbles. She tries to remember the last time she ate. It was at the airport, few timezones away.

She went to the kitchen and found everything is the same, except for her mother's cat Luna who is now watching her with suspicious eyes. She moves around in thr dark, only using muscle memory which knew where to find things. The mugs, the bread and spread, the coffee jar.

She meditated through the sound of the green vintage oven toaster they have had even before she moved out, its creaking sound as it browns the bread and its orange light, the only source of light

The toaster dings announcing that it has done its job. They still have that old thermos as well that is always filled with hot water. These are some of the things she can count on even after a long time.

The lights suddenly turned on. Her mother in her old rose silk robe the one with embroidered daisies, standing at the foot of the stairs.

The crease between her eyebrows tells me she's on to something. Her game face is on, typing furiously on her laptop and has been holed up in her room for hours. She didn't even notice when I entered. I placed a fresh cup of coffee beside her screen, that's when she paused, looked up at me, and exhaled a deep long sigh like she's been holding it all this time.

She has always been a multi-tasker, the most hardworking person I know. Last night she mentioned about at least six different projects she just took in the past two weeks and even as a work junkie myself, this is something else.

"What are you distracting yourself from this time?" I asked.

She stared at me for a long time before finally laying her head back on the headrest of her computer chair, closing her eyes, contemplating whether or not to tell me what's on her mind.

The last time she was like this, she had to make an important decision about her work and career.

She lets out another sigh.

The past few weeks have been crazy to say the least. Year-end deadlines and last-minute requests are piling up while holiday shenanigans are happening i between. There is barely a time to catch my breath, or to sleep. Naps are gold during these times. On our way back to the city after wrapping up a project in the south a day earlier than expected, we stopped for gas and finally had a little time to slowdown and take a break.

We got coffee at Starbucks and stayed there for bit, still talking about work and then something hit me:

"this is the most we talked this year," I blurted out, interrupting his word vomit.

It was obvious that he was surprised, pausing to really look at me.

"You're right," he said, as if it just dawned to him as well. Then we were both quiet, looking anywhere else but each other.

We haven't really talked since that incident in February. It was an unspoken rule to never speak of what happened there, ever.

Five minutes into the apartment, I knew it was the one. I let out a squeak of excitement when the agent opened the door and the place was flooded with natural light coming from the big windows. It's a studio unit with a tiny balcony, proper kitchen vents, and a spectacular view of the city. Growing up sharing my bedroom with siblings, my bunked with dorm mated in college, and sharing space with my co-workers who are also my house mates, it has always been my dream to live in a quiet place like this, situated more than twenty floors above the ground. Alone in my own space. My parents were a bit hesitant about me signing on the lease so quickly but my life and dreams can no longer wait.

When all the paperwork is done, the agent handed me the keys, and I stood there beside my luggage, amazed by how an empty space can offer so much possibilities. A new beginning.

It's fairly small but I didn't need much anyway. A decent sofa bed, a simple and proper desk where I can work and write, and a free space for my meditation and yoga practice were enough for me.

I filled up the place slowly, and essentials only. I put together a nice coffee station because why not. There's a tiny rice cooker enough to feed a lone sheep like me for at least 3 days. A set of dinnerware, and few wine glasses.

My first trip to IKEA to buy some things for the apartment was like being in a toy store for adults. My best friends and I went there again since they were all excited as I am. We had wine and pizza for the housewarming on the same night. One of them got me potted succulent, a traditional house warming gift.

I promised myself to sleep early tonight, but here I am at 3 AM switching between apps, scrolling through the abyss of the internet. I promised to wake up early, to catch some sun— my mother has been nagging about how pale I am these days.

I promised to stick to one cup of coffee a day but it's only a little after noon and I'm already on my third cup. I promised to spend less time online, so I could concentrate on my writing. I promise to write more.

These days I find myself making more promises I can't keep. Maybe because at that time, these tiny things I swore to do seemed so feasible. Making promises is easy, committing to it is something else entirely.