#febexaggerations

For the past week, I can literally feel my bad side coming out of me. As days pass, I’m getting worse and wilder.

See, it isn’t really in my normal nature to think bad about someone, or curse in my mind, or even think about literally hurting someone physically. But recently, all those stuff are becoming normal to me. And I swear I am really feeling the urge to pull someone’s hair while on the MRT. Or kick someone’s foot. Or raise a finger when I’m mad. Or b*tch on someone. Or blurt out sarcasm. Or curse someone in my mind. Or wish someone a very bad luck. Or just frantically scream.

I’m really afraid the evil woman in me is coming out coz I know it would be all too bad. That’s why I’ve been squeezing it in for years.

I remember back in college, walking with you right by my side was a bit awkward.

Although I’m merely 5’6”, I’m used to being ‘the taller girl’. Walking on pathwalks or corridors or the streets felt like a treat coz I’ll always, always be taller than at least one guy I’d be passing by. Then I can smirk or wink (kidding. I don’t wink.) at them as a silent way of saying, “Yo dude, you can’t hit on me coz I’m taller.”

And then I met you. No, I mean, then you came up to me to meet me. You were even walking backwards while I was walking on a rush to my college building. October something, Betaway. And like a splish-splash supported by some hangouts on the side, we got closer. Blah blah blah. And became friends. And eventually something more.

Since then, I felt like a little kid standing just up to your shoulders and nothing more. It felt like you were my kuya. Only, you’re younger by a year or two.

Three years and we’ve grown older. But walking right next to you still feels the same. And just this morning, I thought… maybe it’s time for me to consider buying black stilletos just as you would always say. And though I doubt this would make us work, maybe just once, I have to keep my overanalytical brain shut and trust your insistence.

25 songs had passed us by. I was busy watching people strut their stuff, acting like their own peacocks. You were busy watching me from behind and saving up all the guts to come up to me. I was unaware.

Scene shifts to me and there I was, wondering where you are. The last time I saw you was around 20 minutes ago. You were sitting alone outside and I was wondering what you were doing there when everyone was supposed to dance and get junked in that party.

Third to the last song started playing and I totally thought our dance together has lost its chance. Why did I think it was possible, anyway? Did I actually forget that just before we parted earlier in the afternoon, I distastefully teased you and you reacted all too irritated? Pssh. Too much for last impressions. I know you hated me from that moment onward.

Right in the middle of my paranoia ang overanalytical thinking, you walked in front of me, stopped right there and laid out your hand. I was all too startled that all I was able to do was to alternately look at your palm and your half-smiling, half-jittery face. If not for the question you popped, I wouldn’t have been back to my senses.

“Can I have this dance?”

I gave you my hand and when I stood up, the two-inch heels I was wearing erased the gap between our heights. I was 24 and you were a year younger, I believe. Your hand was cold, my face was flushing. Nevertheless, all of those didn’t matter. We were both smiling… awkwardly at first, but all too reassured in just a few moments.

You were my second but I was your first. And although it took you long, our dance was worth the wait. The moment you led out your hand to take mine sent sparks flying. I’m red and blushing.