A Separate Piece: Chapter 3

Everything has changed. This irony of life struck me as soon as I met him, sadly, late in my realization. Life is constantly changing, and the manner of change it has manifested upon me has been dreadful. I should have known, have I not doubted the pessimist in me, that tolerating him would cause a setback in my daily life. It's a shame, persistence is an unknown plight to an anti-social such as me. Unfortunately, that ignorance has cost me the privilege of peace in solitude, which I enjoy and hope to prolong. Now that he assumes familiarity in my household, he could appear any time at my doorstep, needing to see me for reasons I do not care to know. The delight on my mother's face to see him come for the purpose of me could not paint itself on mine, as there had been no one else who comes for this purpose. Of all the people I've known, there hasn't been anyone who could amount to his meddling. Although it's amazing how he does it, at the same time, having mostly spoken about himself. There could be no more modesty than this, that even my mother had taken a liking to him. Invasion would be such a harsh word to characterize the schemes of a welcome predator. Him taking on the guise of a boy-next-door, who you could possibly dream to ever have, had me thinking otherwise. It's becoming a constant that I hope would change.

Even in dreams he has started to plague me. He is becoming an unnecessary preoccupation lately and I mean this in absolutely no good sense. He was trying to get involved in everything I'm inclined in. He is like this rock, thrown towards me, a still lake. He plunged into my being rippling anxiety, washing away the quiet life I have been used to. I hate how this has been happening, yet I feel so powerless to resist this altering current. It sucks me into this whirlpool of interruption, into the jaws of a lifelong turbulence that's rearing its ugly head with the likeness of his face. The fear in me roiling, unsettling the murky sediments of my uneasiness and unrest. Despite my calm surface, it gets to me like the panic of a shipwreck in shallow waters. Such thoughts stir in the depths of my mind, churning the inconceivable. Those of which that unknowingly seeped through the hole of my enfeebled tolerance, sinking my whole subconscious. My head is filled through the brim with the flow of those thoughts. Never did I imagine myself to be this much absorbed. This emotional outpouring is draining my sanity and he is responsible of manning the sluice. There is no denying, he is already starting to circulate in my veins, so much I am soaked in the metaphor of his presence. The last thing I'd be having from him is a wet dream.

ʚϊɞ

A Separate Piece: Chapter 2 (continuation)

I was about to send him away until my mother noticed him and offered hospitality quick. Just then, the world seemed so unfair. After what he has done to me, he gets to eat free breakfast in my house. And since I have never brought visitors home, my mother's face lit at the thought of this "miracle". The thought of having her anti-social son fraternizing with someone gave her comfort. I refuse to rub elbows with just anyone, most especially him. I fear if he makes a habit of this, who knows what he could be rubbing me with next? God forbid! This act of God has sentenced me in the sweaty pits of his unbearable presence. Why has it come to this? Has judgment day finally come? It's as if the forces of the universe have been playing a prank like it's divine comedy except you can't grasp the humor because the joke's on you. I really had no idea on how to deal with this unlikely complication. Woe to me, an introverted wretch. I'm the least ecstatic. It felt like the last day of my life.

The awkwardness was hard to swallow, save breakfast. The sight of him happily conversing with my mother made me want to chew down the chair he was sitting on. Each time he helped himself with seconds, he displayed this annoying smile, trying to be humble to hide that voracious appetite of his. He flattered my mother's cooking. Sly little... Sadly, she fell for it and invited him to come for as long as he liked. I choked. Suddenly, it felt like I've got a bone stuck in my throat. He smiled at me with a crooked smile. Something's fishy but it's not the fish. I remembered I hated eating fish because of a past traumatic experience. That day came back. He's become a bone to pick. I could already feel the discomforts from the days to come. I could sense he is going to take my mother's customary gesture seriously. I have barely touched anything on my plate out of misery. Things just got sour and I'm bitterly disappointed. I think I'm gonna have to skip breakfast. Forever.

ʚϊɞ

A Separate Piece: Chapter 2 (partial)

The next morning I forgot about the whole thing and I was surprised to find him knocking at my doorstep. My bag was firmly clenched in his hand with unbearable strength of one's feelings, as though the inanimate object would almost squirm in pain. It took me quite a while to remember all the agitation yesterday from that unexpected misdemeanor he demonstrated. His unsightly appearance first thing in the morning already ruined my day. He reeked, so much I couldn't even smell my own morning breath. There was this sort of miasma issuing about him that I had randomly distinguished strangely similar to the odor of a radish. Assuming from how thick the sweat running from his face was, I figured that he was from a jog. More strange, he knew where to find me. I'm not a bit of a morning person, so my head wasn't functional enough to realize that my exploitation yesterday was due to his deplorable skill in rummaging without consent. In our native colloquial term, we call that the 'pakialamero'. Naturally, he would already be familiar with my contact information, which I've withheld from him ever since. By then, I've come to regret the neat-freak that I am for having completely addressed all my notes and journals that with them, even a primate could follow the directions to my residence. When it dawned on me that everything wasn't a dream, my disheveled appearance was just a euphemism of me being wretched beyond the pale. Something tells me this won't be the only time I would get myself involved in any way with this guy.

Before he could sport any attempts for an apology, I outstripped him with the most menacing look I could portray. I'm sure he was able to sense that I was really upset, he was able to realize the gravity of his offense, seeing the remorse on his face—that face, which is so painful to look at. Those eyes of his were in an effort to soften my rising tension, masquerading that uncouth attitude that he's been recognizably known for. He tried to appease my gurgling volcano of thoughts as he slowly handed me my bag without any single word. No sorry, not one bit of regret. That just irked my temper into a broiling pique. I was about to exhale the pressure out when he finally decided to open his mouth first.

"I didn't know that you were—," go ahead, say that word.

"—my neighbor."

I was speechless. That woke me up.

ʚϊɞ

A Separate Piece: Chapter 1

I first met this guy in college. A typical grunt, a common face among the unattractive lot. His dark complexion gave little away from his overall countenance. He dressed horribly, and one look at him hints that he also smelled as terribly. His voice, in plain speech volume was a raucous, vulgar and disquieting. He best loitered around spreading mischief. Along with his peers, he loafed spewing out ribaldry with outbursts of laughter, resounding hormonal issues burning from deep within his loins. He was an infamous scapegrace all around campus, and always got into trouble. He was reputably incapable of moral uplifting, and obviously was unable to outgrow the juvenile delinquencies that were ought to be left behind in High School. He very much resembled those underage louts I detested from way back. They were those who spurted disarray into the confusion of adolescence. His and their comparison compounded into a common stereotypical image—a bully.

He seemed friendly, but I was very hesitant even to go so near him so as not to give him any slightest idea about my orientation. Whenever I stumbled across him, I've always tried to put on a somewhat genial expression, and I always appeared to be in a hurry to avoid his attempts of striking any conversations. We had never drawn upon each other more frequently than ever, but it was always an essential endeavor that I advanced onto him in a civilized approach in hopes of having a similar respond as well. I remember having to endure a moment with him during enrollment. He was extremely talkative, though he only spoke of nonsensical things that weren't very engaging to stimulate even so much of an interest for a chat. His humor is inevitably the same. His lowbrow jests are disapprovingly lacking of amusement, and he ridiculously laughs at them so loudly as if he were convincing me that it was actually funny. Oftentimes he even does this with the recurring compulsive behavior of either picking or poking me to get my intentionally fleeting attention. That annoys me very much, though to some tolerable extent, I manage to ground my temper, realizing that I wouldn't want to be in a mess with such a gorilla. Clearly he had brute strength under his athletic build, and I don't want to suffer the wrath of his loathing.

I soon regretted putting up with him. Wherever I went, I always had this rain cloud following me. What could be worst than having him sit beside me in every class we were in? I had three consecutive subjects in the same room where I had different sitting arrangements. In all of which, he was seated right next to me. His growing fondness had soon become alarming, and I had to break away. In my efforts to erect a wall between us, I was dumbfounded to know that the more I did, the more he roused curiosity in my personal life. I can't seem to shake him off my tail. He was like a lost puppy who kept following me. Even when I try to go the rest room, he tagged along and chattered during when I take a leak. Since then, I never took one from urinals, instead I went straight into cubicles.

One faithful day, I was attracted to a pink magazine with sexy coverboys in skimpy underwear and bought one immediately for spoils later. Class hours were yet to finish so I stashed it in my bag for safe-keeping. Then, he went on doing what he did best, annoying me with the best of his interest. Unexpectedly, it was the same awful day in which he felt like rummaging through my bag. Behind my unsuspecting back, he saw it and took it out. This event had never been accounted for! Seeing it on his hand, that nauseating sight of him tearing through its seal was starting to blur, as though I was fading through the thickening vagueness of the surreal. Then I felt as though a sudden staleness in the air chokes me of my breath. As his fingers ran through the pages, I was compelled to sprint toward him and grab it, but I was so unnerved to do so, seeing the thronging crowd around him. I stood there, with cold feet, hemming and hawing at the amassing fuss it had made. When the fear of discovery struck me too soon, I was seconds apart from being stalemate to the queries of the intriguing mob. I was gone.

I found myself running. I ran away from the room, from the class, from him, and from the memories I've been so bitterly ashamed of. From thereon, the road seemed endless, but not far enough to lead me back home. Dismayed over unsettling matters, the next few hours were uneasy tosses and turns, the steady ceiling, and noisy thinking amid the silence of isolation. Torn between being foolishly careless and being inconsiderately encroached, I swayed back and forth from a tug-of-war of whose side it was to blame. As I got tired of rocking back and forth, one thing became very clear; There was actually no one culpable to the ironic situation. My mind rested on a debate between, "He wouldn't have done it if I had just protected it" and "He shouldn't do it, because in the first place it was disrespectful". After hours of battling over these two notions, there I had lain defeated, frozen and suspended in disbelief, yet the vivid scenario plays over and over again, burning itself into my memory. Further into the depths of my brooding capacity, my perturbed consciousness diluted those memories with my imaginations of the unspeakable. I've thought so much that dinner came as the last thing on my mind.

ʚϊɞ