I dislike how uninspired the woman in the mirror looks like for the past weeks. Past months, to be accurate. The top of my hair shows its natural curls while the bottom half presents evidence of rebonding past. It is an absolute shoo-in as BEFORE photo for Brazilian Blowout advertisements. My face is an unevenly bronzed canvass where cystic zits decided to make re-appearing acts on. My eyebrows are crying for threading, my legs and the nether regions for waxing, my nails for manicure and pedicure and my whole body for a four-hour massage. Who would have imagined I'll attract somebody's attention?

I was about to go home to my rented space from Cubao when this frail guy politely asked if he can take refuge under my umbrella. El-la el-la eh eh eh. Under my umbrella. I agreed and let him squeeze in close as we headed together to the jeep terminal. I informed him I was off to Kalantiaw, expecting him to state his destination, too. Instead, he initiated a small talk and shared he used to live in Project 4. He even probed where in Kalantiaw I'm residing. Strike 1.

His inquiry fell on deaf ears. He didn't seem to protest when his temporary canopy was taking him somewhere beneficial to me alone. So I asked again to which point I should escort him. After all, he can't read my mind why I stated I was off to Kalantiaw, can he? He ignored my question again and I noticed how his eyes darted from my little white dress (often dubbed as pangtulog by some officemates for its flowy feel) down to my legs. This sideway glance made me imagine his accomplice/s behind me, waiting for their cue to attack me and rip off my pussy red bag into tiny shreds upon finding my empty wallet. Strike 2!

Before I got the chance to ask again for his destination, he was already asking for my beautiful name. That was the last straw. Without even meeting his eyes, I almost sprinted to terminate our conversation. Should I take the Kalantiaw jeep or mislead him? When the Kalantiaw jeep finally left the terminal after an agonizing long wait, I launched a heavy sigh of relief.

But it wasn't a smooth ride for me. I felt pangs of guilt for leaving a poor guy under the rain. A part of me assures me he's a big bo now and his adrenalin can aid him dash to the nearest shed anyway.

A female student interrupted this mental tug-of-war and asked me for the fare. I confirmed it's still P8.00. She asked how much it would be for students like her. Was it P6.00 or P7.00? I shrugged in response.

Then my lips curved into a small smile. To her, I might look like a street-smart lady. To my suddenly-inflated ego, I just look like a college student who face similar budget concerns. Ha!

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At 4:46 AM , Anonymous thelighttraveler said...

Poor guy. But I admit I wouldn't know what to do either if I were in your situation.

But dear - ang haba talaga ng hair mo! =)

At 5:22 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hahaha. Classic. We some kind of validation in whatever size, shape or form sometimes. Love it, mare!

At 4:40 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

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