a different kind of tale

C’est La Vie

Sitting by the corner of the student’s lounge, she had watched as the teacher passed by the corridor. She was thinking if she could talk to her professor. She had earlier known that their teacher rejected their project and all she wanted to do right at the moment was to confront her. She groped her stomach and felt it was empty. She sat there, thinking.

Yesterday, she had argued with the jeepney driver because he did not tell her that the truck was going to Bunawan and that she was actually going to Monkayo. She had raised her voice with too much exasperation. She had burned her finger with the still hot electric heater because her mind wandered somewhere when she was preparing her coffee. She had stumbled in front of their boarding house and was seriously embarrassed because her jeans were torn by the hem and her knee was terribly hurt. She walked limping down the school for three days already.

For several days now, she had slept very late at night and would doze into a sleep for quite an hour in the morning before eight o’clock in which her PE subject was scheduled. She had run out of money. She had encoded her project in a computer center where they charged her P15.00 per hour and she had spent more than eight hours to finish all her paper works. And she had also had the soft copies printed. She had texted her mother that she needed money but her mother did not know where to get it to send immediately to her.

She fixed her hair and put lipstick on her pallid lips. She thought she was still pretty even if she was over fatigued. She decided to really have a talk with the professor. But then she was suddenly talking to herself: “What will I tell her? Of course, I will tell her that she has to grade our project because I have no more money to spend for that crap… Could I really do that? Oh… Give me some strength.”

When she walked in the hallway, she felt her knee injury throb again and her flesh was trembling because of nervousness. Even in that state, she called out the name of her professor. The professor turned to her and faced her. She greeted her cheerfully and tried to conceal her apprehension. They were talking then when all of a sudden, she was already telling her professor: “Ma’am, can you not give us our grades? We worked hard for it and there you are just reject them in an instant without even appreciating or just thinking of our effort. Ma’am if you won’t accept it, then I would probably…”

The sentence was cut as she collapsed in front of her professor. She felt that somebody lifted her. She could not see the face. She could only hear voices. She knew that everyone was looking at her now. She wanted to open her eyes, but she could not. She felt gravely ashamed.

When she was back to consciousness, her head ached and she could barely sit up. Her mouth was so dry and her stomach was aggressively grumbling. She straightened up and looked for her things. She remembered she was supposed to have her soft copy of her project printed for submission. She looked at her watch. It was already nine o’clock. But when she looked outside the window, it was not yet dark. She pounded her watch hard on the bed and jumped out. She looked for her shoes and immediately left the clinic.

She forgot that she had collapsed in front of so many people awhile ago. She walked straight towards the Room 207 where she found her classmates nearly done with their examination. She approached her teacher and asked for a test paper. Her teacher would not allow her to take the test. She walked home alone and at a complete loss. She fumbled for her wallet in her bag. And in another minute, she forgot what she was looking for. She looked up at the big clock; it was still 3:00 in the afternoon.

When she passed by the lawn, she decided to take a seat for awhile. She waved a hand to a young guy seated a few meters away from where she was sitting. The guy wondered and walked out from the lawn. She laughed at herself. She then took out her notebook. She turned the pages and forgot where she wrote her class schedule and her things-to-do list.

The sky turned murky as dark clouds settled upon. She was still sitting there and scribbling something on her notes:

Dear Mama,

I talked to Professor Rico today. She would not accept my project. I confronted her and it feels good I have done it.

Ma, I did not eat for almost 17 hours. My head’s throbbing, my stomach’s empty, my knee hurts, and I could barely walk properly.

Ma, when I go home, cook something tasty for me. I miss you.

She started her way down the street. She was again feeling giddy. When she already arrived in their dorm, it started to rain hard. She went outside and bathed with the rain. She bathed until in the wee hours of the morning. She was drenched and tired and she wanted to go home.

Several years ago, everything was okay with her. She did not have to wash her clothes, make formal essays, skip breakfast, get nervous in the class, and get pressured on how to deal with peers. Back then, she only knew what her mother forbids her to do. She only thought of the chores which her mother assigned to her: watering the flowers in their garden, sweeping dried leaves in the yard, washing the dishes after every meal, brushing teeth before going to bed and whispering prayers before she closes her eyes to sleep.

She closed her eyes to sleep. She forgot to pray and slept tight while soaked in the rain.