english,
Literary: This is a Love Confession (Part 1)
Okay so here's the thing, I was never able to see colors. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not color blind, it's just that they've always seemed so dull and boring compared to how others say they see it. They always talked about how unique maroon is whenever all the state university colors clashed during UAAP, or how beautiful everything looked like during the rainbow-filled Pride March at the Oval, or how, every year, the intricate paint on the wall of UP Fine Arts changes; but to me, it was simply the fact that this thing, whenever I looked at it, had color and that had a different one. There was never really anything special whenever I saw colors. Nothing struck me the way others’ were, with their eyes glistening whenever they see color. Before I knew it, I got used to living my life like this. Every day, being a monochromatic scene, nothing new, nothing extraordinary. That is until I met you, of course.
The first time we met was at the Sunken Garden, you were sitting alone by one of the pharaonic roots of the acacia trees. You were wearing a sweater, in the midst of the blazing outdoor heat of tropical Philippines. I wondered how on earth you weren't sweating at all. Soon I sat on one of the benches nearby to wait for my classmates. After a while, I saw you stand up and stretch your arms to the sky, your hands were moving as if you were grabbing on to something. I looked up to see what it could be – there was nothing there. My classmates arrived so I left. The next day after school, I went to Vinzons Hall to print articles for our thesis. While walking down the slope I saw you yet again at the waiting shed. This time you were wearing a shirt and leggings, I was two persons behind you in the line which waited for the Ikot jeep to arrive. The jeepney came, and half of the line got to sit down, including me. Inside, we ended up sitting three people away from each other. Midway the trip, at the now burnt Shopping Center, I took out my wallet to take out my fare. As I stretched out my right hand and said “bayad po,” you suddenly took out your hand to pass on my payment. Our hands touched…
This was the first time I ever saw true color. All the colors suddenly flooded my sight. The blue posters stuck to the back of the driver's seat which asked for female borders, the silver railing my left hand was holding on to, and all of the remaining passengers’ clothes from orange, purple, and mostly maroon. After this, I turned my head away since I couldn't look at you; I got flustered from what I was experiencing that moment. Luckily, no one was sitting at the edge of the jeepney, so I scooched over to the end. But when we arrived at the Post Office, more people came to ride, and out of the blue you scooched over to my side as well.
We were beside each other, the jeep was full, and the people were packed like sardines in a can. I could feel the frame of the jeep on my left, while your body on my right. And the colors my eyes saw from outside the jeep didn't make it any easier. Soon my stop came closer and as I said “para,” the jeepney halted, and I went down. I walked to the sidewalk and looked behind to see the jeep drive away with its gray smoke puffing up into the air. In the midst of walking, I halted and stood there for a moment. Afterwards, I smiled. I mean, come on, to feel this sudden surge of both excitement and nervousness all because of a mere touch of your hand. This somewhat serendipitous instance, this rather remarkable everyday scene, this moment with you, perplexed my young seventeen- year old heart.
That instant moment is forever embedded into my memory. The feeling of just seeing the colors in the way that wasn’t how I used to see, suddenly popping out here and there was marvelous splendor.
But soon the colors started to fade away into the colors which I normally saw. The nervousness and excitement I felt in the jeep just vanished, and soon my life went back to the way it was. The next few weeks came and they were much more dull. School work went on and on and the weekend turned shorter. My life suddenly turned from what was 'normal’ into this repetitive clockworks full of gears which rotated on and on in an endless, and not to mention, boring cycle.
It was Wednesday of the fourth week of the month, and the periodic tests started the following day. Math was the the first subject. Tired and hung up, I decided to walk home from school that day since I lived in the campus. As I walked through the pavements of the Oval, I saw the University Avenue. Cars were whirring from all directions, beeps clamoring from all sides, and adjacent to it was Mr. Oble. I was never a spontaneous person. I don’t know what got into me that day when I decided to go to the Ampitheatre. Spontaneity never really suited me, but because of that, I would've regretted not seeing what changed my life that moment…
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