I Hate Tabasco

           5:30am. My eyes open. Or at least I think they’re open. I float towards my bathroom barely even touching the floor. Give me a break, it’s a Monday. I then step into the shower and let the warm water go through my skin and my soul. Showers were made for this feeling, I swear. I start washing my face and make sure I’m squeaky clean (wouldn’t want a breakout to happen).

            The hardest part of my mornings is dressing up. I mean, whatever outfit I choose will be on myunsightly body the entire day (well, until I get home, of course). I head on over to my closet and take a look: culottes, white tops, high-neck sleeveless tops, black shirts, black pants, denim jacket, a 150-peso dress, more culottes…Would I want to look “conservative” today? I take the culottes and my button down polo. Too conservative. I throw those away and take my dress. I put it on and—oh no the fabric’s too thin—take it off. I put on a black top and jeans—too casual! Another black top, then a white top, another type of black top…until my entire bathroom is covered in all the contents of my closet. Unable to choose at least one single piece of clothing that would fit my mood, my thoughts and plans for the day, I throw my cares out the closet and grab a grey dress.

             6:05am: Ilanguidly take in my first (and favorite) meal of the day. Flocons D’Avoine Aux Baies (Verry Berry Oatmeal). A tablespoon of honey. Nice and heartwarming, the way I like it. I pick up my almost dog-eared copy of my favorite Hemingway.  Une Génération Perdue: “I thought of Miss Stein and Sherwood Anderson and egotism and mental laziness versus discipline and I thought who is calling who a lost generation? Then as I was getting up to the Closerie des Lilas with the light on my old friend, the statue of Marshal Ney with his sword out and the shadows of the trees on the bronze, and he alone there and nobody behind him and what a fiasco he’d made of Waterloo, I thought that all generations…” A thought suddenly enters my mind. Chew. Swallow. Chew. “…were lost by something and always had been and always would be and I stopped at the Lilas to keep the statue company and drank a cold beer before going home to the flat over the sawmill…” Wait what was that? Chew. Swallow. Chew. Somehow, for some reason, I wasn’t able to grasp the fleeting words of my dizzy morning mind; for although the oatmeal was warm, the thought had slipped into the cold breeze entering through the window. 

              ADMU. CTC 406. It’s chilly in the classroom; so chilly that the coldseeps through my skin but I have grown used to it. It doesn’t bother me anyway. There I am in the last row, at the very back of the classroom nearest the exit. My block mates, other freshmen, and the sophomores have all got their ears on our professor, Sir Arvin. Meanwhile, I hold my pen and copy notes…What did Martine Cajucom say on Scout magazine again? Oh right: if you feel like you need to leave, then leave. If it will help you grow as a person, then by all means leave. Independence sounds so thrilling; it’s as if you plunge yourself head first into this unchartered expanse, just going, going, going until you know where you are and you know where you’re headed. Am I sure about this whole JTA plan? She (my first cousin who is currently in Netherlands, I miss her) did say that academics here in Ateneo is so much harder, but Dayan (my Chem classmate) said that when some people get back they end up catching up on units. And after all this is done, what am I supposed to do then? What internships can I pursue that would fit the bill? Hmm, Sunnies? Preview, maybe? Where would those things take me? Publishing, retail, publishing, retail…Remember, the world now is smaller compared to my time. You have a lot of opportunities, you just have to look. Nothing will be given to you; you have to earn it yourself. Always think big, okay? And if you have any ideas, just tell me, and we can work something out—a partial derivative is a derivative of a function of two or more variables with respect to one variable, the other(s) being treated as constant. I write it down, but something slips away from my paper-thin mind. 

       
           After all my classes, I decided I deserved a drink. Non-alcoholic, of course—it’s a Wednesday for crying out loud. Milk tea from Coco would quench my irreparably parched soul. “Bye I’ll see you soon!” my classmate says. “Yup, I’ll miss you guys.” We were about to part ways when he said, “Where are you going?”

Oh, I’m going to Regis.

Alone?

Yup.

I made my way from Berchmans to MVP, and trudged to Leong with my backpack and jug in tow. The sky grew darker and the clouds hovered above us and cast a thin blanket of the unknown that was yet to come. Did I forget anything? I check my bag again: wallet, phone, lipstick, my Math stuff (finals coming up!), calculator. Do I even have cash on me? I can’t walk in there empty-handed. Luckily, I did have some money—300 pesos would do. I walk and walk, my right hand holding my bag, my left holding my jug. Walking and walking, I pass by different people. They’re mostly in groups—barkadas, couples, old-time friends, new friends, friends with a future that they aren’t even aware of, boys and girls laughing, girls talking about girl things, and I walk through them, through them. And there it was again: the thought. I reached the footbridge to Regis and on it, I looked straight ahead not looking left and right, not looking at anyone, although I was aware that there I was suspended above all of Katipunan, feeling smaller and smaller with every step I take. I couldn’t shake the fleeting words in my mind away, I couldn’t, I couldn’t. Left, right, left, right. I reached Coco and sat at the table by the wall, alone.

          I dropped my bag on the chair and got my wallet. ­No, maybe I’ll go to the restroom first. I dropped my wallet in my bag and opened the door. Or I’ll order first and then go to the restroom. Yeah. I got my wallet again and headed for the counter. “Nicole!” I see my block mate bestie whom I haven’t seen in a while because of all the school work overwhelming us and consequently killing every ounce of life left in us. I hug her tightly. She was standing right in front of the large menu plastered on the wall. I was listening to her, but my eyes would dart from her to the menu: Coco Milk Tea, Winter Melon Mountain Tea, 2 Ladies, 3 Buddies (milk tea with pearl, pudding, and grass jelly). “Yeah Lit’s been so hard, we have another paper due this week.” Matcha Slush with Salty Cream. Lemon Yakult (what?). Black Tea Latte. “That’s why I can’t go with the block later to study for Math,” she says. Hmmm maybe I’ll get the usual Wintermelon. No, no, I think I’m craving for some milk tea. But I don’t want pearls so… "Okay, I gotta go now. Bye Nicole!”

I walked back to school with my drink now in my hand. Milk tea with no pearls.

6:00pm: Cousin’s birthday dinner. At home, I greeted my grandparents, my titas and titos, and all the other relatives and friends with a kiss and they would smile and usually say in return, “Wow you’re so big na!” I’m polite throughout the party. I always am. I listen to conversations, chime in if I have to, and smile, smile, smile. I look around me, and there I am in the middle of everyone, set apart, apart—their words and laughter buzzing through my ears and dissolving into thin air. “You’re cousin, he has a girlfriend na! I see his posts on Facebook, haha.” The usual tita talk occurs. “Yes well, he’s old enough. He’s turning 20 this year just like Nicole,” my mother points out. “Nicole, you’re turning 20 na ba? Akala ko 18 ka lang!” my lola exclaims. And with those words, my smile slowly faded but I was trying, I was really trying to maintain it, trying to laugh along—I had to. It faded and faded, and suddenly there was this rising feeling inside me, tugging at every corner of my soul, at the corners of my smile, the corners of my eyes, the corners of my polished outfit. Rising and rising, it was a push and pull—a game of tug of war—and I was losing.

Thankfully, my smile was intact.

10:30pm. I walk back to our house. It’s late and I was extremely tired from the long day. Unconsciously, I open the refrigerator and look for something to eat. Something sweet, maybe. I grab a Twinkie and wolf it down in a minute. I think I want more. A pack of Oreos with peanut butter. I hate it dry, I like it with milk. Something salty. Something savory. Crackers with blue cheese. And then gouda cheese. I grab cold leftover pepperoni pizza and leave it half-eaten. I drink water. I come back for the half-eaten pizza and pop it in the toaster oven. I realize that I hate cold pizza and I hate it bland without any type of sauce. And so, I look in the pantry, find some Tabasco and drizzle that all over this half pepperoni pizza. I then realize that I hate Tabasco—it lacks the kick that hot sauce should have, it’s boring and it just plainly sucks. Where is the freaking Habanero sauce? I want more.

I climb into bed with a stomach so full that I don’t think I’ll be eating for the next few weeks. I close my eyes and shut myself out. The day’s events started rushing into me: The studying, the rough morning, having to choose what to wear, choosing that grey dress, only having 300 pesos, walking alone to Regis, talking to my friend whom I love dearly, walking back and studying for hours on end for a test that I doubt I’ll remember in the future, talking to grown-ups, trying to be one, trying to smile, listening to everyone around me getting girlfriends and boyfriends. I close my eyes even tighter. It’s rising now, making me feel uneasy as I try, I try to fall asleep. The school year’s ending and I’m turning 20 soon. Yes, in about six months, my teen years will have ended. And what have I done? What have I done with my life so far? I close my eyes, I close them. But I couldn’t anymore. And it all came rushing out.

I cried.

What if I am part of this génération perdue? What if I choose the black top that I love instead? What if I talk to my seatmates during Math class? What if I walk to Regis with someone and maybe get to hold their hand? What if I say what I want to say during parties? What if there’s actually Habanero sauce in the pantry but it’s just that I don’t look hard enough?

I breathe in and breathe out, not knowing what to do. Maybe it’ll be like this until I’m twenty, or maybe not. But I guess I’ll just have to wait for tomorrow, the next day, the day after that, when chances are either grasped or missed again.

Main photo: DigitalVision Colormos and Moment Mobile, Kevin Schafer