The sound of your voice brings me comfort I never knew existed. We barely see each other and we only get to hang out after months or years of not seeing each other. But we talk. We talk about so many things; our problems, the universe, celebrities, politics, songs—almost… just almost about everything.
I fell in love with the way you see the world.
Your eyes hold so much more than what people can see when they look at you.
Your voice—it’s soothing that it can utter words so kind the entirety of human existence can come clean from all the bullshits it has.
Your hair, disarrayed after you’ve lain in your bed for most of the time looks so good that I badly wanted to run my fingers on it again and again.
Your lips that hang slightly open as you listen to what I say make me want to nibble it so bad.
I fell in love with the way people treat you like someone so strong yet so soft.
Your words can go harsh for as long as you want but your heart shines through it the moment we talk about all the things you love.
Your breath that smells mint and smoke got me intoxicated and nearly drowning.
Your hands—rough and soft, ran through mine nonchalantly that it sent shivers down to my spine and you weren’t aware of the effect you have on me.
I suppose you already know how I’m a knocked-out-romantic-hopeless reader. I didn’t want to read those sad novels that make you cringe, and cry, and weep at the peak of the climax except that I want to read it. I didn’t want to feel the pain some characters go through but I want to cry and weep with them as well. I am torn in between reading these kinds of novels. How do I know if a book is that ‘kind’ of novel? Well, google. Goodreads. Book reviews. They’re everywhere and I even got friends spoiling me with tidbits of information. But with this book, I only got Goodreads reviews telling me what to expect.
One day in my life, as I listened to my professor in literature talk about various Filipino novelists, I found myself opening my mobile data and search for each one of them. I’ve found gems of different genre from the list of authors she gave us. Then when I got home, I researched thoroughly and that’s when I stumbled across Samantha Sotto’s book, Before Ever After. I listed about three books and presented it to the class for some references on what book we are going to read for our final paper. Most of which are fiction. I then presented the book’s synopsis and reviews that I got from the said site. My blockmates voted for her book. I even relayed false information saying that the book can be bought for 235php (around $4-$5) because that’s what the local bookstore’s website’s price. When we checked it out, it was for 400php++ ($6). We opted to get the eBook instead. (I have the ebook copy. So… if you’re looking for it you can email me.)
I pull up my blanket from half of my body up to my neck. Some rays of the sun peek through the small gaps of the blinds I installed when I moved into the apartment, warm on my face helping my body adjust to the cold temperature in my room. Last night, I conclude today to be my rest day and I know there is no stopping me. I savour the moment I have with my bed and my warm blanket than turns even cozier in the morning. I feel my throat burn from thirstiness, and then I remember how lazy I am last night, neglecting the need of my body for water. Right now, I can settle to the fact that I am a lazy-ass girl who can’t leave her bed for her own benefit. Well, blame my bed… and pillows… and blanket… and the weather itself. I wonder how possibly it could be that my bed is a lot more comfortable in the morning than it already is. I am just so grateful that it’s my rest day today.
I stare blankly at the plain white ceiling I re-painted weeks ago. I can’t deny the fact that I am badly missing my room back home—painted in pastel blue color, with my painting materials carefully arranged on the cabinet beside the window, Kara on the bunk bed going through the stack of books I have. I miss everything back home, but I have to deal with the choices I made. My doorbell ring for three times and I hesitate for a moment if I should stand up and get the door, or just ignore it away, but in the end, I shrug the laziness away, wrap the robe around my body and head for the door.
“Good day, Isabelle.” It is kind of appalling for me to see Mrs. Bloomberg behind the door holding up a tray with pancakes on it. Mrs. Bloomberg—a woman in her fifties—is my neighbour across our apartment who, by rumours, I learn that she is living alone for almost five years already.
I widen the door opening upon recognizing her face. “Hey, Mrs. Bloomberg, what can I do for you?” I ask flashing her a bright smile.
I usually dread the last day of the week (Friday) because of the long vacant hour I have this second semester. I tried filling it up with another subject but there is no available schedule for me. So I was left with no choice but to suck it up for the whole semester. But today went very well. My best friend, Clarisse, and I reserved a booth last Wednesday on our school’s production booth, where you can watch the available movies they have for free. We didn’t have to go out of the school to spend our four-hour vacant. We decided to watch P.S. I love you (2007), a movie that Gerard Butler, and Hilary Swank starred in, and was directed by Richard LaGravanese.
It’s kind of funny because for two years now, I’ve been wanting to watch that movie and I don’t know why I did not watched it. I think, I viewed its trailer for like, a hundred times already but hadn’t decided to watch it—until today. C keeps on telling me how she already forgot the plot of the movie and she really wants to watch it again, so we did. The problem was, we reserved the booth for an hour and a half without knowing that the movie lasts for 2 hours and 5 minutes. We had to forward some parts in order to finish the whole movie, since the staff kept on reminding us that they will close at twelve noon.