Walking home from church one Wednesday evening, a drop of water streamed across my face. Instinctively, I looked up as if trying to confirm a rainstorm on its way to water my already-drenched neighborhood after weeks of long torrential rains in the evenings. Indeed I wasn’t mistaken because just as I reached our doorstep, water poured from the sky like a dam in heaven has just broken loose. Damn, had I stopped for even just a single step, I would have been wet all over. Luck was just on my side.
Looking forward to meet up with a classmate in a mall to return some CDs, I found myself inside a jeep going to downtown. Nearing Matina, the place where I could get my next ride going to the mall, I reached out for my purse to get the 50 peso bill I set aside for my fare (50 pesos could do you a lot more then that it could now). I was still looking into the pouch when I realized that I left the bill, and the purse, on the table. Trying not to panic and to look distressed, I innocently continued my search, reached for my phone, slowly closed my pouch and held it as if I was trying to text someone while everyone was busy reaching out favors to pass on their fare to the jeep conductor. A myriad of possible, and sometimes ridiculous, ways to get off the jeep dashed in my mind that I did not notice we were already in downtown. Eventually, the final street came where all the passengers are supposed to get off. My mind was busy and my heart was racing as I decided that this will be the do-or-die street-I should get off or I’ll get screwed. Fortunately, a bunch of friends riding in the jeep tapped the hand rail before the jeep made its final turn and without looking suspicious, I squeezed myself gracefully in between the passengers getting off, crossing my fingers and hoping no one would notice me. When my last foot touched the ground and heard the jeep drove off, I can’t help but smile and gave a sigh of relief-the most liberating one that I had in my entire life. I then went to my father’s office nearby smiling. Had I not pushed myself to think and act as calm and as composed as I have been, I would be probably seeing myself in the evening news as the lady caught for not paying her jeep ride. Luck was just on my side again.
After having been hooked on the Internet for five hours straight last Thursday, I realized that I have to send this document back to Zamboanga or I might lose my shot at independence and survival for a year. I really hate myself for being such a procrastinator. I think that is the only thing I mastered in college with so much preciseness and I am not exactly proud of it. I was very much looking forward to procrastination’s graceful regression, or better yet instantaneous exit from my life after schooling but guess what, here I am again, pulling the first shirt I could hold on to from my pile of clothes in the closet, and doing the ponytail (which I am not exactly good at) while waiting for the next tricycle that would bring me to the nearest LBC. It was nearly 4 in the afternoon and I am not exactly positive about it still being included in the day’s delivery. Nevertheless, I cannot afford to wait another day either and suffer the worst (The package will be delivered most probably on Monday if that happens as there is the weekend to consider.). Just as I walked in the receiving station of the courier service, I ran into the delivery man who was on his way out to the truck with the day’s packages. Mustering some guts and clearing my throat (I am not really used to talking to people I don’t know), I smiled and found myself chatting with this dear old man in his 40s. It proved to be the best thing to do because he waited for my package as it has to be paid and cleared in the counter. I went out of the office with a grin. Had I not walked the extra mile that afternoon, my package would still be in the skies while I am writing this article. Luck was just beside me this time.
Fast forward forty years later, to an afternoon when I would be in the yard, outside my dear small house, picking up weeds growing in the pots of my dear shrubs. I looked back to our porch and saw the love of my life--then young and full of life, now old and gray--fast asleep on his rocking chair with the paper in hand and snoring peacefully with mouth still open. Great and fun memories would then flood my thoughts of all the times we’ve been together: those times when we have to rush off to the hospital to visit our daughter who just gave birth and have a look at our cute apo; or when we would speed off to the airport to get into the next flight as chance passengers and catch our son’s graduation the next day; or when we were laughing our asses off and throwing popcorns at each other while watching a family comedy movie in one of our movie marathons. Thoughts of how we strongly bonded didn’t escape my mind either: how we endlessly argued of how stubborn each of us could get and how annoyed we are of each other; or when we sat in the kitchen table trying to find a way to extend our budget and funds that would get us by during the difficult times; or how hard it is to buy a new pair of shoes and not thinking of the baby’s education plan premium due the next day. Contented with all these memories, I would then go back to weeding my plants with a sigh of relief-probably the most meaningful one that I would have in my entire life. I wish that day would come, the day when I could smile with contentment and happiness and say to myself--luck was indeed on my side and love made it a lot sweeter.
