Expectations

I’ve been in a fairly good mood these past few days, despite my habitual lack of productivity. Take for example, my reaction to a comment given recently about my current state of pseudo-unemployment.

I like calling P ‘the exception to every rule’. To say the least, he’s an achiever, and he’s very vocal about his dream to be part of Wall Street someday. We are both somehow affiliated to the School of Economics, and that is why he’s comfortable sharing his latest entrepreneurial exploits with me. Like his having joined this or that conference, this or that seminar, meeting this or that financial celebrity, etc. I always, always feel the necessity to keep up with him, if only because I’m older and am his literal senior. And he always, always reminds me of this supposed hierarchy. In his own strange, lovable way, of course.

Once, this week, we met for dinner – P and I and our other friends. And then he suddenly asked me: So what are you busy with now? To which I replied something along the lines of: Busy being bored. He instantly suggested: Why don’t you do something productive like write or something? And that just struck me.

It didn’t sting at all. In fact, it was somewhat heartwarming.

See I’ve developed this fear of meeting people from my first degree days, people who probably wouldn’t understand why I chose to take a second degree instead of finding a job. Most of these people are achievers – precisely the reason they can’t relate to the fact that some people don’t really know what they want to do for the rest of their lives. P is one of these first degree friends; there are times when I dread meeting him, because I know he’ll pry about my current life, and I will not be able to give him a reply he will find adequate. And I was right, at least in the case of our last meeting.

But there was something very refreshing about his comment this time. Somehow, it felt good to know people worried about me. Somehow, it made me feel they expected much better things. Never mind the fact that I failed to deliver. There is strangely something very comforting about people expecting only the best out of you.
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On a side note, some people from K translated some love poems into Bisaya Cebuano as part of our routine ‘Get Crazy’ moments. We read If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda – sadly we couldn’t remember whether he was Spanish or Italian or Brazilian or Portuguese – Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 and others. Here is a rough transcript of our ‘joke time’ group translation for Christopher Marlowe’s Come live with me and be my love.

Unedited blasphemy care of H, B, P, M, M, J and moich.

Tara maglive-in ta ug pwede ba ikaw ang akong ihigugma
Ug sa tanan kalamian atong patunayan
Ug sa mga bukid, mga bakawan, mga buntod ug mga basakan
Mga kakahuyan ug sa mga tungas nga bukid

Maglingkod kami sa mga bato
Ug mangita kami ug mga pastol nga gapakaon sa ilahang mga gialagaan nga sheep
Sa mabaw nga suba gakahulog
Ang nindot paminawon nga mga langgam nga gakanta ug org sa UP

Ug magbuhat ko para sa imo ug katre sa mga rosas
Ug libo-libo nga humot nga santan
Isa ka kalo sa mga bulak ug ambot
Ug gipalibutan sa mga dahon sa isa ka tanum

Ug isa ka taas nga sanina na gihimo gikan sa pinakatsada nga sheep
Nga gikan sa mga gwapa nga karnero atong birahon
Ug pinakanindot nga linya sa mga tsinelas gikan sa bugnaw
Kauban ang kandado nga bulawan kaayo

Ang bakos nga sagbot ug bougainvillea
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Ug kung kani nga mga kalamian mulihok
Mag-live in ta ug himuon tikang akong gugma

Ug ang mga tigbantay sa karnero kay musayaw ug kanta
Para sa imong kalipay kada buntag sa Mayo
Kung kani nga mga kalamian makapalihok sa imong utok
Dali na kay maglive-in ta

Mary, statchu?

The strangest thing happened.

Mary was on Facebook this morning - and no, that's not the weirdest part, although, admittedly, it's not a normal occurrence - and we started chatting. (This is Mary, and yes, she rode that thing out of her own volition.)

She said she woke up too late to attend her first class, and because her next class wasn't until 3PM, she was considering not getting out of bed yet - note that we were having this chatversation at 11AM. I told her to get the hell out of her room and get some sunshine. And then I logged off under the pretense of having to do some serious studying.

In truth, I just went to sleep. 11-ish to 1-ish. I snapped out of my snoozing for a short while to read Mary's text message: It's a good day to look at the clouds and the grass. Or something like that. And then I went to sleep.

Phone kept ringing the whole time, and when I saw it was Mary calling, I didn't pick up or bother to call back. I thought she wanted to talk about what a sunny day it was - because yes, Mary and I are prone to talking about the weather - so I didn't think there was anything serious she wanted to tell me. (In fact, I vaguely, sleepily considered the possibility that she had altogether decided to ditch her 3PM class, and, knowing I didn't have classes for the rest of the day, wanted to hang out somewhere along the Katipunan strip.) And then! I woke up.

2 Messages, both from Mary. Message 1: Sandy, is it all right if I call you now? Message 2: Hey Sandy. Your friend left her phone. We found it at secwalk.

After reading the second message, I texted back: Sorry, fell asleep. My friend who?

And then I began wondering how on Earth Mary recognized Trisha's phone - because Trisha is the only UP friend I've ever introduced to her. I took a shower, mulling about the absurdity of the situation, and just as I was stepping out of the bathroom, the truth hit me.

And, haha, no wonder Isay L. called Mary's mother instead of me.