A Highly Dramatized Account of Something that Happened on the Train

Alternative Title: A Reason Why I Think Attractive People (Preferably of the Male Variety) Should Never Wear Headphones on the BART

(Also important to note: although exaggerated in some parts, this entire post is generally a true story.)

* * *

They were Beats.

They were one of those large Dr. Dre headphones.

They were black (although the color matters very little).

And they were the only things that stood in the way.

* * *

I first saw him, wearing those blasted headphones, sitting on one of the benches on the platform.

See, I have this little game I play everyday in which I walk the streets and BART stations of San Francisco, keep my eyes peeled for attractive men, and count how many I find. I was on my way home from school then, and so far, I had counted 8. When I saw him sitting there, staring at his shoes, I grinned to myself and whispered: “nine.”

He looked up after a while, and for one brief moment, our eyes met.

“Yes,” I told myself, pursing my lips to stifle the grin that so badly wanted to escape. “Definitely number 9. Huge 9.” I chuckled inwardly, tore my eyes away from him, and turned to face the train which had now just started to come in.

The train slowed and stopped.

As the doors opened, and as I contemplated what to do in the train once I found a seat (to read a book or watch a video on my iPod?), he stood and walked in.

I gasped.

We were boarding the same train.

I chewed on my lip and followed him. I was going to sit beside him, if that was at all possible. If not beside him, somewhere near him. It was my ultimate goal–if only for that night, at least.

But he didn’t sit. Instead, he stood against the train’s wall. Instinctively, I stood beside him. I picked on my fingers. The all-too familiar (and all-too feminine) over-analysis of things which need not and should not be over-analyzed took place. Oh god, will he think that me standing here beside him after we exchanged that brief glance at the platform means that I actually am crushing on him (which I totally am)?!

I looked around and sighed a breath of relief. All the seats were taken. Well, except for that one seat which was partially obscured by this old man’s bag. No one was trying to sit there anyway. I really had no reason not to be standing. That was that.

I looked down at the ground and smiled at my shoes. I was smiling because I found that I didn’t really mind standing, not when it was the likes of him that I was standing next to. Who cares if my backpack (which held 2 heavy books) was killing my back, anyway?

I stepped an inch closer to him. I did it because the support rail was right next to him, and I needed to hold onto it to avoid toppling over. Also, because I wanted to be closer to him. Actually, I didn’t need the bar for support; I could perfectly stand soundly in a moving train without toppling over. But he didn’t know that. I held onto the rail anyway.

I stole glances at him. I stole as much as I could. The more I stole, the  more I was convinced that he may just be the cutest of all the boys I’ve counted as part of my silly little game. But that could very well be because of the fact that I’ve stared at him the longest. I only ever caught brief glimpses of the others, really. But that was besides the point. I shook my head and gathered my thoughts. This–standing next to a cute guy for more than 5 seconds–doesn’t happen very often. I needed to do something to make it worthwhile.

There were a ton of things I could think of to spark a conversation. The most obvious topic would be his headphones. Hey, sorry, but I really want to get myself one of those Beats, and I was just wondering, how much would a pair like that cost me? Or, I have a friend who swears by those Beats. Are they really the best headphones ever? Or, simply, nice headphones. And it could progress from there.

The Problem: the headphones, which would otherwise have been utterly useful to my purpose, were still nestled atop his head and feeding loud music into his ears. Whatever I tried to say to him at that point (or any point during the train ride, really) would be left unheard.

I mentally cursed the headphones and gave up on trying to strike a conversation with him. Instead, I started to think of the various ways I could inconspicuously take his picture with my iPod. Yes, I know that that would probably make the “Really Creepy Things to Do to a Cute Guy on the BART” list, but it was the only thing left I could think of to make all this standing despite the heaviness of my backpack worth it. Also, it would be nice to have a picture as proof of that very cute guy on the BART to show my friends back home.

And then it happened.

A feeling. A graze; a slight touch which was met by the sudden instinct of pulling away.

A “sorry” from him was hurriedly muttered and the awkward averting of eyes took place, which rendered my reassuring smile (which had meant to signify that no offense had been taken) unseen. The words “it’s fine” tumbled haphazardly out of my upturned lips, but whether it was loud enough for even the non-headphoned crowd to hear, I remain uncertain.

Nothing else occurred afterwards. A recognition of my response to his apology did not even take place–at least–not to my immediate consciousness.

What did take place, however, was the momentary cessation of my breathing; a somewhat delayed response to the series of events which only then had started to make sense:

1) I was holding onto that metal bar.
2) He had to bend down to fix something on his shoe.
3) To gain balance, he had to grab onto the said metal bar.
4) He did not know that my hand was already gripping the spot he instinctively held onto.
5) Our fingers touched.

It was a stupid thing to feel happy about, even childish, at some level, but it elicited such excitement within me which I knew I ought not to have had. Oh, how silly I must sound to everyone who reads this, but really, sometimes all you need is that little extra something to highlight your day. And, no matter how inane and trifling my something may have been, what mattered was that I had it. And it still made me grin like a fool.

The train slowed and stopped.

I wish more could have happened, but as the doors opened, he walked towards them and stepped off.

And I will never see him again.

* * *

Of course, as the title clearly states, all of this was highly (and quite unnecessarily) dramatized. The events of that night could have been easily narrated in this manner:

There was a cute guy one night on the BART. I was standing next to him. He accidentally grabbed the part of the support rail where my hand was, causing our fingers to touch. He said “sorry.” I felt giddy inside. I was being silly.

But really, where’s the fun in that?

2012
02/03
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Homesick.

I spent almost every single day these past few weeks gallivanting around San Francisco, exploring places I’ve never been to, and just wandering the streets without any such direction and no goal in mind (and I am proud to say that I never once did get lost). I would often go to GGU (my school) hours early just so I could walk around the surrounding area before class. I walked, and walked, stopped at some random store, and walked again. My feet were screaming for me to stop and sit down for a while, but I wouldn’t. My arms, which were often carrying a fairly heavy book or two, were on the brink of dislocating themselves from my body. It also started getting cold. Cold, harsh wind would waft through my hair and hit my face, numbing it, and making my entire body shiver. The areas right behind my ears also started to hurt, and I wondered why on earth they did that, but just shrugged and decided to ignore it. “Pain” is merely weakness leaving the body, I thought, and so I kept going.

I walked, and shivered, and panted, and walked some more.

One day, my body decided point-blank that it was not going to take any more of this crap from me.

And so it broke down.

Dear God, I hated it for doing that.

I was in aunt’s (Tita Judith’s) house in (the awesome part of) Oakland, CA, for the weekend, and we were scheduled to go to the Great Mall in Milpitas (which had all the wondrous outlet stores) that Saturday. That was definitely not a good time to get sick.

“DAMN YOU, BODY!” I mentally scolded myself, “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?! YOU LET ME DOWN. WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE A TEAM.” And if I could hurt my body (just to let it know how inadequate it was being at that moment in time) without hurting myself, I would have. But as it was physically impossible to hurt something which encased my entire being without hurting myself, I decided against it. Besides, it was already being sick and broken as it was.

I felt weak and nauseous. My head spun when I stood up and my throat started feeling funny. It felt as though a heavy bag of sand perennially sat on the upper area of my face, and I felt this constant inclination to just stay in my warm bed and sleep.

Now, back home, I would welcome this sort of feeling with open arms. It meant a very viable excuse to skip school or work for the day (or days, depending on how bad it got) and staying in my nice, cozy bedroom, watching the television (or movies on my computer), and being served food round-the-clock by our househelp. It also meant having my mother give me more attention than usual–and her treating me like a 6-year-old again, which, when you’re sick, is a quite honestly a beautiful thing.

Here, though, it was different.

Sure, I had my uncle in Daly City and my aunt in Oakland to help me, but it wasn’t as though there were househelp available to take care of my every need. It also would have been wrong, and not to mention dreadfully awkward if I had asked them to feign being my mother–who used to let me lie down beside her and cuddle with her until I got better. And I couldn’t just stay in bed and not worry about anything else. I had things to do, places to visit, and things to shop for (and yes, I did actually need to shop; the rainy season was fast-approaching and I had to equip myself with waterproof wear and other such paraphernalia). And for the first time in a long time, I actually wanted to be well and healthy so I could do things, rather than lie, rather uselessly, in bed!

I woke up that Saturday morning feeling worse than the night before, and if it weren’t for my aunt’s loud voice commanding me to get up and start getting ready, I would never have had the willpower to move an inch from that bed. I took a hot shower, gargled with warm water and salt (which was what my mom told me to do–and it works!), took Paracetamol (which I thankfully bring with me everywhere), drank lots of juice, and prayed to God that I wouldn’t die at any point during that day. I didn’t die, obviously, but I was very close. Really.

Anyway.

We bought vitamins for my stupid, weak immune system, and continued on to the Great Mall, which I absolutely loved. I walked a lot, and I was worried that it would only worsen my condition (which it did), but I bought so many things for so cheap that it made all the suffering worth it! So I’m going to make a side-note and show you all the things I bought:

My rain boots, which costed me $13. I was initially hesitant in getting these because of the print, but Tita Judith assured me that she “approved of the design” and that “she was a professional.” And what could go wrong with trusting a professional designer, right?

My black, leather (ish?) boots, which would survive the rain as well. $15. Not bad, eh?

Now these are my pride & joy. I have been wanting new sneakers for the longest time, and I got these new Converse shoes (originally $65) for only $20! What a deal! <3 And I know Chucks last a long time (my previous pair lasted me 5 years–and they’re still alive, mind you–except I left them back home).

Anyway.

We went home feeling very tired, and Tita Judith was having back pains from all the walking, which made her start wondering what on earth convinced her to take me to that huge mall in the first place. I regretted nothing, though, obviously.

I spent the rest of the week being sick, but I tried my best to function like a normal, healthy human being despite it all. I was constantly lamenting my nearing death, though, which caused my aunt to scold me a couple of times, and my uncle to roll his eyes, for my being over-dramatic. Ugh. No one understands my feelings. *Dramatic wiping of non-existent tear from eye.*

I guess what I’m trying to say is, all kidding and over-acting aside, I used to think that being sick without any househelp or mommy around would be impossible to get through. I once spent a night with my cousin who drove, cooked and still functioned fairly well even with the flu. I used to think she was a superhero of some sort, because I was always pretty useless when sick. Turns out, when you’re forced to be useful and when you have to do things despite of how weak you feel, you could actually do it. I still went to school, rode the bus and took the BART, walked tons and tons, and still managed to get well. Maybe it took a lot longer than it would have if I had just stayed home for a couple of days, but hey, at least I didn’t miss out on anything. And sure, it felt really bad, and there were times when I’d think of my bedroom, family and yayas back home and felt like crying because I realized how much I missed home. I was finally homesick, because I was literally sick. But I got through it. I now feel tons better, and know that I can take care of myself without being too dependent on others. I still did have my aunt and uncle to cook dinner for me, though, which was cheating, I guess, but I had to do everything else myself. It did feel quite fulfilling, too!

Also, just to let my family and friends back at home know, I still am quite homesick, even if I’m no longer sick. I miss everyone back home. :( But I’m here and you’re there, and we all just have to deal with that. I’m still really happy about being here, though, it’s just that I wish I could take all of you and bring you here, just so I could be with all the people I love. Ah, well, I’m rambling again (as I always do). So I guess this is my little update to all of you, since I hardly get to update this blog anymore!

P.S. Sorry if my entries seem to lack coherence or structure; I really just keep typing without thinking of any such direction, and I rarely even read through everything again to check for grammatical errors. So, suffer. :)

2012
01/23
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To Get to the Other Side

I just wanted to share this little difference I noticed when crossing the street here as compared to crossing the street in Metro Manila.

Contrary to popular belief, people do jaywalk here (case in point: my own aunt and uncle–oh, you know who they are), when they deem it safe enough to cross. However, the pedestrian traffic light is not completely ignored (like how it usually is in Metro Manila), and is still primarily made use of. A button (as shown in the above picture) is often (though not always) present at pedestrian crossings, and you must push it if you would like to cross the street. If there is no button, you’ll just have to wait for the “ok to walk” light to flash. It’s all pretty organized, and cars and people get along well here. Also, no one ever just runs across the street without looking out for cars (which usually happens back at home–don’t even get me started on that!).

If there is no pedestrian traffic light, pedestrians are always given the right of way. This means cars have to and will stop when they see you crossing the road at any point in time. Of course, you’d still have to be wary and look left and right before crossing, but once you step off the curb, the cars will stop for you. No one ever tries to outrun you here. It’s not like in Metro Manila, where you’d have to inch your way on the road and feel if the car will stop for you or not.

Oh, and this sign right here:

…actually has a purpose. It’s not just a suggestive “you may or may not stop your car here, it all depends on you, really” sign, which it is in the Philippines. No one ever stops at a stop sign like this back home. Sometimes I wonder why they even put them up! Cars here stop a full stop at a stop sign. The drivers get fined if they don’t (and the fine is like $400 or something; it’s not even funny). These signs are found often on intersections without traffic lights, and also consequently makes it easier for people to cross. So I don’t even have to pause and see if it’s okay to cross and just keep walking across even with a car approaching, because I know they’ll stop and wait for me to cross anyway. It’s amazing!


2012
01/08
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Hello, San Francisco!

It’s my second day in SFO today, but it already feels as though I’ve been here for longer than that! Tito Dennis (my uncle whom I’m currently living with) has been kind enough to show me around the whole of yesterday and today, and I’ve been coming home completely exhausted but equally happy from the things and places I’ve seen.

We went to Downtown San Francisco yesterday to see my school. My uncle taught me how to get there by taking the bus and the BART. The place where my school is located is amazing. It looks sort of like New York! (Not that I’ve ever been to NY, though, but I’ve seen it lots of times on the movies and TV, if that even counts?) There were a lot of beautiful buildings and nice places to eat in (although some of them are pricey). After seeing my school and getting myself a student ID, we walked to Chinatown where I found my most favorite thing in the world:

MILK TEA!

It costed around the same amount (if not 10-20 pesos more) as milk tea in Manila. Granted, it was not as good as Serenitea (which is my favorite milk tea brand in the Philippines), but it’ll do. I still have yet to try the milk tea from the other stores (as there were around 3 more stores which sold it).

Chinatown felt like an entirely different country. We walked there at around 10AM (when tourists weren’t around yet), and everyone present at that time was Chinese. They spoke in Chinese and all the stores were Chinese and we smelled Chinese food cooking, and, well, yes, it is Chinatown after all, but it’s still in San Francisco! I expected it to be a mix of Chinese and American culture, but it was as though I was in Beijing or Taiwan again.

We then went around Downtown San Francisco and saw more stores like Macy’s, Disney, Nike (which was relatively huge when compared to the Philippine stores), and other high-end stores which sold clothes whose costs equal that of Macbooks and other Apple products (which honestly would make more sense to buy).

We walked around the area for nearly 3 or 4 hours, so I was absolutely drained when we got back!

Today, though, was another day for walking, as my uncle tested my ability to take public transportation on my own. He asked me to lead the way and take the bus and the BART to my school and back. I had some mistakes, but he said I passed it anyway. YAY! I think I’m ready to go around on my own now. Haha.

But the best part of today (probably) was lunchtime! I got to try the IN-N-OUT burger which my friends have been talking about in college. I’ve never tried it because it’s found only in California, and when I came to California when I was younger, I didn’t even know of its existence (nor did any of our family/friends tell us about it). It’s a really good burger, I’d say! I’m not sure if I could call it the best burger in the world, as I’ve tasted many great burgers, but it’s definitely better than McDonald’s and Burger King. Just sayin!

We also met up with another one of my dad’s good friends, Tito Hector, and his daughter, Geraldine, for dinner. We ate at Boulevard Cafe (Geraldine and I shared a Yankee Pot Roast meal and it was AMAZING). It was nice talking to my uncle, especially about his memories with my dad (hehe). I also was happy to have met Geraldine, as she and I have many common interests.

Oh, and I think I’m enjoying the weather more now than I was yesterday. I mean, I love that it’s cold, but yesterday I was freezing (and was wearing 2 jackets)! Today I wore only one, and felt fine. It’s still cold, but I think I could get used to it. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wear no jacket at all? Ha! Just kidding–unless I deliberately want to freeze myself to death.

All in all, these first two days have been great! My parents will probably hate me for saying this, but I actually don’t really feel too homesick at all. I guess it’s because I’m still excited about everything. It may hit me sooner or later. I just hope it won’t be too bad. Haha. But yeah, SFO is a wonderful city and I’m happy that I live here now! And I’m looking forward to more amazing days of adventure ahead. :)

2011
12/31
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As the Day Draws Near

“You’re leaving next week,” one of our househelp said (in Filipino, of course), smiling rather wistfully as she watched me eat my lunch. “We’ll miss you.”

I instantly froze and fought the urge to gape (as my mouth held vast amounts of pasta, and would thus be very unbecoming of me, if I did). I hadn’t realized how departure day lay very much within my reach! It had always seemed so far away, that I never really let it bother me. But now… I swallowed and felt a surge of conflicting emotions course through me as I  returned her smile and nodded. “Yeah.”

* * *

The Philippines has always been my home. I grew up in Metro Manila–in this beautiful house, situated in this great village, which is located, very conveniently, near everything. I attended good schools, graduated college, and made the greatest friends. I got a job in a good company and took home a fairly agreeable amount every month. I have a loving family with whom I share the best laughs, and who are always so incredibly supportive of me in everything that I do. I also (and yes, it is important to note) have the cutest, smartest and friendliest Golden Retriever in the world here. And so despite my constant complaints of this city being nothing but polluted, noisy, overpopulated and having the worst roads (with the deepest potholes that constantly vex me) in the world, the truth of the matter is that I have lived a rather comfortable life here. So why, you might ask, would I ever want to leave?

The answer to that question lies upon these two words that I once saw in a Nike store, and that have consequently plagued me for the longest time: Never Settle.

My life here, at home, is okay. It has always been okay. It was comfortable, easy, and although I may have encountered some small bumps along the way, they were never anything of huge consequence. Everything was good. Everything was fine. Everything was–and is–okay. But there comes a point in life, I realized, when okay ceases to be enough. I started wondering if there could ever be more than this; if it was possible that “fine” could ever be “wonderful” instead. I spent nights thinking about it, visits to church praying about it, and figured that the only way I could ever find out if there is indeed anything more out there for me, is if I go out there myself and see.

I started looking for schools abroad to take my Master’s Degree in. I always knew that I wanted to earn one (because it will open up much more opportunities for me) someday, but it was only in the past few years that I realized that I wanted to take it away from home. Why? Because, I guess, I want the change. I want to be independent. I want to push myself into something huge and completely different so that I could learn and grow from it. I want to be the best I could be, I want to do the things I love, I want to be who I am… and I want to figure out exactly what that is. And this is, I guess, my attempt and my first step in finding out.

As departure day draws near, however, I find myself starting to feel quite nervous, because there is the underlying knowledge that I could, despite the huge amount of time I spent reflecting about my decision, be wrong. There is a huge chance that in the end, I could very well realize that all of this risky business of going abroad on my own and leaving my comfort zone was a mistake. I could, after some time, realize that I never really wanted to live there anyway and just want to go back home. I could.

But then again, there is a small chance that I could be right. And sometimes, isn’t one small chance all we need?

Besides, even if I do one day realize that I never wanted to live abroad and decide to just go home, I keep telling myself that that’s okay, too. I don’t think that I would ever regard my 2-year stay in the US as a complete waste, because at least I would have one thing I am sure of. I’d know that that is what I really want. At least then, I’ll be a huge deal closer to figuring out whatever it is that’ll make me happy, and I know that I will never arrive at that point of realization if I don’t do anything to get there. If I never try, I’ll never know. And so, no matter how fretful I may become as the gravity of my leaving the country finally dawns on me, I’m still convinced (or at least, am constantly trying to convince myself) to take that leap of faith. I’m still going to take the risk. After all, we only ever really regret the things we don’t do, and, as they’ve said in the film “New Year’s Eve” (which I watched last night, and which I most definitely recommend), sometimes, we have let go of the what ifs, just do what it is that we need to do, and embrace whatever that will become.

2011
12/19
CATEGORY
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