Hidden messages

I always wanted to write something clever, and something that would stick to you like glue on paper or oil on your hands. But all I ever come up with are just some obscure analogies that contain my covert opinions about the things that happen to me and to the people around me. And of course, not everyone would want to read crap like that, I mean, who would bother reading something they don’t even understand. I sure do hope I would be confident enough to convey what I really want to say one of these days.

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SARAH AND HER HANDS

One sweltering afternoon, at a famous school of a famous city, was a girl who wore her hair long, just a little bit above her shoulders… she dyed it auburn because the person who cut her hair said she’d look good in it. Sarah, it was what her friends call her.


She sat next to a guy, Michael was his name. He would always turn his back from her when they sat together, but he would also steal quick glances at her sometimes. One time he even asked her a question, and she remembered it vividly… how he asked:

Ipod on one hand, looking outside the window sill with her thoughts traversing from South Korea to Japan and to California, the places she knew she would go to one day. A faint mutter ringed from beside her. She already knew who dispensed the whisper and she adroitly turned to his direction, just in time to see him bowl over and for that expression to swiftly disappear too just as it had appeared. He opened his fresh lips and the most wonderful sound she ever heard engulfed the background. Clanging of bells together, the merry singing of birds, and her favorite love song, all together all at once. And as he said;

“Anngoo Bee Seer?” With a slight grin gloriously painted on his face.

What?

“Naeeneg ngo bee seer?” He reiterated, as if talking to a mentally challenged kid but without the gaping mouth.

Oh no, he is a ngongo…

She could almost hear her dreams shatter to pieces…

She felt that heaviness again on her chest, like the one when she buys a dvd of a movie she wanted to see and when she gets home and plays it finds out that it skips, or that time when she had this deep intimate conversation with someone over the net and thought he’d be the perfect guy only to receive a confession that he wasn’t a guy.

Sarah straightened up.

He looked at her funny, with a wrinkling of his brow.

He made a funny gesture too, after that.

His gloriously sculpted hands raveled away from the notebook he had been clutching and settled on his ear, with a tugging movement.

What?

He tugged the air again.

She noticed she still had her Ipod on…

She pulled out the earphones and the music died away, and she heard him ask again;

“Narinig mo ba sinabi ni sir?” ( Did you hear what Sir said? )

In that GLORIOUS oh GLORIOUS voice of his…

After school… she was all alone in her room again. The memory of his voice refuses to fade out.

Alone in her bed and with her adroit hands… the music began to flare.

--oOo--