Our Story

This is Prien, but call me by my nickname, Ian. To anyone who desires to read a part of my winding life filled with great unhappiness and deprived of love — sometimes with unexpected bliss and butterflies, I would wish to warn you that your eyes and mind's journey towards a portion moment of my past isn't going to be a piece of cake. The worst I could tell was, "Desire nothing. Fall not. Love hard. Resist." It all began there. Nonetheless, I am still hoping it will end something adequately. I hoped. —————THE TIME BEFORE EVERYTHING WAS DIFFERENT. Like a living sloth, it was slow. Too boring to inevitably engage with. Yet, although tedious, I could proudly claim today that I was good at coping with it — unlike today.  As my always weekdays routine, I'd wake up in the morning, bathe my body, unstarved my stomach, and then take public transportation going to my university. Very usual to the eyes of many, of course. And, similar to how I described the time in the beginning, it was boring. Sometimes I find it hard to live certain days the same as the day before. Just once, have you ever felt like every day was the same day? Surely, you have.  Whatever is happening today, happened yesterday. And whatever happens, tomorrow will be an exact replica of events as today.  Wake up, wash myself, eat, go to school or work, go home, sleep, and back to the beginning.  Like time, my life, too, was boring. Actually, I could see myself and everything as a clock itself: the numbers on the clock as a whole is one day; each number on the clock represents the everyday episodes of my day, such as waking up and eating and; myself is the hour hand, minute hand and second hand of the clock, which is gradually moving from one number to another to begin another task of the day.  Time was rather insulting. So did my life. Well, sometimes. There was nothing to get bored of being single sometimes. But, from that particular start of the day, everything has changed. In a single flick of a finger, like what most kids believe as magic, the flow or routine of my life began to be remade.  It was morning when it happened, on my way to my usual eatery for a breakfast meal. If the word seemed foreign to you, eatery refers to a restaurant-like establishment. It mostly served various kinds of Filipino-type dishes and is usually a lot cheaper than what a restaurant serves. Not that I urge you to visit my home country, but you'll see when you get here. Anyway, it was always the footsteps of Mrs Linda that I always heard of every time I enter the establishment. Depending on my mood, those footsteps somehow affected how my life was going to be for the whole day - sometimes it annoyed me, sometimes otherwise.  Along the endless footsteps was the chattering of the plates and utensils from every occupied table. While it never distracted me every time I exist in the eatery, unlike Mrs Linda's footsteps, there were rare instances I'd wish to not hear those sounds. My head could be messy sometimes. Returning to the same morning when everything started to change, my ear caught Mrs Linda's footsteps blending with the sound of the plates as she walked passed me but had her attention on me, greeting surprisingly, "Oh, it's you, Ian! Come sit!" She then led me to the nearest seat and table from the entrance of the eatery, where I stood, listening and observing the establishment in such a mood. I smiled at her, "Thank you, Mrs Linda." Mrs Linda owned the food establishment since I could remember. Her story was that the eatery was founded when her grandmother was a little girl — the usual, but very enthralling and illuminating, Filipino story of every successful local business. The extreme desire to get their family out of poverty was their second motivation after the first: her grandmother's father was a cooking prodigy. I love the history of this eatery. And not only that Mrs Linda ran the said eatery, but she also stood as my second mother and one of her two sons was my best friend. She's very important to me.  Her sudden disappearance and the quick, loud footsteps of her heels warned me that she was a very busy woman and that I couldn't talk to her at the moment. While I haven't told her any food I wished to eat, my eyes wandered around inside. It was boring to watch people as they ingest whatever was on their plates. My eyes ran outside. Where is he? I questioned myself in silence, slightly annoyed because of the grumbling of my stomach. I needed food! At least, when I found him, somehow, I would be satisfied. I was looking for my friend, Benjie, Mrs Linda's son. But I called him Jay, his nickname. And, then, as my eyes went busy again staring and judging everyone at how they were inside this building, out of thin air, Mrs Linda appeared in front of my table with a plate of rice, a bowl of Kare-Kare, roasted chicken breast, and a cold glass of water. Kare-Kare is a Filipino-type delectable dish known for its soup that has peanut butter as one of the ingredients. It was my favourite since I was four, according to Mrs Linda. I was not stunned by what she had brought. Mrs Linda sometimes did this to me, knowing already what I most preferred from her menu list. She arrayed the food on top of the table, in front of me, giving me a joke at the end, "There you go, your favourite. It's still warm, so I would devour it in seconds if I were you." then, while I was about to voice out my gratitude, she continued with her lips curled up, "well, then, I must go on, Ian. Today's customers are doubled than yesterday's."  "Jay! Where's Jay?" I hurried to her back. I thought I was a bit rude for not saying thank you first for the meal she served me before asking where was her son, but, when in a situation where someone was in a rush, I tended to forget my good intentions. As I thought of it now, I should have thanked Mrs Linda while she was preparing my meal on my table. What were my eyes doing while at that particular moment? Still gazing around at people? I was not sure, but whatever I was doing at that point surely had made a change on what my life was. Whether it's something I currently loathe or love, I knew something from that moment had greatly affected me. "Oh, I told him to run after his brother to give him the two books his brother had forgotten," she looked at me in what I sensed to be distress. I never liked it, even from her, to have one's eyes on me with either pity or sadness. I made sure of myself to not let her show my slight irritation. Next, she added. Her tone dropped even more down. "you don't have to wait for him. Benjie had already taken his things with him." there was another brief silent moment again with the same sad look at me. And then, Mrs Linda went off. She wouldn't waste her time looking at me. She had a busy business, where her focus and attention should be.  I was fine. I was not really looking forward to having Jay with me that day, as there were days that we got off from our home separately. His kindness to give the books to his brothers wasn't a problem for me. Jay was the most kind person I ever knew. Without a delay in time after Mrs Linda left me with the meal she organized on my table, I took one spoonful of Kare-Kare's soup and intake it through my mouth. It was the warmest feeling I felt after that changed my mood and gave me the energy to eat my breakfast happily. And I did so.  There was no noise whilst I gorged on my breakfast food, except for the same sound of Mrs Linda's heels around and the kitchen utensils from every table as the eatery's customers clanked them to each other and onto their plates. At the same time, I was thinking of what I would say as an excuse so that my new professor, whom we never met yet in class, would believe me. I was an absentee on his very first day, making it hard for me to come up with an excuse because, in truth, I did not attend the class due to I was feeling idle.  As time went closer when I must leave the food establishment and go to the university, I felt the nervousity eating my entire body. My mind began to go blank and lifeless. What should I do?  Not a long moment after, I was distracted by someone's scream somewhere inside the eatery. I looked around, and it wasn't hard to spot who suddenly shouted because, after a couple of seconds, the scream was followed by the same voice, "THIS IS SPICY! HOO!"  Everyone at the tables turned their heads to this person. It was a guy, a man whom I have never seen before. A new face. I could tell he wasn't from around here, judging his clothes, the way he looks and his skin. Plus, the accent. It simply does not accord with this place. A man like him would never live in our place where people were contended by brown skin and thrift clothes and normal life. Yet, as I thought of that, a couple of questions swirled in my head: who was he? What was he doing in the eatery? How did he end up here? Where was he from? Why was he here?  I didn't know, nor did care anyway. I proceeded to eat my breakfast. Not long after this moment, I knew I wouldn't see him again. I had this extreme feeling he wouldn't stand seeing and being in this kind of place, so I knew he would never come back the moment he leave this place.  But I also could not stand acting as if I wasn't bothered by his appearance. That muscled jaw, morning red but beautiful eyes, untidy hair and somewhat deep voice. How could I resist wanting that nice nose and red, unperfect lips? That appeal he had was something I once wished to have on myself. I was certain he had women all around him or had been loving them simultaneously. How could he not be? That's what he looked like – at least to my eyes. It took about a thousand peeks at him before our eyes connected for a mere second. And when it happened, I could tell his tongue and throat were burning in hell because he was exposing his tongue. His eyes became more red instead of returning back to brown and white, which I'd love to see. The moment our eyes connected, before he looked away, the dread I felt for a brief point was real. What was he eating that led him to have this red, alarming face? My eyes never went back to what I was looking for – they were suddenly locked on him. Confused and worried, I didn't know which of the two was I was feeling while staring consciously at him. It seemed as though he needed help with something he couldn't voice out because his eyes were jumping from one person to another inside this eatery. Hence, the reason why he looked at me for a short moment. Or maybe he was just trying to observe everyone. But, I doubt it with that anxious face.  Until our eyes met again, but this time he never looked away. He wasn't observing anyone, I instantly knew it, rather he was seeking help. Feeling now worried, I dropped my spoon the soon I saw his red eyes were wet (and was about to drop a tear) and came to his table. Yet before I reached him, he took his empty glass and raised it inches above the table, suggesting a glass of water right away. Even on that simple task, he could do by himself, he struggled. I knew the moment my panic displayed on my body everyone's eyes were directed to me and to this man who was two steps away in front of me. I, without temporizing and also because of my great shock, turned to Mrs Linda's counter and shouted, "MRS LINDA! WATER, PLEASE, NOW!"