Always Around

Chapter Three

Gladwell

Four days have passed, yet I still haven't heard feedback about my spur-of-the-moment writing from Professor Rye. That's my fault. I've been avoiding them. I think it is a combination of embarrassment and regret. The writing itself was immature. After all, it came from a spoiled brat who refuses to understand how an employed adult's life works, stuck in his selfish need for parental attention. 

I also realized in retrospect how disturbing it must have been for them. I mean, Prof is a parent. Obviously, they would be concerned at the very least or absolutely troubled at worst. I figured I dumped a problem on them even when we weren't close enough. For Pete's sake, I've only met the person that same day, and I've already dropped my repressed family issues on them.

I think it would have been easier for both of us, and honestly for my classmates too if I didn't break down that day. I was never the most approachable person, but at least they tried to drag me to hangouts or casually talked to me before that day they saw me bawling in front of our Physics teacher. Now, I could sense they were thinking twice while talking to me. As if they're treading a path of needles - overly conscious, thinking they might trigger me with the slightest things. Or maybe they suddenly think I'm no longer deserving of their time because I turned out to be a wimp? Who knows? I don't know them well enough, and they don't know me either.

I think that's on me, too. Between rare game nights, joyrides, and food trips I've gone with them, I never really needed to tell them anything more than how much money was in my pocket, what food I wanted to order, or what time I wanted to go home. 9:00 P.M., always. They don't know enough about me, so they don't know how to approach this situation, not like I'm sure they want to get involved in the first place.

I wonder why Prof Rye didn't try to talk to me again all this time? Did they also realize I'm more trouble than I'm worth?

"Bro!" someone said from across the table, bringing me back to the present. It was recess, and I was sitting at the middle table of the canteen, surrounded by classmates but not close enough to be bothered by them. I looked up and found Raven's grinning face looking at me. He's a classmate of mine, and he's the clingiest of all of them. His bald head, wide eyes, slightly chubby build, and overall pleasant demeanor make him the person I figured would be the last one I'd choose to befriend. And no, this is not that I don't like his personality. It is because I don't want to influence him with my cynical, monotonic, depressing existence. 

"Bro!" Raven repeats, knocking on the table next to my Coca-cola bottle and soggy burger. Okay, I'll bite. "Yes?" I responded. 

"Do you have a group for the English assignment due next week Monday? Sir Sam told the class about it last Wednesday, but I was absent then. I just found out about it today. Most of our classmates have already grouped up, but Angelique said she hasn't seen you meet with any group. Want to be my partner?" Raven inquired.

"We have an assignment?" I answered, confused. Of course, I didn't know. I don't listen. Maybe Prof was right when they said I should try to pay attention during class.

"Yeah, maybe we can partner up? It would be fun! The assignment says we need a ten-minute dialogue in the form of a talk show. Sir Sam said he wants the dialogue to demonstrate the "do's and don'ts" of public speaking. Our classmates have a decided advantage of having more characters, but I think we can make do by writing an interview scene that will turn into a debate, then into a full-on fight! We can pretend to punch each other, with emphasis on "pretend" because I.. well... I do not know how to punch. Then we pull out hats and fake mustaches and be different characters, who will review the first interview in another talk show. If we do it right, I think it could be funny!" 

Raven went on and on about his ideas for the assignment. His arms were flailing around, and his voice was so dynamic that just watching him made me laugh. We had a good talk about the group assignment and decided to write the script the next day, Saturday, 3:00 P.M. at my house.

I'm not used to visitors. The only people who frequent my house are family, and I do not prepare anything for them since they don't stay for long. I wanted to prepare before Raven's visit, but I don't know if there's anything to do. My strict schedule makes sure that my house is as clean and orderly as it can be every single day. I do my laundry every Saturday morning when I also mop my floors and wipe tables and other surfaces. Sundays, I prepare my meals for the next week. I sweep my floors every night and wash my dishes after every meal. 

Is a clean meeting area not enough? Maybe I should prepare snacks? Something to watch or play after the assignment? Will Raven even stay longer than necessary for the scriptwriting and practice? I mean, I'm not exactly a friend of his. Who knows if he wants to hang out. Do I want him to hang out?

I decided to order a Hawaiian pizza with a 1.5-liter bottle of soda and a bucket of fries. I placed them on the coffee table in front of the TV. I was getting my Nintendo DS from my bedroom when I heard a knock on my front door. I rushed to place the gaming device on the living room couch. Before opening the door, I looked at the food I ordered. Maybe this is too much for two people? I thought to hide them at the last minute but then, the knocking on my door became louder. I opened the door to find Raven, grinning, accompanied by Peachy, my four-months-pregnant cousin with beautiful long black hair and a face full of make-up. 

"This guy was shouting outside. Said he's looking for you," Peachy said in her lifeless voice. Her house was the one closest to the gate. She must have been disturbed by Raven's racket. Explains her scrunched face. "We should get doorbells for each house by the gates. I don't like being everyone's receptionist," she added while slowly walking away.

"Thank you!" I said in her direction, to which she responded with a middle finger.

"I brought chips!" Raven then exclaimed as he brandished two big plastic bags of junk food. He's wearing long black lounge shorts, a loose green shirt with a cartoon koala print, and flat sandals with buckled straps. 

I invited him in, told him to settle in the living room.

"You have, like, a separate village here! Is this compound all for your family?" Raven started as he looked around my house.

"Uhh, yes. All my cousins from my father's side of the family live here," I explained while fetching a pitcher of water and a glass from the kitchen. "That woman who brought you here is Peachy. She wasn't rude to you, was she?"

"Oh, no, she was okay. Where are your parents? I bought cake and tea!" Raven then pulled out two slices of chocolate roll cake and a small bottle of dried butterfly pea flowers. "You have honey, right? If not, they can always use sugar! This is my mom's favorite merienda (afternoon snack), so I bet your parents will love it too!"

"Uhm, I live alone," I said, feeling a bit embarrassed. 

"Oh... oh no. I am so sorry! I didn't know. I should've asked! I'm sorry!" Raven said immediately. I didn't know how to respond to this, and for a few minutes, we sat in silence. 

He started to put back the cake and tea in his bag. I could tell he was thinking twice about doing so, as he was moving slowly.

"Wait," I said, "maybe we can just eat that, you know, so it won't get wasted."

He lit up with a smile and pulled them back out. "Oh, you will like this! The cake has chunks of chocolate inside!" he said as we were setting aside the bags of chips and pizza. We boiled water for the tea then decided to watch cartoons first while eating the cake. 

The afternoon went by with us finishing the assignment in a rush. Raven was just full of ideas and fun to be around. In less than an hour, we finished writing our script. After we ate the cake, we opened the pizza and soda, and then the chips. We were pretty much eating the entire time while watching and talking about anime, something we are both interested in. After a while, our conversations became about our families. How mine was always away, and his was always at home.

"You know, I thought you weren't close with anyone because you think we're beneath you," Raven shared as we were eating our last pizza slices while watching Kuro-chan and Nana run away from this giant, green, bulldozer-like monster with crazed eyes. 

Well, that came out of nowhere. I was caught off guard by his statement that I didn't know if I should respond or not.

He then continued, "I thought you were this snob-rich kid who only hangs out with his classmates whenever he feels like it because he has better stuff, better friends at home or outside of school. But you're alone here. You have a lot of family around you, but it seems like you don't hang out with them either. Do your friends come over often?"

"No, I don't have... friends," I replied.

"So you're alone most of the time?" he asked. 

I didn't answer.

"Do you like being alone?" he asked again.

"I like watching TV. And playing games, and eating whenever I want."

"You know that's not what I'm asking," he retorted, looking sideways to me as he was sitting on the floor, his back leaning on the edge of the couch parallel to the sofa bed I'm lying on.

"I don't know, man. I got used to it. When it's too quiet, I just blast music off my speakers. When I want to see other people, I go out to eat somewhere. Being alone all day makes it easier to come home to an empty house. It's not what I wanted but it's convenient." I answered as I sat up to grab another bag of baked potato chips. 

"Your lifestyle does explain a lot, I guess. But we're in our last year of high school. Don't you want to get to know some of our classmates? If you haven't noticed, they've been trying to be your friends."

I didn't know what to say to that. I mean, I knew they were trying. I've been invited to all kinds of events one can think of, but I shot them down unless it's something I'm interested in or comfortable in.

"Ever since our first year, man!" Raven continued, slightly moving forward as if to prove a point. "I should know! I've been your schoolmate for the past three years, even a classmate during freshman year, yet I didn't know s**t about you until today." He then threw a crumpled junk food bag at me. "Do you remember Lisa? Freshman year. She was your seatmate, left side."

"Yeah, I remember her. Thick glasses, always wearing a braided ponytail?" I answered while picking up the trash that hit me on the forehead. "What about her?"

"She was head over heels in love with your dumb, clean-cut, tall, and thin ass."

"No way," I snorted, throwing a small pouch of choco sticks to him.

"She was! But you kept on brushing her off. The whole class was so sad for her. Your pretty face wasn't enough to keep her here. She transferred to another school the next year."

"I wasn't brushing her or anyone off!"

Raven stared at me as if reading my mind. "Bro, are you afraid of people? That's the only explanation I can think of. You don't look intimidating, and you're not the most ill-mannered person I know. If anything, I think you're the most polite, good-looking person in our section. If you're open to friendships, you probably won't have a problem. "

I looked away. "I was trying that during the first year. I tried being friends with everyone, but no one stuck. I've jumped from group to group, each with different interests, and... well... I don't know. Maybe I got tired of trying to fit in?"

Raven relaxed and went back to leaning on the side of the couch. 

"You don't need to fit in to have friends. You just need to be open and hope someone appreciates you for you. You were never open to us. At least, not really. You showed us a side of you that you think we'd like to see. We've never seen you for you until that day we saw you crying in front of Professor Rye. I have to tell you, we were dumbstruck then. We didn't know you could make such an ugly face!" Raven laughed lightheartedly, and I laughed with him.

"I am betting a thousand Pesos that this is the first time you had someone over beside your family," he said.

"Yeah, you're the first non-relative to come here," I confirmed.

Raven stood up and walked to the fridge to get more ice cubes for our drinks. Pouring us a new batch of Coke, he stated, "Our section now, they're a mix of interesting people. Sure, Angelique might be big on gossips, and Zy's group is mostly noisy, trash-talking buttheads who only copy from Jane's test papers and homework to pass. Aaron is this egotistic brat who thinks he'll be richer than anyone in the room after twenty years. They all have issues. We all have issues, but that doesn't mean we can't be good friends. "Come as you are," as they say. Maybe try to open up a bit more? You'll find they're as insecure with themselves as we are." 

I perked up in disbelief. "You? Insecure? You're a fun person without even trying!" I looked at him thinking I might have said something offensive. He instead laughed.

"Is that how it looks like?" he asked as he handed me the glass he just refilled. "I'm not confident, bro. I just have a problem with self-control. I have this tendency to act and speak without thinking. I guess it can look like I'm this overconfident, clingy person, but I usually feel insecure each time I do or say something no other people will so casually."

Our conversation went on until it was nighttime. Raven gave me bits of information about all our classmates so I could try to get to know them better. I tried to be as transparent as possible about my insecurities. It was a fun and wholesome night, and I think I just found my first friend outside family. We agreed to end the night with the promise to hang out again soon.

After he left, I cleaned my living room, washed the dishes, then went to bed. Fifteen minutes in, I rolled out of bed, grabbed my notepad and pen, and started writing. Maybe this time, with one or two things cleared up in my head, I can give Professor Rye something to critique, not something to be worried about.

Roxanne

The day I gave back the writing Professor Rye asked me to read, I couldn't provide the help they asked me. And I think I gave them more things to worry about.

The prose they wanted me to assess, "Loving Alone", was depressing, and if I knew the person who wrote it, I'd be hell-bent on helping him process the issue behind the writing. But this time, my mind was elsewhere. 

I walked into the faculty room and told Prof that the writer might have unresolved hatred towards his family, and this dysfunction he grew up with might have twisted his views on all interpersonal connections. I didn't wait for the professor to respond to what I said. I just bowed and walked out of the faculty room.

That was four days ago.

It's now early Saturday morning. No school, but I so badly wanted to be out of the house, so I decided to take a good long walk around town. 

After preparing my family's coffee and toast breakfast, I slipped on a pair of worn-out sneakers, jeans shorts, and an oversized cotton shirt with a Superman logo print. I packed a small sling bag with my wallet, house keys, cellphone, candy pouch, notebook, and pen. Without waking up Papa and Kuya, I wrote a note saying I'll be back before lunch, placed it on the dining table next to their food, and went out.

I wanted this stroll to be relaxing, refreshing. I wanted it to reboot my brain and magically give me clarity. No luck.

I walked past the market, the park, the playgrounds. Little to no people out at this time of day. It is a gloomy morning, after all, the sun hiding behind gray clouds and cold winds.

I passed our campus, quiet aside from the caretakers cleaning its surroundings. For a few minutes, I stared at the main building's aging walls, wondering when the administration will decide to re-do its exterior paint.

From its gates emerged a familiar figure, with their crouched posture and brown overcoat.

"Good morning," they said.

"Good morning, Professor Rye," I responded. "Fancy meeting you here!"

"Oh, I just walked in to greet our staff. I'm here for the pancakes they serve there," they said, pointing at an old-fashioned cafe across the street. "What brings you here, Roxanne?"

"I was only going for a walk," I replied, looking away from them. I didn't expect to meet Prof today. I still feel ashamed about what I did to them when they asked for my help.

Moments passed, then the professor said, "Do you like pancakes, Roxanne?" I said yes, and with a light smile on their face, they asked me to join them for breakfast in the rusty cafe.

We sat down at a table outside the building, under a large umbrella and a towering acacia tree. The winds blowing made the leaves rustle and the umbrella creak while slightly shaking our table. Professor ordered us each a cup of coffee and a plate of pancakes, with syrup and butter on the side. 

Pancakes make me happy. They're soft and sweet, and they look clean when served since they're flat and have smooth surfaces. 

"This place serves good coffee," the professor said, "Nothing fancy, just good brewed coffee." They held up their cup and started stirring while I stared and wondered if they still remembered what I did last Tuesday.

As I was about to start talking, Prof sipped their coffee loudly, taking me by surprise. They then placed their cup down on the table and looked across the table. "How have you been, Roxanne?" they asked.

"I... Uhm, I'm fine, Professor Rye. Listen, I'm sorry about the other day! I told you I would give you my thoughts about the prose one of your students wrote, but I only gave you a half-baked statement! I am so sorry! I promise not to do that again!" I pushed the sentences out in a rush as I involuntarily jerked up from my seat and bumped our table.

"Slow down, dear," they said, trying to get me to calm down. "Nothing to apologize for! I think your so-called half-baked statement was more than enough help!" they explained, snickering to themself while gesturing for me to sit back down. 

"Enough help, Prof?" I asked. I expected them to be disappointed in what I did. How was a one-sentence review "enough help"?

"Eh, it's not like I expected you to write an essay about it. I only asked you what you think about it. You're the same age this writer is, so I figured you might understand where he's coming from. You said his hatred towards his parents might have influenced the way he connects with others, and I agree."

With that out of my chest, I felt great relief and gained the confidence to enjoy this time with my teacher. We sat quietly, enjoying our pancakes and sipping our coffee. It was peaceful. Maybe this is all I needed - a time to relax and not stress about my family.

"How was your week, Roxanne?" Professor Rye initiated. 

"It was... okay. The clubs are adjusting well with the new members, and CAT started recruiting cadets from the juniors," I shared. I should've been happy telling them these, but I was not. The reason? None of these is the most notable thing that happened this week.

"That sounds wonderful! But why do you sound troubled? Is something bothering you?" Prof asked, immediately catching on. I guess I can't hide much from them.

"My... estranged mother returned," I shared.

I then decided to let them in on my family history - how mom left and caused our family years of suffering, how we coped, how she disrupted our home again after a single call. 

Papa was inconsolable when he heard of mom wanting to visit us.

Kuya was indifferent. 

I was livid.

"I don't understand why she would choose to come back now. I don't think we can afford to accept her again. She's a flight risk. Plus, I don't know if it will be healthy for Papa," I said as Professor Rye listened.

An hour and two cups of coffee later, I ran out of things to rant. Maybe this is what I needed, just someone to listen. Prof never commented about my problems. They just urged me to "Go on" and asked questions that led to more ranting. When I finished blabbering, I looked at Prof. In return, they smiled at me. 

"You're not giving me an adult's take on my issue, Prof?" I asked, curious if they were just waiting for me to provide an opening.

"No," they responded with a chuckle. "I think you have every right to be mad at your mother, and I admire how you want to protect your father from further heartbreak. You are a wise young woman. You will know what to do."

I did not know how to respond to that, so I just smiled and said, "thank you".

A scene from some time ago came to mind and I decided to share it with Prof.  

"You remind me of that thin, pale kid at our second year recognition day.

I was crying because Papa didn't get to attend, and Kuya was the one who received my awards with me. We overheard these people talking about how pitiful we were, having no parents around. It made things unbearable for us.

We were on our way out of the hall when I noticed this lanky kid at the corner of my eye. I didn't know what to expect once I looked in his direction. Pity, maybe?

When I turned to look, I saw him just staring at me. I stared back. I never got to read his face because my vision was slightly blurred by tears. Then out of nowhere, he did this fist pump thing. I guess he meant it as some sort of encouragement?

Kuya then pulled me out of the venue. I was supposed to be crying, but in an instant, I was laughing. It was wonderful. People underestimate how simple acts of encouragement affect others that they think they should follow up with tips, life hacks, how-to's. That one weird fist pump, like this chat we're having? No advice, no judgments, just pure encouragement? I find it hard to come by. People these days seem to enjoy lecturing others about what to do or say. We forget that just believing in the person can sometimes be all there is to it. I would sometimes remind myself of that moment whenever I felt like no one believed in me. I would replay that scene in my head and tell myself, “Hey, lanky guy fist pump!", then laugh and move on with my day.”