WORK IN PROGRESS

Gordian / knot

Quite intrigued and inquisitive, Ridley traipsed behind the curtain and peeked, finally acknowledging the fact that he has been seen. His eyes torpedoed toward the man. He dissected him for any underlying gestures of potential predatory traits.

Underneath that face mask might be an impeccably orchestrated scheme involving murder.

"What are the odds?" Ridley inquired himself while his hand was reaching for the knob.

One decision.

One decision, Ridley.

After all, we are always a choice away from our downfall.

He reconsidered and rummaged at the man, who seemed to be in his thirties. Ballpark.

That black buttoned polo and well-groomed physique exuded an air of professionalism. This man was dressed like he was cognizant of what he has been babbling about (Ridley could only hope that he was not dressed to kill, literally.) It amplified the pulp of credibility Ridley sought for. The proficiency and eloquence really did seep out of that face mask, delivering statements with plausible but - for the time being - dubious substance. His tongue, psyche, and spine had integrity, and it showed in his stance.

The more Ridley's perception was fixated on this man, the more the window metamorphosed into a disillusioned illusion of an allusion - Castor and Pollux.

The visitor had messy hair, but it was still more polished than Ridley's life. After all, Ridley's was a product of despondency and seclusion, but even with that explanation, the country's current administration was still more disorganized.

Ridley proceeded on a state of sporadic back-and-forth, but he finally concluded.

He was mindful of the fact that judging through one's appearance would be synonymous with prejudice and all of his statements might be just strategic marketing and calculated swindles and lethal scams, but Ridley cannot deny that the offer really hits home. He would give everything to avail that Project Pearl hodgepodge. To bond with a telephone, to rely on an evanescing recollection for closure, and to envisage his mother and his country becoming rinds of their past selves were too much already.

If this man, whatever is registered in his credentials, has the scissor to s***h this Gordian knot, then let it be.

As if he was set on default mode, Ridley swiftly gripped on a broom, equipping himself for a counterattack just in case things go south and sour.

As soon as the man entered the apartment, Ridley's composure was thrown out of the window. He did not know how to accommodate guests. Like a plane approaching the tarmac amid a crosswind, he was conflicted about whether to pursue or to retract his greetings. To land or to go around? All he knew was that he had to maintain social distancing.

Either way, his attention was riveted to this man. His undivided attentiveness multiplied. He tried to be tranquil to protect his motherland, but the palpitations and the severe sensation that a noose was slithering on his neck made his sanity shrink. All his body knew was insubordination.

"You're tense; I understand that, but I have no bad intentions, Sir."

"If... If... I checked your conscience... uh, would.. would it be clear?"

"Like a pearl," he spoke as if tiptoeing over eggshells and paused. "I will never have bad intentions to our potential customers. Never had. Never have."

In the man's eyes was tender assurance - something that is registered in this tumultuous, fickle world as a foreign stranger. He towered over Ridley like an accursed paternal figure he once got acquainted before. The only difference was he had no belt on his left hand, a firearm on the other, and a lecherous leer.

In retrospect, it was like being visited unannouncedly by a maven of Psychology, and Ridley was Algernon. A months' worth of time (in quarantine, a mere proportion of a second is tantamount to a lifetime, and that is not even hyperbole) has passed ever since another soul has entered this damned apartment. Those conquistadors in blue uniforms with a warrant of arrest were the last ones to penetrate this supposed nirvana. Ridley adored the absence of guests, though, because it provided him privacy, allowing him to formulate a blueprint of all the financial and personal dilemmas he had to untangle and permitting him to preserve a diminutive amount of equanimity in his mind.

"Since I respect one's need for privacy, I won't be here too long. Maybe three minutes?" the man resumed.

Somehow, that emotionally moved Ridley. He returned the broom to its place.

The guest let out a breath of relief - a manifestation of the idiom nabunutan ng tinik. Promptly, he cleared his throat and mind as if he were about to recapitulate a gospel into a Parasite or Pulp Fiction-esque feat; as if he were about to gravitate towards logos, pathos, and ethos.

"Anyways, I am Foster Fernandez, and I work under the Southern Archipelago Association," he began while still roaming around the apartment. He did not implore for coffee nor a seat. He simply scoured throughout the architectural blemishes of the kitchen, the food on the dining table, and the contents of the hanging cabinets, placing curiosity up in the forefront. Finally, in the most clandestine of ways, he perused through Ridley's physique like a student dissecting the metaphors from Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo. "According to a study conducted by my colleagues, a high percentage of our population expressed discontent with our country's current status quo. Same thoughts?"

Ridley agreed, greatly...

... After all, who wouldn't?

"That is the main reason why Project Pearl came into fruition," Foster presented. "We noticed that destitution and inequity have turned into the new normal, but it doesn't have to stay that way. Through our beloved project, people are allowed to make their what if's and what should've been's a reality and are permitted to perceive and receive for the masses a better... uh, country. Plus, unlike some politicians, who we shall not allude to, we keep our word strictly."

Dynamism was in his gesticulations - eye contact and hand movement. He seemed to have metamorphosed into Vac, and he seemed to have memorized a homily constructed by Calliope herself. There was too much fluidity with how he persuaded Ridley that the partition between fact and fiction has dispersed. Whatever Foster was exhibiting was like a scrumptious supper - but it could also be a concluding meal.

"Aside from that, it also allows you to be with someone... physically. You don't have to picture them. You don't have to wish that someone is celebrating an occasion with you. Let's say, a birthday... because they will be there with you to actually share the feast."

What Foster Fernandez just uttered really hit home - beyond anything else. On the threshold. It was as if the gates turned upside down and the clouds crashed into Ridley's slouched shoulders, into his occupied stomach, and his precarious veins upon hearing them. Gravity took hold of Ridley's eyes and wrung out a blanket of dejection into his cheeks. The pain brought by his utterance reminded him of the metaphorical blight in his heart and psyche. It was yet again another bombshell - the third.

"How about the payment? We're already buried with too much debt; I might as well be buried six---"

"The association --- the project will make sure that you're financially buoyant," Foster replied, looming over Ridley with hands inside his pockets. Then, he handed out to Ridley, through his right hand, his handkerchief.

His trust for Mr. Fernandez exponentially skyrocketed. Foster's statement and his atmosphere just aligned with Ridley's palate. His apprehensions were jettisoned, plucked out completely like the corolla of a bougainvillea and utility poles after a Signal No. 5 typhoon.

"Where is it then? Is your project a facility?" The desperation was smearing Ridley's tone.

"Y-you really need to ask better questions."

Ridley was perplexed.

"Because to say that it's a location undermines its essentiality. It's quite an environment per se, but still, it does not encapsulate its entirety," Foster continued, "Anyway, hear me out, sir. You solely don't ask where it is, you ask how to transcend to it."