Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Chance encounters

I watched The Dark Knight last night for the third time (technically, third, because when I watched it on the opening day I repeated it being late for 20 mins on the second to the last screening), because (a) I decided to waste whatever was left with my money and not care, (b) I have preconditioned myself that unless I come home late enough I'd be witnessing another nasty bout of verbal abuse between Pa and my stepmom, and (c) I thought it good to spend two and a half hours while outside its raining profusely.

It turns out I'm wrong. When I climbed onto the jeepney, that's when it started to rain. A couple of minutes, it was already raining hard. There was only me and a lady prolly of my age when I was about to step down. She was going down as well and with an umbrella. Just before I was about to go down, she offered me hers. I thanked her profusely

While Rihanna’s infamous lyrics reverberate in my head, I was genuinely grateful of the gesture. I mean, how many out of 10 people would offer their umbrellas to strangers (even to those not criminal (adorable)-looking like me)? Or maybe, I’m just becoming jaded that such random act of kindness would strike me a bit odd? Am I really that bitter and full of shit? Full of my own shit.

The young lady was not really awful looking. Fair-skinned and wore glasses. Not that I would take interest immediately at such a chance encounter. I hailed another jeepney en route home and I thanked her again without even looking at her. Made the urgency of heavy downpour an excuse to myself.

In college, I’d frequent the university chapel, sometimes because I want, need the silence. And I was a crybaby at times when the shittiness of my life and how messed up it is screams at me in the face. And so I go there for silence, sometimes cry. One time, this pretty girl approached me and offered me her scented hanky. She was a familiar face, one or two years my junior. Pretty and could prolly passed off as a model. I knew she was intelligent.

She was on a front pew staring blankly at the crucifix or something. Perhaps I was sobbing and I prolly turned red in the face when offered the hanky. She said I could have it. She did not say anything else or offered pointless words of comfort. The smile and apologetic face did it all. When she left, I wiped my tears and blew my nose with it. I kept the hanky until I lost it.

I see her on campus but my wits are battling if I should even talk to her. I mean just to say thank you. Didn’t you thank her already? She graduated to be summa cum laude and had a Korean boyfriend at the time.

When I lost the hanky I messaged her over MySpace. She replied, never mind. I think the short message went on to say I needed the hanky or something but I lost my MySpace password.

What with all these chance encounters with random acts of kindness? Am I bound to be unlucky bastard after all? Am I just being too melodramatic? Do I pass myself off as someone who badly needs being taking cared of? Is Venus just spitting on my face? Should I just leave it all to chance? I’m just having a bad day.

3 comments:

<.> said...

what? you? a misogynist?
of course not!

*nose elongates pinocchio-like*
just kidding. :D

maybe we all need to put our guards down once in a while and just take in the kindness that life brings us. and i'm also convincing myself while i'm typing this away. Ha-ha.

I've jumpstarted the lovely bones. Keep your books coming. :D

kawadjan said...

hi jay! i tagged you. 4 years of bad sex daw if you break it.

lucas said...

wow...she's an angel...that girl who gave you the hanky...cool site...im adding you to my roll..thanks!

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting