Take Two

...Right here sitting with memories being reminisced from the past years ago back in college...

Official classes for the school year hit three days ago and many of my co-dormitorians were then off to their homes and gimmicks out of town. I hated to be stocked in the probation still cramming with a requirement. We were down to our last examination which was actually our mid-term examination that was due months ago.

I don’t like the idea of assuming but I toyed in my mind that I was to be one of the in-coming junior clinicians the following school year.

As I handed in my answer sheet and questionnaire to the examiner, I felt the tinge of alacrity. I would be home in a few tic-tacs. First thing on the morning, I was aboard the first trip to our province. Then I was finally enjoying the homey hours cuddling our five curs.

In as much as to be updated of the issuance of class cards, I set my phone on view. I was upheaved when I saw the flicker from my phone for an SMS received. I went over a girlfriend’s text for the nth time letting the message sink in to my shocked system. The digit was really five. It read further to me Dad’s irascibility. Trying to scotch the incipient frustration, I entangled myself in a web of reverie…

It was the last quarter of my senior year back in high school when everybody else was caught up in a jitter of graduation. Whilst, I was bogged down ironing the dealing between Dad and me about what course and where would I take. Peccable of me succinctly describing my own father a vituperative one but he really was. For the sixteen years of my life being with him, I had known him snap end-of-discussion when there was no discussion at all.

Too soon, I was on my collegiate foray of forestry. After one year, I shifted to veterinary medicine. Surviving the National Veterinary Admission Test and four semesters, I went flat on my face flunking Pharmacology and Therapeutics I. It meant a year of delay for courses are offered annually.

And again, I got a grade of 5 for another subject. Extension summed up to two years more. In a trice, I was put on thought how vacuous I had become. Cumbersome student blues!

Thump, thump, thump… Spilling the truth to my parents, particularly to my dad was a solid hesitance. It was easy telling my mother “I failed again” in between sobs and sending off her sententiosity. But I knew weaving lies would lead to nowhere but Dad finding the truth. I was about to talk to dad as planned when Mama said no.

Desperately, I called my instructor and tried to “bargain” committing that argumentum ad misericordiam but to no avail.

Everyday of my summer vacation, I was preoccupied of my “sinco.” Summertimes counted down to day zero without Dad knowing anything else as I was already off to the university. I enrolled fifteen units the most I was allowed to take.

My collegian chums asked me, “What was your Dad’s say?” Would I tell them the truth and expect them to understand exactly as I wanted them to? Their curiosity died off upon the sight of it-was-okay smile. I didn’t care whether they did believe or not.

Including my professor in my grip of animosity was something ridiculous. But remembering him said, “I can’t retract the grade sheet and actually, I submitted it late,” plus the fact of out-of schedule examination equaled ill words from my mouth.

Had I been given a credit of “incomplete” I would have cut down a chunk of my meager allowance to have the thousand-peso worth project whatever that would be. After some time of “diet” and really, really tight budget would I finally sweat out the inscription of 3, the passing rating. That was how I effaced my lists of “Inc.” the previous semesters.

It is a long-time realization letting the passion of learning singe my soul. Semestral break soon lasted and another started. Of when I will face the same teacher, wear the yellowing white uniforms and deal with the same subject. Of which at the end I don’t like to do the histrionicism of “I-was-always-present-in-your-class-Sir-I-have-done-everything-I-can."

But tougher is how I will deliver my well-baked lines before Dad knowing that sooner or later he’ll know my lying. I am sure; I will only wish to evanesce. I will all but be lachrymose. I will either be aphonic or aphasic, my eyes revealing, “I am so sorry Dad for failing you, for causing the financial drain and all those heartaches. I owe you a lot. "