Thursday
morning. I woke up with a mental list of to-do’s. $*|?**$ visit to deliver IV
fluids. Get back to do the laundry. With my second to the last PUJ jibe, the
open doors of the church invited me in so the last two hours were spent hearing
the mass. At the middle of the Eucharistic celebration, the heavy downpour
added darkness to the dusk creeping in. Having waited for ten minutes more, I
decided to wade waters to get to the last jitney back to the doctor’s quarter.
(So this is Manila and its famous flood.) My feet getting cold with the pooling
of rainwater inside my shoes reminded me of laundry powder so I dropped by in a
mart for some. Finally with the nighttime shower done, I hanged the last piece
of the three-day soiled uniforms for air drying by the washroom. After hungry
tummy pacified… Oh zzz’s, come to thee…
I was born a woman but ended up acting the opposite. Clumsiness and its cousins in the thesaurus is what I am. Finesse goes unsaid and unheard in my world. I preferred oversized tees over fitting blouses. I refused figure-flaterring dresses for loose pants. I would choose a paintless face even being merged with a bin of all-made-up pretties. But I knew I am a woman inside. So are the secret feelings that have silently died. It was only me who knows everything of what-really-is. It was hard shifting to finer moves. Oh graceful me in sweat! I hate being with someone who I cannot see myself. Because to me, gaudiness is parallel to fun. Not long after, I’ve been to stores of pallets. So the smudged me emerged. Little by little, I’ve added garments I thought I can never wear. These changes of seeing ourselves that can improve us.
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