One of those Mondays, I didn't do any of the usual morning chores. Even if my aunt from next door would chew me out, I just sipped my coffee after my shower, grabbed my daily 25 pesos allowance, and hit the road. No cooking rice, no feeding the pigs, no cleaning their pen, and definitely no yard work. I slept in, didn't wake up at 4 AM to do all that crap, and just brushed my hair into its usual do – all slicked back, with long sideburns, a bit of a mustache, and a tiny goatee. Yeah, I might be a bit tan from helping out with the harvests – mostly corn, which nets me a solid eight pesos per sack. Mung beans and rice are too scratchy on the skin, so I avoid them despite the better pay.
As I left my grandparents' compound, I walked quickly to escape my nagging aunt's voice. I took the rocky, uneven path to the jeepney stop, slowing down a bit by the deep ditch to clear my head. Memories of Jennifer and our last night together still stung, as cold as the wind messing up my hair.
I sighed. Jennifer's tears had doused the flames of that night, our passion snuffed out by the morning. Would I see her today? What would I even call her now?
When I passed the houses, a jeepney stopped to pick up passengers. It was packed with students from my school, with two guys already hanging off the sides. I squeezed in, enjoying the cold wind as the jeep sped up. Woke up past six, so no way I'd make it to the flag ceremony – the gates would be closed for sure. Never experienced that in my nearly two years at this school. By the time I got off, I heard some big dude speaking German. No clue what he was saying. Is this what happens when you're late? Do they want us to just mess around, maybe drink or swim?
At the plaza, there were food stalls serving beer and gin to students. Beer for six pesos, gin for thirteen. After drinking, students would hit the river or hang out at someone's house. Perfect for goofing off.
As everyone scattered, I joined a group of fellow students. "Yo, Chris, where you headed?" Jeffrey asked. We shared a love for jotting down song lyrics from the FM radio, filling notebooks with our favorite tunes. We liked Michael Learns To Rock, David Pomeranz, April Boys, Eraserheads, Rivermaya, and more. Total 90s jams.
George and the others joined us. "Where to?" George asked.
"No clue," I replied.
"Let's sneak around the Bilid Room," Lacson suggested.
"But there's a guard," Sison pointed out.
"How about the back of the Communication Arts Building?" Tamondong offered.
"Let's try it," I said. I remembered a broken wall there. But when we got close, it was barricaded with thorny bamboo. They really didn't want us in.
"No go," Tamondong said.
"Bilid Room it is. Do we really want to get in?" I asked.
"Not really. If we do, we'll just get scolded," Sison said.
"Let's hang out at the plaza," he added.
"We can sneak in at lunchtime when the gates open," Sison continued.
"Sounds good!" we all agreed.