Because they told me so

This blog is a full story—less than a novel that I wrote for myself and my English project. Tee-hee(--,)

P.S. this is arranged logically... Really.

So it means that the beginning of the story is in the newer posts whereas the end is at the oldest post. Thus, making it easier to read ^_~

-Joyce DYan Razel D. Fulgencio

*** The characters in this story are purely fictional because this is a work of FICTION, meaning the Names, Characters, Places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. ***

Dedication

 

THIS IS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE. If ever this story appeared to be like one of those teenage tales about love and high school, then you got it all wrong. All I can say about that stuff is: "been there, done that".

Truth be told, this is all about love for college, after high school—well actually, this is about the story of a girl, (no, not a girl, not yet a woman, but almost getting there), who "used" to define herself as a girl who cried a river and drowned the whole world.

However, as of this moment, the flood has dried up and we can all go out and feel the sunshine again.

Therefore I dedicate this story to all, who has had, or who is having a rainy day, and also to those who will be experiencing their very own stormy days and nights.

As the song goes; "There's a rainbow always after the rain"

 

Prologue

Prologue

 

IT WASN'T SHOCKING AT ALL. Mere coincidences are typical for me, so whatever happened back then may be a twist of fate or just another example of endless possibilities.

 

Every person is a life story. Some tales are well written, while some have plots that are in complete disarray, and the majority of it isn't even written yet—let alone finished. What I mean here is that, most of the time; we get too caught up or carried away with our own lives that we forget to write the story itself.

Thankfully, we have a bunch of other people who help writing it for us. And if you're wondering what the heck I'm saying as of now, I'll just make everything crystal clear: You see, I'm the "help"; my best friend's the "story".

 

÷÷÷ It was supposed to be a typical day for me, but now that I realize it, there has never been a typical day for me at all.

We were having an interview with schoolmates to determine how they are doing in their studies and how well they are adjusting to the hectic school setting. I'm only a new member of the club behind all these "giving out of therapeutic services" and that is the OPC or the Organization of peer counselors.

I stretched my arms and sat comfortably on the chair since I knew for a fact that this is going to take a while to finish…

All the interviews went smoothly.

Most of the people I interviewed complained of the normal things that bother students: studies, parents, friends, boys (or girls), and pressure. Some of them even include food, but I guess it's their dietician's job to educate them more about that.

Anyhow, I've already finished counseling—

Or so I thought.

÷÷÷ There it was—the silly old record sheet that must've been flown by the noisy ceiling fan. It took me a while to realize that it actually meant that I still have one more interview left before hitting the 'sign out button' on my mental screen. And when I looked to see the lucky last candidate for the 'help me, college-is-strangling-me award', I recognized that familiar name I've known for how many years already.

I turned my head to detect the supposed to be empty chair being filled up by that well-known face I see everyday. And there she is, frowning as if she was being forced to eat ampalaya (bitter gourd). Obviously, she hates that delicious bitter-tasting vegetable on contrary to me. Our Clinical Instructor would tell her; "Ah, but ampalaya is good for you." But she just answered it by placing an unconvinced look on her face. Our instructor continued; "Doesn't your mother let you eat them?" And the crazy girl just shook her head in response. The teacher, who was halfway shocked by her reply, blurted out; "What kind of parents are they?!" And the whole class laughed as the girl went silent.

It seemed to have situated that she was unlucky to have those kinds of parents. Or on the contrary, maybe her parents were ill-fated to have a daughter like her.

Whatever the case, I know for a fact that she's actually blessed to have parents like hers.

And I'm also quite sure that having her as a child is also a blessing to her parents—in one way or another.

Well, I'm just saying.

 

Now as I head back to reality, I still have to finish—I mean start the final task for this club.

But I don't want to do this. Of all people I definitely don't want it to be her. All the bickering we had yesterday was enough to make my day a living hell of pride and regret. Moving on, I knew that I had to accomplish this. Even after all those squabbles we just had, I also knew for a fact that I couldn't back out.

I moved step by step closer to her.

It wasn't shocking at all. Mere coincidences are typical for me.

I sat in the vacant seat in front of her.

 

÷÷÷ She looked up, barely planning to utter a single word. I know what her eyes meant, and it showed no traces of surprise within them.

I could almost hear my favorite boxing announcer yelling: "Let's get ready to ruuuuumble!"

But that's all in my mentally unretarded mind.

 

÷÷÷ "Peggy" she grinned, her smile almost reaching to her ears. She has broken up the silence before I could ask any questions about her, though I already know everything—maybe all possible answers to my inquiries. She has been complaining about the same stuff over and over again for the past nine months already. And it usually consists of only three words: I. hate. College.

"First," I said, raising my pointing finger upwards so she could comprehend quickly what I really meant, "if you ever call me by that dim-witted nickname again, I swear—"

"Okay, okay." She cut in before I could continue, raising both of her hands as a signal for surrender. "I'm sorry. But it's harsh to call your nickname dim-witted, you know" her eyes twinkled as she explained further, "it took me a while to come up with that name"

I rolled my eyes as she talked. What was I supposed to do here anyway? Interview or talk about names? I have been suffering long enough hearing people mispronounce the name from Peggy to Piggy because of the intonation of some people who couldn't differentiate the sound of ê from î.

If she weren't my best friend I would've squeezed the life out of her a long time ago because of her insensitivity but it turns out that I stand corrected. The carefree (no-worries) and hell-I-care-about-the-world personality on her outer shell is actually the exact opposite of her inner one.

A simple friend thinks that friendship is over when you have an argument—but a real friend knows that it's not a friendship after you've had a fight.

I waited for a couple of seconds for the signal where the cheery and untroubled image of this girl will dissolve and the real side of her uncovers. By the time I saw her smile fade and replaced by a sigh while she cupped her chin, I knew this was it.

"Shall we start?" I finally said.

I have arranged the following in narrative; therefore what I will be noting down here is in her point of view during our interview which lengthened even more after the club activity because ever since I saw the name Jana Amy Li in the record sheet, I knew that there's something remarkable about every detail that she unfolds here. And besides, it would be more believable and dramatic (plus it's definitely easier) if you heard it in her voice.

 

Have you ever experienced making a tough decision? Something that makes you choose after seeing the road that you are walking is divided into two: the path walked by many and the road not taken.

Because in terms of education, the course we're taking as of now is the "road taken by many"

Which road would you choose?

 

I. Not letting go of high school

JANA

1. I don't want to let go of high school
   

   
   

Congratulations! You just earned yourself the privilege of knowing the billion peso question of the decade: "Why the heck did I choose nursing?!"

Since I'm going to share this to you, it means that either I trust you or that I don't have any choice but to give in and talk. I swear to God that if you ever go around telling everyone what I've been saying here, you're a dead meat.

I know you. I know where you live so don't even attempt to mock me here. And also, while I'm in the verge of my story, don't you ever laugh or else I'll tell your parents that you got a measly line of seven in a nursing subject for the prelims.

Okay, so now that that's settled, how do I start?

College—the word never excites me, nor does it leave a certain chill in my spine. I'm not scared, I'm never scared.

Seeing where it all happened, I'd always come to look back on the past—about my choice. I hated my choice. It was like I was forced out in a corner, told by many that "I can have my own choice" but I ended up following theirs instead. It was like they all planned it from the start. And now I'm stuck here, taking up the famous course chosen by millions of my countrymen because it's the trend, and maybe they wanted to earn dollars.

But I didn't want to earn dollars.

÷÷÷ Do you remember when graduation comes in your kindergarten days (they call it "commencement exercises"), the adults would put you up in the stage and with a microphone near your mouth, you utterly say what you want to be in the future? My friend once exclaimed that she wanted to be a doctor, and now she's taking up engineering. My best friend Penelope wanted to be an astronaut, and today, we're following the same path and we're schooling to become a nurse someday—poor us.

At least that's what I thought.

It feels good to recall your career choices back then. But it doesn't feel that good to me at all because I completely forgot what I said that day. Maybe I wanted to be a teacher? I never knew. Whenever I ask my mother about it, she'd tell me that what I actually said out there was: "When I grow up, I want to be a NURSE!"

Yeah right.

I know my oh-so-dearest mommy would tell me that in view of the fact that I've been complaining about this course since day one and she probably wanted to comfort me—but making up stores is just too much. "I'm just not that stupid, mom"

÷÷÷ I have to admit that I made the wrong choices. And most of the time it is paired with ghastly outcomes. I was reckless and I regretted that, I spent my prelim days during the first semester sulking. Yes, I sulk—the moment I saw the number of quizzes we usually had each day ("every other day" is a quiz in high school, but if you erase the word "other", then welcome to college where there is a quiz every day, and not only in one subject, but probably all).

I hate it. Even the word hate is not enough to contain how I despise it. Everything started to confuse me from the time that I followed other people's advice up to today.

Retrospectively, all of this started some time during March. It was our high school graduation. I was on the verge of being emotional. I cried a lot. And the reason for that was because I thought that if I didn't cry, I might regret doing so. For me, graduation is paired with an obligatory weeping.

I knew that it would take a long time before I could cry like that again—but four months after, I did so once more. And that it is not such a long time at all. At this rate, my crying had not been obligatory.

The funny thing now is the reason for my tears. I haven't expected that I'd cry because of something involving school. This girl, who's encountered a lot of problems during high school, has never experienced a line of seven all her life. Her lowest grade ever had been Mathematics which was 88; she never thought that she'd sink lower than that.

÷÷÷ I still remember the feeling as I held on to that quiz paper. I crumpled it, took a deep breath and slowly opened it for a second time. I thought that when I looked at it again, it would change my score.

But it didn't.

It was a shining 64%--my first quiz in college—a sixty-four percent—a sixty fou— okay maybe I should stop there.

I went to the CR afterwards. Now I know why it's called the comfort room. I don't know if I should laugh about this but four months ago, I was crying in front of the camera. Now, I'm crying In front of a basin. And when I got home, I wanted to pour out all my frustrations so I told my sister everything that's happened.

And guess what? She laughed.

There had been lots of tears after that. Maybe my infancy had been short-lived that I became a crybaby after sixteen years. When I was eleven I thought people who cried were pathetic. My sister once told me, "are you going to cry or are you going to fight?" and I would say "duh. I'll obviously fight ceaselessly"

Looking back, I lied.

The thing is, we can always say that "it doesn't really matter". But I'd usually answer "well, it matters to me".

The best friend

I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slowly, and each road leads you to where you want to go, and if you're faced with a choice, and you have to choose, I hope you choose the one that means the most to you. And if one door opens to another door closed, I hope you keep on walking 'til you find the window, if it's cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile— I hope you never look back, but you never forget, all the ones who love you, in the place you left, I hope you always forgive, and you never regret, and you help somebody in every chance you get, Oh, you find God's grace, in every mistake, and you always give more than you take. But more than anything, more than anything; My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to, your dreams stay big, your worries stay small, You never need to carry more than you can hold, and while you're out there getting where you're getting to, I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too, Yeah, this—is my wish

The lyrics to the song Jana had been singing over and over again when she failed in the return demonstration for catheterization during the second semester of her freshman year in college. ~Peggy

The only person I could count on (besides my family) now that I'm in college is my best friend Penelope. I would call her names because I always thought that giving nicknames or pseudonyms to a person would entitle that we're close.

She's the neat and cheery type, who's always happy and optimistic. (She could really win the school spirit award if there is one). On the other hand, I'm the grungy and glary one. Nevertheless now I have friends telling me that I've become carefree and fun. I guess that most of the time, I have to admit that she can actually be contagious.

We've been friends since high school and now that we're in college, we are fortunate enough to study at the same school, in the same course, and at the same classroom. It was great, though we often quarrel since then.

When I look back on our friendship credentials, we've really gone through a lot. But seeing her change by the time we said our graduation vows, rooted all of our fights as of now. Yes, the cheery Penelope stayed the same, but the happy and optimistic one seemed to have taken a vacation from her spirit. I knew her very well. She's being 'nice' to almost everyone around her that it makes me sick.

Can't she be honest with herself once in a while? Given the situation that if she hadn't taken her breakfast, then the sandwich that I gave must be consumed immediately by her and not by some other classmates just because the barbeques they have in their hands is not enough to satisfy their gluttony. They would take carabao bites from that food until nothing is left for Penelope.

If we were in high school, she would say sarcastically, "excuse me, before you bite could you please ask permission to me? And when you do ask if you could eat this, the answer is no. I'm starving and this is already my breakfast. Now if you are still hungry despite all that food in your hand, you might as well go to the canteen and fill up yourself with food 'til it reaches all the way to your throat. Okay?" and she walks out after that.

But we're not in high school anymore.

If I felt like I was obligated to cry during our graduation, she, on the other hand, probably felt like she's obligated to be nice during college.

And for me, it's not nice at all. Because in school, though you have to be nice, you should also try your best not to drift away from yourself.

The era before choosing to be a nurse

The Era before choosing to be a nurse

÷÷÷ Before 1^st
year high school—I smiled at the person sitting beside me during our entrance exam. She's quite chubby and has a smooth porcelain skin. Her hair was tied neatly in a pony tail. Looking at it made me touch my own hair and—

    I was right. My hair had really been chaotic.

    The exam was hard. It asked all those questions about science, math, English, and almost every subject that I could think of when I was in elementary except 'homeroom'. I prayed to God that he bless me to be admitted to this school because I knew that if I didn't pass, I'd end up in a public school, which will be catastrophic since almost all of my classmates in grade school will study in this particular private religious school and I didn't want to adjust to another set of snot-faced kids.

    "The exam was really hard, huh?" the girl with the orderly hair said as she picked her bag beside mine. "Uhh…yeah" I replied. She was applying lip gloss now. That was unusual for me because upcoming freshmen are usually (based on my own classmates), very babyish and wouldn't apply makeup (I consider lip gloss as a makeup) until maybe they reach 3^rd year high school.

    "I had a hard time solving number two in Mathematics. Elementary Algebra was not thoroughly discussed in our school. What do you think is the right answer?" What the heck is she blabbering about? Number two in Math? How am I supposed to remember the answer to that? "Oh, I'm sorry. I hadn't introduced myself" she says brightly and comes toward me. She must've noticed that I just stared at her with puckering eyebrows as if saying 'and you are…?'

    She's still extending her arms as I looked at her intently for three seconds or so (it was a longest three seconds), and we shook hands after that. "My name is Penelope" she smiles.

    I should say something—I should say something like, "Nice meeting you. Hello—goodbye. I hope we won't be classmates. You are weird and you make me feel insecure about my hair. Plus your cologne is burning up my sinuses. Colognes are not supposed to smell." But how the hell am I supposed to blurt those out?

    "Penelope. What a lovely name! Mine's Jana. I hope we both pass the admission test" I hear myself say instead, with a big plastered smile on my face.

    "Hahaha!" Why the hell is she laughing now? Okay, that's it. This girl is creeping me out. "It's okay, you don't have to put that much effort to be nice to me" she says brightly, interrupting my thinking system. What? Now I'm a 'trying hard goodie-goodie girl'?

I looked at her intently this time, raising my eyebrows as I did. Before I knew it, the silence was broken by that loud grumble in my stomach. *grumble* *grumble* *grumble*

Oops. Normally, a person having a tummy grumbling in an awkward situation would be embarrassed about it but not me. My starvation will not hinder the heat of this moment.

I have already planned my dramatic exit—I would ignore her and walk straight to the canteen. I rummaged my backpack for my wallet, but I suddenly remembered that it's left at our house. This is just great.

"C'mon Jana, Let's go to Jollibee—my treat" Penelope says, looking half-serious other than looking modest. And I don't know how or why. But because of that day, May 31, 2004, I found a friend. So maybe I should thank Jollibee and my demanding stomach.

We spent the rest of the day talking. She wasn't so bad after all. Though we have different personalities, it looks like we're going to be friends for life—if God permits (and if we permit it).

"So you're really the valedictorian in your school? Wow." I say, taking a huge bite from my jolly spaghetti. I didn't even make it to the top five in my class. "Well, yeah. But I'm still not as smart as Shinichi Kudo…" she replies after taking a sip from her coke.

I just stared at her, dropping my fork with my mouth wide open. "Oh. I'm sorry" she grins, "I don't suppose you know Shinichi? From detective Co—"

"Are you kidding?" I interrupt her before she could add anything more. "Of course I know him! I love detective Conan!" I say merrily. I'm absolutely hooked to that show. I never knew this girl even had a fetish for animés.

"Really?" she says, brightening. "You don't look like the kind of person who loves that kind of stuff" she adds, taking a slice of hotdog on my plate. Ha-ha. Humor me. You should take a look at yourself too, Penelope.

Before my thoughts flew any further, I remembered something significant. I hurriedly picked my bag and searched for my beloved DVD that has been living in my backpack for almost a month already.

"What are you doing?" she asks, leaning closer to my bag to see.

"Well since you've treat me some spaghetti and fries, then I must repay your kindness. I'll let you borrow my detective Conan season 3 DVD if you promise to take care of it" I say, still in the process of segregating my things.

"Oh thank you!" she says enthusiastically "I had a huge difficulty in finding that season!" she adds, still beaming. Before I could actually find the DVD, I noticed an even more significant thing buried in my bag. I shook my head, looking amused at the same time.

"What is it?" Penelope asks, she leans closer this time.

It was my wallet.

 

÷÷÷ Seven days after our encounter—it was the first day of class: We both passed the entrance test.

I'm walking in the hallway, seeing the whole school crowded with students. We're just about to look at our designated sections and it's good to discover that we're classmates; Penelope and I.

I looked closer at the full list of my class section. I now belong to first year-Our Lady of Perpetual help (1-OLPH is the abbreviation). It was a relief that most of my classmates are guys because girls are just too talkative and too gossip-related.

    I was still checking the list when somebody out of nowhere pulled me across the bulletin on the other side of the hallway.

    "You liar" it was Penelope. What is she talking about now? I placed a confused look on my face, trying to comprehend, but then she pulled me closer, to the bulletin board, pointing at the piece of paper at the center. It was a list of scholars. My name's on it—and Penelope's name is on it too—but how? I didn't apply for a weird scholarship.

"It turns out that the entrance exam was actually an IQ test. Those people with high scores got a scholarship. I also got one, but it's a half-scholarship. You're such a liar, Jana" she smiled sheepishly, and continued; "You're not brainless as what you've told me. Maybe you can outwit Shinichi Kudo this time" she rests her right hand on my shoulder and points at another piece of paper beside the list of scholar. It's the list of the people who got the highest scores in the IQ test.

The name Jana Amy Li was on the number one spot.

And it was followed by Penelope Garcia at the second place.

II. in college and in denial

II. I'm in college and in denial about it

Highschool is dripping away—so fast that I don't have enough time to blink.

These hallways seemed to be so long. I guess it's gonna be like that forever. Unlike time. Time lost can never be found. Memories will be like saw dusts on the ground. When such a day comes that my gasoline would be all washed up and I would come to a crashing end, I would die happy remembering I met someone like you. Sometimes I forget to listen. Oftentimes, I don't listen at all. I am secretly an egoist. That, you knew all. My mouth is always open and by the time I got to close it, bugs have invaded my body. Weird as I am, I can't explain my thoughts about life. The church issue still bothers me. You're right. I guess I was guilty of being lazy. I can never promise myself to be unslothy, but I promise to be someone worthy to be called a friend. àJana

 

She wrote this during Physics class; 6:30pm; Jan. 15, 2008 addressed to Penelope ~Peggy

People usually think I'm the silent or deep type of girl. They're mistaken, as we both know it. You're one of those few people who can figure out that guilt loves to feast on me. It seems like everything I do is almost all wrong. My conscience has exceeded its breaking point and is now heading beyond fracture. Crazy as I am, I tried to explain my thoughts about everything in life. I may be right. But I was only right because I was wrong first. I'm forever guilty of being a rumoristic girl (based on our lingo), but I'll be a friend and you don't need to use your convincing powers to make me travel half the globe with you. Hehe… Always ^^, ,Py

 

This is Penelope's response in Jana's journal. Jana read it a year later, when she flipped her journal for some reminisces.

~ Peggy

Prince Charming and the sis

÷÷÷ Graduation in high school is here. I have a full circle of friends to bid my goodbyes to (except for Penelope).

    I have a gay friend in high school. He---err… She and Penelope were close. But stupid Penelope fell in love with him. He was one of my closest gay friends too, but I'd never be in love with him.

I had known that my best friend had a thing for gays, but thinking about how she daydreams about him gives me goose bumps since I've known him ever since elementary and one time when we were in grade six, he—ah, for confidentiality I'm just going to drop the topic.

So that was it. After the gay knew all about her love for him, he didn't mind. When Penelope made her move, he didn't mind too. When Penelope seeks the help of my other guy classmate, he did mind, because he had a crush on that guy.

I had been watching these things unfold silently. And I couldn't help but laugh that it ended up that way. My laughter died out early though. I have come to witness that there had been misunderstandings between Penelope and the love of her life, that pink-loving queer
guy.

It was a simple fight but they spent months not talking to each other. Of course I consoled Penelope because during that time, I'd sick to her even if she was on the wrong.

Their fight had been over 3 months already but I did not lose hope. They will be back together, as friends—I'm sure of it. Graduation is near and I knew very well that they will only cry about their immaturities as they say goodbye to each other.

Prince charming - the one who will save me from being buried in a glass coffin, which is made by my elves. Of course, snow white died out of a bitten piece of a red, juicy apple from her stepmom disguised as an ugly old woman. My case is kind of different. I've been poisoned by my very own prince charming. The person who is supposed to smother me with love is the very reason why I'm rotting in awe. Who in the world could fantasize a man named CHARMING? This actually is the very reason why the call me snow white— my crushes are all GAY. Yes, my prince charming has eyes for his very own prince. And what hurts more is that he's secretly telling me his love-love and platonic fantasies of his "theory" when I'm actually dreaming of my days with him. He knows I like him. I've told him a couple of times and he laughed at the absurdity of my feelings. He said it was impossible. What a dope! He doesn't even understand to begin with. I don't know how long I'll have to put up with his ridiculous attitude. I don't know when I'll surrender to change his perverted mind. I don't know when I'll get over something too normal in me (!). But I like him. So even if he keeps on avoiding this topic, one day, I'll make him regret saying that my feelings are crap.

One of the writings Penelope passed as a composition in our English subject

~Jana

(When the gay friend read it, he reacted: Haha! As if he'll regret it though.)

Graduation came and they didn't become friends again. It was because of this awful thing composed of three letters: LBM.

That stupid gay had a loose bowel movement even before the diplomas were given out. Talk about bad timing. But as of now, in college, they're actually friends again. But that constipation affected the perfect momentum for reconciliation.

I shared this event to you because I need to state some reminders:

First, don't fall in love with gays

Second, don't fall in love with men who are into gays

Third, don't fall in love at all.

 

÷÷÷ Love is not "falling in love", because it means you love in a hasty manner or you love as a matter of chance—instead of loving as a matter of choice.

If my friend has this curse about gays, it's not even half of my own curse: because if she always had this craze for gays, I, on the other hand, have this thing imposed to me that all guys who get close to me, (not literally) are; if not gays now, they will be in the future. And I'm not lying.

It all comes down to this: I don't have a boyfriend. I never had a boyfriend. My sister has one and surprisingly, my parents are in favor of the guy because he came from a decent family. How cool is that?

I don't know why he still keeps up with my world-dominating and insightful-in-a-sarcastic-manner sister but if it is love, then he must really love her a lot. If he were my brother, man, it would be so cool.

He's like the younger version of my father. He knows what he's saying, he knows when to react, and he knows when to shut up. He's the typical responsible guy who would love to teach me how to solve algebra and how to drive a motorcycle and shoot some hoops. He's my "perfect" sister's perfect boyfriend, the one who would actually have the heart to treat us all to lunch and who actually had the time to accompany my sister and our whole family in the high and low points in our life. Damn, I would want to have a brother like him—but I'm stuck with my sister.

If there is actually a term for the almost-perfect couple, that would be them.

But they broke up recently.

After three years of being in a relationship and after seven years of friendship, they parted ways. They're still "friends" though. And I absolutely don't know the reason for their break up.

 

÷÷÷ I have only one sibling—and she is my sister Margareta. She is labile and usually acts as if she knows everything. I never had big problems about my parents since they are very understanding and fun, and quite the opposite of them, is my sister.

I spent three years of my precious time without her (2^nd, 3^rd, and 4^th year high school in our hometown with our dear parents while she is off to a faraway place for college). I had to "anticipate" the time that I get to college myself where we will live together, in one house, and with our rooms separated by a wooden door that's about to break down now because of our endless slamming of it.

    If I say that I have a harmonious relationship with my sister, I would be lying. Yes, she is not that much of a nagger compared to my mother, and she isn't that overprotective compared to my father, but she is still so damn annoying. Actually, it's the other way around. It is me that she finds annoying.

    Obviously, she wanted to be an only child.

The daily habit

The daily habit

First semester—we are broke. Both of our bank accounts told us that the transaction failed. You do not have enough balance in your wallet.—whatever. I can still budget my own money but when it comes to my sister, I doubt that she'll even make it to dinner without spending all that is left in her wallet,

    "This is your entire fault" she says, gritting her teeth. "If only you didn't use my money on buying too much grocery—oh that reminds me," she says, extending her arms, with her palm facing up. "Pay up" she declares. This is the weird thing about Margareta, she just thinks about herself.

    "I told you, I still have to buy school supplies for my—"

    "Ugh! You're useless!" she exclaims, making the people at the mall stare at us. They must think that she's a psychopath.

    "What the hell is your problem, huh?" I say as I chase her, she's walking too fast. "Wait" I gasp, almost out of air. "Wait!" I take hold of her hand tightly, not planning to let it go. She looks back, raising her right brow and looking irritated.

"What—the hell—is your problem?!" I say again.

"Jana, you're not the only one who has problems in school. I have to pay up for my graduation fees" she sighs, slowly calming down. I am angry now. She always makes a scene in public places, and she always wants to make it look like I'm the bad guy.

"If only you didn't spend your money on buying fancy foodstuff like pizzas and riding to school on a taxi, then you could've—" I reply, barely trying to contain my rage.

"Let me get this straight" she says sternly, at any rate, both of us are about to blow. "I spent my five thousand for the washing of our clothes, for the bills, those dinners we had—"

This is so unfair. She would always want to win every single argument we have and she never listens to my side of the story,

"Whatever" I cut in, the only thing I'm capable of doing now is to make the long story short. Drop the topic that I have absolutely no chance of winning.

And it's not because I'm not capable of winning, but because my sister's not capable of losing,

After ten minutes, we reconciled.

After fifteen minutes, she invited me to eat at pancake house.

After forty minutes, we are officially broker than broke.

 

After we left the mall, we start to fight again.

After that, the cycle goes on again.

After that, I call my parents to ask for money

After that, I say: "I will never do this again"

But we did it again the next day.

The fruit of Labor

My sister told me her friend's story that night, in my room, while she snuggled herself comfortably on my soft bed which is larger than hers. I sat on my favorite chair, facing my computer. This situation had been one of our usual one-on-one talk.

The Fruit of Labor

Second semester in college—we're at my room, my sister and I. She had been begging me to eat at the restaurant today because it was her turn to cook dinner, and she was not in the mood for frying breaded chickens. I was not in the mood to listen to her squabble.

"C'mon" she insists, hugging my Cinderella pillow tightly. "I'll treat you to McDonalds if you want." Sorry but your convincing powers don't work for me anymore. I shook my head and focused my attention completely to the computer screen.

"Wait" she says, standing up and dropping my pillow on the carpet. "Let me check my facebook account" What the—? Give me one word to describe my sister and if I don't say dominant; I would give out the word crazy.

I roll my eyes as I type www.facebook.com I was not surprised as she unreluctantly steals the mouse from my hands. I just let out a small sound of protest but this was my all-powerful sister—she does what she does best. If I say I loved myself, she would love herself more. If I say I don't care about the world, she would actually care lesser. My sister is almost perfect for others. My parents are so proud that they'd tell me "You know you should be more like your sis—"
    Ahh! Stop. I don't want anybody to say it again.

Moving on, she surfed the net and I was there, staring at the computer screen. Margareta always loved facebook, friendster, multiply, blogger—and all those sites where you can connect with people.

Many would admire her beauty. The real difference between my sister and me is really seen on the physical outlook. She's too sexy and I'm too skinny. Though I eat lots and lots of food, I don't get fat. Blame the set point and the genes. She knows the right angles in posing in front of the camera and she has the face and the makeup of a celebrity. I had the face and the powder of a baby.

"You know" she mutters, her face still focused on the screen, but is now looking serious. "My friend saw two fruits today" And so? I wanted to say. But I couldn't destroy the momentum.

"I don't know what fruit it is but she told me that one is an overripe and the other one is still about to ripe." She continues. Come again? I do not understand where this is all leading to but I remained silent.

"And that dense girl actually related it to our course" she adds. Both of us are student nurses, my sister and I.

I looked at Margareta and her faced showed no signs of humor in them. I thought his was one of those where she tells a serious story and ends up leaving it as a joke. This was not one of those times.

"How could she relate that to BSN?" I ask, curious of her story.

"Well, you see. By the time my friend graduates, she decided to take accountancy and by that, she'll never work as a nurse. But after seeing the two fruits, she realized that she spent four years trying to finish this course. She's not even sure if she would love accountancy—but this course, she knew by heart, thought it can be really exhausting." I absolutely agree. BSN really is fatiguing.

She goes on; "She noticed the overripe fruit. And she said to herself 'if only somebody picked up that fruit, then it wouldn't have been wasted. Somebody could've enjoyed its sweetness.' Then she turned her head to face the unripe fruit and told herself 'I hope this fruit gets picked before it gets to be like the overripe one' and then she realized something. The fruits symbolized her in a way—her path. She realized that if she head on to accountancy, then all of her efforts, all those blood, sweat, and tears that she sacrificed to graduate from this course would be put to waste if she did not use it at all. It was then that she decided to work as a nurse, because happiness does not mean doing what you love to do, but doing what you have to do" she says, closing the facebook application in the computer.

"She's right" I say, nodding.

I looked at my sister; she was facing me now, with an awkwardly serious face. She's about to graduate from nursing and maybe she will also follow the advice of her friend's story.

I place a questioning look on my face—she was still staring. It's weird, even for my sister.

"That's why I told you", she sighs. "You should shift your course before it's too late"

And I was dumbstruck.

We ate at the restaurant after that.

 

III. The last unfolding

III. The last unfolding

 

I realize that I'm not in high school anymore. The carefree days are absolutely over. It's hard for me to share everything to you now. I've had high points during my high school life, but it didn't make me a consistent honor student of some sort. I was lazy, and my teachers and classmates during that time knew that very well.

They just didn't mind—maybe because I never minded at all too.

My motto back then was: "The late horse may still come and win the race" Yes, I was also tardy—all the time.

 

Now in college, it doesn't apply to me anymore. Tardiness and Laziness is not an option. It is to be avoided at all times. As of this moment I am striving not to fail. But I can't help it. It seemed like I can't handle the pressure very well.

Penelope on the other hand is actually doing great, but not her best. She has a full scholarship in college and she didn't want to lose that. I have a scholarship too, and it's 20% off of the tuition. It's like a discount in the department store.

I always knew that Penelope wanted to have Mass Communications as her course but her mother does not allow it. It's as if the one who's schooling is her mom. But then again, it's her mom's money—but it's her daughter's life.

My parents gave me the will to choose. But I blew it. I don't have the guts to shift courses. The only thing that would separate me from San Pedro College, school of nursing, is a failure in my subjects.

I remember one of the reflection papers I passed in psychology class. It was to be entitled. The thing that I wanted to do but never did:

"Aha. That's it. I remember now… It was a few months ago—no, it was a year before that. I had decided to follow my friend's advice to take up BSN. My parents were supportive all the way, though I knew they expected something else from me. Summer came and before I realized it, I was enrolled in San Pedro College.

    Now let us fast forward to the present. I can recall it now. I only wanted somebody else to blame in case I fail in this course (because it wasn't entirely my choice in the first place), but now, all I have is myself to blame. Maybe someday, I can make decisions on my own—because my problem now isn't thinking about something that I've always wanted to do but never did, but, think about something that "I want to do", because as of now I couldn't think of it…Since I don't know what I want to do in the first place…"

 

 

 

 

 

Jana, don't take this subject too seriously. Don't take this subject too seriously. Don't take this subject seriously. Don't take this seriously. Don't take this. Don't take. Don't. Don't…     I am sane— It's this world that's crazy.

Jana wrote this during class after she received her nth line of seven in a quiz.

 

 

February 8, 2009   Jana,     Yes, this world is indeed crazy… But so are you.Y I know that you will never cease to complain about nursing (basing on my own experience, I did not stop complaining…hehe) But I know you will (or maybe…) love this course.Y Just go for it and kick some ass. (It wouldn't be so hard with your long steel legs)   Margareta

 

àThe note is written by her sister, Margareta on the next page where Jana left her previous entry. This letter, she found three days later.

 

 

Now that I found the difficulty of the things that I got myself into, I still seek the consolation of others, especially my parents and my sister. (I don't really need the consolation of Penelope because it is really her who needs more consolation)

The thing is, although my sister and I often fight, I remain true to her. I still act like myself in front of Penelope but being with my sister is different. She would say I'm stupid and I wouldn't mind (though I will react and call her an idiot).

She would say the dumbest things, say the most tactless statements and she would slap me and call me names. But she is the only family I have in this place, far away from home.

This is why I'm telling you now that I don't regret my decision for choosing this course—because regretting will never shape our future. I did regret but today's different.

While I continue to talk to you about this I have come to realize that five quizzes from three different subjects and a final exam in P.E. will take place tomorrow. I close my eyes and feel the electric fan messing up my hair while singing the lyrics; "tomorrow, tomorrow, I love 'ya tomorrow, you're always a day away…"

Anyhow whatever the case this is my selection, my choice—I'm going to be a nurse no matter what. Besides, if I go back four months from now, I probably think that I would still choose nursing as my course.

It's a painful decision. However I can still sleep well at night. Then I guess I made the right choice—which probably makes it the best.

How about you, Peggy? Do you think you made the right choice?

All those things I went through, I can never change any of it. The only thing I can do now is to move on, that's exactly why I'm doing it. You know, moving on.

You might've been surprised why you got to interview me, huh? But I really requested the guidance center for this.

The biggest day of your college life is about to come. Are you ready? Haha… You should brace yourself. And tell me what kind of gift you want and I'll get it for you as long as it's not expensive.

As for me, just tell me "God bless" in my studies because surely, God will bless me. Pray for me that I may survive this.

As for you, God bless in your exam. Remember to follow the instructions. And with that said, let us bid each other goodbye for now.

P.S. Let us eat together later—I'm hungry.

 

 

 

 

Epilogue

Peggy

Epilogue

I looked at my sister as she finishes her last statement.

I've told her to quit calling me that name Peggy but she still wouldn't give in. She's such a hardheaded girl considering how bright and intelligent she is. The interview is over, and I've recorded that she had no heavy worries to date as of now, except for her paranoia with her grades.

All our complaints—our fights, those are all a shadow to the true bond of sisterhood. Besides Claire and Lara, she is also the one I consider as my best friend.

And about Michael, my boyfriend—or ex-boyfriend, Jana was right. We did break up. But the reason for that was because of my failing grade in NCP. He didn't like the idea that I take my studies for granted. It's over a month since he told me that we're going back together—only if I pass my final exam.

That's why I'm studying my hardest (for self-procreation and so). *wink*

÷÷÷ I promised to cook breakfast this time, but we'll surely eat at the restaurant tomorrow. Why? Because I said so.

It has been a relief that Jana had actually cooled down after all her complaints in our course.

If this were months ago, when you ask her that question; this will be the situation:

"Why the heck did I chose nursing?" she asks. "Because my they said so"

But as of now: I hope that her reply would be:

"Why I chose nursing?" then she continues, "Because my I said so"

*****END*****

In search from A to Z they passed, And "Margareta" chose at last; But thought it sound far more sweet To call the baby "Marguerite." When grandma saw the little pet, She called her "darling Margaret." Next uncle Jack and cousin Aggie Sent cup and spoon to "little Maggie." And grandpapa the right must beg To call the lassie "bonnie Meg." From "Margareta" down to "Meg," And now she's simply "little Peg." So little Peg she became Until her sister added something to the name The little Jana said, "It would be better if my big sister, Would have a name that would really suit her It wouldn't matter if it's too common Just as long as it doesn't sound so wrong And hence, since she's always been What she always wanted to be Whom she'd like to call Peggy Because her sister says 'she's dear to me'

This is the reason why Jana calls me Peggy.

Acknowledgements

Acknowledgements:

 

 

Oh, how could possibly thank you all?

 

Welll maybe that's just it.

 

"Thank you all soo much for the love, the care, the criticisms, and the arguments."

 

You made me a better person

 

I also want to offer my warmest gratitude to my instructor, Ms. Vivien Grace A. Jubahib for all the guidance and inspiration.

 

For my family

 

And also to my friends—

 

both in high school and in college.

 

No man is indeed an island though some of us are long peninsulas.

 

I have come to realize that "No man is so young he cannot teach, or so old he cannot learn"—now I have an additional reason to stay in school.

 

Oh yeah.

About the author

About the author:

JOYCE DYAN RAZEL DIZON-FULGENCIO is a former student of Notre Dame Siena-School of Marbel and is now schooling at San Pedro College.

She lives in Davao with her sister, May Ann, where they would never usually fight on contrary to the characters written in her story.