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?