The common expression goes: “I got off the wrong side of the bed.” I’ve never found any truth to this because my bed is against the wall, and there is only one side from which I can emerge from. That morning it rang true, though, for a non-believer. And spilling juice on the newspaper (and on my dog) was just the start of the events about to unfold.
I left the book I was reading on my desk. My Twilight Summer: A Play in Four Acts book (book count for Kala: 3 out of 7) which I’ve taken to reading in the train. It wouldn’t have bothered me much normally, but I left my train card in that book, which I had been using to bookmark my pages.
So I started thinking of Dr. Muhata, the African sorcerer Julien had told me about, as I lined up to buy a train ticket. I was still thinking of Dr. Muhata 15 minutes later as I was still on the line for a ticket. I was cursing Dr. Muhata (poor soul in Africa, he must have been coughing unceremoniously) when the train stopped in mid-tracks, a voice over the loudspeaker apologising for the “inconvenience”.
Then followed little, random things that shouldn’t bother you normally, but did bother you that day. My computer hanging, restarting, only to hang again. A long lunch line, only to be told they’re out of tuna sandwiches…
So I had to meet people for dinner all the way in Quezon City. I left work early, and the moment I stepped out of Citibank Towers, it started to rain. I’m not talking cute little raindrops that go with the song. I’m talking fat, huge, cruel torrential rains that drench your spirit as much as your pitiless non-umbrella-ed head.
It was exactly like that scene in ol’ Baz’s Romeo and Juliet, wherein ol’ Leonardo drops to his knees (dramatically) under the rain, shouting “I am fortune’s fooool…!” I mentally tortured Dr. Muhata in my mind as I ran for shelter, using my jacket as an umbrella.
I was shivering in the train’s torturous airconditioning for 15 minutes, then got off at my stop, then walked under the rain again. Cubao had its normal dose of flooding, so I had to walk many a ways through the throng of people haggling for jeepneys. Finally, I succeed and plumped into a taxi, thankful to finally be out of the rain, knowing that if I survived this dinner it would all be over.
***If everything seemed humourous so far, this is where it gets serious.
By habit, my hand flew to my neck to touch my necklace. My eyes opened in shock. My necklace wasn’t around my neck !
Let me tell you about this item. My necklace is a key that’s strung through a leather strap. I consider it my jewelry: it’s the only thing I practically wear out of habit, aside from my watch, and it’s certainly priceless; Julien gave it to me, and I’ve been wearing it ever since, I love that necklace as I love the person who gave it to me, and as some people commented: “It’s such a Kala-thing to wear” (I don’t know what that means, but thanks anyway, folks. Uh, I think).
I reacted ungracefully. I got out of the taxi. I had no other choice: I carefully retraced my steps under the rain. Not feeling the rain anymore, instead, I was numb to the events of my day, and I wasn’t going to go home without that necklace. I didn’t want to think of it lost somewhere inside the train, or all the way to Makati. Convincing myself that it probably fell somewhere… somewhere here, after I exited the train…just around here somewhere…
Twenty-five minutes later, my eyes stinging with tears (yep, I did cry, I was feeling very emotional, so sue me), my head asking me what in Judas’ foot was going on with this day, I figured it was time to go home. Tired, drained, wet. I took a taxi and didn’t bother with the dinner.
When I got home I remembered I’d left my house keys at the office. The perfect ending! So I found myself sitting on Mat’s blue carpeted floor, while he fed his firstborn a bottle of milk (Hullo darling baby March!).
And that’s when Mat gave me the dose of words I needed. The oasis in the middle of the desert. He laughed and made fun of me, of course, but few minutes later he was serious, telling me that I would lose bigger things along the way, more important things. That I would lose ideas. Dreams. Thoughts, words, pieces of spirit, pieces of soul. And then, what would you do? Would you just cry? Slump into a chair wailing about your bad luck? Be brave and smile about it?
That you have to have this little space around your heart. Imperceptive, but existing. That you should cram your heart with people you love and things you love and dreams and wishes and art and poetry…faces, places… but always having this little space, this little extra strength, to keep you going, even though you lose some on your journey.
A journey towards what, I don’t know. I leave you with this thought. I’m not giving my opinion on what I think about what is written above: I’ll leave that thought with you. To make the most out of it, for you to judge whether you agree or not. But I felt better. It wasn’t just a necklace, but at the same time it was just a necklace. No, that thing was special. I couldn’t understand, but there it was. And I sincerely thanked whoever or whatever was responsible for this day. With the blind faith that everything would turn out all right. Somehow.
And I mentally said sorry to Dr. Muhata, and he forgave me and we had a rhum coke somewhere in the Mozambique of my imagination. I was disappointed in myself, so sad, but with nothing else to do.
Reality kicking in. My neck felt bare without the necklace. Little things mean so much.
By midnight my brother was home and I entered the house. It was still raining, power was out so I lit some candles and I sat down next to him.
“This has been the longest day of my life,” I told him in my saddest, most tortured voice, not caring if he was listening or not. “Guess what. I lost my necklace somewhere in fucking Cubao. Shit, no?”
Not looking up at me, turning the page of the book he was reading, he said, “You left it in the bathroom.”
With extreme articulation I said “Wha…Haaehhg…whha…hauhgggg…”
“Yep, you were in such a hurry this morning you probably forgot. I put it in your room. Hey, can I borrow 500 pesos?”
And sure enough, there it was. Dr. Muhata was smiling at me in the shadows, saying “Gotcha!”
And that was the end of my terrible-slash-wonderful-day.
That night, I double-tied the knot of my necklace and hung it around my neck. Just to be sure, you never know. And I got into bed. I didn’t care if it was the wrong side, or the right one. There are no wrong or right sides. It all ends well, anyway.
