NOT FOR THE FAINT-HEARTED: Tales of Crazy Possession and Lethal Obsession

I was in a rather bad mood earlier ago, perhaps on account of the horrible

grade I got in Math (it’s a good thing my dad didn’t get mad at me yesterday even though he had the whole day to do so—I wonder if he’s even seen it at all), or the dreadful events in my love life, the bitter truth that he wont take notice of me at all, leave alone talk to me the way he used to before, back in the hope-filled CompSci days. He glances at me occasionally, though, in SocSci especially from his seat on the other side of the room; and every single time he does I grow anxious. Stuck in the same situation in the good old days, I would've been freaked out. However, times have changed. I am worried—about the thoughts brewing up in his mind, whatever they are, I do not know; about the evil plans he has for me, and the romantic notions that never really existed at all in the first place.

Having written these words yesterday sometime 7 o’ clock in the morning

right in the middle of my first-period class, obviously I had no idea what would happen that afternoon, especially that PE time. Right now we are doing softball in PE; and I call him ‘my favorite softball player,’ knowing how Sir had given his trust to him when he was called on to demonstrate pitching and catching from the very start—and pray, he was good. It went like this—we were told to divide ourselves into two teams, each consisting of 15 members, based on class number—one group of even-numbered people and the other of odds. Being the 26th lucky/unlucky person in the official class list, I wound up in the team of evens; while he whose class number was the beloved number 4 wound up in the same team too. Since my closest friends were all bundled up with the opponent, I didn’t get along very well with my teammates, who were all too babyish or playful, particularly him—though by then I was beginning to see nothing in him but that excessive macho attitude which was starting to melt my bones (in both bad and good ways—I couldn’t even understand why I saw or felt anything good about that). I could hardly breathe, let alone move freely and poised as I would with my best friends. Things got worse when the popular guy recommended him for the spot of team captain, which he immediately won having earned the favor of everyone else thanks to Mr. Macho Popular. Upon “formal” announcement of his ascension to the post, one of my classmates jokingly “congratulated” him by saying, “Para kiligin si Kit! (For Kit to be in love),” and telling by the look in his face he was irritated that he threatened to kick the poor guy in the shin. I just stood there, unable to comprehend the reason why he got so offended when in fact it was the truth that he was being admired, though I pretended not to care. He is simply too macho, even more macho than our popular guy, true to the definition: stereotypically masculine; having or showing characteristics conventionally regarded as male, especially physical strength and courage, aggressiveness, and lack of emotional response—this time, not in a good way. He got over it right away, though, as if he didn’t care much either, and went on assigning jobs to his members. I followed him secretly, just so I could hear him more clearly, and watched as he gestured to people and getting them in proper position. “You guys are the outfielders. Jerson, stay there. Dorreen, you’re third at bat. Bex (he calls her by her formal name contraction, though), stay right here. You—“ he gestured at me lamely, not even looking up from his paper, “—go there.” He said it with such bland force I could not help getting hurt. I simply nodded, pretending once more not to care. Resuming his work, he moved away from me, taking it for granted that I still existed. “Now Iego.. Joseph…” Everyone before and after me, he had called by their proper names and treated with respect. Am I really that… worthless… now? He trudged on. I sighed, picking up my bags and trotted to the other side of the room where the opposing team was discussing. Seeing that my friend didn’t have much to do, I ran to her and poured out all my emotions. I didn’t cry, however—no, love was something I never cried about—I said each thing with a scream and a laugh, and an occasional stomp, but in a rather joyful way. Such a method of release would never fail me.

The worst thing happened at strike of dismissal bell. Overjoyed and

determined to finish my SocSci homework which I purposely did not pass on account of not being printed and lacking definitions (which I didn’t finish anyway, being too busy with litnet and boosting posts), I went to the library, leaving my bags behind (as bags were not allowed inside, which is sort of a bad idea). I remember taking it out after PE time, deciding to text a friend about my situation in my team with him, and then putting it back again considering that I had already said what was to be said and repeating it in detail would make the story dull and uninteresting, though I knew it still wasn’t enough. As far as I remember I paid no attention to it afterwards and almost completely neglected it, thus I have no idea what happened to it afterwards. I never cared much about that phone anyway, after deeming it rubbish and all that and deciding that it be sold. So I lost it. Now, I don’t know what to do. “Which is very stupid of you,” I can just imagine my parents saying. “How irresponsible you are.” As of today, my dad and I are the only people home, my mom being away on travel, so I’ve decided (and risked) not to tell, hoping that maybe tomorrow I might find it somewhere, yet that idea is vague, considering that someone has already gotten his hands on the phone (I called it, and someone kept on pressing the “Reject” button whenever I tried to give it a ring–and yet that phone was in silent mode the last time I laid my hands on it!!!) so I’m thinking of ways to break the news to my mom, who will be home tired for sure. Honestly, I have no idea what this means. I just knew I’d be better off as a dormer. But I’m not. And besides they don’t trust me, knowing how irresponsible I am and how often I lose things.

Now, I need three things: 1) a laptop; 2) a calculator that is capable of

solving algebraic expressions (a graphing calc, maybe?); and now, 3) A new phone, which they will never give me. They’ll tell me to use my old ruined phones (I’ve got three more, but for heaven’s sake they don’t work well) and make me “taste the consequence.” But if I prove something to them, then perhaps that might change…

On second thought, however, I don’t think my mom will take it very nicely

either if I tell her (and her only) the bad news. In fact it was she who reprimanded me so when I almost lost my glasses; good thing my friends were able to find them. But if I don’t tell them, they’ll keep on asking why on earth do I not reply and can’t I be more responsible and they’re sure to find out in time. It’s a relief I have another SIM, which is registered to my least-preferred network, yet that’s the best thing I can do. As for now, I will have to content myself with sneaking my dad’s phone (which isn’t that hard, considering that I’ve done this so many times including last night without being noticed, but only for important reasons; though I’ll have to agree that it is quite risky indeed) and deleting the stolen phone’s number. Of course, prayer remains the best remedy, and so is hoping that I might finally get in touch with the robber (whom I suppose must be a student in my school) and persuade him to give the phone back. My, I never knew Science High students could be that bad and still actually pass. In my case, the karma is always visible in my report card whenever I do something terrible (such as being over-obsessed with a guy, pilfering prepaid load—which I just did, and other petty faults.)

In case they ever find out, which they might—they should, seeing that it is I who wishes to tell them in case hope happens to set on me and I never see my phone again—I wonder what's going to happen?

Oh God, is this a punishment you have imposed on me after catching me doing wrong? If so, I have no choice but to accept it, and I will wholeheartedly; I don't mean to object, either, if that is Your choice then so be it, I understand that I have wronged, but where? I can hardly remember doing anything bad, and besides I have already asked forgiveness for all my sins. Have my prayers not been enough? Tell me, dear God, is it a sign? What of? Am I not in the right school for me? But my parents... *sigh* Is it a challenge? Then I accept it and promise to live through it. Please, God just tell me what it really is!

And tell me, oh God, why can't I live in better luck...