Strangers
September 17, 2010
They met, one day, in a motorela.
That is, if ‘met’ would mean the spontaneous interplay of two souls brought together by time and fate.
He noticed her first. Then again, how could he not? She stepped into the motorela with her hair dangling from a loose ponytail. She smelled like midday sweat mixed with strawberry perfume. Aside from the fact that she graciously shoved herself into the motorela filled with six people (himself included), he was the one who had to sacrifice his own comfort for her forced entry.
Now it would be normal for a person to be irritated, especially in the scorching heat where people are literally bathing in each other’s sweat. But he conceded and moved over so she could sit beside him and ignore all the rules of personal space.
At first, it was fine save for the uncomfortable proximity. But a few moments after the vehicle began to move, she started to fidget around and reach for something in her pocket. Her movements were not at all gentle—he was the victim of abuse; he was being elbowed in the ribs.
After several hits later, she retrieved the precious item she was endeavoring for—her cellphone. She began to type onto the keypad with much vigor, and ignored his exasperated sigh.
Now it is important to note that inside a motorela (fit ideally for only six people), a person would not have enough space to look around and appreciate the view of the city. Therefore our main character cannot even turn his head away from this young woman who was vigorously tapping on her keypad. This, eventually, made her notice him.
She looked up reluctantly to meet his gaze, and having caught him staring, she immediately hid her cellphone and looked away. Suspicion was clear in her light brown eyes. She deduced that he was reading all her messages as she typed them.
But to this, our main character felt appalled. And what was worse was the fact that he could not even explain nor turn his head away from her. So he just sat there—mouth agape and embarrassed (not that there was anything to be embarrassed about)—and did not move.
“Lugar lang,” he heard her say out loud, and the motorela halted. She stepped out and turned toward him to hand him a 5-peso coin. “Palihog,” she said, but her face did not even yield the polite sentiment the word was supposed to entail. And with that, she crossed the street with nothing less of a scowl.
They met again one month later inside the campus of Xavier University. He was on his way home with a heavy biology book in hand when he saw her again. At first, he could not recognize her, but after a second look he knew that it was no one else.
She was standing by the main gate wearing an immaculately white nursing uniform. Her hair no longer dangled from a loose ponytail; it was neatly combed back and coaxed to stay inside a hair net.
For some reason, it seemed quite ironic. He had thought that she belonged to another course, considering the attitude she displayed in the motorela. This made him smile—a smile of amused mockery.
But before he could look away as he passed her by, she caught him staring. The moment he was found out, all traces of his smile disappeared as he exited the gates of the university, leaving her staring after him. He tried not to shudder at the weight of her gaze, boring into him from behind.
A year passed, and he entered into his fourth year in the university. Days had been long, and there was barely enough time for sleep. He was caught up in his thesis paper and had to work twice as hard.
One morning—around 6am—he stood by the road to catch a motorela ride. He was thinking of all the things he had to do, all the paperwork he needed to finish on that day. When finally he caught a ride, he stepped in and found her again.
She was looking back at him curiously, as if trying to remember why his face seemed so familiar. She was wearing her white nursing uniform again, her hair tucked in neatly into a tight bun. Her bag was ridiculously huge, with a tumbler dangling from one strap and a white case from another.
He turned away quickly, and pretended to read the thick bundle of papers in his hand. Let her stare, he thought smugly as he seated himself opposite to her.
From his peripheral viewpoint, he could see that she was stealing glances at him. At one point along the way, she peeked a little closer to read the data on the university ID card dangling from his uniform.
He tried not to smile in amusement, and just for fun, he shifted so that his ID was blocked form her view. He tried even harder not to chuckle when she pouted. For a moment, he decided that she was quite pretty. Maybe he would consider talking to her had their paths crossed properly. Then again, maybe not. Afterall, she did have a slight attitude problem back then.
She went off the motorela when it arrived at German Doctor’s hospital. Her face wrinkled as she tried to remember who that person in the motorela was. An old classmate? An acquaintance? The name written on his ID did not even summon a distant memory, and so she ignored it and went about her duty.
Then days later, she saw him once again in the crowded satellite canteen of the university. It was almost noon, and students were rushing in and out—some selling food, some lining up to buy them.
He was standing at the very end of the canteen, by the cashier, lining up to pay for a soda and meat bun. She was by the ramp of one of the school buildings, about a hundred feet away.
She did not call him, nor approach him in any way. And out of the rush, out of the busy momentum of time, their eyes met.
She smiled at him first, as if in greeting. And he, reluctantly, smiled back out of politeness. One moment, and then it was gone. It took a while for them to realize that they didn’t even know each other at all—strangers, but somehow, not quite.
Finals came and it was the eve of her last exam. She went to the library and seated herself on a table for four. She had gathered up all her study materials—books, highlighters, notes, mp3 player. She was sure that nothing could distract her now, considering that she needed to work five times harder to pass her course.
At first, it was brutal. But she gradually got into momentum and extricated her lessons page by page… that is, until he arrived.
He seated himself one table away from her—midline and directly in front. He placed down a stack of biology books, almost equally as thick as her own set of books. And then he began to study, unaware of her presence.
She felt quite ridiculous right then and there, because there was some mild awkward discomfort in her situation. What if he saw her? Would he smile like he did before? But then it would seem weird for him to do that now, especially since they would be studying their own separate lessons privately.
She sighed. She shook off all her thoughts and decided to pay attention to the Medical-Surgical book laden wide open before her. But it could not be helped that her curiosity was a festering thing—so muddling and annoying that she had to look up from her study to glance. . .
And he looked up from his book at that same, exact moment to meet her gaze half-way.
Her body tensed from embarrassment, so she quickly averted her eyes back down to read a line in her book. ‘Emerging infectious diseases are diseases of infectious origin… Emerging infectious diseases are diseases of infectious origin,’ she read, over and over again. In pretense, in pretense.
Finally when her breathing stabilized, she mustered the guts to take a small peek back at the young man sitting across from her. She cautiously lifted her eyes, slowly and deliberately.
But only to her utter dismay, he had disappeared from his table.
She could not understand what she was feeling. But before a wave of loss began to lap off the edges, she heard the chair beside her move backwards. And then, a low voice asked, “Is this seat taken?”
And everything fell into place.
:)
