The cool wind was blowing through my apartment window when I woke up yesterday. The clouds had set up their defences against the sun and likewise, I had created a soft cocoon that kept me from waking up. I wished it would rain. But I knew I could not keep this up. (I am busybody. I need the work.) With a heavy heart, I sat up and grabbed a book. (I have a stash of assortment of comic books, novels and magazines just at the edge of my bed.) I had recently borrowed three books: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes, Liz Prince’s Will You Still Love Me if I Wet the Bed and Jeffrey Brown’s Clumsy. I read Prince in one go. As I was about to finish Brown, there came a knock on my door. It was loud and unnerving and I was reading a book and I was enjoying it and I did not need that kind of intrusion at that moment.
“Ate Ched?”
That voice. (God, why? Not this early. I can’t.) I knew whose voice it was. Then I heard a second voice, asking if I were really there. (Oh! Not them. Why, God? Why?) I hesitated.
“Yeah?”
“Ate Ched!” They chorused.
Dear God. I opened the door.
“What the hell?”
Two of my old laboratory-mates were there (they are very perky and playful - whatever adolescent boys were meant to be), once again staying over but this time not on my account. They were going to be transients on the apartment building. They just stopped by to have a little chat and a little chat we did and a little catching up. We decided to have lunch. But lunch did not materialize. After working out (which I now do every day since last month), I decided to skip the meal and go ahead with my business for the day. I texted them that I already had lunch. I got an apology. White lies are sometimes good.
I went to a travel agency and bought myself a ticket. It was my first time to buy a plane ticket. (Yeah. Yeah. I’m already a twenty-something years-old woman who travels a lot and sometimes by plane and this is my first time to buy myself a ticket. I don’t buy my tickets. They are sent to me.) I was quite unsure but it all turned out good. I was going home and was about to start reading Sherlock Holmes when one of my panelists asked for me. She wanted to talk about my unfinished manuscript. (After a long break from my thesis, now they want to send me in. Lovely. Now, when I’m out of wits.) This meant that I had to go back to the lab, show my ass and try and not pee on my pants.
I was hoping that the atmosphere was somehow congenial in the lab until I heard my adviser’s voice – shrill, threatening with an over-all horrendous effect to the spirit, living or dead. I was taken aback. I did not want to go in. I wanted to live. Longer if I could. (Whatever. I am supposed to die at some point. Why not now? ) I went in.
She was yelling at this girl who was apparently crying. (I’m guessing she has been crying for a while.) The research assistant saw me and signaled that I should go to the end of the hall where my panelist was waiting for me on the long bench. She gave me a short message after I asked her when I should give her the revised version of my thesis.
“I’m always around.”
In teacher speak, “Take your time but hurry up a little while I’m still in a good mood because if you’re not going to take this opportunity to check your manuscript, I’m going to use this against you when the day comes when you mess up.” (This is variable depending on my relationship with my panellist. I’m hinting that we have a lukewarm friendship, always depending on how much beauty treatment I have been succumbing myself to which is not so often.)
That was it. Then I had a little chat with my adviser. Well, technically, she just asked if she should check the trashy first draft of my manuscript. I was embarrassed, of course. I didn’t want her to check it even if it was very obvious that she had already butchered it. I said no. Then she asked me again if I was going to take the dead manuscript home. And painfully I answered yes. That was followed by hysterical laughter from the research assistant, my panelist and my adviser and a very strained awkward laughter from me. (I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead.) I took the failed manuscript and hid myself in the second laboratory where I found myself chatting with another thesis advisee for the next four hours.
This was where the catastrophe began. It was 6:00 pm and our very dashing adviser got us all huddled up and going out for a little walk. The lab bought lanterns to light up and send far far away to the heavens. (We did it a year ago. I was fortunate then to bring a camera.)
Us back in 2011
We did the lantern thing as a symbol of our worries floating away or in other words, we were sending all our problems away. This time we had three. We had three because we had three members of the lab taking the board exam this year. This was for their worries.
So then we went to the field.
1st lantern: We lit it up. It went well but after a certain height in the atmosphere, it went out and gone it was.
2nd lantern: We lit it up. It had not reached the atmosphere when it burst into flames. It almost hit a few people (three young girls) who were mindlessly walking on the field. We ran to them – for their safety as if it was our own. They were not hurt, not even a scratch. Thank God.
3rd lantern: We lit it up. It was about to reach the atmosphere when it started to wobble. Then it wobbled violently until the lantern was in flames. We thought it would go down on some people but it went with our worst fears – it went to a tree. We ran towards where the lantern landed and found that it was still lit and was about to start a fire on the branch. We were in a state of panic. A few people came to our help, we even thought of throwing stones at it but nothing worked. Plus, the stones would hurt some innocent people. We don’t want to add anything to injury. We don’t want to be known as the chemists who set a campus tree on fire. All we could do was helplessly stand by the tree and nervously watch the flames and silently pray that the tree would not turn into the burning bush. We were already on edge when the local police came by. (Pu-er-fect!) They were not on duty but still they were law enforcers. The law should be enforced. Even in the midst of panic, our daring adviser took responsibility of everything. She explained what we were doing, why we were doing it and why won’t we be doing it anymore. It was the most well-explained confession I have ever heard.
When we thought we were all in trouble and all hope was lost, the flame was dying. The atmosphere was becoming colder and the sky looked as if it was about to rain. (Thank the heavens!) Little by little the flame went and then it was gone. We were all so relieved and the police had to let us go. No harm done. No fault.
Then we went hurriedly to the usually 7/11 where we got grub courtesy of our brilliant adviser. And we never talked about it. Ever. It was taboo.
We finally went home. I don’t know what they were thinking but I was so pissed that I did not get anything on camera. It sucks! I just bought a new one and nothing! The highlight of my week and nothing. Nada. Darnit! Why? Why now? Why when there’s finally something worth considered as “some” action in my life and I did not have my camera! (Breathe, girl. Breathe… Whatever!) This might only mean one thing. The best is yet to happen. I’m positive.
No comments:
Post a Comment