inklingfair I’ve been holed up in bed (well, two beds, to be precise) for the past two days, not quite sick but not quite well either. I’ve been calling and emailing people in the office, but they told me to take it easy. And I realized: I can’t. I can’t stay still and quiet in one place for more than twenty-four hours without going nuts. There ought to be some sort of treatment where I can board a train (with mega-plushy shock absorbers) and ride around the country while reading a book. I’m happiest in transit.
Alternative flu treatment #2: Wearing other people’s shoes. Back when eight-hour trips back home weren’t only during the holidays (I’ve gotten so used to being away now, I miss QC when I’m in Bayombong) I’d stare out the window and watch the houses and people go by and think up stories about them. Going north, this would start somewhere around Gapan, where farmers would be raking out carpets of yellow unhusked rice on the road (adding to the traffic). I’d wonder what they had for lunch, and what they did before going to bed. I’d wonder what games the children played, and if teachers sold recess snacks in the public elementary schools we passed.
When I’d pass CLSU, I’d always have this funny notion of wanting to go in and see students walking around in tight shirts with huge pointed 70s collars and bell bottoms – like in those old sepia photographs Nanay had. Fourteen years of going back and forth – Manila – N.E. – Bayombong, and I’ve never been inside CLSU.
Treatment #3: Wearing other virtual people’s shoes. Oh, segue. Haha. I remember stumbling onto a blog of an acquaintance last week and marveling at being able to look into her life and see how she’s been since I last saw her. I wanted to leave a comment but didn’t want to seem all stalker-y. Maybe I’ll text her later.
I love nosing about random people’s blogs and daily neuroses. I think the reason I’m not a particularly good storyteller is ’cause I’m not really interested in whoa significant things that happen in a person’s life – I’d rather read about the mundane details. Trimming nails, the first bath after a long sickness, organizing a closet by color, random thoughts while flossing. I want to know how a person takes a bath, or if he/she puts on the left sock on before the right, or how he/she starts brushing, or what he/she thinks of raw bananas, or if he/she eats corn on the cob from left to right, like a typewriter. I like reading about how a person sits down alone and suddenly knows someone is gone. Like when Harriet went to Ole Golly’s room and everything looked the same, but felt different. Or how a person feels suddenly embarrassed about peeing in kindergarten class twenty years ago even if everyone’s forgotten about it.
Time and again I’m tempted to comment on some stranger’s post, or come up to the person in real life and say: I see you. But people like their secrets, and people like pretending no-one knows, so I don’t. But maybe I’ll do that someday. (Maybe this is just the flu speaking.)
Photo by Elena Mozhvilo on Unsplash
