Thursday

Verge of a new week. Still in Manila but Laguna in a couple of hours. It's December, yes, but there's a taste of watermelons in the air. I sniff some. Turn my head three sixty. My hopes for the week has been standing there, watching what I'm typing about this door to the week. "I'm here," he says. I see you are, I type. "Are you afraid?" he asks. Why should I be afraid of you, you're my hopes? I type and before I realize I just answered a question with a question which sometimes seems intelligent. But how to be intelligent when your hopes is looking over your shoulders, watching what you're doing? It pains me that I just typed another question. I'm this student thinking out loud, one mistake after another. My hopes for the week's beard grazes my shoulder. "What disappoints you more? That your hopes turned out to be old? Or that he's not a lady?" I was disappointed. But since he cushions my morning with questions, I think I can live with him. He'll just be in for a week. I may lose my hopes in the thick of things anyway, maybe by Thursday. Don't mind me, I type. You're a good one, you can watch TV, stay in Makati or Los Banos, I type. Wherever, I type. I can give you fare if you want to go to Rizal. I can... But I cannot. The taste of watermelons is not around anymore. Such a tasteless air. Maybe I should fry danggit all morning. Make lots of coffee.