The Letter

Inasmuch stereotype implied by the title of this post is my not-so-stereotypical manner of doing things. I am a crazy person in a sense that I do not settle for the traditional process of, ‘finding your soulmate’ as in layman’s term. Perhaps in some way I had imitated Pandora’s little game for her husband-wannabes (because she wanted a smart partner)—but that, I just learned last night when I was searching for brain teasers. My ‘little game’ took place under the afternoon heat and humidity of March 12, 2012 which was just more than a month ago, while Pandora’s was held many many years ago, like God-knows-how-long ago. But the point is not the comparison between the two, rather the likeness of the purpose.

It was a tropical day. The stench that appeared to be an amalgam of street garbage, body odors, and not to mention, my own body odor piled up under my nose. I might have similarly walked through a mospit inside the campus, if not for the refuge of the recently-asphalted sidewalks that seemed to have been “less taken” as Robert Frost puts it. As I had imagined, protesters were everywhere. Some cried through megaphones on their mouths, some held white blood-lettered banners, and most walked around school like zombies —their protests they talked among themselves.

I knew, the moment I started to ponder about this idea, where exactly to hold my game. In the first place, that is the most ideal place to be. So I walked past canteens and South Wing windows and Linear Park. I went to Charlie, where the ambiance is as welcoming as ever. The expectancy I put in the number of people there, however, was overlooked. Zombies! So much of them were there; grade-conscious, status-conscious, attention-conscious zombies. I disregarded them. I found a lonely table along the creaking wooden floor, and placed the letter under. Hastily, I darted my way to the feet of the staircase, to the hallways, and out again to the dimming afternoon.

I hate to say though that I did that to find a smart enough person (that is, of the questions weren’t easy enough). However, the real reasons are hard to discern either. For the life of me, the turn-out is not also very absolute either. But as I had once written on my journal, “I had left the best opinion to the omniscience of my feet, and to the omniscience of my God.”