FRIDAY THE 13th

I can’t remember who told me so but I have always believed that I’m up to no good on the 13^th of the month when it falls on a Friday. It means extreme bad luck to me. Although I don’t keep an official note—nor I don’t make any count—of the horrible things that happened to me on that particular time of the year, I know that I have had enough already. In fact through the years, I have grown some kind of a fear to the date. So, I made a tradition whenever it’s Friday the 13^th; habits from staying in bed the whole day to being catatonic throughout my waking hours.

However, this year I can’t be “the one who can’t be moved” on the dreadful day. My life cycle has changed when for the first time on my existence something significant fell on a Friday the 13^th. Summer semester starts today. At first, I considered this to be a “double-kill” on my part. But since the first day of summer classes marks the longest five weeks of my life, I decided that it’s important enough that I’ll dare the odds to be in my favor.

Yet, turning my back on rituals is not as instant as I wink my eye whenever I’m surprised. I swear I had an ultimate hard time to get myself out of bed. Then I thought of conditioning myself by coming up with a number of stuff that would motivate me that waking up is worth a try. Counter-conditioning it is: I mentally revisit the series of unfortunate events that I had experienced—hoping that I’ll find the will to get back on them.

[1]      Just recently, on the celebration of the Blessing of the Fire in our church, I said (quite loudly) “Happy Hunger Games!” as I blew out the light of my candle. A mother butler turned to our direction and hissed at me. I was not sure if she shut me up for disrespecting the mass or because I was practically coughing my lungs out due to the smoke from my candle. Alright, I’m asthmatic and I’m a disgrace to the Church.

[2]      Last year, on the registration period for the first semester, I made a scene in front of the waiting shed outside the Faculty Center. I missed the last step of the jeepney as I was going down so I landed straight to the ground, knees and palms first. A guy came running for my rescue and so I immediately held out my hand to him. But when he made a full stop in front of me, he said: “ay?!” with an awkward expression. He later took a ride to the jeepney that literally threw me out. I’m an idiot. I know, right?

[3]      One rainy evening when I was still in Pampanga, I was on my last ride home when I discovered that I have no money for the fare anymore. I was about to jump out of the jeepney when the driver yelled: “’Yung mga wala pang bayad d’yan, paki naman na.” (Those who haven’t paid yet, kindly pass your fare.) There were only two passengers then, a gorgeous guy (about my age) in marine uniform apart from myself, so the driver’s clearly referring to me. I moved closer to the other commuter who’s sitting right at the back of the driver’s seat and whispered: “Kuya, wala na pala akong pamasahe. Ikaw muna, please?” (Mister, I can’t afford the fare anymore. Can you please pay for me?) His reaction was rather disappointed that shocked, he told me that he thought that I was going to ask for his number since I was eyeing him for quite some time already. Then he brought out a 20 peso bill and handed it to the driver saying that it was for ‘the beggar.’ Upon hearing what he said, I jumped out of the jeepney and ran my way home under the pouring rain.

[4]      I have a title back in HS. An intern gave it to me and I’ll never forget it even if he dies three times. Our school practices some earthquake drills annually. Being the class president [all my high school life], I was expected to be the most alert student to warn everybody in my section when we hear some sort of a siren. On my third year, I was already paranoid to the sound. Upon hearing a strange bell, I made all of my classmates duck, cover their heads, hold their positions and crawl down to the ground floor and go out of our building snappily. A crowd of sophomores were astonished at the sight of us. Then I realized that the bell was just for their recess. The following day, a student-teacher was on the stage gathering the pupils on the court. He acknowledged my presence as soon as he saw me coming: “Good morning, Ms. Earth…quake Drill!” I embody embarrassment. And I’m tired of it.

[5]      In our music class back in my first year high school, we were to sing a Christmas song one by one. During my turn, I sang ‘Santa Claus is coming to town.’ While performing, I noticed that most of my classmates including our teacher were giggling. I didn’t make a big deal out of it since I sang the same song to a bigger audience when I was in 4^th grade, so I went on. As the song ended, the teacher asked me if I have a foreign blood. I told him that I think my father have some Spanish roots. He replied: “Not quite” and mimicked my singing: “SANTE CLAUS IS COMMEEENG, TU TEWYN.” From then on, I had the exclusive rights over the song, at least to our batch.

[6]      When I was in grade school, our principal saw to it that I’ll be recognized as the worst speller in our class. I joined an inter-school spelling bee and actually misspelled the very first word on the WARM UP round. I was eliminated even before the real elimination round—not in the contest since it was merely a warm up, but to the eyes of the spectators since I’ve proven my incompetence. The word was DEVELOPMENT which I wrote with an E after the P. my mistake made me prominent to our principal’s memory. I’m not saying that she did it intentionally but she made a surprise room to room student evaluation a few months later. She made us write down the things she dictated and we submitted the written output to her. The following day, I was the talk of the school community because I spelled CHRISTMAS without an R.

I had to cut my reminiscing because I’m getting scared some more. I only convinced myself that I got nothing to do in this planet anymore. But then, whether I like it or not, I got a life to live even on a Friday the 13^th.