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Chapter Thirty Two
Dream: Her Name is Irina
Jane and I sat next to each other at the Mexican restaurant. We should have had our very first date at the Mexican restaurant I proposed to, but unluckily she is not the type of girl who would eat anything. If you get what I meant, picky eater, that’s it. There are certain foods she wants to eat, and also some food which is not her type, like tacos and shawarmas.
And so, we settled on Kenny Rogers inside a mall. It is not expensive, though it is also not cheap, a plate of meal costs like less than five hundred pesos. But anyway it’s okay, for an average earner like me, it’s what you call, only sometimes kind of expenses. Whew.
If ever Irina, whoever that beautiful girl in my dream, exists, I wouldn’t mind spending my two weeks salaray just for dinner, with someone so special as her. I can imagine myself jumping from a cliff for her, no joke, I think I&rsq
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I Was Here Chapter Thirty Three
One Cup of Matcha Latte for IrinaJane and I have gone on a few dates together. We would ride the motorcycle and eat at different restaurants. We both shared the desire to taste a variety of good food. And for some reason, I noticed how she enjoyed taking pictures of the food prepared on the table for us, and she has a habit of posting it on social media, why not? I see nothing wrong, she loves taking pictures.And because she posted a lot of pictures of food and us together on her Facebook or Instagram account, at work they knew we were together, it’s no secret, me and her. I must admit at first I never thought we would click, I never liked her the first time I saw her at work. For most of the time, I only see her as a friend and workmate, and that’s all.As days and weeks had passed, the dates we had, the bonding and the moment I had spent with her, I got to know her more. And never had I imagined I would appreciate h
I Was Here Chapter Thirty Four
One Cup of Matcha Latte for Irina(Continuation)I walked towards her directions with a tray in my hands containing the brown paper bag, her orders. I am nervous. My heart is racing. I inhaled and exhaled in an effort to ease my nervousness, and I smelled my own deodorant, my underpit were sweating beyond control. With my hands cold and wet with sweat, I handed her the brown paper bag.‘Hi,’ I said with my voice breaking. ‘Here is your order.’‘Thank you,’ she answered in a very soft and low voice as she took the brown paper bag from me.‘Have we seen each other here before?’ I asked with my voice shaking.‘I don’t remember.’ she answered, looking straight at my eyes.‘Okay then,’ I said.‘Okay, thank you.’ she said as she stood up and took the little girl by hand. ‘Come on Mallory,&rs
I Was Here Chapter Thirty Five
Friends, Are We?The white painted door of the one storey house swings opened, and Christian appeared with Selena beside him. I watched Christian carry a heavy white foldable table to the front yard, below the big mango tree at the left side of the front yard. And Mallory ran towards Selena and hugged her, ‘Happy Birthday Auntie Selena,’ greeted Mallory as she gave Selena a box of Goldilocks cake. ‘Oh, thank you Mallory,’ Selana said in gratitude and kissed Mallory on the head.Selena wears a long red maxi dress with spaghetti strapped and a pair of brown slippers. And she also wears eyeglasses with a dark brown frame. She has brown colored curly hair, which looks like a telephone cord. And her skin is very light in tone with some reddish spots on her face, pimples, I think. Selena, as I had known her from our college years, is a very sweet woman. She is very caring to the people around her, and I think that is one of the things Christian loves about her. At school campus she acted
I Was Here Chapter Thirty Six
Love Letters Eric, All these times I've been praying for God to send me someone who would love me and accept me for who I truly am. And all I got were doors which closed before my face. I feel rejected many times by people I thought would love me. I almost stopped believing. I thought maybe I’m the hardest person to love and no one would really see the real me. But when you come, I feel like it’s an answered prayer, that someone finally sees me, the real me. I feel loved by someone who does not touch my body. And even though we're just friends I am truly thankful. I feel like he answered my prayers in a different way. I’m in a way thankful and content. I want to become a true friend. And I don’t want to be selfish this time. I am really happy for you; your heart is beautiful, and you deserve everything that can make you happy. I love you, Irina ***** Irina, Maybe it ends here. And we never happened. I never had the courage to tell you how I feel. Only if things can be easy fo
I Was Here Chapter Thirty Seven
Continuation of chapter 36: Here I am still looking at his face, and all I could say is, thank you. How I wish that as he reads my story, he would remember me, us. Sadly, I know it is not possible, he forgets everything, and he is now in a relationship with someone else. It breaks me, but I must not show how I feel to him or to anyone. Something I decide stays within me, and only me. We spent more than an hour mostly talking about our high school years. ‘How come we never talked in high school?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I don’t even remember we’re schoolmates.’ ‘That night after the party at Christian’s house,’ he said, holding on to his cup of coffee. ‘I browsed our high school yearbook, and I found you, Irina.’ ‘Have we ever been classmates?’ I asked. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I will find out; I still keep the copies of my class picture somewhere in one of my drawers at home.’ ‘Okay, so you’re a keeper.’ `In our yearbook, you have very long straight hair,’ he said. ‘I love y
I Was Here Chapter Thirty Eight
A Song for You I came in early, like less than an hour before the time we agreed to meet. I roamed around in the mall, thinking what I can buy her that is not pricey, something of value to her but she wouldn’t misinterpret.I stood outside a bookstore. I noticed the painting materials shown in front of the shop, and they reminded me of the pencil drawings she posts on her Facebook page. Irina, apparently has a hand for pencils. Pencil? Damn right, maybe I can buy her a pencil which can be useful for her drawings.As I moved closer to the entrance of the store, a woman in her fifty’s together with two younger girls, probably seven- and ten-year-old, went out of the store. I was thinking, children, they are now allowed to enter the shopping malls.I started to walk inside the bookstore, and on the first part of the store I saw a shelf containing different kinds of pencils.Why are there so many bunches of pencils? I thought. I don’t have a clue what type of pencil she use with her draw
I Was Here Chapter Thirty Nine
A Time Traveler from the Future‘Obaasan?’She stood tall at the bookshelf wearing a white Japanese kimono. She has this perfectly black, long, straight and shiny hair. And her soft sad eyes over her thick eyebrows, looked straight at my soul.‘Obaasan?’ I asked. ‘I am not afraid of you; I want to talk.’‘My magomusume, you shouldn’t be afraid of me,’ she said in a soft cold voice. ‘I am just like you.’‘You’re a ghost.’‘You’re right,’ she answered. ‘But you are also wrong,’‘I don’t get it,’‘What did you see the first time you saw me in your dream?’‘A clock,’‘I am a time traveler just like you.’‘A time traveler?’‘I came from the past,’‘Are you dead?’‘I died in my present,’ she said. ‘But I am also here in the future, and today is your present.’‘Teach me to time travel,’‘You will learn it by yourself, when the time is right.’‘But I need it, now.’‘Patience my child,’ she said. ‘There is always time for everything.’‘I want it now,’ I said, when inside my head I am dying to
I Was Here Chapter Forty
The Love Letter I watched her sit on the blue painted metal armchair, and it was funny how she always lifted her feet a little above the floor and positioned them on top of a metal stick used to support the legs of the armchair, seldom did she allow her feet to touch the floor. And she will place her elbow on top of her armchair desk, with her hand on her chin catching her face. She will look at her notebook and sometimes scribble her pen on it. She often rests her chin on her hand whenever she writes, reads, thinks or draws something in her notebook, I think. She wears a white polo made of a very thin fabric, so that from here I can see her white undershirt. And lovely how her long, straight and healthy black hair falls without fault on her back. I watched her turn her head at the back row, where I was seated, and then she would smile, she always smiled. And when she smiles, she is very pretty, and little did she know how she drives me crazy. Her name is Irina Sanchez, my high
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