It has been 11 years since then, and that dream is still a dream. In 2010, I took the Law Aptitude Exam (LAE) of the University of the Philippines College of Law and flunked it. I was not really expecting to pass it given my mediocre grades. But somehow, I hoped for a miracle, for me to make it to the Top 200.
This is a story of girl meets dog, but you should know upfront, that this is a love story.
At the time I did it, it seemed to be an utterly desperate step, but at the same time it promised unimaginable fun. It was not your typical day at the mall, or coffee-and-cupcake time with friends. And it was not a night of timeless chat with pals whining about the same old boo-hoos and all. It was the night when I sort of stepped on the gas pedal and did a little speedy trip down lovers’ lane.
The first time I saw him, I knew right away he was not my type. With his big beer belly he looked fat. His dark complexion was immediately noticeable, as was his receding hairline. And I did not like the way he dressed up. Baduy, I thought to myself.
It dates back to the late 1950s when a typical lad, Godofredo, intelligent but seemingly unfeeling, met a sophisticated and outspoken lass, Rosario. It was not the love story everybody was expecting. She was brought up by one of the prominent and well-respected families in their place. Among the nine siblings, she had always been the darling, everybody’s favorite. He, on the other hand, although intelligent, was laid-back and never cared about the future.
Back in high school, I remember thinking a lot about what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had a hard time choosing the course I was to take in college. Just like everybody else (I guess), I wanted to land a job that would give me a lot of money, that would make me fulfill my dream of traveling all over the world, but most importantly, a job that will make me sleep tight at the end of the day.
That is, until one ordinary night when aimless dinner table chatter with the family turned into one of those “Where are they now?” conversations, sort of a documentary-style slash-blabber fest, talking with our mouths full. Any die-hard fan of table etiquette would’ve fainted as we went over our talk-a-thon about the now-professional lives of the former editor in chiefs of our university paper. You see my sister and I once stood or, more appropriately, sat at the helm of the same paper back in college, and interestingly, all our predecessors went into teaching.
The sun was setting and the sky was getting dark as I looked out my window. I could no longer see the imposing buildings which used to dot the horizon. Instead, some moments and a flight of steps later, I was greeted by the familiar sights that brought me back to my childhood—sugarcane fields. It seemed unusual that a tarmac was built in the middle of a sugarcane plantation, but nonetheless it instantaneously gives arriving Negrenses the feeling that finally they are now back home.
I remember the times I would run to granny’s room every time he came home drunk at night. As a child, I couldn’t understand then why he was acting the way he did. And I was afraid every time I saw him in that state. But despite my fear of him, I learned to respect him.
My mother took up Accountancy at a local university and in the next 30 years that followed, she worked in two commercial banks, steadily climbing the corporate ladder and reaping the rewards that loyalty and competency bring. After which, she was appointed assistant governor of our country’s central bank, where she spent almost a decade until she retired last year. Forty years, three jobs.
When I was still teaching in the University of the Philippines Los Baños, I used to tell my students the story about how I met a stranger on a bus, as an example of an autobiographical report. Semester after semester, the reactions I got were always the same: kilig. Here goes:
How beautiful it is to live in freedom: the freedom to choose, freedom to be who you want to be, freedom to get what you want, and freedom from everything that makes your life miserable.
