I took a walk outside a couple of minutes ago. The air was brisk and cool and I loved it. It made me want to walk even more.
Walking along the streets where I live reminded me so much of all the years I’ve spent growing up and growing old in pretty much the same place. It’s amazing how doing something you’ve always done can still make you feel renewed.
But now I’m here inside the house, clad in my pajamas and old gray shirt, feet bare and eyes somewhat drooping close. I still have work at nine in the morning tomorrow. And once in the office, I need to focus on staying awake (somehow, it’s not that different when you’re in a party and there’s drinking and eating and at the end, you try so hard on making it home alive).
I was supposed to blog about another list I have, one I came up with while taking that beautiful, delicious brisk walk on the wide streets where I live. It’s a list of my 2012 issues — slight OCD, the penchant for notebooks, this fixation with all things horror, love life (or whatever is left of it), how people come to me just to talk when they have problems (apparently I should’ve taken been a psychiatrist and I missed my calling in life), the many secrets I hold just to save some people’s faces, et cetera.
They are just random things that screeched and halted and went ahead and held one big street party inside my head. And I was supposed to lay them down in one neat little list. Instead, I talked about walking, about my pajamas and shirt and isn’t this just nuts? I am talking non-sequitur here. It’s best I come back another time and day. But before I do, let me throw in here this short prose I came up with while inside one of the many restrooms of Mall of Asia during my lunch break:
She had known the difference between red and green at an early age. Red meant someone’s inside. Green meant it’s vacant and you can come in.
As she walked along the rows and rows of bathroom stalls on either side, something struck her as odd. On all the bathroom doors, the sliding latches were green. And yet… yet she did not feel alone. And what’s even more odd… what’s even more odd was how each and every door she touched and pushed (it did indicate vacant, didn’t it?) was met with a force that pushed the door right back at her. But it was the afternoon and the lights overhead were bright. She wasn’t scared. Not at all. She found it odd, yes, but not scary enough to send her running out of that weird restroom.
Last door to her left. It indicated green. Her pale fingers, delicate looking, planted themselves on that door. And then gave a light push. There it was, that feeling that someone (something?) was on the other side of the door. She pushed again, a bit harder this time. Still the door would not budge. She stepped closer, so that now her fragile-looking body was fully facing the door. She sucked in her breath and she did not even realize it. Another push, with more force now. The door rattled on its hinges, but not because she pushed it. Rather, because someone (something!) had slammed it back at her.
“Someone’s here!” A voice hissed from behind the door, a harsh whisper from the other side of that door. Just a whisper and yet filled with so much venom, too much hate. It sounded like it came from an old woman, with her throat parched and scratched dry.
She gasped, stepped back and gaped at the door in horror. She could not move. Her eyes fell on the gap between the floor and the door. No feet. She couldn’t see any feet. Her body grew cold and goosebumps dotted every pore. Her head felt too large for her; she felt like she was floating. That thing, that creature, it could see through the door. It could see her.
The lights in the bathroom suddenly flickered. She muffled a shriek and her feet finally unhinged themselves from that spot…
* image source: ThoseCameraCurls