To whom it may NOT concern.

So this is how it feels like to be consumed by blind panic and paranoia that you could be dying anytime now of: 1) aneurism, 2) heart attack, or 3) a combination of both. I blame you, yes, YOU, that I have probably been just secretly a hypochondriac--however that is spelled--all along, and YOU might just have spawned it. I apologize if I sound like am just about blaming you if I lie dead anytime soon, but, really, I'm not spewing guilt to get back at you. Only a little remorseful that I CANNOT think happy thoughts while I am in the middle of hyperventilating. Thanks to you, and your decision to stab me straight to where I would bleed the most, I am more pessimistic than ever. So 6 months later I am still stuck here. Yeah, so what? Big deal. And you know what? You can only pretend so much that you CARE. Geez. All these thoughts over a bad crick in the neck and insomnia. And to sum it up: YOU make me sick. Yes, even after six months. So excuse me while I try my best now to think happy thoughts.

This was supposed to be sent to someone else (I allow you to make your guess) but decided against it in the last minute (because, seriously, that is just what losers might say). I am not sure if it made any sense, and I tried my best to fill in the right punctuations. It is just prolly the insecurity of having neither the inspiration nor the drive to move on. I am sorry if it caused any confusion. I just had to let the ranting out of my chest.

Chapter Five: Random benches and earthy sidewalks.

Something definitely happened over the holidays. I could just tell.

He was changed, somehow softer, if I may so boldly describe. And how that came about I couldn't be sure.

It's not him. It's actually you. You're different, calmer, and probably even subdued.

I couldn't acknowledge it, not when I was with the professor in this seemingly suggestive circumstance that we were stuck in again, sitting face to face in a too relaxed state on a concrete bench in the sidelines of the wide, open field.

What he initiated almost made me think he liked provoking malice in people. Despite this he carried an air of guarded indifference in his surroundings as he fixed his full attention to what I was telling him as if it was the only thing that mattered in the sepia afternoon.

My narration wasn't even stimulating nor it was important, just a comment about the laze of people and things, and it had been the midterms.

His oriental eyes were a little too dazed as he looked at me, like his mind had flown elsewhere.

I instinctively frowned as the wind picked up, turning away to hide the rising flush.

"Stop it. You're making me very uncomfortable."

My ears had become so warm that they could melt.

The reverberation of his chuckle held a wryness that was hard to miss. I dared another look at his cryptic expression.

"People are starting to talk now. Are you sure you want to get into such a mess with me?"

I studied the undeniable hopeful glimmer in his eyes, and I was careful of my next words.

"I don't care about what they think," I said with a note of seriousness I didn't think I could muster that moment. I figured he asked to see me to actually talk about this today in the pretense of just hanging around.

"There is nothing to it. Isn't knowing what we really are what matters?"

The cool January breeze ruffled my unruly ponytail and all the browning leaves on the ground and trees. It was somewhat unnerving.

He appeared as if he was torn between wanting to believe me right away and confirming it one more time. By now I had expected him to rephrase his question.

"Really?"

An assuring but mischievous grin easily materialized on my face.

"Sure. And if you're up to it, we can always play with their imagination."

His rich laughter ricocheted in the vastness of the soccer field.

And it felt strangely good to hear it. The manifestation of his amusement was contagious, and I couldn't help but laugh with him, unconcerned of everything else in spite of the peculiar looks thrown our way.

Sepia transformed to chrome and indigo in a slow and poignant transition. The skies were witness to a bond forged in confidence of each other's doubts.

The professor didn't have to ask about who I liked however, because he really didn't have to, and I didn't have to be stuck again with giving away information that he didn't need to hear. It was embarrassing to share my hopeless attraction to Michael, who was not even in the country anymore, the red on my face rivaling the color of my shirt.

Thankfully, he offered an emphatic smile as if saying things would be alright somehow. I tried to match the look even if I couldn't believe the implication of it. Being a pessimist was pitiful enough.

It was becoming cold when dusk broke. I was already kicking random pebbles on the narrow track that everybody identified as Lovers' Lane when the professor started on the unlikely topic with him walking too close beside me.

Inwardly, I scoffed at the irony of the silly name, knowing it would never be more than any other insignificant sidewalk to us.

Never.

Chapter Four: Nocturnal dialogue.

The sound of the rain beating against the French windows wasn't the one that broke the silence of the dead night. Beneath the pillow the phone had been stubbornly ringing, stirring me awake, jerking my consciousness in the worst manner imaginable.

I didn't need to look at the screen of the device to know who had to call me at this time of the day.

"Hello?" I heard my hoarse voice expand in the void. This was dangerously becoming a habit, these almost secret calls in the wee hours, even when there really was nothing to talk about.

"Were you sleeping?" He was almost shocked, and had the nerve to ask.

"Yes. No. Does it matter?" I had to clear my throat, irritation evident at the ugly sound. The grogginess wouldn't leave me for another ten seconds.

"Sorry."

Just one word and something in the professor's speech pattern made me instantly alert, a frown forming on my face.

He was unusually somber if not melancholic, but that wasn't what was striking about it. I surprised myself at the easy observation. I didn't realize I had already become sensitive of his moods now.

Taking in the limited light in my space, I blinked again and again as I focused my sight on the plastic constellations pasted on the ceiling.

The feelings he was unintentionally channeling through the call were disconcerting, weighing me down with the tangible heaviness.

I convinced myself that he hadn't meant to seek for me, that it just happened to be an accident that I was the first person he was able to reach. And I couldn't ask him what was wrong because it wasn't in my nature to prod though I certainly tried, mouth open with the question hanging between us.

"My dad," he sighed the words, not elaborating since there really was no need to. It was easy to assume that the professor's influential father wanted his way with things again.

"I see."

I sincerely wished I could be more emphatic however I had always been short in that field.

But he had accepted the company which seemed enough for him.

"Don't worry about it," I added in attempt to cheer him up, anyway not sure if it was the right thing to say. It was an embarrassingly standard operating procedure statement, and I cringed to myself at the mention of it.

Finally, the angry storm had ceased its torment, quiet slowly returning in this little house. Time passed slowly now as eternity seemed to stretch while I waited in my bed for an answer that might not come.

He didn't say anything to acknowledge the hope in things but there was comfort in his silence and a sense of calm in the absence of words. I figured it was actually him who was doing me a favor.

"Thank you for answering the call."

Shadows had stilled and my breath stopped for a very short second. How could such gratitude be so impacting like this?

My response came a little too late.

"Anytime."

Anytime.

At the back of my mind I knew that the word was going to haunt me from then on, like an unwanted promise I was bound to keep.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Sweetie," the professor mumbled as if it were an afterthought, still slightly pensive.

I couldn't resist a pout. I still hated to be reduced to such pun.

"Go to sleep, Cat. It's late. Bye."

The call ended but that was also when I started having his dreams.

Chapter Three: As a blush gives way to a bruise.

As he immersed himself in the loud music that bounced within the sound-proof room, the professor was transformed into another person.

He had a sure, firm grip of the slender sticks and paid too close attention to the harmony of the other instruments that completely drowned the steady reverberation of the downpour outside.

I shuffled uncomfortably on my seat, trying to understand the sounds swirling about.

The one who tried to sing, another young professor who succumbed to the calls of five-minute fame, made a ridiculous attempt to cover the song, and I shook my head at the unfortunate limitations of his vocals as I struggled not to openly laugh.

Sir Dan, who I started calling Cat (because I couldn't bring to just call him Dan whenever we were already outside the classroom even if he insisted) was still set on delivering his parts as if there was no room for mistake even at practice. He was easily a perfectionist, and even with music he was as unforgiving as he was with arguments in logic.

My train of thoughts about the drummer was broken when my name was called.

Actually, the Automata professor merely mouthed the word and waved my way.

Sweetie, he had said. That was clearly a pun to my name and a joke that had stuck. The annoying man refused to call me by my name, saying that it rather sounded too lame for someone like me.

"No thanks," I replied even though I knew he wouldn't be able to hear me behind the slightly parted glass doors.

They were having a few minutes break now and he wanted me to step inside the studio.

I was lounging on the bench in the empty and narrow hallway adjacent to the crammed room, uncharacteristically patient and thoughtful.

The drummer didn't move from his position but twirled one of the sticks in his fingers expertly. He had previously mentioned that he taught himself to use the bulky percussion and that he identified himself as an amateur to it.

Show off, I mouthed and playfully stuck my tongue out.

It was almost taboo that I was allowed to even do such thing to a professor even if I could debate that we were a little more familiar now.

I couldn't help but muse on Sir Jessie's comment about his colleague thirty minutes ago as we were just heading to their scheduled practice.

"Dan only hangs out with people he likes."

Isn't that what people are normally inclined to do? I had asked, knowing that he was anyway implying something. It was almost unbelievable that even the balding young instructor was teasing us now.

I had stopped the urge to roll my eyes and defend myself. Didn't I anyway say that I couldn't care less of what other people think? Commenting about it would just mean there was anyway something going on.

The two professors just had to laugh at me, conspiring as they shared a secret thought to themselves and embarrassing me somehow. The traitor didn't bother explaining why he had to drag me with him anywhere he pleased, and though I wasn't one to complain or question at the face of boredom and nothing better to do, I was starting to wonder to myself.

The sharp blast of the electric guitar brought me back to the deserted corridor and had me center my concentration to the oriental eyes that were curiously staring at the clueless bespectacled girl by the double doors. I didn't realize until my ears burned that the girl was actually me.

Blushing, I decided, was just as demeaning even when nobody could notice the red tinge across my confused face.

The noise that filled the beat-up place was just as taunting as the blood that was persistently pounding in my ears.

Chapter Two: Candy in Wonderland.

There are words that you've said years ago in a seemingly harmless, forgettable circumstance that you anyway remember forever. Words like "You are being deliberate" that were directed to your arguably manipulative instructor who would ask you to repeat what you've said not because he hadn't heard you the first time but just because you'd sound amusingly gullible when you've succumbed to such trick he's set up.

But I really had uttered my thoughts aloud even before I could stop myself, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek at that, with the decency to feel horrified despite the secret satisfaction that boiled at the pit of my stomach.

"You are being deliberate"? What the hell brought that on?

Yet another mind-numbing seatwork, of course. It wasn't exactly the most flattering remark but it had been the most basic truth.

If it was a little consolation to myself, everybody was sure to be thinking the same thing as they scribbled/stabbed on the harassed yellow paper before them. I'd be lucky if Sir Dan would even give my paper a second look and one point. I had been the second person to submit her answered (but not necessarily correct) puzzle. He'd probably award Richard, the first to stand up from his spot, two points for thinking he got the seatwork half-right.

I sauntered to the door, decidedly set on avoiding the impending question. But I also just had to look over my shoulder.

"Huh?"

That priceless baffled expression on the professor didn't suit him at all, a stark contrast to the almost-smirk he was prone to wear in most days. Since the start of the second semester of our junior year, I had been used to seeing that grin that resembled a Cheshire cat's.

Though I had sworn that I wouldn't say that out loud as well, I found myself telling him that a couple of minutes later to dodge having to elaborate my earlier uncalled-for outburst, when the bell had already screamed in my right ear and my feet were carelessly dangling two feet above the floor.

It was just reasonable that anybody should think it was inappropriate for any normal female to sit on the ledge that way in spite of her A-line skirt. But Sir Dan wasn't one to reprimand this particular female because he liked the unconventional, and he liked hanging around the bespectacled, sharp-tongued, more-tactless-than-honest-but-anyway-clever girl who liked her backpack red and functional.

And today was just one of those days where I would wonder why this rather intelligent man chose to speak to this lowly being such as myself.

I gracelessly made a jump from where I sat just like how any frustrated acrobat would.

By then I was sure everybody within the four walls of room C501 heard my unwarranted opinion of our happy-scented professor, however it was comforting that I wasn't at all bothered by the fact now than the first few seconds the statement left my mouth. That had been the start of my uncaring demeanor about anything that involved this man. Well, at least of what other people thought about these unlikely pair who must be hanging around together more often than they should.

It's not like we have any other options to kill time anyway, I reasoned with a mental shrug.

"How am I a Cheshire cat?"

He was unusually inquisitive today, and though I was normally polite and would have easily offered an explanation, I wasn't in the mood to be indulging.

Sir Dan's oriental eyes looked rather rounder before my own and I mutely blinked a few times until I realized my actions. It was certainly rude of me to stare, and I blamed his intoxicating scent for numbing my linguistic capabilities.

The sparkling yellow soda in the clear plastic cup that sat on the tabletop reflected the cheery mid-morning.

It seemed like I was falling into a trap that I couldn't quite place yet. The feeling was somewhat disturbing. In the middle of it all, I felt myself being sucked in a temporary void and suddenly all I could hear was a dull beating in my ears. Michael, a friend whom I was pinning for since freshman year, had just left the country two months ago, and already I was forgetting him too fast for my liking.

Am I changing? But why? How?

If it weren't for the professor's unbreakable and curious gaze, I would've not remembered where I was at that moment. Sir Dan was patiently waiting for my answer, his eyes boring holes on my blank face.

There must be something in the air that nudge the fleeting inertia. Immediately, I felt too self-conscious to even look away. My ears felt like they were now burning.

Is that a smirk on his face again? What an annoying cat.

Cat. That's what he really was. He represented every bit of the animal, cunning and overbearing at a certain degree.

I could only glare back at him. The man's face became amused. He had the tendency to be so insufferable as well.

"Well, Aren't you going to tell me?" The arrogant lilt in his deep voice betrayed more of his amusement and it annoyed me to no end that, again, he knew something that I didn't.

"I don't think there is a need to explain. I am pretty certain that people have told you the same thing anyway." I just had to match his smugness with one perfectly arched brow and a wry smile of my own.

The professor, despite of his tucked and pressed linens, suddenly appeared too boyish in that one look that confused me all the more. I was again struck by the paradox of the rumors-turned-truth about his notable reputation.

"Maybe. But nobody had been bold enough to say that to my face." He cheekily grinned that secret grin again before suavely taking a sip of his Mountain Dew.

This man surely knew how to use his words (that or I was unfortunately ignorant). A second later I was caught trying to painstakingly explain myself, in detail as if I were in some spell, and I was almost certain a part of me was given away.

This is a trap. The manipulating cat is the Queen of Hearts in disguise. He is trying to see how long you can endure this mockery, my mind scoffed at my naivete.

However, from then on I couldn't help myself. In the next few weeks, it would just be the most perfect routine.

58 themes.

merry scents. molded limbs. 1st letters. art indulgence. random benches. earthy sidewalks. travelling, blithe murmurs. 50 minute summers. nocturnal dialogues. missent thoughts. royalty in denial. embracing silhouettes from behind. monster of emerald. savior’s passion. beating mercury. 13 postscripts. unwelcomed bemusement. inevitable isolation. jar of news. a lesson on secrets. yeilding completely. forgetting november. hating october. colder december. new year summons. muddled decisions. thousand hopes. unexpected aid. learning truths. unburied months. high wanings. guided melodies. lamenting hardwoods by the spinning road. glazed gazes. foreign names. 2 words. 5th literature. all over again. tranquil declarations. capital wagers. stolen innocence. gift of communication. boxed sweetness. music in the ears. experience of touch. laughter in a book. blues and whites. miniature footprints. crafty conspiracies. shield from sun and rain. lingering shadows. reflected amusement. whispered nostalgia. a different happiness. 24 moons later. a million sighs. wasted opportunities. dead ends. longest weekend.

Chapter One: Merry Scents.

It really just doesn't end, does it?

Things catch up on us without them even trying, and without even us asking for it. This is the perfect time to follow the craziest exit strategy that we never knew existed until now, until all else faded in the wild ringing of our own noisy thoughts.

---

It all started when I shot my wide, curious eyes to the only vision in blue that would be the sole reason why I'd be too lost to recognize myself in the next five years.

And there he was, smiling gloriously despite himself and despite these insignificant students who never noticed his approaching.

Grace, who comically dragged her hesitant guest to the crammed table of six, muttered an excited blur of introduction. It didn't matter if everybody before her looked just as unsure.

The man waved his large hand at this, surprisingly unperturbed by the attention. The slight movement caused a sweet smell to float between us. I was not sure which surprised me more: the sudden, smooth movement or the overwhelming scent.

"Dan," said Grace in her signature genial smile. The man didn't quite make that strong impression to me though, not when he was standing there, looking slightly sheepish despite the obvious authority that he was still emanating. I would have thought he was quite normal if he didn't allow this girl in bob-do say his name that way. It was too informal and familiar for my taste.

These round eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses transformed to slits. I wondered if he'd ever remember our own names.

Too boyish to be that famed professor, I mused to myself fleetingly, unmoving from my position on the vinyl tabletop. My face was almost hidden by my crimson backpack, but he must have known I was scrutinizing his body language in the brighter rays of the afternoon sun that seeped through the glass blinds in my far right. The man named Dan was almost rocking in the balls of his feet, self-conscious and restless.

Everybody was either too impassive or too polite to look the other way where Yagi's rather youthful cousin wasn't standing. Dianne, Cyrus, Levon, Sheryl, Joseph and I already knew who he was, of course, thanks to summer gossip and whatnot.

The others had said hi.

"Dan will be our professor next semester. Isn't that great?" Grace went on, not even noticing the awkward air that hung about. She really shouldn't sound so happy about the impending doom, if rumors about this man were true.

No. It wouldn't be great at all. My future self, five years older but not any wiser, would have vehemently disagreed.

Dan, the smiling sadist of a professor, would have walked away with his impaling scent, and I, in spite of things, would remain unscathed and unchanged for the world.

"What subject?" Someone opened their mouth too soon. It was so like Levon to make the small talk.

"Automata theory," the professor eagerly replied in that same almost-embarrassed grin. His oriental eyes crinkled in a rather disturbing manner. I was sure he knew something that everybody in that group wasn't aware of.

Thankfully, the little party ended too quickly, and I was left to lazily reflect about my only class in the dwindling buzz of the cafeteria in this warm afternoon, easily forgetting the only man who would painfully change me in the next few years.

I would not have realized it but it would be the very day that my world made its inevitable shift.

Prelude to Chronicles of The Anti-social.

There are times that we wish we could just relive the affair for the sake of remembering. Like the most pleasant dream that we couldn't quite grasp when we awoke in a flurry daze--not in a state of clarity over things that might have been already lost in refined attempt anyway.

And, of course, there are times that we rather overlook, choosing to neglect the pulsating ache that never goes away despite effort, despite decisions, and despite time. It permeates in the heavy air but we are still feigning it. We are so good at pretending.

But we, as humans, are a sadist to ourselves, suffering to ourselves. Because we are endlessly stubborn and proud, and nobody knows that we feel this way. We bleed, and we would not acknowledge it. And we would not mind. Almost.

cheers for fears.

I am not sure which is more disappointing: the 4 Customer Satisfaction vs. 2 Dissatisfaction at work, the sleepless dayoff and Dianne and Butch's unexpected visit and my lack of enthusiasm, the Sinulog punishment in the form of being squished unnecessarily between the sweaty crowd of mardigras watchers, missing the fireworks display despite arriving early, not being allowed to go to my favourite bookstore as these people dragged me away to where they wanted to go just because they think I should not be alone (and my dormmates, including Paupau, think it is illegal), or their taunting about being the only one in the group of 7 who did not have a partner and who had to stick up to these girls and their male counterparts' urging to get myself a man already.

Maybe I should have been at least excited for the festival, but I was anyway upset about how everything turned out last night, about how people find me as a charity case instead of an independent individual who would not have minded being single until they rubbed that sore spot where it hurt the most. I dunno. I did not think I could ever be embarrassed like that after Paupau volunteered to play the matchmaker. It was...sad and humiliating, and it made me feel stupid and hopeless and infinitely ugly and almost desperate. It was unfair. So what if I choose to be alone? It did not matter too much before.

countdown to hell week.

Hahahahahaha hahaha haha haaa yeah. It's back to reality for us mere workers. And I am really starting to hate coming to work. Laziness aside, this industry isn't very promising to me anymore. The pressure and stress that come with it are not worth all the money I get every 15 days at all. So I'd really appreciate it if they just go sack me this Friday (the word "deliberation" irks me every time) and end my misery already. *sigh* That's prolly just the hormones complaining. Or the feeling of loss that's slowly eating me away. Yagi is speaking to me again, to ask advice about love life and whatnot. Engk! Wrong person to ask. But you know how I'd like to anyway help, so I tell him what I think about the helplessness that he is feeling right now. Yes, he is in love. And he's in love with...somebody else, which is sorta a relief, and annoying at the same time. What the hell was he thinking, hitting on me months ago when he is really into someone else? Aa. I think I can relate at some point, but it doesn't really help me feel less pathetic. So I just realized why I'd always think I'd never get married to anyone after he had asked. Thanks to recent happy events, and the bottomless insecurities that I think so. *sigh* I just hope I survive the day. Hug me, Mike. I so need one right now.