Riria's Space!

Tag: fictional

  • A Ride Home

    A Ride Home

    It would be an understatement to say that I am homesick. How foolish I was to think that by moving closer to my work, life would start being more colorful and I would be able to satiate my hunger for literature and a sense of liberty. Needless to say, it was nothing more than a blind assumption.

    I am writing this entry while lying on the bed. The loud snoring of my roommate makes it nigh impossible to get a wink. I just got home from work, dead tired. I could almost not focus on my work due to sleepiness, and this is all my dormmate’s fault. I do not want to talk too much about her (as that would confess that I care too much about her existence.) But without a way to let out this frustration swelling inside of me, I might become too careless and end up manifesting this grievance towards the suspect.

    The woman in question snores so loud that she cannot hear her alarm clock. Hear that? Her alarm clock goes off continuously for more or less an hour, and it goes unnoticed. So not only do we have to endure her loud snores from evening to sunrise, she also blesses us with an hour of simultaneous suffering from her loud sleeping cries and the siren of her phone. It is very cruel. How can a woman, with an ability to reason, do such a thing? I do not know.

    I tried filing a complaint to the dormkeeper regarding this issue but their reply is that ‘we should turn off her alarm when it starts ringing’. Even a fool will understand that that hardly tackles the issue! Who am I to touch another person’s (let alone a stranger’s) belongings!? I am quite honestly baffled; yet what can I do? I still have 5 weeks left before I can permanently leave this domain.

    Now on to what I really wanted to write about. Earlier, I tried to count how much money I had left to work with until my last shift for the week. Quite frankly, not a lot. So I tried to come up with a breakfast that is not only cheap but also something I can eat outside. I found myself near the jeepney terminal where I go so I can go home to my family. This almost made me want to hop in and forget this nonsense of going back to my dorm and fight my way to sleep against that snoring abomination.

    But I know that by going home to my family, I would betray the purpose of my going away, the reason I went and rented a bedspace. Do know that I had to borrow 10,000 pesos just to have a place to stay here. Going home to my husband and son would betray the reason I had this amount lent to me, which I have not even started paying yet.

    I indeed find myself cold and lonely among my peers. I do not feel like I belong in this very busy world but yours truly has mouths to feed and bills to pay. I can feel the fatigue slowly building up on me throughout the week and I don’t know how long I can keep this up.

    My coworkers keep praising my performance as someone who’s new at the job, which rivals those who are already in the industry for a while already; but I am not really flattered. It is wrong to judge someone by their occupation but this industry is full of nitwits. If I’m not at the very least one of the best then that would mean I am worthless. I’m just jesting, of course! But if I have to do something anyway, and it’s in my power to do well, then I might as well try my best.

  • To my Grandparents

    To my Grandparents

    It’s been three days since I departed from my grandparents’ house, a place I called home for about a year. Naturally, this departure brought gloom upon me. How could a year where nothing noteworthy happened be so mundane, yet pass so quickly?

    There is guilt dwelling inside me; it feels as if I’ve done my grandparents a disservice. All these years, I have barely visited them—there were instances where I almost had to be dragged just to show up. My memories of their place were filled with images from more than fifteen years ago, which should not have been the case since their home is just a few minutes away from ours. Of the twenty-five years I’ve lived, fifteen were spent almost without a hint of my Lola Lourdes and Lolo Jun. Even when they were present, it was usually them visiting us in our abode. Yet, despite all this, they welcomed me with open arms, granting me a place to call home for a year while I tried to carve a path for myself and learn more about who I am.

    Originally, we were supposed to have a fun and simple video blogging page. When I first arrived, I was surprised by the verdant garden they had cultivated in the months prior to my arrival. I was deeply moved by their passion and teamwork toward this greenery project, which convinced me to start a Facebook and YouTube page for them and their garden called “Lourdes and Jun’s Farm.” At first, I uploaded a video several minutes long, showcasing their current plants and harvests. I believe the plants were cucumbers, green bell peppers, bottle gourds, red chili peppers, and a few others I cannot recall at the time of writing this. I kept up with the uploads for a short while until I stopped due to a lack of motivation and the distraction of other pursuits—mainly video games.

    This pattern of starting new projects and abandoning them continued until the day of my departure; I would even argue that some of them were never started at all. I planned on growing mushrooms, lettuce, garlic, and other food plants, but it was all for naught. Everything was forsaken in the name of video games. I also failed to help them aside from the most basic of tasks; beyond washing dishes and the occasional sweeping or mopping, I did almost nothing else. This is one of my biggest regrets: Why did I not help my aging and ailing grandparents?

    Though they repeatedly announced that they were still fit for such chores—and that I should not concern myself with trivial things but focus on studying or working—I know they still needed help. They needed a hand more than ever as age slowly creeps up on them, particularly for my grandfather, who my mother says is terminally ill.

    I changed a bit too late. I know I will no longer have a chance to live with them—not because they would not accept me back, but because my path has already diverged from theirs. I must now walk my own path again for myself, my parents, and my siblings. I might be able to (and I certainly should) visit them from time to time, but ultimately, my life is already pointed in a direction away from them.

    My dear grandparents, Lola Lourdes and Lolo Jun: I am sorry for my previous lack of gratitude and respect for the shelter, food, comfort, love, and care that you have given me. I will forever cherish our short conversations—the stories of your past and the hardships that came along with them, the lessons you taught me, and all the sacrifices you’ve made for me and for our family.

    Thank you for being there for me as I sought a path of redemption. I wish I had stayed with you when I was in a healthier emotional and mental state, but alas, my stay was over before I knew it. I know you were quite surprised, too.

    I love you deeply, Lola Lourdes and Lolo Jun. You are some of the strongest people I have ever known and probably ever will know. You are inseparable, and to you, nothing was ever impossible.