Powerlessness
IT JUST SOUNDED like classes were going to be suspended. The heavy rain was violently rattling against the roof. The air conditioning was off but it was still cold. It had all the makings of a “walang pasok” announcement.
I fumbled around the bed in the dark and finally found the remote to the television, but it didn’t want to turn on. I tried the clicker again, still nothing. Brown out.
All the more to believe that classes would be cancelled.
I went down to the typical hustle and bustle of the pseudo-catering company in our kitchen. Head Chef Mom, as usual, was no help; she hadn’t heard of any announcements on the radio.
It was 7AM. My first class was at 10:30—that is if they weren’t suspended.
I went back up to my room to get a book (Roth’s The Human Stain) and my notepad (just in case the rain unleashes the inner poet in me). I positioned myself by a table near the window—the only place where I wouldn’t need a candle to read or write.
I texted a coursemate who normally has a 7:30 class; asked her to text me if ever classes were suspended.
While waiting, the feeling of helplessness prevailed. Nature would make commuting a struggle, I had no idea if I was even supposed to be in school, and the fact that a certain someone had snubbed my last text the previous night still bothered me.
Whatever the force (God, school administration, or girl), I was left as the powerless one—the one left to wait, the one left in limbo.
My coursemate never texted; I had to go to school. It was announced that the MRT was temporarily shut down, so my dad allowed me to take the car—the same car with no headlights after my dad’s recent drunk-driving accident.
I arrived at Loyola Heights around 10AM. Ten-thirty to 11:30 saw me again in a powerless position against the confusion (or genius) of TS Eliot’s The Waste Land. Eleven-thirty to 12:30 saw me powerless against the propositions of theology. Then finally, after only my second class of the day, a mere two hours after I had arrived on campus, classes were suspended.
I had lunch at Shakey’s with Gin (a coursemate and rumored girlfriend—no, we’re not together and she isn’t the girl who didn’t reply the night before) before bringing her home and going home myself.
In the afternoon, the sense of powerlessness continued as I found myself with basically nothing to do.
IT JUST SOUNDED like classes were going to be suspended. The heavy rain was violently rattling against the roof. The air conditioning was off but it was still cold. It had all the makings of a “walang pasok” announcement.
I fumbled around the bed in the dark and finally found the remote to the television, but it didn’t want to turn on. I tried the clicker again, still nothing. Brown out.
All the more to believe that classes would be cancelled.
I went down to the typical hustle and bustle of the pseudo-catering company in our kitchen. Head Chef Mom, as usual, was no help; she hadn’t heard of any announcements on the radio.
It was 7AM. My first class was at 10:30—that is if they weren’t suspended.
I went back up to my room to get a book (Roth’s The Human Stain) and my notepad (just in case the rain unleashes the inner poet in me). I positioned myself by a table near the window—the only place where I wouldn’t need a candle to read or write.
I texted a coursemate who normally has a 7:30 class; asked her to text me if ever classes were suspended.
While waiting, the feeling of helplessness prevailed. Nature would make commuting a struggle, I had no idea if I was even supposed to be in school, and the fact that a certain someone had snubbed my last text the previous night still bothered me.
Whatever the force (God, school administration, or girl), I was left as the powerless one—the one left to wait, the one left in limbo.
My coursemate never texted; I had to go to school. It was announced that the MRT was temporarily shut down, so my dad allowed me to take the car—the same car with no headlights after my dad’s recent drunk-driving accident.
I arrived at Loyola Heights around 10AM. Ten-thirty to 11:30 saw me again in a powerless position against the confusion (or genius) of TS Eliot’s The Waste Land. Eleven-thirty to 12:30 saw me powerless against the propositions of theology. Then finally, after only my second class of the day, a mere two hours after I had arrived on campus, classes were suspended.
I had lunch at Shakey’s with Gin (a coursemate and rumored girlfriend—no, we’re not together and she isn’t the girl who didn’t reply the night before) before bringing her home and going home myself.
In the afternoon, the sense of powerlessness continued as I found myself with basically nothing to do.
posted by M.V. at 7:59 PM
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