Lacking Fragments: A Novel (Completed)

Chapter 3: Maya's Favor for Secrecy

III. Maya's Favor for Secrecy

In weekdays inside of the house, it feels like I have all the time in the world from 8 until 12. But then of course, it is an exaggeration; for me, subjectively, it only feels like it. In abstract sense, clocktime feels forever—like an extended period beyond numbers—whenever I find myself alone at abode. Hypothetically, I believe I could commit some serious crimes (be it robbery, identity theft, or even murder), all while not bothering to worry about anyone sniffing my back. In specificity, that's what I meant by having all the time in world. During those hours, exactly four, mostly I'm by myself with my wandering thoughts— thinking of pretty serious things I could do, but would never really do. Because, at the end of the day, without action, thoughts are just thoughts.

     Let's go back to present.

     Yesterday was Thursday. And so, the day of today remained a weekday: Friday.

     Considering my age, in addition of my three-year old retirement, personally I didn't have to worry much about commitments. My obligations had short-lengthened; the people I often talked to with, the ones I communicated with, decreased to almost zero. For this reason, I got plenty of time pondering my old memories. I'm at the point where, dutifully and financially speaking, I could slack off for hours inside the house and I wouldn't miss a single thing outside.

     Retired.

     Am I alone, you ask? As of the moment, yes, of course, for it was a weekday. During weekday mornings I usually am. I'm by myself, and I prefer being alone. Simply, first of all, because my wife and daughter had tasks themselves. Personally, they both had to participate in the community. Unlike me, who already let go most of my obligations involving jobs, clients, strangers and acquaintances, my family had their own pattern to follow, a schedule.

     Kiki, as elementary student, had to attend her school. She was at the point where she explores the elements found and seen on the social aspect. She had to meet new people her age; know them, befriend them, and then make memories with them that'd be reminisced some other day in the promising future. At school, academically, Kiki had been told by her mother to participate in class recitations; to answer correctly the questions on quizzes, on exams; to take down notes the chalk-written words from the blackboard; then later—after school's entirety—to meet me in the school's gateway so I could pick her up, and return her home.

     On the other hand, my wife, Annalise, as an architect under a big well-known firm, had to take bus and jeepney and tricycle towards her job. Comparing to Kiki, my wife was at the point of her life where she already realized the functions of the social— how to ethically act around each and every people; how to be reasonable and rationale with them alike. That in my opinion, perhaps, because of her busyness at most times, I think my wife Annalise is trying to figure out where she belongs. Toward generativity, or stagnation? And in serving as their firm's Senior Architect, it's given she had to communicate with her coworkers, her boss, her inferiors, and their clients altogether. In spite of all effort, of labor she puts into the quality of the firm, afterwork she'd commute back home with take-out meal for us family to consume. Meaning, at the end of the day, we remained a family—always a complete one—eating take-out dinners together, with our morning and afternoon stories; ending days that way.

     So far, those are our daily scenarios; ours as a family of three.

     I, however, had the most alone time among the three. Unlike years ago when I was still an employee, a manager, what I do now every morning until noon do not actually stay the same. I could be watching TV for four hours straight on Mondays, and take an unbent shower or plain long baths on Tuesdays and Fridays. Yes, sometimes I'd just watch shows until it's time to pick Kiki from school at twelve-thirty noon. Other times, I'd read whatever books, magazines, I could find on Kiki's bookshelf. And other, other times I'd feel so creative I could write something personal, or something mind-blowing, on a single sheet of paper I could find anyplace.