Diary And Unsent Letters

of bystander and jock.

Page 1: I am a bystander.

Inspirational text will tell cliches about how I matter and I am so sick of it. There are stars visible in earth because they shine so bright, their light reached millions of distance, they were seen, admired and loved by beings who understand their phosphorescent. They give life to universe. However there are dull stars, dying. Lone in shadows of meteor. They are unseen. They are nameless, nobody sees them. They ceast to existence and nobody cares. I call them the bystander of cosmos. All they do is to orbit and watch life happen before their eyes. They do nothing. They exist for the sake of existence. They are bystanders as I am. I am Tatiana Solomon, 16 years old, . I love words. It has power over us. We rise and fall because of it. We are the pawn and sometimes we are the chief. Words are beyond me. They were the content of poems, proses and myths whereas I is only a reader, a watcher; a bystander.

(insert) I purposely left some space here for me to insert my age whenever I revisit or write something here.
17 years old; senior high school student. I took HUMSS. Also I met Pao; my bebe boi.

18 years old; I graduated with high honors.

19 years old; I am in college now. Ab literature.

20 years old: Owemgee. A lot had happened. I rarely visit this diary but I swear I am going to write some more. I still love words and I remained a bystander. I am still a bystander.

If Rome has to categorized himself he is the stars that reached the vastness of cosmos and earth. He is well aware of it. People made him aware of it. He is the golden player. Loved by his peers, pressured by his bloodline. But is he? Behind the shine is a lone star waiting to be seen. As much as he love her passage he refused to believe that Tiana is a mere bystander when in truth she's not. Tiana has a gravitational force, she's not so aware of it. She is full of voice, she knows that every timbre of her sound matters. He remembered how Tiana wrote an editorial attacking the school's poor attention to college of art. She remembered how the student body agreed with her opinion towards misogyny existing in university. Or how she expressed her disgust to homophobia. She is not a bystander, she tries her hardest to put revolutionary movements into action. Tiana refused to acknowledge this and he feels small because compared to her; he is nothing but empty words. He knows all of it because he admired her strength, but gossips surpassed good deeds. He has heard a lot of ugly things directed to her but the first page of her diary tells that she's not what she's named.

And he met her yesterday. Pale, afraid that he intrude her safe space. He was left with no choice but lie. He couldn't bear to see the fear in her eyes. He feel his conscience kicked him in the balls. He deserved it. Man, she is so scared. She don't deserve what I did.

"You read five pages and you're catching feelings." Ian grinned. He knows what's about to come.

"You're crushing on someone for years yet you can't confess." I replied that shut him up.

"Hey!" He said. Eyebrows raised.

"Still Paolo huh!" He stomped his feet and glared at me. My cousin is a year older but he still acts like a baby in diaper.

"Don't make this about me!" He yelled. If there's one person I could share my entirety without the fear of judgment it is my cousin. He's very open, at may takot sa diyos (this is an inside joke, he had a play where he asked "wala ka bang takot sa diyos?") It is so funny because he's a bit agnostic.

"So kwento?" He asked. Nasa bahay ako nila ngayon. I needed to breath and their house is a mansion, it is spacey and they have garden I can breath with greens and flowers.

I tell him the tale of how I picked Tiana's diary and how I read five pages and how I am thinking of her since monday.

"So you intrude her space without consent. That is so below you."

"I know, I can't help it okay. But hey I managed to stay away from remaining pages."

"Bigyan kita medal?" That was so sarcastic. I want to punch him.

"Pero anong sinasabi mo na you feel connected, understood and read?"

"Well... for the first time in my life I felt seen. I feel like someone out there shared the same sentiments." I said reminiscing the feelings I have after I read her first entry. The way she introduced herself is the way I see myself.

He looked at me as if I have three heads.

"You saw yourself to her." It irks me when people repeat everything I said.

"Yes! And she's not like what she is sa mga tsismis." Ian rolled his eyes.

"Kaya nga tsismis di ba? Gossips are less factual. So you like her? As in the like "like"." I look at him confused. Possible ba yun? Magkagusto sa isang tao through their text and their thoughts?

"Uhm? I'm not sure."

Ian smiled.

"You'll figure it out cuz."

....

Page 6: My heart does not belong to a jock.

But how come it does? I have no interest to jocks, basketball, sports or physical activities. I hate it. I have less interaction with physicality and with people who enjoyed it.

How come I am holding a guide book about basketball? How come I exerted efforts in knowing the jargons used in court? My bestfriend is part of cheer squad and I did not try to read mechanics about his field yet a jock made me learn what I hate. My heart does not belong to a jock but why does it beat for him?

September 10, 20xx. I was at the gym, waiting for Pao to come. Rome was in the court playing, frustrated because he can't shoot the ball, he tousled his hair, yelled in anger. He was drowning in thoughts, he was out of concentration. 8:00 am, students are in their room listening to teachers talk about God in courtesy of theology. I cut classes. Theology bore me. He's in his area, practicing for the upcoming sports feast.

At first he looks basic, he looks plain and predictable. A jock, full of himself. Oozing with pride and confidence. But he was sweaty, and bothered and sad for a moment my judgment towards him changed. He murmured something in his breath. Perhaps a curse? He throw the ball and go in pile of sports bag, water and white towel. He pull something out of his bag. Note for class maybe.

It wasn't a note but a book. A book that was read by few, a book I am inlove with ever since I was fifteen. Definitely not a book for jocks. Night Train to Lisbon by Pascal Mercier. A book that changed my life. I shamelessly observed him read. He was scorching. My asexual self felt heat running from the tip of my fingers to my heart. It beats. It was alive. It was attraction. Sensing of the stares he looked at me. Smiled a little. I smiled back. He is near me. Two chairs apart. "Given that we can live only a small part of what there is in us- what happens with the rest?" His forehead knotted. Wondering why I spoke so sudden. He looked at me, eyes sparkled with the realization that I too read what he read.

"Amadeu Prado wrote that." He said. Of course it was a passage from the book. I was about to answer but my phone notified. Pao's calling. I nod at him and goes out of the gym. It was then when my heart starts to beat for a jock. It was then when I swore to keep the intensity of emotion into pits. It is a feeling not meant to be translated into words. My heart does not belong to a jock but it beats for him.

I trust him or should I? I am thinking too much. The sixth chapter narrates our first meeting but I doubt he still remembers it. It was 3 years ago. He was 17, he met a lot of people I am sure that he forgot me; a random woman who quoted a qoute from a book he's reading.

I should be thankful and relieved that he did not read my diary but why does it bothers me? Why is there a tugging feeling of letting him in into my safest place?