Culture Shock

Chapter Twelve

He was quiet at breakfast. No matter how eager my mouth was to ask about the crying girl in his room, I chose to shut it up. If she was a lover, then I must be the intruder in the picture.

I'd like to make myself believe that we've been just victims of all the crimes.

We are.

That lady must have come from a wealthy household or a daughter of one of the heads. She must be dashing. I wouldn't doubt, for everybody can always enter the palace, and she must have had freely.

Oh well.

A scowl was formed between my brows when I saw Bo Young with her eyes swollen. "What happened to you, girl? Did you cry?"

She hid her face away from me, frightened. "This is nothing, my lady," she replied.

What on Earth is happening to these people? I approached her with a tap on the shoulder and a forced smile. "You can tell me, y'know. If you want."

Her eyes lit in horror and shook her head repeatedly, distancing herself away. "You must not worry, my lady. This is not the grief I have been through the worst."

Leaving her with her thoughts is what I reckoned the best. She has told me once about her mother who died years ago, so I assumed her mourning hasn't yet ended.

I sent her to their respected chamber where she could take a rest and told her to lend me the day alone. Heading the servants' keep was actually done on a purpose because last night, I formulated the greatest escapade of all, although Bo Young's condition wasn't a part of it.

The guards' breakfast would be minutes from now and will be the servants' too. Bo Young knew I would go back straight to my room and lock myself there like what I usually do, but the routine has changed.

Today is Filipino Day and I'm a Filipina. My day.

With light footsteps, I warily tiptoed to the nearest chamber and hunted for a Kimona and Patadyong. My emotions fell into nostalgia as I touched the Patadyong; the memories of me wearing it came across.

I miss my days in Elementary, being a child when the most difficult task was still to memorize the Multiplication table. I miss Buwan ng Wika Celebration when we wore traditional costumes, while teachers enlightened us with its essence.

The time I reached highschool, my Edukasyon sa Pagpapakatao teacher threw me a question, "Wouldn't nationalism be expressed though wearing traditional clothes instead of branded shirts and pantaloons?"

My answer was simple.

"Nationalism shall never be compared to international brands. They comforts, Sir, and I know you'd agree to that 'cause you're obviously wearing a Levi's shirt." He laughed. "We all are nationalists without realizing; by cheering for a Filipina candidate in Miss Universe, by watching a TLC show featuring Boracay, by shouting our throats out for Manny Pacquiao, and by working for the Philippine economy."

I paused, recalling the question.

"Traditional costumes are worn on the Buwan ng Wika celebration to commemorate history, and the idea of safety-keeping it for the next year or spending for another pair is an act of nationalism already. If it happens to be made as an everyday wardrobe, then users would treat it as if it belongs to the same level with shirts and pantaloons. That wouldn't be pleasing, right?"

There wasn't a certainty that they caught my drift. I didn't care whether they did or not. The teacher demanded for my opinion and I responded.

IKR. I'm a bi-atch. Always been.

I went back to my room and put on the two, pinning the Patadyong for assurance. I folded a handkerchief into a triangle and covered my head with it by tying the base corners into a knot underneath my jaw.

I'm good to go.

The gates were guarded.

Crap.

I hid behind the bushes and waited for a woman from the kitchen.

Moments later, she appeared with a pair of baskets. When she placed one of them on the ground and collected the plates from the guards, I stepped out in haste to grab the other and hid to the nearest bush.

"Have you seen my basket?" I heard her ask the men.

"You brought one alone."

She left wondering. How stupid I am not to anticipate this would be too risky. I should have invited Leonidas to Leopold's instead, but with him, it's harder to leave his sight.

Don't worry, Clare. Ladies will be at the market soon. Just wait for few more minutes.

"Oh yeah," I whispered between my breaths upon seeing ladies approaching with baskets on hand. The instant the last of them surpassed the bush where I was standing beneath, I stepped out and walked silently a bit closer to her, hiding my face.

They were having a good conversation without even noticing my presence. I stayed still until we get to pass by the guards.

That was close. What the heck. Meters away from the gates, I set apart and went to a different path. I proceeded to the sea port, trusting my instincts, though the way was confusing from the palanquin's window during the first day.

A man with a net swung over his shoulder said, "Isn't that Clare of the opposite world?"

More men directed their eyes onto me which made my face avert instantaneously.

"Clare, the bearer of the next Sender?"

I refused to take notice of them and kept walking. They have fishnets. I'm close.

Until the golden fleet became visible from the horizon. I ran quickly as possible without even squinting my eyes from the rays the fleet make. It doesn't hurt anymore.

But as I moved nigh, it showed sentries patrolling, and even more on the lighthouse.

My hope shattered into thousand pieces. The confidence of making it out faded and turned into teardrops simultaneously oozing out my eyes.

The next Hanbok Day, the wedding will take part and I thought I could get away. With a chance as little as this, I am dead hopeless.

My feet were with me, moving at their own speed, agonizing with me.

Not the greatest escape.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Real stupid.

From afar, a body shield was drawing closer towards my direction. Fudge Leonidas. My eyes scouted for a path away from him and began to flee.

But as expected, a hand strongly gripped my elbows and lifted me, with his arms pulling my stomach so my back's on his chest armour.

I groaned and rolled my eyes in despair. "You win, Leonidas." People were staring because we were obviously making a scene. "I give up, so let me down."

He did, still with his hand on my elbow. His eyes were in fury as his grip was. "Not so wise, my lady."

"I know," I snapped. "Y'going to lecture me? Go ahead."

"If you wanted escape, sea port wasn't the place," he growled and tightened his fingers even more. "You know what the only way is, Clare?"

"What?"

"Death."