A FORGET ME NOT STORY

I

"But Sir, I don't write!" I bellowed in gritted teeth. I can't believe I was having this conversation again with this guy. "I can't, at least not anymore." I didn't yell at him, thankfully, even though it took all of my willpower to convince my voice not to.

We've been spatting with careful hushed tones inside the faculty office for maybe two hours, though hard to keep track since having an argument against this teacher was like trying to win a lawsuit against a politician's persistent lawyer. Yes, I was having an argument against a teacher. And believe me, I've been trying my best to channel my inner 'good student in front of teacher but trying to murder you once you leave the class' aura at the instant, which I usually sucked at doing.

"How many times do I have to repeat it-- I can't write I can't write I can't write I can't write." I mocked while bobbing my head sideways like a five-year old brat. I felt stupid afterwards.

"NO, Pabs. You can, you just don't want to," he said with that comical, sarcastic poker-face he's known for whenever he's talking to a stupid student asking stupid questions in his relatively stupid class. Unfortunately, I was the stupid student at the moment.

I just stared at him, and it's my time to do my best comical, sarcastic poker-face towards him, hoping he'd get the signal that inside my head I was close to strangling him and his idiosyncratic idealism of my capabilities that I, myself, wasn't aware of.

I was supposed to be hanging out with the gang on this beautiful, lazy after-class noon, maybe playing Fallout 4 or Final Fantasy or maybe trying to get some ladies to flirt with, BUT heck this professor had to make plans with--unfortunately-- ME on it.

Well, I should've known better than to trash my reaction papers and projects in his every advisory subject, which unfortunately comprised four out of my six subjects this semester. I should've known better that there was a high probability that I will meet this kind of professor here of all the four corners of earth.

Mr. Sacay was that kind of person. Or teacher for that matter. And I respect the guy in all senses of his profession despite my untiring set of snide comments to him. He put so much believing in you that you would start to doubt your parents' ways of raising a child. He sees the goodness in you even though you made it clear to him over and over...and over, and I mean a lot of overs, that you were just up to no good and nothing but a typical lazy bummer with no chances of showing deep interest.

Sure, I, like mom, was a literary prodigy that if I had undergone Choosing Ceremony, no doubt I was Erudite. But I wasn't too obsessed about the idea of writing or the glorification of the words and sentences that seasoned it.

I just kind of...had lost interest...

Besides, I wasn't really in for it. Last time I checked I only transferred to this university because 1) Auntie Pleng's work obliged her to do so, and 2) because I can't refuse to number 1 and there's no more third option on her list.

"Pabs, you have talent." Mr. Sacay insisted, pressing my shoulders, with that weird hopeful eye contact even almost teary-eyed.

"THE talent". He emphasized, as if to imply i could be the next Jedi or Aang reincarnate.

"But I can't, okay? I'm currently suffering from--"

"Don't start me with this 'writer's block' again, Pablo." He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned hard on his swivel chair. "Same thing you said on midterms requirement. I gave you chances--plural, Pabs-- because I don't want to give up on you. just not yet. Besides, graduation will be five months from now."

"I'm really, really experiencing a super intense writer's block this time, Sir." I insisted. It was all true. Okay, maybe half-truth. I was just good at procrastinating and all, and like I've said, I had lost interest. Then next thing I knew I was completely having a writer's block since I began my fourth year because...

"That is why I've been trying to help you. That's why I'm pushing you to do this one final requirement. I'm trying to--to rehabilitate you. To make you pass and to not stress me anymore." Mr. Sacay exhaled big.

"You make me sound like a met-pusher or something."

"No, I'm trying to sound like you're a met-addict who stopped using whilst I am the met-pusher who lost the profit because you're the only met-user in my list, stupid." He smacked his wide forehead after finishing his absurd logic, probably on disbelief that he had just said it in front of a student.

"Seriously, Pabs, maybe you're beginning to be the shadow of your--"

"Don't dare say it. I am not living on the shadow of my parents!" I instinctively said with a sharp disgusted tone. The rest of the faculty went silent and on the periphery of my vision I found them looking at us. I closed my eyes and inhaled, so deep I felt my diaphragm shook on protest. Mr. Sacay just waved and gave a friendly 'nothing's wrong' smile at the onlookers, which did the trick.

"Sir, please, you can just make me clean the men's restroom but please i can't do this anymore." OF COURSE I won't do that. I gagged just thinking about it.

"I commend you for being the first person--janitor not included-- to actually volunteer doing that...ah, unusually awful idea," There was an empty pause that I could've sworn he was leveling the chances of my rather bizarre suggestion considering, perhaps, his last conquest to the male students restroom. "And you're a male for that matter. BUT it will not help what your course should accomplish. what I want to accomplish." He squared his shoulders and tightened his jaws, though I could still see the amusement in his eyes about the offer. Seriously though, who would not want the male restroom get cleaned.

We sat silent for a minute, minds equally racing for better reasons to throw against one another.

So I brought my last trump card.

"I could initiate you a date to Auntie Pleng." I said in my best persuasive voice, slowly and making sure he can taste the apple of my temptation.

I saw his eyes lit up. Those bland coffee brown eyes just burst with small sparks like unmixed sugar grains on espresso.

And yes, Mr. Sacay had a crush on my Auntie Pleng. I instantly knew it when one morning Mr. Sacay saw my Auntie Pleng dropping me off at school parking. Man, I knew he was checking out every single lines and curves that I swore he almost drooled--I just know. Auntie Pleng was indeed hot in her own way. Not that I was also checking her out. Just man-stincts.

She's single, by the way.

On the other hand, Mr. Sacay was tall and averagely muscle-toned, tanned and you know he's trying but he was obviously leaning to the geeky side of the dating option spectrum. But I can say so myself that he had a chance with Auntie Pleng, considering her kind of preferences, you wouldn't know with that unpredictable lass.

"Uh-du-duhm." And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how you know when a man was beginning to have a testosterone flush on the wrong kind of head.

His jawline tightened with more conviction.

I thought it was orgasm but man, was I so close to sealing the deal.