Univeristy Confessions 2

[TEF] "Hey, if I go there now, can I stay for a day or two?"

[Admin Note: Hey guys medyo mahaba ito so take the time to read everything. Tl;dr 23 dicks part 2 #NekoChan]

Not necessary that you have read this: https://www.facebook.com/uplbconfessions/posts/2439427679616592 , but yeah, it helps.

"Hey, if I go there now, can I stay for a day or two?"

(Please say yes. Please say yes.)

30 minutes later, I received his reply which felt like heaven right in front of my phone screen. "My apartment is fucked up right now but... yeah."

I was on a bus bound to Buendia. I didn't know where his apartment was. And heck, I didn't even know where the hell Makati is. I took my chances, though. Being lost in a place foreign to me seems better being lost in a place I know by my heart. I am running away from home, and his face was the first glimpse of light that I recognized. I know it seems silly, running away to a guy you met on Tinder and had sex with only just once just to get away from your stupid fucking family. But when you have a fucked up mom who knows every single contact detail of every friend you have in Los Baños and a sister whose stalking skills are superb, I knew from that moment that The 23rd is my best chance of ever getting a temporary peace of mind from this ultra-mind-boggling chaos you all call world.

I didn't know how I got there, probably from the lasting effect of my latest Rivotril overdose, but I found him nevertheless. In front of Makati Cinema Square, smoking his trademark Marlboro Red, still dazzling and sexy and fucked up like a slice of the skies broken into fragments as he lost his wings descending onto earth. I hugged him, teary-eyed. "I just need to escape for some time."

"Asking about it would make it worse, so I won't bother to ask questions. Just stay as long you want..." He suddenly grabbed my arm. "Come, I need to buy something."

It was a gloomy Thursday, and yes, I was still not accustomed to how many people there were on this so-called Makati Cinema Square. Forgive this LB girl, folks. We went inside looking for classic guitar strings for his favorite guitar, which he hasn't used for ages. As soon as we got it, we walked into the busy streets of Makati, right into his apartment on the third floor of an old building.

"Make yourself feel at home," The 23rd said, as he set up his laptop on his study table, ready to begin his writing job.

It was a typical boy apartment: broken closet, exposing unfolded clothes that no one would figure out whether they've been used or new except when you smell them; a study table of random things such as headbands, pencils, chopsticks and a small bunch of dirty shirts; a sink almost full of unwashed coffee mugs; a skateboard on the side; two hanging guitars on the wall; a bed whose, as I smell it, bedsheets have not been washed for at least a month. But boy, oh boy. He had three cats – Larry, Olga, and a cat with no name yet (not their real names, sorry). They were all street cats, and he picked them up in Las Piñas just before Christmas.

I love cats. There was a part in me that wanted to hug him and hug him tight for this.

Another thing that I have noticed is his collection of books on the headboard of his bed. I could say his taste was eclectic – from classics to modern day stories of fucked up kids succumbing from depression to romantic love stories to sci-fi stories based on the computer games he plays.

On my first night there, I grabbed the thinnest book I have seen in his shelf, The Little Prince. I have read it a million times already; the first time was in HUM 1. I read the book in silence and finished it in one sitting.

"And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

I looked at him. Topless, facing his laptop. What others see is a good-looking 23-year old boy doing his work to get through with his life because he was too proud to use any of his parents' help. What I see is a man of conviction, with a tattoo of a sun on his chest, its rays crawling on his body the way sunshine pours glory in his very existence. He worked all night, and I couldn't help wondering why he didn't even seem tired or bored with this. I know it's not for the money; he has more money than he can ever spend. It's for something more. I see a man of dreams, I see a man of honor. I see a man of beauty, and maybe I am misunderstanding the meaning of beauty, but I see beauty whenever he blinks and fixes his hair and whenever he reads out loud what he wrote in his online job. I see a man of poetry, but even the most beautiful words could never describe how beautiful he looked that night.