Drive-Thru

Lomi

One of the things I miss back when I was in college was the Lomi house near the campus.

My friends and I usually go there during the rainy season, where we would rather enjoy the thick soup of the Lomi Batangas and the warmth of companionship. We would meet before the heavy downpour hits the ground, and we'd usually stay for hours, playing card games or sharing secrets and gossips.

The Lomi house was spacious, with five long tables and some small tables that we would join if ever there's no space. The walls were bare--hollow blocks with the menu hanging on the wall above the counter. The newly built cemented table at the left was for the customers who were alone. In most times during midnight, I would sit on the farthest corner beside the wooden stick holding the makeshift roof made of a thin sheet of metal and wood.

That was during the times I would spend the night studying, or just when sleep is not visiting me.

I would usually go during 2 or 3 AM. I was careful not to wake the caretaker of our dormitory. Then, I would take the longest path to the Lomi house. The solitude of the silent streets that were usually crowded and noisy with busy students enjoys me. Just being alone under the night sky fills me with calmness.

When I arrive at the carinderia, the people eating there would be a few or a bunch. A few during the weekends, where students go home to their provinces. Or a bunch when it's Thursday and studs would go to the Lomi house to erase their headaches with warm soup.

Sometimes, I would bring my materials and study. Or I bring out my phone and watch my downloaded episodes of some series that I was watching at that time. On rare occasions, my friend Kenneth would accompany me.

Kenneth was one of the very few friends I have outside of my clique. I met him when we were seatmates on a minor subject. And the next semester after that. And both subjects were hard and time-consuming that we spent more time doing group projects or finishing requirements. We would rant when I invite him to eat at midnight at the Lomi house. After a year, we'd still hang out, even though we were occupied by our majors.

He was the person I'd usually talk about the stuff that I couldn't tell my orgmates. He knew I was gay when he asked me about my sexual orientation. He knew I hated one or two of my orgmates, and that I still talk to them just to be civilized. I knew he was friendzoned by his classmate. I knew he wasn't keen on joining his course-related organizations because of their unwelcoming culture.

"My friends actually push me to join, just because I always ace the lab exams," he confessed one night, after his gruesome seven-hour lab exam and my three-streak exam for the week. "I thought about it and I still think about how they treated Camille last year."

"Poor her," I replied. "I just don't agree with this kupal culture among the orgs."

"Lucky you because your org doesn't do it."

"Anymore," I corrected. "When we were applying, we were the last batch who went that horrific Finals. Then I protested. My batchmates protested."

"I didn't know that."

"No one else knows but us. We made sure that no one else would go through that."

Kenneth sighed. His tall stature would lean on the wall while I was still eating my lomi. He would close his eyes for a moment and talk.

"Would things be different if I joined one?" he asked.

"Of course!" I answered. "For the better or the worst. But I do think that we wouldn't meet like this if you joined one."

"That's a good thing then." He smiled. "How come you have a lot of spare time then?"

"I make ways."