Time-warped to 2010

Ding dong, ding dong, said the door bell.

It was a cool, May night. The air wasn’t the usual hot, humid kind that you would usually expect from a summer night. But it was almost June, which means that the rainy season was about to come.

I quickly went downstairs to open the door. It was my aunt.

“Hi, Auntie!” I said.

“Oh hello, Bei.” she replied. (Bei is my nickname at home.)

We entered the house and she placed her bags on the couch. As usual, she brought home some food, which I placed on our dining table. I snacked on them, sitting in my favorite wooden chair in our square table. As I was eating, she turned on her laptop, and started typing things.

It was usual. My aunt’s a workaholic.

I went upstairs to use the laptop that my sisters and I once shared, because I was surfing the Net when she arrived. After a while, I turned it off, because it was already around eleven o’ clock. I went downstairs once again, and went to the family bedroom. I lay in the bed, beside my sister, and closed my eyes.

“Bei, what do you think your section will be?” I heard my aunt asked.

I opened my eyes, got up, and rested my elbows in my aunt’s bed.

“I wish I’m in Hydrogen!”

I was a competitive child. I wanted to be the best, to excel and stand out from the others. That child would surely want to be in Hydrogen. It was the section where all the geniuses are, a feat considering that I was about to enter a school that’s made for the some of the most intelligent kids in the city.

“Oh, are you sure that you could make it there? You might not even stay there for your whole high school life!” my aunt said.

She liked to threaten me, telling me the worst case scenario whenever I tell her about something that I want to happen to me.

“I can do it!” I exclaimed.

It was almost twelve in the midnight, and I simply wished that I would really be in the school’s top section before I dozed off.

It was the first week of June, and it was my first day in my new school.

It was obvious who the upperclassmen are, and who the freshmen are. The older students were already in their classrooms. As for us, we were standing in the edge of our school’s mini-soccer field, carrying new school bags under the bright yellow sun.

I was with no one. Some of my friends were also there, but I couldn’t find them. I just stood there, just like everyone else, as I waited to have my name called.

A petite teacher, around her late twenties, went to the center of the still crowd. With a loud voice, she said, “Hydrogen.”

She was starting to call up names, obviously of people I have no clue, and telling them where their room is located.

Some minutes later, my friend’s name was called. I got jealous of him, but I wasn’t shocked. He was my past school’s valedictorian.

I was beginning to lose hope, so I started not paying attention. Well, until I heard something that really stood out from all the blabber I was hearing.

“L——, Gabrielle.”

I quickly went to the teacher as soon as I heard my name.

“Ma’am, where is my room?” I said, tensed up.

“Aren’t you paying attention? Anyway, it’s in the second floor, that classroom farthest from the stairs,” she sighed, pointing her index finger to a room where some students were talking. Those were probably my classmates, I thought.

“Thank you, Ma’am!” I said, before running to my new classroom, my face filled with glee.

This is what nostalgia does for you. Oh, and daily prompts, too.

I really had to censor my last name, though. I’m still a minor!


I have nothing to write about.

My brain is devoid of ideas, all creative juices used up.

My hands are resting on the keyboard, the fingers moving from key to key.

My left foot is rested on the ground. My right foot is stomping, the flip-flops embracing it making a sound.

My body is still, unresponsive, maybe just doing their bodily functions.

My eyes are staring at the laptop screen. Blink, blink, still stuck in a creative rut.

The fan is releasing hot, hot air. Definitely doesn’t help with enduring the heat.

The sweat is building up everywhere. Under the ears, under the arms, under the knee–you name it.

The table is wobbling, shaking my phone, shaking my notebook, shaking my laptop.

The cursor and I play a staring contest.

I win this time. I win.

Did I just say I have nothing to write about? Yes.

I really had nothing to write about, until my friend chatted me on Skype:

My friend is a helpful fellow.

Yes, I set up a childish font in Skype.

The idea was bizarre. Well, at least I finally wrote something in my blog after making it around a month ago.