Isolation

"Save the earth" said the newly purchased notebook. I bought it neither for its message nor for its viridity. I bought it because I just wanted to scrawl. Back in high school, I would end the day curled on my bed, scribbling on a notebook. I paid little attention to words, but I delighted at the marked union of pen and paper, like lissome twirlings of ballerinas. Presently, I am spoiled by the amenities of word processors, and I rarely willed to do manuscripts. But today, I wanted to redo manuscripts. I wanted to relive the days when writing was less slapdash, for corrections were salient and looked like punishments.

I have a favorite spot in Ortigas Center. It’s the Ortigas Park. Though it is as small as a bum’s bum, it is calming for its greenness, distinct from neighbors of gray skyscrapers and orange lamps. It’s at the middle of a commercial district, but is isolated from activities. It also has a coffee shop - Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf - where I loll at when I need reposes. And today was a day when I needed reposes, for getting away from noises of shoes-clopping and cars-tooralooming will bring peace of mind. I was alone. I seated at a sofa, coffee mug at hand, notebook at the table, drowned by the rhythmic hums of coffee blenders and fragmented yaks of other customers, each having a different story of being here.

When I had just arrived, I was forcefully filling my notebook with words that only made sense to me. Three persons - a guy, two girls - were at the table next to mine. They had a laptop up and were, to their surroundings, oblivious, as I momentarily was to them. The guy did legerdemains. Card tricks. Coin tricks. He could be doing that to impress the chicks, which he’s quite successful at, for he was applauded. He even taught few of his tricks to his friends, and, though curious, I was too shy to look their way - for they were strangers - long.

And then he played a movie on his laptop, showing a video he recommends his girl friends (that bastard) to watch. It was in Japanese, so I didn’t understand what was happening, and I went back to writing (or the pretense of). But then, I heard Ludwig von’s music, played so passionately the thespians bickered about it. And then I recalled an anime with the same premises. I peeked, and sure enough, I knew what was being played. Nodame Cantabile, live version. I knew this! I was just as dorky as that guy. Oh my God.

They ended their jolly meeting and they parted ways tearfully. They seemed like they had kinships, but had long been absent from each other. And then they disappeared, resuming a life comparatively plebeian. I was left at my seat. I thought, these people were pretty swell. I could have sought their friendship and we would get along. But, I was too reticent, and all I did was look from afar, yearning to soon claim possession of a glee like theirs; yearning that I, too, would soon converge with my faraway friends and catch up on each other’s life.

It’s funny how much I empathized with these strangers.