All About You

One

‘L ove doing life with you’

The happy couple on my phone grins up at me, a blatant mockery of my own single-self. I heave a groan as I scroll through yet another relationship hard-launch jumpscare on my feed. Seriously, that’s the third one this morning. Is it the season for being happy and in love, or something?

“Are you okay there?”

My younger sister, Ria, leans over the sofa I’m sitting on, her nose hovering above my shoulder. Her dark pigtails brushes against my cheek, and I flick it away.

“I’m fine, why do you ask ?”

“Yeah, saying I’m fine while practically growling does not mean you’re fine.”

Always the perceptive half of me, it seems. She climbs over the couch and settles beside me. I turn my phone, showing her the post.

“Who are these random people?” she scoffs, pinching the photo to zoom in closer.

Her words remind me that they’re just that - random people. Well, not so much to me, since they were my old peers from high school, but still. It’s been 6 months since I graduated from the place, meaning I should definitely graduate from its people too. I can’t believe Ria still has two more years of that to endure.

I close the phone, and pocket it away. That’s enough sulking over happy couples today.

Within seconds, I unlock my phone again, and continue scrolling. My eyes narrow, and it’s like I’m a bloodhound now for happy couples on my feed.

“You look demonic,” Ria comments.

“I will become demonic if I see another hard launch on my feed.”

I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.

For someone who’s hopelessly obsessed with love stories and romance books, I seem to be falling terribly behind.

“Don’t be so blue,” Ria drawls, nudging my shoulder with hers. “You’ll find someone one day. It might take a while though, but it’ll happen, eventually.”

I lower my phone and reach over to pinch at her knee.

It’s then that I notice what she’s wearing

“Excuse me!” I exclaim, taking in the blue-gingham, spaghetti-strapped dress I’d been searching all morning for.

“That’s mine! I was going to wear that today!”

“Shhh, you wear this all the time,” Ria counteracts, waving her hands dismissively, “Besides, the blouse you’re wearing is nice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it, like, ever.”

I cross my arms in a huff.

So what if I recycle the same style constantly? It means I’m getting my money’s worth, aren’t I? And besides, I like gingham clothing. Call it my brand.

After noticing the dress I planned for my Tita Lucillia’s birthday today was gone from my wardrobe, I’d found this pink sweetheart blouse instead. Ria is wrong, I have worn it before. But only once. Two years ago.

Whatever. It compliments my lighter hair, which has now settled into an auburn tone after dying it a couple of weeks ago, after graduation.

Loud footsteps sound, pounding against the floor above us. It grows louder as my parents clamour down the stairs.

“Do you have the presents, mahal ?” Mum asks, her frantic voice bouncing off the walls.

“Yes, yes!” Dad replies, equally as rushed.

“Nagsulat ka ba sa birthday card [1] ?”

They continue to bicker, the energy drastically different from the night before, when they were both cuddling like love-sick teenagers on their honeymoon phase as we watched Breakfast At Tiffany’s.

Chaotically, they stumble into the living room.

Mum is dressed in an orange bohemian jumpsuit that hugs her waist and flares outward at the legs, while Dad dons a loose Popeye The Sailor Man tee atop blue baggy jeans. As always, my parents both look much younger than their ages of 40.

Once Mum’s eyes fall on Ria and I, she exclaims “Girls, get up na , we’re late!”

Ria taps the imaginary watch atop her wrist.

“Half an hour late, to be exact.”

I flick the back of her neck, my lips twisting into amusement. As a family who lives only ten minutes away from our Tita Lucillia’s house, we sure are repeatedly late.

Within minutes, we’re all piled into the car, finally ready to go.

“Oh, by the way Lene, guess who’s coming today?” Mum announces, once she’s finished fastening her seatbelt.

“Who?” I ask.

“Marlon!”

His name passes over me like a solar eclipse, making everything go dark.

“I think you’re both starting uni this week,” Mum continues, unaware of how he has now dampened my mood. “You should talk to him about it.”

“Sure,” I respond, resisting the urge to open the car door and roll into oncoming traffic.

Ria elbows my side, her eyebrows shooting up suggestively and I channel daggers into my glare.

Now that I know he will be there, I meditate positivity into my body.

For when it comes to Marlon Salvador, I will always need to brace for my own sanity.