Notebook, Huwag Mo Akong Bibiguin

Tita Ines says I should write things down instead of saying them out loud at the worst possible moment, so fine. This is me, writing things down. Notebook, don't fail me.

For the record, this is not a diary. Diaries are for people with secrets. This is a WEATHER LOG that occasionally mentions people who are ruining my life. There is a difference and I will not be explaining it.

Fact one: it has rained for eleven days straight, which is also exactly how long Migs hasn't replied to my message. I am NOT saying these things are connected. I am saying the universe lacks subtlety.

The message, since you ask, notebook, was two words and one of them was "hey." You cannot get in trouble for "hey." Entire governments have survived on less. And yet.

Fact two: when classes got suspended, the whole barangay turned into one big kwentuhan under the sari-sari store awning, and I learned more about our neighbors in one afternoon than in fifteen years of living here. Rain is basically a group chat.

Today's headlines from the awning: Kuya Dodong's roof leaks in the shape of Mindanao. Aling Baby's cat has opinions about thunder. And Migs — this was reported BY HIS OWN SISTER, I did not ask, I want that noted — has been "moping and eating all the pandesal." Interesting. No further comment. (Notebook, that means I have SO much further comment.)

Fact three, and I'm only writing this because notebooks can't laugh: I don't actually mind the flood walks home. Shoes in one hand, umbrella in the other, the water warm as soup. It's the only time of day nobody expects me to be anything.

Mama says girls my age kept diaries in her day too, except hers got read by HER mama, which explains why Mama writes everything in a code of song lyrics to this day. When she is annoyed at Papa she hums. The whole house knows the discography.

Fact four: I have decided that if the rain stops tomorrow, I will not check my phone until noon. This is called dignity. Tita Ines says dignity is just patience wearing lipstick. Tita Ines says a lot of things; that is what titas are for.

The rain on the roof does this thing at night where it goes from applause to whisper, like even the sky eventually runs out of announcements and just wants to talk. Same, sky. Same.

Day one of writing things down: complete. Nothing solved. Weirdly, everything lighter. Maybe Tita Ines is onto something. (Do NOT tell her, notebook. She is unbearable when she is right, which is always, which is unbearable.)