Oh and ah, excuse the title. I couldn’t think more other than the obvious.
Note: None—except if you’re a kid below fifteen. Besides, what’re kids doing here anyway? Hello 18 above!
Heartbreak Diary
February 12 1994 / 9:43 PM
Dear Diary,
Hi! It’s been a long time, wasn’t it? Yeah I know. I’ve been busy. School projects are killing me. I’ve spend my time at libraries now than with my friends, burning my strength with projects and all. Surprised? Don’t worry. You’re not the only one. What can I say, I changed. Don’t laugh, you asshole, I’m not joking. Mom says typical things about studies and all when I was kid. I can’t fully understand the meaning of it all. How can I? I was just seven back then. I thought school was just another playground for a kid like me. But now, although in adolescent age, I guess she’s right. Mom waked me. I realized I don’t want to end up like one of those bunch of ‘nobody’ spreading our community. I want to be somebody someday. Did I tell you I want to be a painter? Of course I did. Everyday. Maybe if you can speak, you’ll say ‘shut up’ already. But I believe being a painter is not a profession but a hobby, a passion, and to do that both I find it very hard. There’s no freedom in it. I don’t know—I think it will end up worse that’s all. I cannot execute what I want to express when someone dictates behind my back, forcing me to create an art vaguely know someday someone will like it, then if lucky, buy it. What if they don’t like it? Then what? Stack it to the garage or throw it to the bin—that’s what, and then start all over again. So you see, there’s a big difference between passion and profession. Well, others can do that, can’t they? Maybe yes or maybe no. But for me, my answer always ends with no. I want my heart to my passion, my mind to my obligation, and my hand… my hands will serve them both.
My father and I disagreed on this. He wants me pursue Fine Arts. Why? Perhaps they thought that was my real forte. That someday there’s a chance I will fall in love with my job and he said that was a good thing. Oh common Dad, of course you have to love your job. Your job pays the bills (my sister smacked my head when I said that—too much reasoning). However in the end, after days and months of arguments, I told him I will pursue some career that will make such combo to my future. And that Diary was Architect. Cool, huh? I know there’s Math in it and you know I hate Math, but maybe I would get used to it. I should. I must. It took me forever to think about that, you know. And don’t worry. I will always bring you with me to continue our good times. We have good times, right? Despite the fact that I’m the only one does the talking all the time.
So anyway, I must go back to my assignments. Physics stinks. Who’s the one who invented that anyway? I must go now. See you tomorrow.
Love,
Samantha
*****
February 14, 1994 / 8:06 PM
Dear Diary,
HEHROH!
That’s ‘Hello to you’ in an American-Chinese accent tongue. I heard it from Mr. Yan after he breeze-through from back stage, waving and smiling like he was just came out from a truck loaded with refugees from Cambodia. He’s zesty-nest, colorful clothes and animated moves makes me laugh. Heck, his laugh alone makes me laugh. And when you see him cook by flipping his chop ingredients with his wok…wow! It’s like watching a juggler with knives and pots and pans. Amazing! His audiences’ loved it. I loved it. I tried it once, but the eggs ended at the floor, and I thought my mom will force me to pick it up by my own teeth—eeew! Wonder how many years did Mr. Yan practiced? Can you imagine Mr. Yan pick his fried noodles from the floor with his own teeth by his mother? Of course he doesn’t—that was a joke…
…and you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about here, do you?
Well anyway, Mr. Yan was the host of his own Chinese cooking show in America. I just watched him cook beef stew and stuffed Peking duck in front of his live audience few hours ago…alone…this evening…on Valentine’s Day.
Looser am I?
I know, I know. I know what you’re going to say. What the hell am I doing here alone, inside my room, writing on your page at this particular hour of Valentine’s Day instead on a date? Easy… because my boyfriend Jox was abducted by his basketball-player friends and having a victory party at McDonald’s right this very moment. My friend Josh—you remember Josh, right? Well, he suggests to follow Jox there, to congratulate him personally. Good idea—only if I’m not a teenager with a curfew. Perhaps Jox would understand. Besides he knows I’m not fond with contact sports like that. But as a supportive girlfriend, I did promise I will cheer for him at the finals, with banners in my hand. And this afternoon game was the Championship game, but sadly, I wasn’t there. Well, not that I broke my promise or anything, is just that…truthfully, I wasn’t allowed anywhere near him. His parents hate me, you know. We were still young, they told me that. Always.
Sheesh, as if I’m the boy here!
Oh wait… phone’s ringing. Maybe it’s Jox (blush). Be back soon.
SONOFABITCH!!
That was Max on the phone. He told me something to piss me off. He said he was there at the game and at the Macdonald’s (hmm, wonder why) and saw Rina flirting with Jox, and this idiot was flirting back. That bitch! That asshole! Wait till I see them tomorrow. I’m gonna…
I can’t continue, Diary. I must go somewhere and break something. See you tomorrow…
Samantha
PS
Sorry ‘bout the language. I just can’t help it.
******
“Samantha Ynegez…”
Sam was sitting third on a fifth row at nine in the morning, spinning her black ballpen around her finger while her other hand was cupping her chin. She was gazing outside the window, where the field was visible, sighing a couple of sighs every time she recalls last night’s infuriating news.
Did he really cheat on me?
“Samantha Ynegez…”
Josh and Max were sitting two rows behind Sam. They noted that their friend was having a slight aftershock from the phone call event last night, and then having the audacity to bug her in return in the middle of the night just to ‘amuse’ her. Josh mentally blames himself for telling her about Jox, and decided to change his statement after the class. He glanced at their teacher when Sam’s name was called for the third time. He pulled his ballpen cap and pitched solidly onto her head.
Sam was startled by the slight pain from her scalp. “Whatta fuck…who…?” massaging her head, she hastily turned around and saw few shaking heads; Max’s pointing finger and Josh scowling face. Sam glared at the latter, “What’s wrong with you?” she hissed.
“YNEGEZ!”
The whole room froze, and everyone in it. Sam almost falls from her seat when their teacher shouted her name. “I called you four times, Ynegez. Did I disturbed your private moments or are you simply deft?” the teacher said, glaring at her.
“Sorry, Miss. I was just…”
“Not paying attention!” the teacher supplied. “Now open your Shakespeare on page two-hundred-three and read chapter four!”
“The whole chapter?” said Sam with widened eyes, as if she looked at their teacher with a silent phrase ‘are you serious?’
“Do I have to repeat it twice?”
“No, ma’am…” she said and ducked her head in full embarrassment.
At the back, Josh and Max can’t help themselves but to snicker.
*****
“Are you busy?”
It was afternoon and the library was nearly empty. Sam looked up at the tall boy, wearing senior highschool uniform in a worn-out manner with a hand full of red roses and a scowled face. She hadn’t seen Jox, the asshole, around the campus since this morning and she was pretty sure those flowers will land very soon on the desk if she smiled back.
“Obviously,” she answered and goes back to her reading.
“Can I sit here?”
“I assumed that some people know the concept of ‘busy when they see one. But for you, why bother.”
“It will only take a minute. This is for you, by the way.” Jox put the flowers near her elbow.
“Yeah,” she said, moving the flowers away from her. “Whatever.”
Jox seated opposite to her, trying to come up with some preamble words to say—because Sam feels he’s fidgeting.
“We won the game…” Jox started, watching Sam’s reaction. “Too bad you’re not there.”
“I’m sure you’re thrilled.” Sam replied sarcastically and closed the book. She forced herself to pick another one before she could leap the table and strangle him.
“Max said you’re mad at me…” Jox continued. “And I think I know why.”
“Let me guess? Because he can’t hold his mouth shut?”
Jox sighed. “Sam I just want to talk…look at me, please.”
“We are talking. My eyes are busy…”
Sam sensed he’s fidgeting again. Same old Jox. Hmm, too much masturbation?
“We should break up.” Jox suddenly said. And that made Sam looked up. Finally.
“Excuse me?”
“I… just found someone,” he uttered.
Sam narrowed her eyes. “And may I ask who is this person you’re referring to? I hope it’s not…”
“Rina.”
Sam snorted a little, then laughed when Jox frowned his face. She ignored the loud shush from the librarian. “Rina? The Junior? You’re breaking up with me because you have an infatuation with a Junior Cheerleader?”
“She’s not… she’s not like that…”
“Does she know that we’re together…before you flirt with her, you moron? Oh please say no, because before sunset I swear to god you will end up in a body bag.”
“See? That’s your problem! You’re always threatening me!”
“Oh this is my fault? You cheated on me because I’m threatening to you?”
“No, Sam! You’re problem is you’re hot-heated! Your temper is driving me crazy. I can’t deal with this anymore!”
“Oh so you need a pom-pom just to settle in!”
“Stop laughing.”
“I’m not laughing. Your face wasn’t that funny.”
Sam stood up and picked her books swiftly before she could commit homicide. And when she’s about to walk away, Jox said, “…I’m sorry.”
She stopped and looked over her shoulder. She studied him for a moment, and then laughed out loud, without noting the shush behind her back. “You? Sorry? Now that was funny. Assholes don’t say sorry, Jox.” She pulled her bag to her shoulder. “Oh…and ah, good for you, by the way. Congratulations. I’ve heard she’s polisher of knobs and other things.”
And by that, she walked away, leaving Jox gaping while scratching his head.
TBC
