Crossroads

Here's my attempt to write a short story. Can't really say it's written well - haven't even thought about the end. I'm beginning to hesitate. I'm getting disappointed (sigh):

• By the crossroad where two buses chance on, two aged women stood on opposite sidewalks.
• At precisely 6:55 in the morning; same as the day before, and the eventful days before that - for years their fragile minds can remember, they meet up at the same byroad.
• “Elisa would always wear those beige second-skins,” pointing at the other lady across the street. “Regardless the weather, she’d say it always gave her good luck – and that it matched her skin tone.”
• Winter has never been generous to the ladies. The years have been polite enough to reprimand them from getting up early in the morning – encouraging them to appreciate sleep better. Relentless, both women rose from their comfortable beds as if required, grab their coats, slowly shoulder their bags and walk towards the stop.
• “The wind blew harder today,” trying to contain her bun “lucky, I wore my nylons to keep me warm.” Her cheeks peachy, her glove-covered hands arctic – she waved to the lady on the opposite side “Felisa! Yours just left.” Then she laughed.
• Elisa had been a social worker all her life. She started doing volunteer work at an early age – always wanting to reach out. She was raised by her grandmother Carmen who passed away months after she got her first real job. Elisa had always missed her Mama.
• Felisa reached for the stars all her life; always the dreamer, never satisfied with her accomplishments. She was contracted as a messenger during her first summer in secondary school. "She called herself the director for first impressions," her Nana would remember. "Always the one with the important job."
• "Felisa always worries," smirks Elisa. "She gets frustrated when she misses her bus. Ha! No point running after it, really," she sighs "you'd realize that the first bus stressed you out, you're not even late to begin with - it just wasn't your time yet."
• "Elisa can be fun," says Felisa. "Well, she looks funny," laughing.
• Elisa was brought up with the realization that life is hard. She burdened herself with her life's daily struggles, always accepting - thinking that her challenges were ordeals that kept her strong. "She gave up leisure so that she can have leisure," Felisa sympathizes. "Her family was just too dependent on her."
• "I see that you're wearing your hair down today, Fely"
• "It's Thursday, remember?" Felisa would shout back, "Weekly meeting," she'd giggle.

(to be continued..)

Letter to Monette

Dearest Monette:

You know how in banking, team members are fond of saying the phrase “credits first before debits?” Bankers and Tellers are unconsciously trained to educate customers about the wondrous conveniences in having an account. Straightforwardly, the bank keeps its promise, and funds are provided to cover most of our customer’s initial debits (most of the time, when they least expect it).

Generally speaking, life is similar.

You were primarily assigned to Westlake for a reason – to provide credit. For the months that you have been with this jovial team, you have covered and/or funded substantial debits that have changed perspectives, unnecessary retractions and even unanticipated greatness that were once foreseen insufficient.

The Team’s now prepared for any unexpected withdrawals.

Ten months is so short a time – just when I have come to enjoy your company, to know your little idiosyncrasies and eventually love you – the inevitable happened.. your new Store. Although it pains me to think that we may no longer work as close together, I know that what you’re going to do and where you’re going are far more important than my sadness in watching you leave.

I am truly blessed to be your colleague. You brought out the best in me and I hope I did the same to you. I will miss our crazy jokes and our carefree laughter and of course, some of our tears. I must say that you were the only Manager in our Market that gave no problem to your service manager. You were very good as my partner, my confidant and believe it or not, my mentor and for that I thank you.

We will continue your legacy. We may be losing a great ingredient in our catastrophic concoction of excellence – know that you have embedded in us a premise. Comparable to banking when the largest check gets paid first, leaving the smaller ones unsettled – we’d find means to cover and take care of the lesser payables. You have taught us well; our own voyage wont be as perilous anymore.

I fervently hope that you wont forget that at one point in your life, you have been ‘unfortunately’ blessed with a caring, loving and good-humored team who have touched you one way or the other, and you have been given a co-manager who only wanted what’s best for you.

Good luck, Moe!
I’ll always be around.

Quibbling

Escaping the real has always seemed to prove easy and less provocative; the mental-blocking of past realities, to give profound reasons to my current lifestyle - achievable, yet not so gratifying.

I would've easily affirmed that i am living my ideality - fallacy. I am in no position to confirm happiness, nor satisfaction: life has been in cruise-control ever since the great move. I have lost more than what i have been telling myself i gained. I am being regretful, only because the deliverance wasn't brilliantly thought. My current state is the aftermath of my past neglect and greed.

I should be happy - fallacy. I have created a web of beatitude (delirium, rather) - layers of false pretenses to help me cope with my every day living. I am struggling with the shambles of the past; my memories are all molded - i am living a prolonged dramatization of reprehension.

I have a plan - lie. If there's anything that i can be proud of, still - hopefulness. I have been waiting for the initial domino to trip. I am in no good condition to experience another avoidance, nor an unprepared lifestyle. I have suffered my own snowballing, i have lost too much. Neglect has been a regular trait - I am neither accepting nor proud.

I am sincerely distressed and/or apologetic - fact.

The past can not be rewritten, nor can be easily explained. I am in no capacity to create, or even try to, reasoning. I will forever suffer the consequences of my actions. Know that i am very thankful for all the contributions you (and you) have implanted in me - i will forever be grateful. Gone are the jovial days, and the happy Saturdays; the real has now shed the colors off me.

bunso - certain.