It was another cold day. Lying on a white bed in a white closed room with no other light than that from the screen of the monitor and little green lights from somewhere in the room. Three electrode patches were tightly stuck in my chest while wearing a white robe without anything else on its sides but ties (for tightening and loosening, I guess). I had nothing to see other than the white ceiling over me, the white curtain beside me and the mirror in front. No, nothing else.
The low temp made me sleep till I heard a voice beside me saying
“Hala!” (Oh my!) Then I heard steps rushing towards the door, which I then heard creaking, then I softly heard again a loud voice saying
“Gang! Ali! Tan-awa iyang heart!” (Come, dear! Look at her heart!)
Other heavy steps came in rushing towards the monitor beside me and unfamiliar voices resounded
“Heart-shaped kaayo iyang heart (the organ one).” (her heart is heart-shaped)
“Nice kaayo no? Unique.” (Isn’t it so nice? It’s unique.)
After hearing these voices, I fell deeper asleep. What could it mean?
I didn’t know how much time I spent sleeping but when I woke up, the lights were already lit and I saw a lady beside me in white medical uniform with a radiation logo on her left, fixing things and looked at me smiling. I asked if it’s done and she nodded in a repost. My mom came in bringing stuff with her.
After then, I never came back to that hospital. Yet till now, I couldn’t remember hearing from my parents any topic about my heart. I’ve been curious and thought about asking but I never did. I just didn’t mind about it. Still, I felt that I’m more cared for now.
As high school passed, I was itching to take up AB Journalism in a certain school in the west. My mom didn’t like the thought of sending me to a school really far from our place, and worse, in a place where she never wanted to hear having me in. I still kept on persuading her knowing that it’s the cheapest school I know that offers AB Journ. I’m obviously not good at English and Literature. I only love reading and writing but it’s the best thing I could do although I’m not as good as others at it. Other than that, I’ve been inspired by the writers I know who made their names in the industry in-print. And, regardless of the connoted “life-risks” people I trust keep telling me, I love journalism – specifically, going to places I barely know and featuring people and their culture. I had no other option close to my heart than this path. I love to travel and write with a purpose. I knew it’s a risk to go to such a school known to have a heating danger, anytime, anywhere. But if it helps me achieve what I’ve been dreaming, I’m willing to take risks.
Moreover, all efforts I spent in persuading went off. My mom and pop just won’t give in and my motivation came off slowly in a blur. I lost the urge to go knowing they wouldn’t let me, no matter how much I try to persuade them. I had no option left on the list since I only wrote JOURNALISM in huge letters covering the whole page.
The next thing I knew, lots of entrance exams had already passed, and I was still without choice until that one day when my sister told me that classes in some universities are nearly starting. Well… I still had no option that time, save Journalism. She asked me what I wanted to take up in college other than Journalism and I had “nothing else” as an answer. I’d actually thought about BS International Relations, but nah! It’s just not me. I’m not the “runway model with good looks and nice personality” type. I’m just a plain flat-chested baranggay girl who indulges herself in chores, family business, internet, games, books, and movies and never gets out of the house without necessity. Back to what’s said, my sister, in a face with swift-flowing ideas, said “pag-ND nalang, lang! Sayon ra na ky walay Math!” (Try ND, dear! It’s easier since it has no Math!)
The truth that I’m a Math-jerk swarmed in my mind leaving me dumbfounded. Math’s the subject I have in my record with either a passing grade or fail. I composed myself and, without further investigation about that two-letter course, declared to her “Sige! Mag ND ko!” (Alright! I’ll take up ND!)
A week or two passed and I traveled along with my sister to a university offering ND, the same place where her college is situated. Just as we stepped in, we went straight to the admin to pay and I took the admission exam. I hadn’t read nor studied for it but as I got my results the next day, I didn’t know how to react. It’s a university and there’s a required passing score from the exam to be accepted in a certain college. Good thing I passed the required exam score for ND and made extra points beyond the passing score which meant a “go-go” for my sister (what I really mean is… she got more confident and pushed me harder). I saw a number of students pacing from college to college, hoping they’d be accepted despite their scores. Some even pleaded with the deans just to get in. I saw them as I passed by some colleges. In my ignorant mind, I thought, “is college really that hard?” (Excuse this, but I was really ignorant that time.)
As we got into the college, there were few listings and stuff here-and-there was done to make things settled for me before I finally reside in the college and prepare for the years to come.
Indeed, so many things happened during my stay. I enjoyed my life at such a university.