He carefully closes his relatively expensive review book (the only book in his possession which isn' a reprint, bought in desperate need rather than mere preference) and clumsily throws the pencil across the enclosed wooden table, making a cogwheel noise as it rolled along into the company of its comrades. He sighs, long and deep, as a man who is unaccustomed to long hours of sitting, and rubs his tired eyes. He notices that his fingers were freezing from the airconditioning. He looks around, some of the other reviewees doesn't seem to mind the cold, while others were almost clad in Alaskan parkas.

He throws a hapless look towards his recent score - a 9 out of 11, which would make at least 80 percent out of a hundred. He likes to think it that way, percentages are rather easy to understand or compare. But it would probably have been different if he answered a hundred questions, his scores contently linger below 70 percent and have never really gone above that. Well, except on rare occasions  He wonders if his reviews would make any difference. He doesn't know. He hasn't the mind to answer that intimidating yellow compilation he had sitting on a shelf for two months, nor has he bothered with the pre-Board which everyone in his class look forward to with child-like apprehension. He is afraid it would depress him or frustrate him more. He has long decided, for sheer lack of time, that he would concentrate on reading and would only answer questions in the Board examination itself. He wonders if it is a bad idea.

He gets up slowly, careful not to make too much noise and disturb the other slouching figures, and turns towards the water dispenser to make himself another coffee. His friend would normally accompany him in his breaks, and would converse with him, with odd relief, things other than nursing: computers, games, politics, etc. However, his friend texted him the night before that he would be going back to Butuan to take care of his Board application, leaving him, with such unexpectation, to finish the review in his lonesome. He doesn't mind. He has, in the past, found himself of being capable of accomplishing things alone, and has found great pride in it for it establishes his so-called independence. But he would not mind, either, any company now.

He pays the cashier for the coffee and goes back to his table. His chair makes a creaking noise as he settles down his bottom. A girl, probably distracted from her reading, looks up at him. He smiles apologetically at her. She smiles briefly and returns to her reading. He sips his coffee, it was too hot, and sits it beside the cluttered pencils. Ten days, he reminds himself, ten days left and it will all be over. He takes a look at the clock on the wall, stretches his arms, and suppresses a yawn . He gingerly opens his book again and, shaking off the thoughts in his head, proceeded to read another chapter.

I was surprised during one of our review classes upon returning to Cebu that it was to be our last session. I had expected that, when it seemed that so much topics were still left undiscussed, classes would last until the last week of May. However, our classes ended that day, sometime during the second week, and what followed are days when they would make machines out of us to check the accumulated papers that once occupied a significant space in their offices. Although slightly disappointed that I would no longer enjoy the company of one of the female reviewers, I had decided not to attend the checking and endeavoured instead to finish the review by myself and at my own pace.

And so it was, in keeping to my previous resolution, that I have spent the following days (most of it anyway) inside a study center desperately cramming (it was cramming in every sense) all the knowledge I have learned for four years in college, all of which I have quickly forgotten in a year. Interspersed, of course, with occasional activities of leisure: an hour or two of internet surfing every afternoon, gym every other day, and old books on Sundays. Next week, it will shrink to just going to the gym, because I'm beginning to be alarmed at how much I still need to read for the Board examination which is terrifyingly just two weeks from now. Holy crap!

Last year, when I was in the same state of pre-examination anxiety, although I have thought of the possibility, I don't think I have ever really believed that I was going to fail. This time it's different for I had begun the review with uncertainty and with so little preparation. Even now, I doubt that I am studying in a one hundred percent efficiency, for my motivation at studying arises solely from fear of failing and not from passion of passing. Besides, three months are just not enough, not when one starts from nothing. Friends disagree, wrongfully thinking that I am intelligent, which I find rather amusing - for they don't seem to notice that I only pretend to be one. I wish now though, with utmost sincerity, that my friends were right.

I have come to realize that my parents must see my love life, having kissed dating goodbye (for the moment, at least) and having been emotionally celibate for the last three years, as being dangerously on the verge of desperation and require desperate measures. One morning, as I was fixing my computer which had acquired an infection during my absence, my father bluntly, as was his usual way, told me to get dressed as I was meeting someone - a certain girl. He had actually told me this before but I was rather skeptical about the idea. Generally, I dislike this sort of premeditated meetings, especially when everyone expects something to come out of it, simply because nothing does comes out of it.

Muttering a little objection, I left my computer alone untreated and tried to get dressed, all the while evading my mother who was curiously digging into our cabinet, apparently trying to find me some suitable clothing (What the heck?). Having intended to travel light, I have left all my pants (three of them in all) at the boardinghouse in Cebu; my brother's were simply not my size. I had no choice but to wear, and much to my parents' disapproval, a khaki short and a white shirt that was a tad too large, and a very dusty pair of sandals. I laughed to myself satisfactorily as we drove to our destination.

Honestly, I was curious as to what this 'girl' was like. After Stella and I decided to part ways years ago (well, it was mostly her decision), I had tried dating but I seem to have developed the unhealthy propensity of trying to find Stella in everyone of my dates (such futile things as mannerisms, choice of words, choice of food, even choice of shoes) and thus ultimately leading to my failure. Eventually, I gave up dating altogether partly because dating is beginning to hurt my pocket and partly because it was ineffective. And so for the last three years, I (having gotten over the 'Stella syndome') sat and waited and waited and waited. And so I ask myself, after all those years of sitting and waiting, could she be the one?

Somehow, I think I know the answer.

Our journey took us in front of this abandoned-looking lot with an abandoned-looking building. As we walked through the door of this plainly-painted rectangle block of cement (which has an emission-testing center painted in plain view), we were greeted by a man whom my father knew, and who was obviously the owner of the establishment and, quite unexpectedly, the girl's father. I was shortly introduced to her. She was sitting at a long table, looking rather unconcerned, trying to simultaneously thumb in text messages on three cellphones which she was shuffling like cards in her hands. I was so impressed by her odd display of dexterity that I was afraid of shaking her hands in fear of being shuffled myself.

I took a seat opposite her and, between intervals of her texting which was making me rather dizzy, talked about the state of our professions. Well, it was a conversation you would normally expect out of pre-arranged meetings - deliberate and contrived. However, she was nice to me. I had expected her to be arrogant and self-involved, like most well-to-do kids are. However, she was cordial and formal, so much so that it felt like a job interview. Oh yes, she is a nurse too, and we seem to be caught in the same pig's hole of the June 2006 controversy. Ah, already so much in common. Before I departed, she had offered to give me some study materials for an examination I was planning to take the next year, one which she has already taken (oh, damn it). She even asked for my number. Well, actually no - her father did.

As I walked out of the establishment and into the searing heat of noon, I found that my father had left hurriedly, and unannounced, without me. Feeling rather dejected and suddenly hungry, I trudged towards Butuan's only mall. At the same time, I thought about the conversation that had just taken place a few minutes before, the trifle details, I do that sometimes. I realized that I should have perhaps tried to ask her number, but something stopped me. And what was it all for? I tossed it out of my head eventually. I sighed and shrugged, like a someone losing a piso in a betting game. The girl with a kind smile, large expressive eyes, and skillful set of digits - well, she is, in every sense, a royalty. And I...

I am but a pauper.

I am home, yes, two days actually prior my expected arrival which surprised my mother who met her son with a motherly embrace who, having been away for a month and has spent most of his time in the company of reprinted books, indeed needed it dearly.

My sister was home too, so much earlier than I and with the same reasons as I. She has acquired, almost year ago in Manila, the employment of being responsible for many lives, all of which are encased in a metallic tube with wings gliding a few hundred feet in the sky, as an air traffic controller. She blesses us with her presence from time to time since, last of which was during Christmas, fretting about the predicament over her two lovers.

In all of queer occasions with which we have made our family reunion (for it has been long enough since we all have been under one roof in a certain span of time), we have made it at the advent of a grand Election. With all its glorious symbolism for democracy's most oustanding achievement, in reality - a time ripe with possibility of chaos, violence, and murder.

With the Board Examination, as our thoughtful reviewers often remind us reviewees, just a month away and with the surface of the seemingly bottomless topics and concepts hardly even scratched, is beginning to (despite my initially cool and unconcerned mien) make me markedly anxious. Faced with this threat and the likely possibility of my actually failing the aforementioned examination (of which I already passed, I must mention), I am forced to device changes to my daily habits and vices - thus, my so-called extra-New Year's resolution:

1. Although I will never give up working out (for the body, if not put into occasional exertion, will eventually exhaust the mind) I will, however, be giving up my nightly excursions to internet cafes and imprison myself only to my boardinghouse's cramp quarters or the freezing confines of study centers, and will remain detained therein until the examination is over.

2. I will commit myself to serious study and decidedly ignore the seduction of literature (not related to nursing), obsession for computer games (an addiction of which I thought I have outgrown, but has made a baffling comeback at the most intimely of times), temptation for movies, abstain from romantic (oftentimes lustful) daydreamings, and otiose writings (mainly blogging) .

3. Improve my grades (a direct consequence of studying hard but may be beneficial in my finding that illusive motivation, that drive; may serve as an evaluation tool whether to poison myself or not).

4. Pay more attention to the sweaty reviewer in front and avoid flirtatious conversations with young, pretty, overly perfumed, self-involved girls in kinky skirts and pink tanktops; and to fight the allurement thereafter of texting their phones in the middle of the night; or delete their phone numbers altogether (which is impossible).

5. Be more punctual (in the mornings), eliminate inexcusable absences (however, I may still have to go home next week, which is probably an exemption), and more coffee (especially in the afternoons).

I am aware of the sometimes inevitable tendencies of resolutions, but these I intend to keep, and may prove in fact not too difficult. For the consequences are too great, for if I do fail to succeed in the June Board Examination - my father, as he so calmly yet so menacingly put it, will castrate me hanging from the Mango tree in the front of our house. Hopefully, I will return blogging, a month or so from now, with my manhood still intact.

Wish me luck (I will be needing it quiet badly).