She had already dressed up, in denim shorts and black tank-top, her hair neatly tied behind her head, when she came tip-toeing down on bare feet from our little hut.

We had called it our 'first house', but it was but a little hut with fresh nipa roof, a single window, bamboo flooring, elevated foundations rising six feet (for some reason) from the sandy ground, and it had the smell of being new. We had rented it, for the duration of the entire afternoon, on the account of it being under the shade of palm trees, a woven hammock suspended between them, and having a little terrace facing the murky beaches of Buenavista. It was not Boracay, of course, far from it; its beaches are of dark sand and its waters stained with a greenish tinge.

I was sitting on a coconut log, smoking a cigarette, and was sullenly watching the lazy waves lapping the shores. Presently, she sat beside me, put her arm around my waist, caressed my wind-tossled hair, and took a drag at my cigarette. We sat silently, for a moment, like two meek crabs, and watched the calm ocean, some small fishing boats skimming the surface, clouds sluggishly drifting above, a family building a castle on the sand not far away. It was hypnotically peaceful.

"I wish it could always be like this", she whispered suddenly.

I turned to face her, intent on saying something funny, but was surprised to see that she had been crying. Perhaps embarrassed by her show of emotion, she buried her face into my neck, tore at my shirt, and suppressed her sobs. I sat there motionless, at first, unable to decide what to do. I embraced her, hesitantly, feeling that burning sensation rising in my chest. She began to mutter something through her whimpering, but was drowned by the incessant waves, the rustling of coconut leaves above, the eerie songs of the window chimes.

She needed not explain herself though. Apparent to me were the reasons for her tears, then beginning to soak through my crumpled shirt, her hot breath searing my neck. Our love, though undeclared, was... forbidden, a secret we have to keep, for though she wants to be with me—she could never leave her rich boyfriend. Love alone could not finance a college degree and a future. All the countless reasons, vague and clear, that has made it impossible for us to be together. Perhaps she indeed felt something for me—but it does not matter. I know, quite sadly, despite what she felt, we were not going to last. I sighed.

"We'll live just one day at a time", was all I could say, weakly, whatever it meant. She looked up at me, slowly, shyly, and smiled bitterly. She repeated what I said, more to herself than to me, and threw her glance far towards the ocean, her swelling eyes squinting at the blinding glare of the summer skies. I finished my cigarette and flicked it away. She stood up, laughed embarrassingly,  wiped her tears away with her shaking palms, and fixed her hair. She lit up a cigarette and tried being cheerful by childishly playing with her silvery lighter.

I fished up the bottles of beer we had buried in the beach, to keep them cool, and opened each one by one. I cannot remember how many they were but we drank them all, and it was not long until we were laughing once more; half-drunk and being preposterously loud, savoring our little moment of unhindered freedom. We ran into the beach and, pretending we were in a movie, chased each other, played silly games, kissed underwater. We soon got weary and idly stood in chest-deep water, holding each other, giggled at our jokes, watched the sun descend low on the horizon.

I cleared the beer bottles afterwards, which were scattered beneath the hammock, while she casually toweled herself. She was talking about something while I, having completed the task, searched my pants for cigarettes. She had stopped abruptly without my noticing, I was not really listening. I was lighting a stick when I noticed she was staring at me, searchingly, still toweling her hair. I blew her a kiss, along with a bluish wreath of smoke, and smiled. She whispered the three words—words that were until then still left unspoken. I contrived a smile. She went up the flimsy stairs, glancing back at me, and disappeared through the door.

I threw away my unfinished cigarette and, after a moment, followed her into our little house.

Perhaps you will be rather surprised to hear that I, having unintentionally and for no reason at all lingered into the interesting page of your pictures during my lazy frog-hopping on the internet, felt strangely devastated to find that you have found yet another person to give your supposedly numbed heart to. No, not as devastated as the day you felt it necessary to end our failing relationship, four long years ago, yet I still felt a bit... aberrant - facial flushing, some dysrhythmias, and a sudden profound depression. No, you are quite mistaken, my dear. It is not in my position, nor in my nature, to be jealous! I am merely offended.

Why offended, you ask? Well, it is clear that this four-eyed blimp of a person is clearly inferior to me, intellectually or physically. Why you have chosen him is beyond me. At least your high-school ex-boyfriend, whom you outrightly dated after we parted, could have had boasted that he is better-looking than I am, allegedly. Hah, he is well-known for making such silly claims. However, might I mention that he is hilariously funny (we've met through a friend of yours, the one you enviously refer to as 'my princess'). Yes, yes, I am sure your present gentleman friend, whom you endearingly call your 'labs' (not short for lovehandles, I hope), is very nice.

What? Why, that's not true at all. I did not go to any appalling sessions of alcohol indulgement with our common friend, nor have I openly verbalized my feelings in public, sober or drunk. That lying sack of horse manure! I sternly deny all his unfounded babbling (except that part where I shamelessly flirted with a long-haired, pretty lass). I was home and watching television last saturday, dove. Besides, as I have already told you, I gave up drinking. You must not believe everything people tell you, friend or not, specially that alcoholic buffoon.

Anyway, as I was saying, where was I? Oh yes, of course - I am certain that this concocted frivolity, this flirting, will soon end for I can see that you do not love him. Oh yes, it is merely so; and I tell you that, sad as it might, you do not love him. I can see it from the flickering of your eyes that you do not. Horrible? I am horrible? Ah, forgive me. I was simply joking. You smile. But of course I only desire your happiness, my dear, which I very much pray that you have finally found, for if not, remember that I am forever at your service. Cheers.

Oh, don't be ridiculous! I am not jealous.

I was confronted by a neighbor yesterday morning, as he was purchasing a pack of cigarettes, and told me nonchalantly that the results for the nursing board examinations were finally out. Perhaps he had expected that I already knew, and was eagerly asking me if I was one of those who passed. Unfortunately, I have busied myself with other matters quite lately that I have conveniently forgotten all about it, and for a few seconds stood staring at him completely baffled by his inquiry. Suddenly realizing the gravity of the information, I literally threw at him his cigarettes, flew into the house, and went online to check if it were true. My neighbor was right, the results were indeed out. And I passed - again.

For a few minutes, there was some compulsive jumping around and considerable howling on my part, disturbing the family dog who was sleeping in a corner. My father who was hovering threateningly over me all the time I was nervously searching the net (perhaps preparing to strangle me, or castrate me hanging in front of our house, if I had failed) looked on, smiling from ear to ear. He was probably considering the traditional "lechon", or maybe of buying me a new pair of shoes, on the account of my passing the board a second time. He phoned practically every member of our family, even all the way from Sultan Kudarat, to spread the fortunate news. Perhaps, he was as relieved as I was to finally have what the papers are calling "closure" on the board exam fiasco.

After the initial stirrings in the house, the excitement of the moment died down. I returned to manning the store, absolutely pleased with myself. Pichay, our dog, returned to her old corner, after much tail-chasing and trifling about. My father returned to watching the morning news, (perhaps) as proud as a peacock. Yes, there was immense relief. Yes, there was monumental redemption. And definitely a sense of grand achievement. Yet, I still could not help but feel anger and contempt at the shameful reasons why we, who passed the examination a year ago, should take it all over again in the first place. But that, I told myself, is not important now. After risking it all, I passed - and I'm a bloody nurse again. That is all that matters.

---

To all those who passed, my sincere congratulations.

“The only place where success comes before work is in the dictionary.” ~Donald Kendall

I spend now some few hours at this certain internet cafe, where students linger after lunch and yell and cuss at each other while playing Warcraft III, where I have spent some considerable time during the past few months, a place which I have considered a strange refuge from boredom and homesickness, before I board the ship bound for home. I think about it now, and after four months, I am overwhelmingly excited. However, I have a feeling I will miss my spot here, under the arctic breath of an airconditioner, when I have gone. I decided to write a sort of a little, perhaps, farewell to Cebu. I have not enjoyed my stay here as much as I have appreciated my previous stay, which I deemed at the time to be a liberation, for I did not see much of Cebu except that trip to that overly expensive wet party. Of course, I am not here to be a tourist but as a graduate trying to reclaim his professional license. Still, I think now, that I should have went out more since I am here. There will be more time for that, anyway, next time. This will not be my last visit. Until then, farewell Cebu. And thank you for not letting your thieving scourges set loose upon me while I walked on your streets countless times.

I was sitting quite uncomfortably in a posh parlour, a place unusual to have visitors of status such as myself, with a friend in one of Cebu's malls. Lying in front of us, on top of the polished table, lay a steaming and squirming slice of an overpriced pizza waiting to be consumed with animal ferocity for I was severely famished from walking around the expansive mall for hours. However, being in such a place of utter class, for people there eat their food with strange finesse unbecoming of Filipinos, I was inevitably infected and thus, with great reserve, ate my pizza like a refined gentleman. Certainly, if it were not socially imprudent to do so, I would have seized the italian morsel like a scampering rat and wholly put it in my mouth and decide how to chew it later.

I was in this state of 'fine dining' when a young girl, who seems to be in her teens and dressed in quiant, doily-ish attire, interrupted us by handing out an envelope printed by by proverbial letters of some christian religion. Apparently, she was asking us for donations. My friend, on the process of masticating a sizeable slice, was unable to speak and sat there looking at me and impatiently motioning me to take care of the matter. I, on the other hand, having been disturbed from satisfying my hunger, was in no gracious mood. I gave the girl some outlandish excuse for not giving and returned to my meal without another word. My friend, after a gulp of his cola, apologized to the girl, perhaps on my account. The girl, with a kind smile, said "it's okay".

I was taken aback by her response that I almost choked on my dinner. I guess I expected her to turn around silently, like all the others, however, this girl, with a surprisingly educated voice, chose to be friendly and replied in soothing tone that I wasn't, after all, an evil man. The sight of the girl, being declined from table to table (until at last a gentleman handed her some coins on her way out), made me lose my appetite quite suddenly and filled my heart with shame and pity. My eyes were on her still as she made her way through the crowd and lost sight of her as she quickly turned a corner. I finished the pizza with much less enthusiasm that was ever possible from a half-starving man. What does a mere ten-peso compare to an expensive pizza? I asked myself. And could have made a girl's sauntering around a mall on an afternoon and suffering the indignity of asking money from people perhaps, even by just a little, worth her while?