on scent.

An orange, when pealed, releases a scent representative of the tangy fruit. Even in the absence of sight, the scent signifies presence – may the scent be real or imitated. It stimulates the mind to think, to remember, to visualize.

A scent devoid of body is only reserved for the nose to sniff. A cup of coffee would smell like coffee, in the same way that a freshly pealed orange would smell like orange. That yes, an orange scent can be described as ‘tangy’, but isn’t ‘tangy’ a word for taste? In this case, aside from smelling like coffee, how would one describe its scent? Unlike other senses like sight, touch, or taste, words seem to be too imbecile to describe what was smelt.

And since, scents are also devoid of body, no lines, nor curves, nor mutations of figural in-betweens would be able to describe it by appearance as well. Scents are mere abstractions of the physical. Vision is integral to smell.

Scents can also trigger hearing, projecting mental images from memory. It extends to the nerves to make you reminisce, to feel the emotion of the remembered moment. Next is the rapid pulsation of the heart, perhaps the sweating of palms, and then a falling tear (or maybe not). Or perhaps a clenched fist and a pair of strong locked jaws, following a punch, then silence. Scents can do so much. Like an indelible imprint, or a strictly weaved fiber forming cloth, removing the signified from memory is near impossible.

But scents are not exclusive to the signified body. A sweet, flowery smell of a flower can belong to any flower. In the same way that a scent of a rotting body can belong to a dead rat or even to a human (not necessarily dead). For scents are replicable, the signifier can signify anything or anyone.

You haunt me more than ever.

flash shots, friday.

The keyboard might as well crack with the pressure it gets, as almost every key seems to be pressed at the same time with the speed of my fingers. “Fuck you, bitch! Can’t you freaking see that I’m finishing a paper!” But it was imagined. Instead, I picked up the book lying on the floor and slapped it against her face. Don’t worry. It was softbound and I just imagined that as well. 

I was on my third page and the bitch still went on, and on – even joked about her friend’s fave sex position according to a Facebook app. How mature. 

On top of the monitor was Cut, a short story for children. It was insulting me. I can’t seem to analyze a short story, made for kids, about a haircut. It was because “Chona bent and whispered something in Mika’s ear: ‘The good thing about hair is that you never lose it. It just grows back.’ And it did.” And this Chona is gay, and Mika’s mother is, obviously, not. Long hair is usually for women, and Chona wore a wig. Mika’s mother didn’t want her to even have a trim, but her Lola said Chona can, and so this Chona did. Mika’s mom saw it, got mad, and gave Mika the haircut of her life. What should that mean?

“Carlos, I don’t know how to do a Marxist Feminist!” Then he replied, “Spivak!” I tried to remember. Yes, Spivak. But wait! I’m using Sara Mills. Scratch Spivak, scratch.

***

The heat was too much. I was sweating. I have to change into something comfortable. Mixed with books and notebooks, paper and all, was a shirt. Thank God, I have a shirt. I ran to the comfort room to change, but wait, where are my books? And so I ran towards a different direction.

I left it. Great. And so I ran faster, crossed buildings, tapped Ben’s back instead because I can’t afford to stop and say ‘hi’. 

It was still there. I can’t afford to lose those books because a week worth of allowance won’t be able to pay for it. It was still there, picked it up, and ran back. I saw you by the steps, reading a paper. I chose not to stop. It was still there. Wait, is it?

***

I tried to open the door. “Ha? Bakit?!” Someone called. It was Patrick. The door was locked. “Ikaw nalang hinihintay.” Nervous, I said, “Teka, eto na.” And ended the call. The door was already locked.

I dialed. “Hello, Pat. Teka lang. Papunta na akong DLRC. Sabihin mo teka lang.” He was too impatient and gave the phone to someone else. “Hello? Teka lang.” I was told to hurry up. 

It was already dark inside. “Sorry, sarado na,” the guy said. I begged, “please.” “Wala na, patay na lahat ng computer.” It was my cue to turn my back.

I was almost running. But because of books and my bulky bag, I wasn’t running. I leaped over steps. AS was pretty high at that point. 

“Hello? Papunta akong Pop I. Wala na sa DLRC eh.” I went down immediately when I heard, “Sarado na yan kanina pa.” “Teka. Pabantay nung department. Saan ba kayo?” “Sa Gal.” I sounded unfamiliar, “Ah okay.”

I ran to FC. “Oh ayan na pala si Marc,” Patrick said. “Teka, wala pa.”

***

Panting and breathy, I asked, “pwede po ba magpa-print? Kahit bayaran ko nalang po. Ma-i-incomplete po kasi ako eh.” She looked puzzled, “Ha? ha? Ano yun?!” The glass was getting misty, “Magpapa-print po. Ma-i-incomplete na po kasi ako.” Finally, she said yes.

I handed her my flash drive. She was taking too much time. She had to call me because she couldn’t find my file. A few scrolls, and she clicked print.

“Magkano po babayaran ko?” I was asked more relaxed. “’Wag na. Major ka ba?” I answered yes. She handed me my paper. “Ate, thank you po. Thank you, thank you po.” I had to hide my paper. Behind me was my thesis adviser. I lost track of the position she now holds, nevertheless she’s my thesis adviser. 

And with a wrist flick, I was out of the department.

four.

In UP, we create our own schedule and choose the subjects that we want to take for the semester. When I was still a starting freshman, everything was so stressful. I was enlisting on subjects that overlap, or I would chose subjects that gave me three hour breaks in between. When that happens, I would do all the necessary changes, which in effect, would also affect my whole schedule. I’d go back to zero. And it was plain stressful. 

This struggle extended to my sophomore and junior years. It was more complicated though. This time, I wanted to take a subject, it fits my schedule, but the CRS always bumps me off. Or I’d love to take a subject, but surprise, surprise it won’t offered for that semester. Or I’d have to cancel a subject that I dreamt of taking just to give way to a major class. Or just to fulfill your required units, I took subjects that I didn’t even imagine taking.

Well, that was back then.

Fast forward to this date. I only have four subjects left to enlist. Had I took an extra load this semester, I’d be taking only three for my last. Can you imagine how weird is that? Four. That wouldn’t even fulfill a UP student’s required units for a semester. Better find another subject or be kicked hard in arse. But me? Four. Four subjects left before my UP student life ends. Are you freaking serious?! AS IN, 1, 2, 3, FOUR subjects away from graduation.  

I didn’t notice the time. What happened back then?



P.S.: It has been too long since I wrote something here. This probably explains why. I’m doing all the shiz to graduate on time. You gotta make yer mama proud, yo!