And So It’s Done

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Tomas Morato at ten in the morning

30 August 2013
10:16 AM
Manila

M.–

I am at my father’s office, overlooking this part of the city, and trying to write you a letter using my phone for the second time. It’s a novelty to me, this. I knew about the capabilities of this gadget but haven’t tried updating via this method until yesterday.

It’s strange, the things one can do with so small a thing in one’s hands. If someone told me fifteen years ago that I would be holding a computer the size of my palm, I would probably scoff at the idea. I mean, it’s been years since I’ve watched Back to the Future or The Fifth Element, but I still haven’t seen any floating cars.

Anyway–I just came from the bank. The reason why I’m out of the house in the first place. It’s done. I’ve done what I’m supposed to do. After weeks of agonising, it’s done, and there’s no looking back. I collapsed on the couch just moments ago, in a daze of sorts, and my sister asked if I was okay. Probably checking if I was about to push myself over the deep end. I said, I feel a profound sense of disappointment with myself. And it’s true.

I suppose that’s all anyone can feel once things go awry. Once plans are unmade, once things you were so sure of before become moot. I am disappointed at having underestimated the situation so severely, and not even having a backup plan to get me out of this. And I used to be such a person–I used to have so many backup plans, and even backups of backup plans. I have surrounded myself with so much insurance that it was impossible for me to fail, and for awhile that kind of life worked for me.

But as I grew older, I started unraveling little by little. Letting loose maybe. Or was it getting careless? Whatever it is, I am not the same T. a year ago, or two years ago. Not even two weeks ago. I don’t understand why I keep getting surprised, but here I am.

Ah, yes, here I am. Twenty-seven years old with so little to my name now. Begin again, I tell myself, as I walk back. No other thing left to do but begin again. It’s done, T., it’s done.

I heave a sigh. Can’t tell if that’s out of despair or relief. I guess I’ll find out in the next few days.

T.

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