Ask anyone---well, anyone who knows me--- and they will tell you that i have this extraordinary ability for finding fun. It doesnt matter how dull the situation, how serious the participants, I, Kim Borromeo, will inspire laughter where there is only misery. I can bring sparkle to places where boredom seems to permeate the very walls. I am the unconquerable mistress of mayhem.
Examples? You ask for examples? No problem. I have an excess of good stories.
Hmmm. How about last year when we were all forced to sit through career planning with Mr. Melgar, the guidance counselor of doom, and i reduced the entire classroom to hysterics by repeatedly insisting i wanted to pursue a career in high-end porn? (I know. It was clever.) Or when my mother and i wento tita Renee's for thanksgiving and i refused to give up until i persuaded even my terrible Tito Rudy to play charades. (He did a killer jaws, by the way.) Last summer, i even got the crowd giggling at the funeral of my bestfriend, Yuna, when i brought up her macaroni-and-cheese obsession during my speech. Okay, so maybe i didnt find the fun for myself that day---it was next to impossible---but i did find it for other people.
So why, i ask you, why was i sitting there for the 5th afternoon in a row, watching yet another awful, mind-numbingly stupid soap opera? Had i really sunk so very low?
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It was my first ever summer break from college. One month back at my house in Manila, where there was virtually nothing to do, i was facing four whole weeks apart from all the new friends id made at Stanford University in the first few months of my freshman year, and i was self-pitying. Im not proud to admit it, but i was. It was about 34 degrees outside and i hate the heat, unless, of course, im on the slopes with my skateboard, sporting some sleek, sexy and solid boarding gear. I had already read every last book i would be required to read in next semester's Philippines Writers course---ten heavy and mostly boring books that were a serious pain to plug across the country--- including the full-length version of Moby-Dick, which, let me tell you, will make you want to scratch your brain out through your ear canal, its so indirect.
My high school friends had been wiped out from my life over the past semesters, for which i take the burden of the responsibility. I hadn't been very careful about returning phone calls and emails, preferring not to be reminded of senior year and of Yuna. I was ready to move on. And when i first stepped off the five-hour flight to Masbate i was overjoyed by my lucky choice of schools. Stanford was so far away from the Ivies on the East where most of my friends were going that i'd never be expected to see them. It was a new life for me. A new start.
Now, of course, i was paying for it. They all had given up on me, for good reason, and there was no one i could call, no one to distract me from the talk shows and the stiff dramas of these horrid over-actors. My life had become so dull i could hardly even stand to be around myself.
I glanced around the impeccably kept living room--- my father is a neat freak while i tend toward the messy--- looking for something to inspire me. Dad's many awards of service, praising his virtues as a policeman, lined the walls. My karate and track trophies were displayed with pride along the mantle. The varied collection of books and videos my big brother had amassed since he was a kid--- everthing from Free to be you and me to charlie's angels 1 and 2--- packed the shelves next to the jukebox, but none of them was interesting enough to stir me from the comfort of the couch. The bright sun glinted off the street outside, blinding me whenever i made the mistake of looking toward the windows. I squinted and covered my eyes. This was sad. I was becoming allergic to sunlight.
Okay, kimlo, time ro get off your ass, i told myself. Gathering all my energy, i pushed myself from the comfy cushions and padded over to the mirror to check my reflection. It was beyond shameful. My skin was so pasty you'd think i was a nocturnal being. Trés vampiric. My short brown hair was mussed into spiles on one side. I even had the pattern of the plaid throw pillow imprinted on my cheek. It was time, as they say, to get a life.
