BABY JEE | A REAL LIFE STORY

01

"Guys, gising na! Nagluto ako ng sardinas na may itlog, hehehe." That's me, five months ago, before it all happened. Was I too much?

I opened the door that separates our bedroom and common area. There, I glanced around at my 'friends', still wrapped in the blanket of their dreams on their beds. They lay there, undisturbed by the early hour and my announcement of food.

The wind whispered through the open windows, carrying with it the distant hum of morning traffic eleven stories below us. The soft, natural light seeped into our tiny home, as if it was waking us up to embrace the promise of a new day.

Our space was small, but it cradled us perfectly—students bound by the shared necessity of living close to our school, conserving both time and energy. It's called a dorm.

But to me, it was so much more. I never called it a dorm; in my mind, it was home. It felt like home, infusing my heart with rhythm and life.

But what happened?

The sudden, jarring ring of Kuya Jeremiah's phone sliced through the peaceful morning air. His alarm, always punctual, always loud. That was our routine since I had moved in with them.

But now I couldn't look at him the same way I used to. Because seeing him reminds me of him.

Kuya Jeremiah, the early riser, slept beside Ate Mara, his girlfriend. No matter how loud the alarm blared, it failed to disturb them both.

Kuya Jimmy, on the other hand, was sleeping next to the couple's bed. He groaned at the noise the alarm made, but it didn't stop him from falling back asleep. Paul, who slept on the top bunk above Kuya Jimmy, was missing. I didn't know where he went.

"Ate Mara, gising na..." I went closer to the couple's bed, gently bumping Ate Mara's shoulder to wake her up without disturbing her boyfriend's sleep. She opened her eyes a little bit in response. "Di ba may pasok ka?" I reminded her. She reached for Kuya Miah's phone and finally turned off the alarm.

While I reached for my phone at the top of the couple's bunk bed. I had a hard time reaching it because of how cramped my space was. Curtains separated me from them. I had put them up during my first few weeks here because I wasn't used to sleeping with other people in the same room.

But as time passed, I grew comfortable and my initial habits faded away. I adjusted quickly and let my walls down easily. I shouldn't have done that.

I went back to the common area with my phone and ate alone. The inviting aroma of egg and sardines filled the room, wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. It was my favorite ulam, a taste of home that never failed to warm my heart. As I savored each bite and washed the dishes, Ate Mara got up and started getting ready for school. Almost on cue, Kuya Miah followed suit, and soon after, Kuya Jimmy joined them. All three of them sat down for breakfast, a familiar scene that filled our small space with a sense of belonging.

I watched them as Kuya Jimmy cracked jokes, our little comedian, his eyes twinkling with mischief. I couldn't help but laugh non-stop at his antics, the sound of my laughter mingling with the gentle clinks of dishes and the murmured conversations of the others. Kuya Miah gave him a playful side-eye, a silent response that only added to the humor. Ate Mara laughed too, her laughter quieter than mine but no less genuine, a soft melody that added to the harmony of our morning ritual.

Every morning in this place was a symphony of routine—familiar, comforting, yet brimming with the unspoken anticipation. The gentle noise of pages turning as someone studied late into the night, the quiet hum of shared silence, and the occasional burst of laughter that echoed through our small space. These moments were the threads that wove the fabric of our shared life, creating a sanctuary amid the chaos of the outside world. It was a place where the laughter and bond of students created an unspoken bond, turning a mere living arrangement into something profoundly meaningful. The air was thick with the scent of breakfast and the quiet hum of our shared existence.

"Pasok na 'ko guys," Ate Mara announced, her voice a gentle disruption to the serene morning.

"Ingat, Ate," I responded, my heart silently wishing that these moments didn't end, that we could stay in this cocoon of familiarity forever.

In those moments, our little world felt complete, a haven of simplicity and connection where each day began with the promise of new memories. And as I watched my friends go about their morning, I held onto the hope that the bond we shared would remain unbroken,

because I thought I found home; but the echoes of those days had faded into memory. It was a smooth, happy life. Not until I met HIM.